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Ďábel ve Francii
První minuta po páté hodině dne 21. května 1940 byla poslední minutou, kterou slavný německý spisovatel a natifašista Lion Feuchtwanger strávil ve Francii na svobodě. Tato země mu v roce 1933 okázale poskytla "útočiště" a po sedmi letech se za ním stejně jako za tisíci politických uprchlíků z Německa, Rakouska a Československa zaklapla vrata internačního tábora v Les Milles v Provenci.
185 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1954
26 people are currently reading
257 people want to read
About the author
Lion Feuchtwanger
147 books264 followersLion Feuchtwanger was a German Jewish emigre. A renowned novelist and playwright who fled Europe during World War II and lived in Los Angeles from 1941 until his death.
A fierce critic of the Nazi regime years before it assumed power precipitated his departure, after a brief internment in France, from Europe. He and his wife Marta obtained asylum in the United States in 1941 and remained there in exile until they died.
A fierce critic of the Nazi regime years before it assumed power precipitated his departure, after a brief internment in France, from Europe. He and his wife Marta obtained asylum in the United States in 1941 and remained there in exile until they died.
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Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews
February 6, 2020
“Dad, why do you speak with this guy before every meal for so long?”
“David, he is unwell.”
“But what do you mean? He does not look sick. He is working all day long. Every day?”
“Ach, David, he has headaches. (pause) All-day, every day, he has terrible headaches.”
“So, dad, why doesn’t he go home and rest?”
“David, this is his home. This is his rest.”
I look up at the tall man who my father speaks with and I see him running around this massive restaurant that seats over one thousand covers at a sitting. He is a big man, sturdy, strong. He is smiling, he is holding someone’s chair to be seated, he is helping a waiter bring a dish. He smiles at me as his compassion is evident to all the children in this dining hall.
“Dad?”
“The war, David. The war.”
I am possibly a newish teen or an aging child. I am thinking this thing through on my own. I do not understand and yet, I do. I understand that there is no more discussion on this point.
We are here, in the Catskills, our Jewish ghetto, on vacation. My entire family is here and we visit this one hotel every year. I remember that head waiter from last year and the year before. As I remember Mordechai, the scientist from Lithuania who currently is a bellman, escorting our clothes and bags to our hotel room. My father always greets him warmly and tips him grandly. This scientist/bellhop is working hard for tips. The guy makes it his job to pretend that he remembers all the children coming in. He is surviving.
Somehow I know something of the atrocities of the Holocaust. But during this particular stay as I study the interactions of the adults I also realize that many of the tourists, the guests, other staff members have also had their stint in Dachau, Buchenwald, Theresienstadt.
These adults hide their pasts with aplomb. But they are bleeding all over the place. Many cannot see it but I can see the blood seeping from their eyes, dripping onto the floor, crying out of every sentence uttered, whirling through the vents. I can feel it.
But from a convenient place on the wall, any fly or insect would believe that this is nothing but a bacchanal, a people of fun and frolic. A veritable Sodom and Gomorrah. Ice skating in the afternoon, a hike in the morning, and lots and lots of food. In fact, more food than I have ever seen since. There is a reason for that we all now know.
And a ridiculous amount of unopened liquor that no one seemed to savor.
These people were the remnants of the second war with Germany. They were surviving. Who knew their daily grief? Who knew of their incessant physical pains? Who knew what it was to be a captive in Treblinka? Who knew if they had lost one member of their family or the entire lot? Who knew? And who wanted to recall the ceaseless horror of that unmentionable era?
And how do you explain this? There is little need. You feel it, sense it, touch it, caress it, get burned with it. You can recognize they who were affected by it. They know that you know and you know that they know but do not want to speak about it. There are no discussions on this subject. It reminds us of the current fragility, all the time.
A different generation. A different time. History departs as quickly as this sentence ends.
Czarny, you asked me once and I replied that Jews move from Shtetl to Shtetl, from the ghetto to ghetto. That was a true statement even now that most Jews do not understand. The resort was a ghetto. Israel is a larger ghetto surrounded by walls. The Jews are constant visitors and constantly unwelcome. It is accepted.
Lion, the author of this memoir of the 1940s in war-torn France was an established, successful German writer living in France at the time, although he had the pleasure of being interred also during the first German war twenty years prior.
This is his story and what it reveals is a strong and active mind that has little tolerance for all the waste of time and productivity some humans cause others to endure at everyone’s expense.
I am aware of the ‘noise’ that throws me and my contemporaries off their productive focus. It does not stop. It is human. One’s dissatisfaction is another’s delight. A push here and a pull there, it is amazing some of us exist for more than a decade or two on this planet.
This book contains the observations of a writer and an educated man who is more involved with the philosophy or lack of essence than the facts of the conflict. An author interrupted by the folly of the masses. Another person affected by societal tomfoolery and evil which can spread to places like France.
This is not a book about Germany and its’ concentration camps.
It is about this absurd world and those who do not see it that way.
It is the same story we all know well.
It’s about us.
“David, he is unwell.”
“But what do you mean? He does not look sick. He is working all day long. Every day?”
“Ach, David, he has headaches. (pause) All-day, every day, he has terrible headaches.”
“So, dad, why doesn’t he go home and rest?”
“David, this is his home. This is his rest.”
I look up at the tall man who my father speaks with and I see him running around this massive restaurant that seats over one thousand covers at a sitting. He is a big man, sturdy, strong. He is smiling, he is holding someone’s chair to be seated, he is helping a waiter bring a dish. He smiles at me as his compassion is evident to all the children in this dining hall.
“Dad?”
“The war, David. The war.”
I am possibly a newish teen or an aging child. I am thinking this thing through on my own. I do not understand and yet, I do. I understand that there is no more discussion on this point.
We are here, in the Catskills, our Jewish ghetto, on vacation. My entire family is here and we visit this one hotel every year. I remember that head waiter from last year and the year before. As I remember Mordechai, the scientist from Lithuania who currently is a bellman, escorting our clothes and bags to our hotel room. My father always greets him warmly and tips him grandly. This scientist/bellhop is working hard for tips. The guy makes it his job to pretend that he remembers all the children coming in. He is surviving.
Somehow I know something of the atrocities of the Holocaust. But during this particular stay as I study the interactions of the adults I also realize that many of the tourists, the guests, other staff members have also had their stint in Dachau, Buchenwald, Theresienstadt.
These adults hide their pasts with aplomb. But they are bleeding all over the place. Many cannot see it but I can see the blood seeping from their eyes, dripping onto the floor, crying out of every sentence uttered, whirling through the vents. I can feel it.
But from a convenient place on the wall, any fly or insect would believe that this is nothing but a bacchanal, a people of fun and frolic. A veritable Sodom and Gomorrah. Ice skating in the afternoon, a hike in the morning, and lots and lots of food. In fact, more food than I have ever seen since. There is a reason for that we all now know.
And a ridiculous amount of unopened liquor that no one seemed to savor.
These people were the remnants of the second war with Germany. They were surviving. Who knew their daily grief? Who knew of their incessant physical pains? Who knew what it was to be a captive in Treblinka? Who knew if they had lost one member of their family or the entire lot? Who knew? And who wanted to recall the ceaseless horror of that unmentionable era?
And how do you explain this? There is little need. You feel it, sense it, touch it, caress it, get burned with it. You can recognize they who were affected by it. They know that you know and you know that they know but do not want to speak about it. There are no discussions on this subject. It reminds us of the current fragility, all the time.
A different generation. A different time. History departs as quickly as this sentence ends.
Czarny, you asked me once and I replied that Jews move from Shtetl to Shtetl, from the ghetto to ghetto. That was a true statement even now that most Jews do not understand. The resort was a ghetto. Israel is a larger ghetto surrounded by walls. The Jews are constant visitors and constantly unwelcome. It is accepted.
Lion, the author of this memoir of the 1940s in war-torn France was an established, successful German writer living in France at the time, although he had the pleasure of being interred also during the first German war twenty years prior.
This is his story and what it reveals is a strong and active mind that has little tolerance for all the waste of time and productivity some humans cause others to endure at everyone’s expense.
I am aware of the ‘noise’ that throws me and my contemporaries off their productive focus. It does not stop. It is human. One’s dissatisfaction is another’s delight. A push here and a pull there, it is amazing some of us exist for more than a decade or two on this planet.
This book contains the observations of a writer and an educated man who is more involved with the philosophy or lack of essence than the facts of the conflict. An author interrupted by the folly of the masses. Another person affected by societal tomfoolery and evil which can spread to places like France.
This is not a book about Germany and its’ concentration camps.
It is about this absurd world and those who do not see it that way.
It is the same story we all know well.
It’s about us.
March 9, 2021
The Devil in France – My Encounter With Him In the Summer of 1940 is by Lion Feuchtwanger. Lion was a writer who had been placed on the Nazi’s most wanted list. He had finally fled Germany for a cozy house in Sarnary, France. Here, he and his wife made their home while he wrote and read the writings of a number of famous writers and artists of the time. He constantly tried to find someone who could help him leave France for the United States; but to no avail. Finally, he was taken to a concentration camp with other non-French men and interred in a camp in France. In this book, he relays the horrors he faced in the camp. The overcrowding, the dirt and nastiness, the lack of food and mental stimulation, and being separated from his dear wife, all took a toll on him. However, he never lost his faith in his wife and friends that one day, he would be removed to a better place. He writes in a very clear manner and refrains from using overly pompous language. I had heard about Lion since I read about Varian Fry many years ago but never thought to look at his past. I discovered his book on Kindle Unlimited so decided to try reading it. I thought I would be faced with a rash of pompous language and words I would constantly have to look up. Thankfully, he writes in language everyone could understand. His book is very interesting and informational. I am very glad I took the time to read his book.
July 1, 2020
Minus a star because of the dropped ending, but his wife gamely fills in a lot of the blanks.
If all memoirs were this engaging, I'd shelve a lot more of them. It's quite rich in description of the settings and people, and the "je m'en foutisme" of the French bureaucracy.
I'd never heard of Feuchtwanger before picking this up in the free bin at the library sale. I'd never heard of his years in Los Angeles providing an influential salon for exiled artists and writers, nor his estate's generosity to USC. I've lived in L.A. all my life, but I've been under a rock.
I can't say I'm inclined to look for his historical novels, but can appreciate the role he played in his day as a political dissident. Thank you, Herr Feuchtwanger. (I had no idea Max Ernst was also interned.)
If all memoirs were this engaging, I'd shelve a lot more of them. It's quite rich in description of the settings and people, and the "je m'en foutisme" of the French bureaucracy.
I'd never heard of Feuchtwanger before picking this up in the free bin at the library sale. I'd never heard of his years in Los Angeles providing an influential salon for exiled artists and writers, nor his estate's generosity to USC. I've lived in L.A. all my life, but I've been under a rock.
I can't say I'm inclined to look for his historical novels, but can appreciate the role he played in his day as a political dissident. Thank you, Herr Feuchtwanger. (I had no idea Max Ernst was also interned.)
May 20, 2020
Feuchtwanger was a celebrated playwright and novelist, and this memoir of his ordeal as a refugee in France during the Nazi conquest reads like a novel. It could easily have come across as a desultory tale of monotonous misery, but Feuchtwanger paces it adeptly, intersperses events with reflective commentary, and presents the people he encounters as though they were characters. The situation in France was complex, and the experiences diverse, so aside from its appeal as a well-written story this offers yet one more perspective of the many ways that the catastrophe affected people's lives.
May 12, 2016
Sprava Feuchtwangera z jeho pobytu v internacnom tabore vo Francuzsku, s doplnenim od jeho manzelky Marty a s doslovom vysvetlujucim historicke suvislosti.
Mamina mi vravela, ze to nie je jeho typicka kniha a ja, kedze som od neho este inu necitala, som k nej teda pristupovala s nadhladom.
Ech... napisala som uz xy riadkov do tejto recenzie a vsetky som zmazala :-D
Na zaciatku mi Lion pripadal ako pohodlny pomalsi stary skoro-dedko - ktorym vlastne asi aj bol, z jeho slov o sebe samom to v podstate aj vyplyva. Na druhej strane, no a co.
Tiez som sa hanbila, ze mi jeho rozpravanie nepripada az take senzacne, ved mam uz zhltnutych plno knih o koncentracnych taboroch... velmi hanbila.
Velmi trefny je nazov knihy a jeho povod - ako toho Dabla ve Francii Lion vysvetluje. Lahostajnost a byrokracia, strach ale aj ochota pomoct. Zaujimavy je doslov, ktory este vela vysvetluje o celkovej situacii.
Zivot v tabore je opisany v takych drobnickach, nie je vedeny ako dennik, hoci postupuje viac menej chronologicky. Pobavili ma opisy ludi, niektore velmi trefne.
Ako knihu do mozaiky druhej svetovej vojny urcite odporucam.
Mamina mi vravela, ze to nie je jeho typicka kniha a ja, kedze som od neho este inu necitala, som k nej teda pristupovala s nadhladom.
Ech... napisala som uz xy riadkov do tejto recenzie a vsetky som zmazala :-D
Na zaciatku mi Lion pripadal ako pohodlny pomalsi stary skoro-dedko - ktorym vlastne asi aj bol, z jeho slov o sebe samom to v podstate aj vyplyva. Na druhej strane, no a co.
Tiez som sa hanbila, ze mi jeho rozpravanie nepripada az take senzacne, ved mam uz zhltnutych plno knih o koncentracnych taboroch... velmi hanbila.
Velmi trefny je nazov knihy a jeho povod - ako toho Dabla ve Francii Lion vysvetluje. Lahostajnost a byrokracia, strach ale aj ochota pomoct. Zaujimavy je doslov, ktory este vela vysvetluje o celkovej situacii.
Zivot v tabore je opisany v takych drobnickach, nie je vedeny ako dennik, hoci postupuje viac menej chronologicky. Pobavili ma opisy ludi, niektore velmi trefne.
Ako knihu do mozaiky druhej svetovej vojny urcite odporucam.
Read
November 23, 2014Although I waited four years to read this book, which I received the first time I went to USC to a Parents' Weekend, I am glad I finally did. Another intimate memoir of experiences during WWII in Europe.
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July 22, 2016Nesympatický autor. Tá jeho nadradenosť mi od samého začiatku liezla na nervy. Nedočítala som to. Vraj: ,,Většina lidí není příliš schopna prožitků." a podobné skvosty z neho vypadávali.
Po 100 stranách som to zaklapla. Viem, do konca bolo 85 s. Možno v iný čas to raz dočítam. Ale teraz nie.
Po 100 stranách som to zaklapla. Viem, do konca bolo 85 s. Možno v iný čas to raz dočítam. Ale teraz nie.
October 19, 2008
I think I'm the only surviving human to have read this book.
June 19, 2011
Very frustrating ending.
October 17, 2013
better than expected
October 30, 2015
Brilliantly observed, brilliantly written. German-Jewish writer survives a summer in a French internment camp.
October 8, 2025
J'ai découvert cet auteur après avoir vu un téléfilm sur le camp des films. Le film rend surtout hommage au capitaine du camp. Le livre de Lion Feuchtwanger donne une vision beaucoup plus large de ce moment de la "drole de guerre", puisque son calvaire commence bien avant les Milles et finira bien plus tard.
La lecture est facile et le livre étrangement optimiste, ou plutôt baigné d'un fatalisme optimiste qui a aidé l'auteur à traverser ces épreuves.
Je n'en dirai pas plus parce qu'il faut absolument lire ce livre, qui donne une analyse assez objective de la France dans cette période trouble.
La lecture est facile et le livre étrangement optimiste, ou plutôt baigné d'un fatalisme optimiste qui a aidé l'auteur à traverser ces épreuves.
Je n'en dirai pas plus parce qu'il faut absolument lire ce livre, qui donne une analyse assez objective de la France dans cette période trouble.
July 8, 2018
"The human spirit is so constituted that it must absolutely have its explanation of this unfathomable game of Life and Fate. We cannot accept the fact that our lives should be governed by chance, in other words, by laws that we do not know. Finding no explanation that satisfies our reason, we seek one beyond reason, in superstition, mysticism, religion."
February 7, 2019
A Step Back to a Difficult Time
A fascinating memoir of France’s difficult time in the months following the start of WWII and the invasion by the Nazis. War is always personal, this story proves it.
A fascinating memoir of France’s difficult time in the months following the start of WWII and the invasion by the Nazis. War is always personal, this story proves it.
December 26, 2020
"In fondo, ogni giorno prendiamo commiato da qualcosa, senza neanche saperlo." (p. 68)
June 8, 2021
edná se o druhou knihu, kterou jsem přečetl od autora. Časem zvažuji, že si přečtu nějakou další knihu.
November 9, 2025
Terminé le 09/11/2025.
July 25, 2021
An interesting, self-aware memoir that covers a part of WWII history not often taught (at least in the U.S.). As others have noted, it's a little tough for it to end as abruptly as it does, even given the afterward by his wife Marta.
May 20, 2019
A good book but not the best of men. Far too lacking in the love of mankind to say he above others should have been saved. He waited way to long to get out. President Roosevelt had to order it that he was found in France and brought out. People went to the wall to save the great fighter against fascism, who left it far too long to get to find a place of safety.
He was too obsessed with himself, his work and his own fight against Hitler to realize it was not just his fight. Others needed him to write, needed him alive, needed him to continue writing.
The book draws together the remembered experience of Feuchtwanger in the internment camp of France before the Fall of France during World War Two. As such its pretty harrowing. I would not suggest this as a light hearted read. It is however a good vantage point for a world so similar today. So many refugees, so many people with nothing but a voice to speak out who face their extermination.
This is why we have human rights and this is why we must protect refugees. At most Feuchtwanger gives us a sense of this. At base he was not the best of men, but he does give us a very strong testament of his time. He is a witness to a world most of us would rather not know existed. Such a world still exists today; where ever there is war, intolerance and indifference to the suffering of others.
He was too obsessed with himself, his work and his own fight against Hitler to realize it was not just his fight. Others needed him to write, needed him alive, needed him to continue writing.
The book draws together the remembered experience of Feuchtwanger in the internment camp of France before the Fall of France during World War Two. As such its pretty harrowing. I would not suggest this as a light hearted read. It is however a good vantage point for a world so similar today. So many refugees, so many people with nothing but a voice to speak out who face their extermination.
This is why we have human rights and this is why we must protect refugees. At most Feuchtwanger gives us a sense of this. At base he was not the best of men, but he does give us a very strong testament of his time. He is a witness to a world most of us would rather not know existed. Such a world still exists today; where ever there is war, intolerance and indifference to the suffering of others.
Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews