The Good Soldier Svejk

by Jaroslav Hasek

  "Captain Sagner," he then shouted, "bring all the volunteer officers along here, will you?

  "Of course," he continued his conversation with the volunteer officer, "that's the kind of scum we have to soil our hands with. An undergraduate. Studying ancient philosophy, if you please. About turn. I thought so. Your tunic's all rumpled up. Anyone'd think you'd just been with a tart or sprawling about in a brothel. I'll make it hot for you, my fine fellow."

  The volunteer officers had now entered the barrack square.

  "Fall in, two deep, will you," commanded the colonel. And they did so.

  "Just look at this man," bellowed the colonel, pointing with his hunting crop at the volunteer officer. "He's been bringing discredit on you with his drunken pranks. And has he got any excuse? None whatever. Just look at him. No excuse, and he was an undergraduate before he joined the army. Studying ancient philosophy. Ancient bunkum !"

  The colonel spat with contempt.

  "Studies ancient philosophy and then gets tight and then knocks off an officer's cap at night. Man alive, think yourself lucky it was only an artillery officer.

  "Nevertheless," continued the colonel, "such conduct must receive exemplary punishment. Orderly room !"

  The sergeant-major from the orderly room came forward solemnly, with documents and a pencil.

  The stillness was like that in a court of justice during a murder trial, when the judge asks: "Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your verdict?"

  And it was in precisely such a tone of voice that the colonel passed sentence :

  "Volunteer officer Marek is condemned to twenty-one days in cells, and after serving his sentence will be transferred to the cook house to scrape potatoes there."

  * * *

  Then, turning to the volunteer officers, the colonel gave the order to re-form ranks. They rapidly formed fours and marched off, whereupon the colonel told Captain Sagner that it wouldn't do at all and that in the afternoon he was to give them another dose of quick marching on the barrack square.

  "When they march, it's got to sound like claps of thunder. Oh, and there's something else I nearly forgot. Tell them that all volunteer officers are to have five days' C. B. so as they shan't forget their ex-comrade, that skunk Marek."

  And that skunk Marek stood side by side with Schweik with an air of complete satisfaction. He had got just what he wanted. It was decidedly better to scrape potatoes, roll dumplings and parcel out chops, than, with the wind properly up, in the middle of a withering enemy fire, to yell : "Fix bayonets !"

  Colonel Schroder then stationed himself in front of Schweik and looked at him attentively. At this moment Schweik's whole personality lay in his broad, smiling countenance, bounded by a large pair of ears, which projected from underneath his cap, pressed down tightly upon his head. The general impression was that of a man who is altogether at peace with the world and blissfully unconscious of any transgression on his part. His eyes seemed to ask : "I haven't done anything wrong, have I?"

  The colonel summed up the results of his observations in a brief question which he addressed to the sergeant-major from the orderly room :

  "Daft?"

  Whereupon the colonel saw the mouth belonging to the unruffled countenance open before him.

  "Beg to report, sir, daft," replied Schweik, on behalf of the sergeant-major.

  Colonel Schroder beckoned to the adjutant and went on one side with him. Then they called the sergeant-major and inspected the material relating to Schweik.

  "Aha," said Colonel Schroder, "so that's Lieutenant Lukash's orderly, who, according to his report, got lost at Tâbor. It seems to me that officers ought to attend to the training of their own orderlies. If Lieutenant Lukash chose to have this chronic imbecile for his orderly, he must put up with the nuisance of looking

  * * *

  after him. He's got plenty of spare time for that. He never goes anywhere. Have you ever seen him with us? Well, there you are, then. He's got enough spare time to lick his orderly into shape."

  Colonel Schroder came up to Schweik and, looking at his good-humoured countenance, said :

  "You blithering idiot, take three days in cells, and when it's over, report yourself to Lieutenant Lukash."

  Thus it came about that Schweik met the volunteer officer again in the regimental guard room, and Lieutenant Lukash enjoyed a special treat when Colonel Schroder sent for him and announced :

  "About a week ago, on joining the regiment, you made an application to me for an orderly, because your own orderly had got lost at the railway station in Tâbor. However, as he has now come back -"

  "But, sir -" began Lieutenant Lukash imploringly.

  "—I have decided," continued the colonel meaningly, "to detain him for three days in cells and then send him back to you."

  Lieutenant Lukash, utterly crushed, reeled out of the colonel's office.

  During the three days which Schweik spent in the company of volunteer officer Marek, he enjoyed himself immensely. Every evening they arranged patriotic demonstrations on the benches in their cell.

  Voices were then heard warbling, "God Preserve Our Emperor for Us," and "Prince Eugene the Cavalier." They also went through a programme of soldiers' ditties, and when the warder arrived, he was greeted with a special musical tribute :

  "Our warder's a jolly good fellow, And he'll never, never die. But the devil himself will come from hell To fetch him by-and-by.

  "He'll come with a carriage to fetch him And he'll wallop him on the spot, And then the devils will shove him in the fire To keep hell nice and hot."

  * * *

  And while they were thus annoying the warder, much as an Andalusian bull is annoyed at Seville by means of a red cloth, Lieutenant Lukash, with a sinking heart, was awaiting the moment when Schweik would make his appearance to report himself for service again.

  * * *

  3.

  Schweik's Adventures at Kiraly-Hida.

  The 91st regiment was transferred to Bruck-on-the-Leitha, and from there to Kiraly-Hida.

  Just when, after three days' incarceration, Schweik was within three hours of being released, he was conveyed with the volunteer officer to the main guard room and then led under escort to the railway station.

  "Well," said the volunteer officer on the way, "we knew they'd send us to Hungary sooner or later. That's where the drafts are going to be formed. And the troops'll be trained in field musketry, they'll have some free fights with the Magyars, and then off we'll

  * * *

  go to the Carpathians. And the Magyars'll take our place in this garrison and the breeds'll get mixed. Some people think that the best way to improve the stamina of one race is to violate the girls belonging to another race. The Swedes and the Spaniards tried it in the Thirty Years' War, and so did the French under Napoleon. And now the Magyars'll do the same thing here. Not that there'll be anything violent about it. It'll simply be a sort of exchange. The Czech soldiers will go to bed with the Magyar girls and the Czech girls, poor wenches, will have to take the Magyar militiamen to their bosoms, and in a few hundred years the scientists will wonder why they find people with high cheekbones on the banks of the Malshe."

  "It's a rum business with this here cross-breeding," remarked Schweik. "In Prague there's a black waiter named Christian. Well, his father was an African king, and he used to perform in a circus. There was a school mistress who wrote poems to the papers, all about shepherds and streamlets in the forest and things like that, and she fell in love with this nigger chap and went to a hotel with him and committed fornication, as they say in the Bible. And she had the surprise of her life when she had a white baby. Yes, it was absolutely white. But after a fortnight it began to turn brown. It got browner and browner, and a month after that it began to turn black. In six months it was as black as its grandfather, the African king. She took him to the skin hospital, to see if they couldn't bleach him or something, but they told her that it was a genuine nigger skin and nothing could be done for it
. It so upset her that they had to put her into an asylum and the little nigger chap was sent to an orphanage, and they had some fun with him there, too. After that he got a job as a waiter and went about dancing in night clubs. He's produced quite a lot of Czech mulattoes, only they ain't as dark as he is. There was a doctor chap who used to go to The Flagon, and he told us it's not as simple as it looks. A half-breed has more half-breeds, until you can't tell them from people like you and me. But all of a sudden a buck nigger pops up quite unexpected. That's rough luck and no mistake. You marry a girl, say. Well, she's quite white, and then one day the wench produces a nigger baby for you."

  They were now approaching the railway station, where the

  * * *

  people of Budejovice had assembled to take leave of their regiment. It was not an official ceremony, but the square in front of the railway station was crowded with people who were awaiting the arrival of the troops.

  As usual, the dutiful soldiers marched behind and those under the escort of bayonets were in front. The dutiful soldiers would later be squeezed into cattle trucks, while Schweik and the volunteer officer were to be accommodated in a special prisoners' compartment which, in troop trains, was always attached immediately behind the staff carriages.

  Schweik felt that he really must hurrah and wave his cap to the crowd. The effect was so stimulating that a surge of cheering spread across the square. The corporal of the escort was quite upset and shouted to Schweik to shut up. But the cheering gathered strength like an avalanche. There was a great brandishing of hats and caps. It developed into a regular demonstration. From the windows of the hotel opposite the railway station some ladies waved their handkerchiefs and shouted "Hurrah !" One enthusiast seized the opportunity to yell "Down with the Serbs !" but in the ensuing scrimmage he got somewhat trodden underfoot.

  Schweik, amid his accompaniment of bayonets, waved affably to the crowd, while the volunteer officer saluted with grave dignity.

  Thus they reached the railway station and were on their way to the train when the band of the fusiliers, the conductor of which was considerably bewildered by the unexpected demonstration, was just about to strike up the Austrian hymn. But just at this moment, Father Łacina, chaplain of the 7th cavalry division, suddenly made his appearance in a billycock hat and proceeded to put things right.

  His story was an exceedingly simple one. He had arrived at Budejovice on the previous day and had managed to attend a little party arranged by the officers of the departing regiment. He ate and drank for a dozen, and then in a more or less sober condition he had strolled into the officers' mess, to wheedle a few leavings from the cooks. After consuming many dumplings and much gravy, he got into the kitchen and discovered rum there. He swilled rum till he began to hiccough, and then returned to the

  * * *

  farewell party, where he distinguished himself by a new round of libations. In the morning it occurred to him that he really ought to go and make sure that the first battalion of the regiment got a proper send-off. He thus arrived in front of the station just in time to snatch the bâton from the bandmaster of the fusiliers at the moment when he was about to conduct "God Preserve Our King and Emperor."

  "Halt," he said. "Not yet. Wait till I give the sign. Now stand at ease, and I'll come back presently."

  He entered the station and attached himself to the prisoners' escort, who stopped him with a shout of "Halt!"

  "Where are you going to?" inquired the corporal severely.

  Here Schweik intervened good-humouredly :

  "They're taking us to Bruck, your Reverence. If you like you can ride along with us."

  "So I will, then," announced Father Łacina, and turning round to the escort, he added :

  "Who says I can't come? By the right, quick march !"

  When the Chaplain had got into the prisoners' carriage, he lay down on the seat, and the kind-hearted Schweik took off his greatcoat and put it under Father Lacina's head. Thereupon, the Chaplain, comfortably stretched out on the seat, began to expound thus :

  "Mushroom stew, gentlemen, is improved by the addition of mushrooms. In fact, the more of them there are, the better it is. But the mushrooms must first be braised with onion and then you add a laurel leaf and onion -"

  "You've put onions in once," demurred the volunteer officer, amid the horrified glances of the corporal, who saw that Father Łacina was drunk, but recognized him as his superior officer. The corporal was in a very tight fix.

  "Yes," remarked Schweik. "His Reverence is quite right. The more onions, the better. I used to know a publican and he always put onions in his beer, because onions make you thirsty. Onions are good for you in every way. Fried onions are useful things if you've got carbuncles."

  Meanwhile Father Łacina was murmuring half aloud, as if in a dream :

  * * *

  "It all depends on the seasoning you put in and how much there is of it. There mustn't be too much pepper, or too much

  curry -"

  His voice became slower and fainter.

  "—or too much mushroom, too—much—lemon—too—much

  nutmeg—too—much—clove -"

  His voice died away and he fell asleep, whistling through his nose when, from time to time, he stopped snoring. The corporal gazed at him fixedly, while the men of the escort sniggered.

  "He won't wake up in a hurry," remarked Schweik presently; "he's as tight as can be."

  "That's all right," continued Schweik, when the corporal nervously beckoned to him to keep quiet. "You can't do anything about it. He's tight as per regulations. He's got a captain's rank. All these army chaplains, whatever their rank, have got a sort of special gift from heaven, and you'd be surprised at the amount they can shift. I used to be orderly to old Katz, and he could drink like a fish. Why, this chap's nothing to what he was. We once pawned the monstrance to pay for booze, and I expect we'd have pawned the Kingdom of Heaven if we could have found anybody to lend us money on it."

  Schweik went up to Father Łacina, turned him to the wall and said with the air of an expert : "He'll go on snoring all the way to Brack."

  He then returned to his seat.

  The corporal, now in a desperate plight, remarked : "Perhaps I'd better go and report the matter." "You'd better not," said the volunteer officer. "You're in charge of an escort and you're not allowed to leave us. And according to the regulations, you're not allowed to send any part of the escort on an errand, unless you've got someone to replace him. You see, you're in a bit of a fix. And you can't give a signal by firing your rifle because there's nothing wrong here. On the other hand, the regulations say that there mustn't be anybody in the prisoners' carriages except the prisoners and their escort. No intruders are allowed. And I don't quite see how you can cover up the traces of your slackness by throwing the Chaplain out of the train when nobody's looking, because we've got witnesses here

  * * *

  who saw you let him in where he has no business to be. I can see you losing your stripes, Corporal."

  The corporal, in a terrible flurry, urged that he hadn't let the Chaplain into the carriage, but that the Chaplain had come in of his own accord and the Chaplain was his superior officer.

  "You're the only superior officer here," insisted the volunteer officer, and Schweik amplified this statement by declaring :

  "Why, if the Emperor himself wanted to get in here, you couldn't allow him in. It's the same as when the orderly officer asks a recruit on sentry-go to run and fetch him some cigarettes and the recruit wants to know what sort he's to bring. Chaps who do that get shoved into a fortress."

  The corporal falteringly objected that Schweik had been the first to tell the Chaplain he could join them.

  "I'm allowed to do that, Corporal," replied Schweik, "because I'm daft, but nobody'd think you could be such a fool."

  "Have you been long in the army?" asked the volunteer officer in an offhand manner.

  "This is my third year. I'm just going to be promoted to sergeant
."

  "You'd better get that idea out of your head," said the volunteer officer callously. "You take it from me, you're going to lose your stripes."

  "It's all the same," observed Schweik, "whether you get done in as an N. C. O. or a private. Only you've got to remember that when a chap loses his stripes, they shove him into the front line."

  The Chaplain began to stir.

  "He's snoring," announced Schweik. "I bet he's dreaming about a good old guzzle. Now, old Katz, who I was orderly to, he was a one, he was. I remember once -"

  And Schweik began to give such a detailed and interesting account of his experiences with Otto Katz, that nobody noticed the passage of time. But after a while the volunteer officer reverted to his former topic.

  "It's a wonder to me," he said to the corporal, "that we haven't had any inspector yet. According to regulations, you ought to have made a report about us to the train commandant at the rail-

  * * *

  way station and not waste your time fussing around with a boozy chaplain."

  The unhappy corporal maintained a stubborn silence and stared at the telegraph poles which were whizzing past.

  "Moreover," continued the volunteer officer, "according to the instructions issued on November 21, 1879, military prisoners must be conveyed in a carriage provided with barred windows. We've got the barred windows all right. But the instructions go on to say that the carriage must also be provided with a receptacle containing drinking water. You've not carried out that part of the regulations. And, by the way, do you happen to know where the rations are going to be served out? You don't know? I thought as much. You simply aren't fit for your job."

  "You see, Corporal," remarked Schweik, "it's no joke to escort prisoners like us. You've got to look after us properly. We ain't just ordinary soldiers who can shift for themselves. We have to have everything brought to us. That's what the regulations say, and they've got to be kept to, or else where's your law and order? And then there's another thing," continued Schweik, with a friendly glance at the corporal. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind letting me know when it's eleven o'clock."