* * *
days till I got sick of it, and so I went as bold as brass and asked the lady who was taking him round what they fed him on to make him look so nice. That tickled her no end and she says his favourite grub was cutlets. So I bought him a cutlet. I thinks to myself, that'll do the trick. And believe me or believe me not, that bloody tike wouldn't even look at it, because it was a veal cutlet and he'd been brought up on pork. So I had to buy him a pork cutlet. I let him have a sniff at it and then I starts running, and the dog follows me. The lady yells : 'Puntik, Puntik,' but he'd done a bunk. He follows the cutlet round the corner and when he gets there I put him on the lead, and then next day he was where I wanted him to be. He had some white tufts under his chin, a sort of patch, but they blacked it over and nobody recognized him. All the other dogs I've ever come across, and there's been a tidy few of them, fell for a fried sausage. So the best thing you can do is to ask her what the dog's favourite grub is. You're a well set-up chap, and with your uniform and all, she'll tell you quick enough. I asked her, but she looked daggers at me and said : 'What's that got to do with you?' She's not much to look at, in fact, if you ask me she's a bit of a frump, but she'll talk to a soldier all right."
"Is it a real fox terrier? The lieutenant won't take any other sort."
"Oh, it's a fox terrier all right. A very fine dog, too. Pepper-and-salt, an out-and-out thoroughbred, as sure as your name's Schweik and mine's Blahnik. All I want to know is what grub he eats and I'll bring him to you."
The two friends again clinked glasses. It was from Blahnik that Schweik had obtained his supply of dogs when he used to deal in them before joining the army. And now that Schweik was a soldier, Blahnik considered it his duty to assist him in a disinterested spirit. He knew every dog in the whole of Prague and environs, and on principle he stole only thoroughbred dogs.
At eight o'clock the next morning the good soldier Schweik might have been seen strolling along by the Havlicek Square and the park. He was waiting for the servant girl with the Pomeranian. At last his patience was rewarded. Around her frisked a
* * *
dog with whiskers, a bristly, wiry haired animal with knowing eyes.
The servant girl was rather elderly, with her hair tastefully twisted into a bun. She whistled to the dog and flourished a leash and an elegant hunting crop.
Schweik said to her :
"Excuse me, miss. Which is the way to Zizkov?"
She stopped and looked at him to see whether he was in earnest, and Schweik's good-natured face convinced her that this worthy soldier did really want to go to Zizkov. Her expression showed signs of relenting, and with great readiness she explained to him how he could get to Zizkov.
"I've only just been transferred to Prague," said Schweik. "I'm from the country. You're not from Prague either, are you?"
"I'm from Vodnany."
"Then we're almost neighbours," replied Schweik. "I'm from Protivin."
Schweik's familiarity with the topography of southern Bohemia, which he had once acquired during the manœuvres in that region, caused the servant girl's heart to warm to her fellow-townsman.
"Then I expect you know Pejchar, the butcher on the market square at Protivin?"
"I should think I do. Why, he's my brother. He's a regular favourite in the whole neighbourhood," said Schweik. "He's a good sort, an obliging fellow, he is. Sells good meat and gives good weight."
"Then don't you belong to the Jaresh family?" asked the servant girl, beginning to take to the unknown warrior.
"Yes, of course."
"Which Jaresh is your father, the one at Kertsch or the one at Razice?"
"The one at Razice."
"Does he still go round selling beer?"
"Yes."
"Why, he must be well over sixty."
"He was sixty-eight last spring," replied Schweik with composure. "Now he's got a dog to pull his cart for him. Just like the
* * *
one that's chasing those sparrows. A nice dog, a beautiful little animal."
"That's ours," explained his new lady friend. "I'm in service at the Colonel's. You don't know our colonel, do you?"
"Yes, I do. He's a fine chap, clever, too. We used to have a colonel like him at Budejovice."
"Master's very strict, and a little while ago, when people were saying we'd been beaten in Serbia, he came home in a regular paddy and threw all the plates about in the kitchen and wanted to give me notice."
"So that's your dog, is it?" Schweik interrupted her. "It's a pity that my lieutenant can't stand dogs, because I'm very fond of them."
He lapsed into silence, but suddenly blurted out :
"Of course, it's not every dog that'll eat anything you give it."
"Our Lux is awfully dainty. There was a time he wouldn't eat any meat at all, but he will now."
"And what's he like best?"
"Liver, boiled liver."
"Calves' liver or pig's liver?"
"He doesn't mind which," said Schweik's fellow-countrywoman, with a smile, for she regarded his last question as an unsuccessful attempt at a joke.
They strolled along together for a while, and then they were joined by the Pomeranian. He seemed to take a great fancy to Schweik and tried to tear his trousers as best he could through his muzzle. He kept jumping up at him, but suddenly, as if he guessed Schweik's intentions towards him, he stopped jumping and ambled along with an air of sadness and anxiety, looking askance at Schweik, as much as to say : "So that's what's in store for me, is it?"
The servant girl meanwhile was telling Schweik that she came this way with the dog every evening at six o'clock as well, that she did not trust any man from Prague, that she had once put a matrimonial advertisement in the paper and a locksmith had replied with a view to marriage, but had wheedled 800 crowns out of her for some invention or other and had then disappeared. In the country the people were more honest, of that she was cer-
* * *
tain. If she were to marry, it would have to be a man from the country, but not until the war was over. She thought that war marriages were a mistake, because it generally meant that the woman was left a widow.
Schweik assured her it was highly probable that he would turn up at six o'clock, and he then took his leave, to inform Blahnik that the dog would eat liver of any species.
"I'll let him have ox liver, then," decided Blahnik. "That's what I collared a St. Bernard dog with, and he was a shy animal, he was. I'll bring that dog along to-morrow all right."
Blahnik kept his word. In the afternoon, when Schweik had finished tidying up, he heard a barking noise at the door, and when he opened it, Blahnik came in, dragging with him a refractory Pomeranian which was more bristly than his natural bristli-ness. He was rolling his eyes wildly and his scowl was such that it suggested a starving tiger in a cage being inspected by a well-fed visitor to the Zoological Gardens. He gnashed his teeth and growled, as if expressing his desire to rend and devour.
They tied the dog to the kitchen table, and Blahnik described the procedure by which he had acquired the animal.
"I purposely hung about near him with some boiled liver wrapped up in a piece of paper. He began sniffing and jumping up at me. When I got as far as the park I turns off into Bredovska Street and then I gives him the first bit. He gobbles it up, but keeps on the move all the time so as not to lose sight of me. I turns off into Jindrichska Street and there I gives him another helping. Then, when he'd got that inside him, I puts him on the lead and took him across Vaclav Square to Vinohrady and then on to Vrsovice. And he didn't half lead me a dance. When I was crossing the tram-lines he flops down and wouldn't budge an inch. Perhaps he wanted to get run over. I've brought a blank pedigree form that I got at a stationer's shop. You'll have to fill that up, Schweik."
"It's got to be in your handwriting. Say he comes from the Von Bulow kennels at Leipzig. Father, Arnheim von Kahlsberg, mother, Emma von Trautensdorf, and connected with Siegfried von Busenthal on his father's
side. Father gained first prize at the Berlin Exhibition of Pomeranians in 1912. Mother awarded
* * *
a gold medal by the Nurnberg Thoroughbred Dogs' Society. How old do you think he is?"
"Judging by his teeth, I should say two years."
"Put him down as eighteen months."
"He's been badly cropped, Schweik. Look at his ears."
"That can be put right. We can clip them when he's got used to us. He'd show fight if we was to try it now."
The purloined dog growled savagely, panted, wriggled about, and then, tired out, he lay down, with tongue hanging out, and waited what would befall him. Gradually he became quieter, only from time to time he whined piteously.
Schweik offered him the rest of the liver which Blahnik had handed over. But he refused to touch it, eyeing it disdainfully and looking at both of them, as much as to say : "I've been had once. Now eat it yourselves."
He lay down with an air of resignation, and pretended to be dozing. Then suddenly something flashed across his mind ; he got up and began to stand on his hind legs and to beg with his front paws. He had given in.
This touching scene produced no effect on Schweik.
"Lie down," he shouted at the wretched animal, which lay down again, whining piteously.
"What name shall we shove into his pedigree?" asked Blahnik. "He used to be called Fox, or something of that sort."
"Well, let's call him Max. Look how he pricks up his ears. Stand up, Max."
The unfortunate Pomeranian, which had been deprived both of home and name, stood up and awaited further orders.
"I think we might as well untie him," suggested Schweik. "Let's see what he'll do."
When he was untied, the first thing he did was to make for the door, where he gave three short barks at the handle, evidently relying on the magnanimity of these evil people. But when he saw that they did not fair in with his desire to get out, he made a small puddle in the doorway, thinking, most probably, that they would throw him out, as had always happened on similar occasions when he was a puppy and the Colonel, with military severity, had taught him elementary manners.
* * *
But instead of that, Schweik remarked :
"He's an artful one, he is, as artful as they make 'em," gave him a whack with a strap and wetted his whiskers so thoroughly in the puddle that it was all he could do to lick himself clean.
He whined at this humiliation and began to run about in the kitchen, sniffing desperately at his own tracks. Then, unexpectedly changing his mind, he sat down by the table and devoured the rest of the liver which was on the floor. Whereupon he lay down by the fireplace and ended his spell of adventure by falling asleep.
"What's the damage?" Schweik asked Blahnik, when he got up to go.
"Don't you worry about that, Schweik," said Blahnik tenderly. "I'd do anything for an old pal, especially when he's in the army. Well, so long, lad, and never take him across Havlicek Square, or you'd be asking for trouble. If you want any more dogs, you know where I hang out."
Schweik let Max have a good long nap. He went to the butcher's and bought half a pound of liver, boiled it and waited till Max woke up, when he gave him a piece of the warm liver to sniff at. Max began to lick himself after his nap, stretched his limbs, sniffed at the liver and gulped it down. Then he went to the door and repeated his performance with the handle.
"Max !" shouted Schweik. "Come here."
The dog obeyed gingerly enough, but Schweik took him on his lap and stroked him. Now for the first time since his arrival Max began to wag the remainder of his lopped tail amicably, and playfully grabbed at Schweik's hand, holding it in his paw and gazing at Schweik sagaciously, as much as to say :
"Well, it can't be helped ; I know I got the worst of it."
Schweik went on stroking him and in a gentle voice began to tell him a little story :
"Now there was once a little dog whose name was Fox, and he lived with a colonel. The servant girl took him for a walk and up came a gentleman who stole Fox. Fox got into the army, where his new master was a lieutenant, and now they called him Max. Max, shake hands. Now you see, you silly tike, we'll get on well
* * *
together if you're good and obedient. If you ain't, why, you'll catch it hot."
Max jumped down from Schweik's lap and began to frisk about merrily with him. By the evening, when the lieutenant returned from the barracks, Schweik and Max were the best of friends.
As he looked at Max, Schweik reflected philosophically :
"When you come to think of it, every soldier's really been stolen away from his home."
Lieutenant Lukash was very pleasantly surprised when he saw Max, who on his part also showed great joy at again seeing a man with a sword.
When asked where he came from and how much he cost, Schweik replied with the utmost composure that the dog was a present from a friend of his who had just joined up.
"That's fine, Schweik," said the lieutenant, playing with Max. "On the first of the month I'll let you have fifty crowns for the dog."
"I couldn't take the money, sir."
"Schweik," said the lieutenant sternly, "when you entered my service, I explained to you that you must obey me implicitly. When I tell you that you'll get fifty crowns, you've got to take the money and go on the spree with it. What will you do with the fifty crowns, Schweik?"
"Beg to report, sir, I'll go on the spree with it, as per instructions."
"And if I should happen to forget it, Schweik, you are to remind me to give you the fifty crowns. Do you understand? Are you sure the dog hasn't got fleas? You'd better give him a bath and comb him out. I'm on duty to-morrow, but the day after tomorrow I'll take him for a walk."
While Schweik was giving Max a bath, the Colonel, his former owner, was kicking up a terrible row and threatening that when he found the man who had stolen his dog, he would have him tried by court-martial, he would have him shot, he would have him hanged, he would have him imprisoned for twenty years and he would have him chopped to pieces.
* * *
"There'll be hell to pay when I find the blackguard who did it," bellowed the Colonel till the windows rattled. "I know how to get even with low scoundrels like him."
Above the heads of Schweik and Lieutenant Lukash was hovering a catastrophe.
* * *
15.
The Catastrophe.
Colonel Kraus, who also had a handle to his name, to wit, Von Zillergut, from a village near Salzburg which his ancestors had stripped bare in the Eighteenth Century, was an estimable booby. Whenever he gave an account of anything, he confined himself to concrete details, and stopped every now and then to ask whether his hearers all understood the most elementary terms, as : "So, as I was just saying, gentlemen, there was a window. You know what a window is, don't you?" Or: "A road with ditches along both sides of it is called a highway. Yes, gentlemen. Do you know what a ditch is? A ditch is a sort of cavity
* * *
dug by a gang of labourers. It's a deep gutter. Yes, that's what it is. And they dig it out with shovels. Do you know what a shovel is?"
He had a mania for explaining things and he indulged in it with the enthusiasm of an inventor telling people about the apparatus he has made.
"A book, gentlemen, consists of several quarto sheets of paper, cut into various sizes, covered with print and arranged in proper order, bound and pasted together. Yes. Do you know what paste is, gentlemen? Paste is used for sticking one thing to another."
He was so immoderately idiotic that officers gave him a wide berth, in order not to be informed that the pavement separates the street from the roadway and that it consists of a raised stretch of stonewalk alongside the house fronts. And a house front is that part of a house which we see from the street or the pavement. We cannot see the back part of a house from the pavement, as we can immediately ascertain for ourselves if we step into the roadway.
This interesting fact he was prepared to demonstrate on the
spot. And he would stop officers to embark on interminable conversations about omelettes, sunlight, thermometers, puddings, windows and postage stamps.
The, remarkable thing was that such an imbecile as this should have gained comparatively rapid promotion. During manœuvres he performed regular miracles with his regiment. He never got anywhere in time, he led the regiment in column formation against machine-gun fire, and on one occasion several years previously, during the imperial manœuvres in southern Bohemia, he and his regiment had got completely lost. They turned up in Moravia, where they wandered about for several days, after the manœuvres were all over.
Once at a banquet in the officers' club, when a conversation was started on the subject of Schiller, Colonel Kraus von Zillergut, without the slightest warning, held forth as follows :
"Well, gentlemen, yesterday I saw a steam plough, driven by an engine. Just imagine, gentlemen, an engine, or, rather, not one engine but two engines. I saw smoke, I went nearer, and there was an engine, and on the other side another one. Now, gentle-
* * *
men, don't you think that was ridiculous? Two engines, as if one wasn't enough."
He lapsed into silence, but after a moment announced :
"If the benzine gets used up, the motor car comes to a standstill. It must be so. I saw the thing happen yesterday. And then people talk a lot of twaddle about persistence of forces. Isn't it ridiculous?"
He was extremely devout. He often went to confession, and since the outbreak of the war he had prayed regularly for the success of Austria and Germany. He always flew into a temper when he read in the paper that more prisoners had been captured. He would bellow :
"What's the good of taking prisoners? Shoot the lot. No mercy. Pile up the corpses. Trample on 'em. Burn every damned civilian in Serbia alive. Every man Jack of 'em. And finish the babies off with bayonets."
The Good Soldier Svejk Page 19