The Good Soldier Svejk

by Jaroslav Hasek

  The corporal struggled with himself for an instant and then, throwing aside all his humility, he said sullenly:

  "He's a pretty cheap specimen."

  "That wheeze of his with the change he hasn't got," interposed Schweik, "is like a chap named Mlicko, down at Deivice. He was a stone mason and he never had any change, till at last he got head over heels into debt and was had up for pinching money. He got through pots of money but he never had any small change."

  "In the 71st regiment," remarked a man from the escort, "there was a captain who spent all the regimental funds in booze before the war, and he was cashiered. Now he's a captain again. Then there was a sergeant-major who pinched the supplies of cloth for facings, more than twenty bales of them there was. He's a staff-sergeant now. And not long ago a footslogger was shot in Serbia for eating up his rations of bully beef that was supposed to last him for three days."

  "What do you want to drag that in for?" demanded the corporal. "All the same, he goes and cadges two gulden from a corporal who can't afford to pay his tips for him."

  "Here's your gulden," said Schweik. "I don't want to make money at your expense. And if he gives me the other gulden as well, I'll let you have it back too. So you needn't start snivelling about it. You ought to be glad to have the chance of lending money to your superior officer. You're a close-fisted chap, you are. Here you are making all this fuss about a measly couple of gulden. I'd like to see what you'd do if you had to sacrifice your

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  life for your superior officer, if he was lying wounded in no-man's-land and you had to try and save him and carry him away, with them firing shrapnel and shells and God knows what all at you."

  They were now approaching Vienna. Those who were not asleep looked through the window at the barbed-wire entanglements and fortifications round the city.

  "That's the style," said Schweik, looking at the trenches; "that's just as it should be. The only thing is that the Viennese might tear their trousers when they go for an outing. They'll have to be careful."

  The train passed through a station, where the strains of the Austrian hymn became audible behind them. Evidently the band had gone there by mistake, for some time elapsed before they reached the station where the train stopped, rations were distributed and the troops received a ceremonious welcome.

  But things had changed since the beginning of the war, when the troops on their way to the front overate themselves at every railway station and where they were welcomed by young ladies with absurd white dresses and even more idiotic faces and utterly stupid bouquets and an even more stupid speech by a lady whose husband is now an out-and-out republican.

  On this occasion those present to welcome the troops comprised three ladies who were members of the Austrian Red Cross, two ladies who were members of some Viennese female war league, one official representative of the Viennese magistracy and a military representative.

  The faces of these people all showed signs of weariness. Troop trains were passing through day and night, ambulance trains with wounded were arriving every hour, every moment there were railway carriages full of prisoners being shunted from one line to another, and these members of all these various bodies and associations had to be present on all these occasions. It went on, day after day, and the people who had originally been enthusiastic, now began to yawn.

  The soldiers peeped out of the cattle trucks with the hopeless expression of those who are being led to the gallows. Ladies came up to them and distributed gingerbread decorated with in-

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  scriptions in sugar : "Sieg und Rache," "Gott strafe England," and so forth.

  After that they received orders to go and fetch their rations by companies from the field kitchens, which were installed at the back of the railway station. There was also an officers' kitchen to which Schweik proceeded, in accordance with the Chaplain's instructions, while the volunteer officer waited behind to be fed, two men from the escort having gone to fetch rations for the whole of the prisoners' carriage.

  Schweik duly carried out his orders, and as he was crossing the railway track, he caught sight of Lieutenant Lukash, who was strolling along the track and waiting for whatever might be left over for him in the way of rations. He was very awkwardly situated, because at the moment he was sharing an orderly with Lieutenant Kirschner. The orderly attended solely to the wants of Lieutenant Kirschner, and exercised complete sabotage as far as Lieutenant Lukash was concerned.

  "Where are you taking that to, Schweik?" asked the unfortunate lieutenant, when Schweik had deposited on the ground a vast store of comestibles which he had managed to secure in the officers' mess and which he had wrapped up in a greatcoat.

  "Beg to report, sir, that's for you. Only I don't know where your compartment is, and then I don't know whether the train commandant wouldn't cut up rough if I was to join you. He's a regular brute, he is."

  Lieutenant Lukash gazed questioningly at Schweik, who, however, with complete good-humour continued :

  "Oh, yes, he's a brute and no mistake. When he came round to inspect the train, I reported to him that it was past eleven o'clock and that I'd served my full three days and that I ought to be in the cattle truck or else with you. And he ticked me off properly and said I'd got to stop where I was so that I couldn't cause you any annoyance on the journey, sir."

  Schweik assumed the air of a martyr.

  "As if I'd ever caused you any annoyance, sir."

  "No," continued Schweik, "you can take it from me, sir, I never caused you any annoyance. And if there's been any unpleasantness at any time, why, it was just a matter of chance,

  * * *

  an act of God, as old Vanicek said when he'd finished his thirty-sixth spell in quod. No, I've never done anything wrong on purpose, sir. I've always wanted to do something good and smart and it ain't my fault if neither of us got any advantage from it, but only a lot of bother and worry."

  "All right, Schweik, don't take it so much to heart," said Lieutenant Lukash gently, as they drew near to the staff carriage. "I'll see to it that you can be with me again."

  "Beg to report, sir, I ain't taking it to heart. But I was sort of sorry that we're both having such a bad time of it in the war and it's not our fault. It's rough luck when you come to think of it. I've always tried to keep out of harm's way."

  "Now then, Schweik, don't upset yourself."

  "Beg to report, sir, that if it wasn't against subordination, I'd say I'm upset and always will be upset and there's an end of it. But as it is, I suppose I'll have to fall in with your orders and say I'm not a bit upset now."

  "All right, Schweik. Now hop into this carriage."

  "Beg to report, sir, I am hopping in."

  The camp at Bruck was wrapped in the silence of night. In the huts for the rank-and-file the men were shivering with cold and the officers' huts were so overheated that the windows had to be opened.

  Down in Bruck-on-the-Leitha lights were burning in the imperial, royal tinned meat factory, where they were busy day and night modifying various forms of offal. As the wind was blowing from that direction toward the camp, the avenues around the huts were filled with the stench of putrefying sinews, hoofs, trotters and bones which were being boiled as ingredients for tinned soup.

  Bruck-on-the-Leitha was resplendent, and on the other side of the bridge Kiraly-Hida was equally radiant. Cisleithania and Transleithania. In both towns, the Austrian and the Hungarian gipsy orchestras were playing, the windows of cafés and restaurants shone brightly, there was singing and revelling. The local big-wigs and jacks-in-office had brought their ladies and their

  * * *

  grown-up daughters to the cafés and restaurants, and Bruck-on-the-Leitha and Kiraly-Hida formed one vast Liberty Hall.

  In one of the officers' hutments in the camp, Schweik was waiting that night for Lieutenant Lukash, who had gone to the theatre and had not yet returned. Schweik was sitting on the lieutenant's bed, and opposite him, on the table, sat Major Wenzl'
s orderly.

  The major had returned to the regiment when his complete incompetence had been demonstrated on the Drina. It was said that he had been responsible for the removal and destruction of a pontoon, while half his battalion were still on the other side of the river. Now he had been put in charge of the rifle range at Kiraly-Hida and he also had a finger or two in the camp commissariat. It was common talk among the officers that Major Wenzl was now setting himself up.

  Mikulashek, who was Major Wenzl's orderly, an undersized, pock-marked fellow, sat there dangling his legs and grousing. "Why the deuce isn't that old blighter of mine back yet? I'd like to know where the old codger goes gadding about all night. If he'd only let me have the key of the room I could lie down and have a good binge. I've got plenty of booze in there."

  "I've heard he pinches things," remarked Schweik, placidly puffing away at a cigarette belonging to the lieutenant, as the latter had forbidden him to smoke a pipe in the room. "You must know something about it. Where does the booze come from?"

  "I just go where he tells me to," said Mikulashek in a ready voice. "I get the chit from him and go to the hospital to fetch the doings and I bring them home."

  "And if he ordered you to sneak the regimental funds, would you do it?" asked Schweik. "You call him names now, but when he's here you shiver in your shoes."

  Mikulashek's little eyes twinkled.

  "I'd have to think it over a bit."

  "It's no use thinking it over, you silly young chump," shouted Schweik, but then he stopped, because the door opened and Lieutenant Lukash entered. It was at once obvious that he was in a good temper, as his cap was on the wrong way round.

  Mikulashek was so scared that he forgot to jump down from

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  the table, but saluted in a sitting posture, quite overlooking the fact that he had no cap on his head.

  "Beg to report, sir, everything's all right," announced Schweik, assuming a stern military demeanour according to regulations, but omitting to remove the cigarette from his mouth.

  Lieutenant Lukash did not even notice this, and made straight for Mikulashek, who with startled eyes watched his every movement, continuing to salute and remaining seated on the table.

  "I'm Lieutenant Lukash," said the lieutenant, approaching Mikulashek unsteadily, "and what's your name?"

  Mikulashek said nothing. Lieutenant Lukash drew up a chair to the table, sat down, looked at Mikulashek and said :

  "Schweik, fetch me my service revolver from my trunk."

  While Schweik was searching in the trunk, Mikulashek stared in mute horror at the lieutenant.

  "Man alive, what's your name? Are you deaf or what?" shouted the lieutenant.

  Mikulashek still remained silent. As he explained later, the lieutenant's unexpected arrival produced a sort of numbness in him. He wanted to jump down from the table, but could not; he wanted to answer, but could not ; he wanted to stop saluting, but failed.

  "Beg to report, sir," announced Schweik, "the revolver isn't loaded."

  "Then load it."

  "Beg to report, sir, we haven't got any cartridges, and it'd be a hard job to shoot him off the table. I take the liberty of mentioning, sir, that it's Mikulashek, orderly to Major Wenzl. He always gets tongue-tied if he sees any of the officers. He's just too bashful to speak. He's a silly young chump, in fact, he's what you might call a whipper-snapper. It ain't as if there was any need for him to have the wind up, for he ain't done anything."

  Schweik spat to show his complete contempt for Major Wenzl's orderly and his unmilitary behaviour.

  "Sling him out, Schweik."

  Schweik dragged the trembling Mikulashek into the passage, shut the door behind him and said :

  * * *

  "Well, I've saved your life, you young chump. When Major Wenzl comes back, you scrounge a bottle of wine for me and bring it here. And mind you do it, too. I've saved your life, remember. When my lieutenant's tight, he's a tough customer, I tell you. I'm the only one who can manage him when he's like that."

  "I'm -"

  "You're a little tick," said Schweik contemptuously. "Now sit down on the doorstep till your Major Wenzl comes back."

  "You've kept me waiting long enough," said Lieutenant Lu-kash when Schweik had returned to him. "I want to talk to you. There's no need for you to stand at attention in that idiotic manner. Sit down, Schweik, and never mind about the regulations. Hold your tongue and listen to what I've got to say. Do you know where Sopronyi Street is? Now don't start any of your: 'Beg to report, sir, I don't know.' If you don't know, say you don't know and have done with it. Now then, write down on a piece of paper : 16 Sopronyi Street. It's an ironmonger's shop. Do you know what an ironmonger's shop is? For God's sake, don't keep saying: 'Beg to report, sir.' Say: 'Yes' or 'No.' All right, do you know what an ironmonger's shop is? You do? Very well, then. Now this shop belongs to a Magyar named Kâkonyi. Do you know what a Magyar is? Holy Moses, do you or don't you? You do. Very well, then. He lives above the shop on the first floor. Do you know that? You don't know, but damn it all, I'm telling you, aren't I? Do you understand now? You do? All right. If you didn't, I'd have you shoved into clink. Have you made a note of this chap's name? Kâkonyi, I said. Very good. Now then, to-morrow morning at about ten o'clock you'll go into town, you'll find this place, you'll go upstairs to the first floor, and you'll hand this note to Mrs. Kâkonyi."

  Lieutenant Lukash opened his pocketbook and with a yawn he gave Schweik a white envelope bearing no address.

  "This is an extremely important matter, Schweik," he went on. "A man can't be too careful, and that's why I haven't put any address, as you see. I rely on you to hand the note to the proper person. Oh, and just bear in mind that the lady's name is Etelka—write it down; Mrs. Etelka Kâkonyi. And let me also

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  tell you that you're to hand the note over very discreetly, whatever you do, and wait for an answer. Is there anything else you want to know?"

  "Supposing they don't give me an answer, sir, what am I to do then?"

  "Tell them you've got to get an answer, whatever happens," replied the lieutenant, with another wide yawn. "But now I'm going to bed. I'm fagged out. By Jove, we did shift some liquor. I think anybody'd be fagged out after a night like that."

  Originally Lieutenant Lukash had not intended to stop anywhere. He had gone into town that evening because he wanted to visit the Magyar theatre in Kiraly-Hida, where a musical comedy was being played, the chief parts in which were taken by plump Jewesses, who distinguished themselves wonderfully by kicking their legs up in the air when they danced and not wearing any tights or drawers.

  Lieutenant Lukash, however, was not enthralled by this interesting display, because the opera glasses which he had borrowed were not achromatic, and instead of thighs he could see only some violet surfaces moving to and fro.

  In the interval after the first act his attention was attracted by a lady who was accompanied by a middle-aged gentleman. She was pulling him toward the cloak room and saying that they were going home immediately and that she was not going to look at such a disgraceful performance. She was making these remarks very loudly in German, whereupon her companion replied in Magyar :

  "Yes, my angel, let us go. I quite agree. It's really most disgusting."

  "Es ist ekelhaft," said the lady angrily, when the gentleman had helped her on with her opera cloak. And as she spoke her eyes flashed with indignation at such scandalous goings-on, large, dark eyes which were quite in keeping with her handsome presence. She also glanced at Lieutenant Lukash, as she insisted with great emphasis:

  "Ekelhaft, wirklich ekelhaft."

  That proved decisive. The romance had started.

  Lieutenant Lukash learned from the person in charge of the

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  cloak room that this was Mr. and Mrs. Kâkonyi, and that Mr. Kâkonyi kept an ironmonger's shop at 16 Sopronyi Street.

  "And he lives with Mrs. Etelka on the first floor," said the person
in charge of the cloak room with the precision of an ancient procuress. "She's a German lady from Sópron and he's a Magyar. In this town everything's mixed."

  Lieutenant Lukash removed his greatcoat from the cloak room and went into the town, where, in the Archduke Albrecht, a large wineshop and café, he met some officers of the 91st regiment.

  He did not talk much, but made up for it by the amount he drank, as he pondered over what he ought to write to this lady who was so severe, so moral and so handsome, and who attracted him far more than did the whole pack of bitches on the stage, as the other officers styled them.

  He was in a very good temper when he made his way to the St. Stephen's Cross, a small café, where he entered a private room and after chasing away a Rumanian girl there who offered to take off all her clothes and let him do whatever he liked with her, he ordered ink, pen and writing paper, as well as a bottle of cognac, and after careful reflection, he wrote in his best German the following missive, which struck him as being the finest thing he had ever penned. Dear Madame,

  Yesterday evening I was present at the theatre and saw the play which aroused your indignation. Throughout the first act I noticed you and your husband, and I could not help seeing that your husband-

  "I may as well lay it on thick," reflected Lieutenant Lukash. "What business has a chap like that to have such a damn fine wife? Why, he looks like a baboon who's had a shave."

  He continued his letter':

  —your husband evinced considerable appreciation of the disgusting antics which were being performed on the stage, and which met with your strong disapproval, because, far from being artistic, they pandered only to man's baser instinct.

  * * *

  "She's got a damn fine figure," thought Lieutenant Lukash. "Now I'd better come straight to the point."

  I hope you will pardon me, a stranger, for addressing you in this direct manner. In the course of my life I have seen many women, but none of them made such an impression upon me as you did, because your views and your outlook on life are identical with my own. I feel sure that your husband is completely selfish and drags you with him-