The tale

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What does this insight have to do with Carnac? The question arises: At that time, when the stone rows of Carnac originated, did a man have just such a mental inspiration which allowed him to confront consciously the strict geometrical form of horizontal, vertical and transverse with a further vectorial orientation or – less martially expressed: to supplement the thinking of that time with a new understanding?

Did this new awareness prevail at that time and lead to the fact that, in homage to the discoverer, just that slight curve was inserted into the straight lines of the stones, so that the lines took a fresh orientation?

A good offer of additional variations opens the twilight and the play of the fast-changing light.

Carnac offers many striking inspirations. A good offer of additional variations opens the twilight and the play of the fast-changing light, which throws the sinking or rising sun over the rising stone tiles.

The judicious twilight, when it sets in in the early evening, causes, that the rows of slowly fading menhirs, which cast ever longer shadows, stand out less and less from their surroundings with the intensifying darkness and finally vanish. The dwindling daylight makes the rows shrink. The night devours them. What has been seen is gone, unless the moon shines pale over it.

The silent rows of thoughts turned into stone appear impressive in the cool light of the cold earth satellite. In the faint brightness it casts, the jagged edges of the vertical, primeval-looking slabs appear softer.

The matt shine in which the meticulously lined up stone columns shimmer, fades with increasing distance and not far away from the observer becomes one with the all-devouring darkness of the time of day when the sun is far away.

Has the ancestral supervisor, pushed by nocturnal scouts, placed more and more menhirs to create the illusion that the alignments seem endless in contrast to the night, which puts a merciless end to the morning? In Carnac, the excessive length of the stone rows turn night into day and day into night. What seems without end is lost in time.

This bilious remark is said once again to have been thrown into the wind.

The morning brings back the stones; the night will therefore not have moved the people, who cultivated the region of Brittany, to push ahead with the construction of their work in the infinity.

This bilious remark about the influence of the night on the creation of the artifact in Carnac from the ranks of the never-tired, notorious mockers is said once again to have been thrown into the wind and carried away by it.

For, as is not known today, the founding generation of Carnac, like the writer of these lines, belonged to the category of the morning grouch: Ideas arise in the night. The morning must mature them in sleep. The project flourished; the lines grew during the day further.

The consideration just given about day and night in relation with the inspiration does not correspond to the strictly analytical approach to the phenomenon “Carnac”, as it has been the basis of this significant and profound treatise from the very beginning, and can therefore be deleted.

One more remark is allowed, however, and that is about the clearly changing size of the erected, stone warhorses. Towards the east, their height decreases visibly until they finally reach the size of sheep, goats and badgers. The stone formations were almost given the distinctive mass, which was familiar to the creatures of that time, of the builders of Carnac.

Carnac could be seen as an oversized representation of the history of mankind created from nature.

This decision was probably not even a question of increasing the self-confidence of the employer and their subordinates – or maybe, yes, it was: Carnac could be seen as an abstract depiction of the creation story. A kind of oversized representation of the history of mankind created from nature, as it was felt by that primeval community: From the great deities to the little people; from the mammoths to the wolves, foxes and fawn. What significance the creators of the construction themselves had in this remains open.

This interpretation is granted the appreciation that has already been given to the remarks of this kind since the start of the tract, namely disregard.

If one steps into the rows from the east, one begins his walk in those Alignments, which rise little high out of the earth and even partially disappear in the underbrush. The closer you get to the overweight chunks, the more impressive appears the labor performed by the workers that set the hunks up after transport.

It is permissible to make another observation. The difference in size between the mighty menhirs and their partly very slender relatives is considerable. Now, again seen from the west, it offers a great phenomenon: If you walk past the large menhirs, then suddenly the view opens up over this mysterious painting, which is inserted into the raw nature and consists of numerous blocks, away into the stretching expanse up to the narrow horizon, where everything is much smaller in perspective works.

The rich, clear lines with the stones getting lower and lower reinforce the unmistakable impression of the perspective resizing that the plane naturally gives, making things in the distance appear ever smaller. The immense stripes of stone transfer the image, that nature gives of itself, to itself when the trajectory is lost in the vastness of the plain. With increasing distance even the mountains look like tiny creatures, but as giants when you stand directly in front of them.

This surprising harmony of natural and artificial perspectives may be coincidental. The consensus of a geometric characteristic of nature and its structural counterpart in the lines, that have made the place at the upper left corner of the European mainland famous, may seem as if it was conjured up by the author of this study.

Perhaps the stones of Carnac tell only the story of giants and dwarfs.

Surely, who knows, perhaps the stones of Carnac tell only the story of giants and dwarfs, who romped as cheeky gnomes in front of watery nymphs over the long, sandy ground on the narrow shores of the repellent sea, and finally petrified in their position, imitating a parading step.

In autumn, when the mists drift over the plains as swaths in a swirling dance, a very special light falls on the menhir rows, bathing the highly famous square in a very stimulating atmosphere. The connection to the hidden world, which characterizes the fairy tales and nature spirits, then becomes almost tangible. One would have to travel there with an appropriate book and read it in the clammy wind, blowing from the almighty Atlantic, with blue fingers shivering with cold und turning the pages.

A further approach to the eighth rows, which form the field of this wide view, allows yet another shattering play of light. The stone slabs, erected and placed in lines, present themselves partly in such a remarkable width and proud height that their shadows completely cover the observer. On the shaded side of the hard, compact form, that denies the watcher from the view of the sun, the observer, who is thus displaced into the semi-darkness despite daylight, is unable to grasp the details of the stone giant facing him.

On the other hand, the broad sides of the menhirs on the right, on the left, in the back, which are lavishly bathed in sunlight, appear brighter and clearer and thus stand out pleasantly against the threatening facade of the menhir throwing shadows. Another, sudden realization flashes up: The closeness does not reveal the details; what is a little further away in the right light becomes clear.

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