The Good Soldier Svejk

by Jaroslav Hasek

  "Beg to report, sir, I ain't standing properly, and that's a fact. Beg to report, sir, I forgot to click my heels together, sir."

  Schweik now remedied this omission in fine style.

  Lieutenant Dub wondered what he was to say next, and finally he growled :

  "Just you pay attention to me once and for all and don't let me have to tell you about it."

  And, as this seemed somehow inconclusive, he tacked on to it his ancient slogan :

  "You don't know me, but I know you."

  He then sent for Kunert, his orderly, and instructed him to fetch a jug of water. To Kunert's credit be it said that he was a long time searching for a jug of water in Turowa Wolska. At last

  * * *

  he succeeded in pilfering a jug from the parish priest and he filled this jug with water from a well which was almost completely boarded up, as the contents of it were suspected of containing typhus germs. Lieutenant Dub drank up the whole jugful without any untoward consequences, thus confirming the truth of the old proverb about ill weeds.

  They were all very much mistaken in supposing that they were going to spend the night at Turowa Wolska.

  Lieutenant Lukash called for Chodounsky, Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek, together with Schweik, the company runner and Baloun. Their instructions were simple. They were to leave their equipment with the ambulance section, to make immediately for Maly Polanec across the fields, and then along the river, downward in a southeastern direction on the road to Liskowiec.

  Schweik, Vanek and Chodounsky were to act as billeting officers and to secure a night's quarters for the company, which would follow them an hour later, or an hour and a half at the outside. Meanwhile, on the spot where he, Lieutenant Lukash, was to spend the night, Baloun was to have a goose roasted and the other three were to keep a sharp eye on Baloun, to prevent him from gobbling up half of it. In addition to this, Vanek, in cooperation with Schweik, was to purchase a hog for the whole company, in proportion to the statutory allowance of meat. Stew was to be cooked that night. The billets must be clean. They were to avoid the vermin-infested huts, so that the troops could get a proper rest, because the company had to leave Liskowiec at half past six in the morning for Krościenko on the way to Starasól.

  While the four of them were setting forth on their way, the parish priest turned up and began to distribute among the troops a leaflet containing a hymn in the various languages of the army. He had a parcel of these hymns which had been left with him by a high church dignitary who was making a motor trip through devastated Galicia, accompanied by a number of young ladies.

  Now there were many latrines at Turowa Wolska, and before long all of them were clogged with these leaflets.

  When it grew dark, the way became extremely unpleasant and the four of them who were to find quarters for the 11th company

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  got into a small wood above a stream which was supposed to lead to Liskowiec.

  Baloun, who for the first time in his life found himself on an errand involving a journey into the unknown, and to whom everything—the darkness, and the fact that they were going on in advance to look for billets—began to appear uncanny, was suddenly gripped by a weird suspicion that all was not as it should be.

  "Comrades," he murmured, as he stumbled along the road above the stream, "our lives have been sacrificed."

  "What do you mean?" asked Schweik in quiet but gruff accents.

  "Comrades, we mustn't make such a row," said Baloun imploringly. "I feel it in my bones they'll hear us and start shooting before we know where we are. I know what I'm talking about. They've sent us on in advance so as to find out whether the enemy are anywhere about, and when they hear the shooting, they'll know they can't go any further. We're what's called an advance patrol, comrades."

  "Well, go on in advance, then," said Schweik. "We'll keep close behind you and when you're shot, just let us know, so as we can duck down in good time. You're a fine soldier, you are, afraid of being shot at. Why, that's the very thing that ought to suit every soldier down to the ground. It stands to reason, the more the enemy fire at him, the quicker they'll use up their ammunition. Every time one of the enemy fires a shot at you, his chances of putting up a good fight get smaller. And at the same time he's glad he can fire at you, because he's got fewer cartridges to carry about, and it's easier for him to do a bunk."

  Baloun sighed deeply :

  "What about my farm?"

  "Farm be blowed!" said Schweik. "It's better for you to lay down your life for the Emperor. Haven't they taught you that?"

  "They did say something about it," said the boobyish Baloun. "But I wish the Emperor'd fed us better."

  "Well, you are a greedy hog and no mistake," objected Schweik. "Before going into action a soldier didn't ought to get anything to eat at all. Captain Untergriez used to tell us that, years and years ago. 'You damned gang of skunks,' he said, 'if

  * * *

  ever there's a war, take good care not to overeat yourselves before you go into action. Anyone who overeats himself and then gets shot in the stomach is done for, because all the soup and army-bread starts spurting out of his inside and the inflammation finishes him off on the spot. But if his stomach's empty, a wound like that is nothing at all, just a mere fleabite, only nicer."

  Below, in the village where they were to find quarters for the company, it was pitch-dark, and all the dogs began to yelp, the result being that the expedition was brought to a standstill to discuss how these brutes could be dealt with.

  "Suppose we went back?" whispered Baloun.

  "If we did that," said Schweik, "you'd be shot for cowardice."

  The yelping of the dogs became worse and worse, and Schweik yelled into the nocturnal gloom :

  "Lie down, you varmints, lie down, will you !" just as he used to yell at his own dogs when he was still a dog fancier. This made them bark all the more, and so Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek said:

  "Don't yell at them, Schweik, or vou'll set every blessed dog in Galicia barking at us."

  As they descended toward the village, Schweik favoured them with recollections of his experiences with dogs during the army manoeuvres, and he also pointed out that dogs are afraid of lighted cigarettes at night. Unfortunately none of them had any cigarettes to smoke, so that Schweik's suggestion produced no positive results. It turned out, however, that the dogs were barking for joy, because they had pleasant memories of the troops who had previously passed that way and had always left them something to feed on. From afar they had scented the approach of people who would leave them bones and carcases of horses. And so before Schweik knew where he was, four curs were fawning upon him, their tails wagging with delight. Schweik stroked and patted them as he said in wheedling tones :

  "Well, here we are at last. We've come here to have a nice little snooze, a nice little feed ; we'll give you some nice little bones and some nice little crusts, and to-morrow morning off we go again to fight the enemy."

  Lights began to appear in the cottages and when they knocked

  * * *

  at the door of the first cottage, to find out where the mayor lived, a shrill and grating female voice was heard from within, announcing in a language which was neither Polish nor Ukrainian, that her husband was fighting at the front, that her children had got smallpox, that the Russians had taken everything away with them, and that before her husband had gone to the front, he had told her never to open the door to anyone at night. It was only when they had emphasized their attack on the door by insisting that they had been sent to look for billets that an unknown hand let them in, and they then discovered that this was actually the residence of the mayor, who unsuccessfully tried to make Schweik believe that he had not imitated the shrill female voice. He explained that when his wife was suddenly woken up, she would start talking at random, without knowing what she said. As regards quarters for the whole company, the village was so tiny, he said, that there wasn't room for a single soldier in it. There was no place at al
l for them to sleep. Nor was there anything on sale ; the Russians had taken all there was. He suggested that if the gentlemen would kindly allow him, he would take them to Krościenko, three-quarters of an hour further on. That was a place with large estates and they would find plenty of room there. Every soldier would be able to wrap himself up in a sheepskin, and there were so many cows that every soldier would be able to fill his mess tin with milk. There was good water, too, and the officers would be able to sleep in a mansion there. But here, in Liskowiec ! A wretched, scabby, verminous place ! He himself had once had five cows, but the Russians had taken everything from him, so that when he wanted milk for his sick children, he had to go as far as Krościenko.

  In proof of this, the cows in the byre adjoining his cottage began to low and the shrill female voice could be heard abusing the unfortunate animals and expressing the hope that they might fall a prey to cholera. But this did not nonplus the mayor, who said as he proceeded to put on his top boots :

  "The only cow we've got here belongs to my neighbour, and that's the one you've just heard. It's a sick cow, a wretched animal, worthy sirs. The Russians took her calf away from her. Ever since then she's stopped giving milk, but the owner feels

  * * *

  sorry for her and he won't slaughter her because he hopes that the Blessed Virgin will put things right again."

  During this speech he had been putting on his sheepskin coat.

  "Now we'll go to Krościenko, worthy sirs," he continued ; "it's only three-quarters of an hour from here. No, what am I saying, wretched sinner that I am?—it's not as far as that ; it won't take even half an hour. I know a short cut across the stream and then through a small birch wood round by an oak tree. It's a large village and they've got very strong vodka there. Let's go now, worthy sirs. You must not lose any time. The soldiers of your famous regiment must be given a proper and comfortable place to rest in. The soldiers of our king and emperor who are fighting against the Russians need clean quarters to spend the night in. But here in our village there's nothing but vermin, smallpox and cholera. Yesterday, in this cursed village of ours, three men turned black with the cholera. The most merciful God has cursed Liskowiec, worthy sirs."

  At this point Schweik waved his hand majestically.

  "Worthy sirs," he said, mimicking the mayor's voice, "I once read in a book that when the Swedish wars were on, and there was orders to billet the troops in such and such a village, and the mayor tried to get out of it and wouldn't oblige them, they hung him up pn the nearest tree. And then a Polish corporal was telling me to-day at Sanok that when the billeting officers arrive the mayor has to call together all the chief men of the village and then he just goes round with them to the cottages and says : Three men here, four men there, officers in the parsonage, and everything's got to be ready in half an hour.

  "Worthy sir," continued Schweik, turning to the mayor, "whereabouts is the nearest tree?"

  The mayor did not understand the meaning of the word "tree," and so Schweik explained to him that it was a birch or an oak, or something that plums or apples grew on, or, in fact, anything with strong branches. The mayor did not quite understand this either, but when he heard the names of fruit being mentioned, he became alarmed because the cherries were now ripe, and so he said that he knew nothing about that kind of thing, but that there was an oak tree in front of his cottage.

  * * *

  "AU right, then," said Schweik, with an international gesture to denote hanging, "we'll hang you up in front of your cottage, because you've got to understand that there's a war on and we've got orders to sleep here and not in Krościenko or wherever it is. You're not going to change our military plans, and if you try to, you'll swing for it, like in that book about the Swedish wars. I remember, gentlemen, there was a case like this during the manœuvres at -"

  Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek interrupted.

  "Tell us about that later," he said, and then, turning to the mayor, he added:

  "Now then, wake 'em all up and we'll find our billets."

  The mayor began to tremble and stammered something about being anxious to do the best for the worthy sirs, but if it had to be, why, perhaps they could find room in the village after all, with everything to their satisfaction, and he'd bring a lantern at once.

  When he had gone out of the room, which was very scantily illuminated by a small oil lamp underneath the image of some saint or other, Chodounsky suddenly exclaimed :

  "Where's Baloun got to?"

  But before they could take proper stock of the place, the door behind the stove, which led to some outer place, quietly opened, and Baloun squeezed his way in. He looked round cautiously to see if the mayor was still there, and then said snufflingly as if he had a terrible cold :

  "I've been in the larder and shoved my hand into something and took a mouthful of it, and now it all keeps sticking together. It ain't salty and it ain't sweet ; it's dough for making bread with."

  Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek flashed an electric torch on him, and they all agreed that never in their lives had they seen an Austrian soldier in such a ghastly mess. Then they had quite a scare, because they saw Baloun's tunic swelling up as if he were in the last stage of pregnancy.

  "What have you been up to, Baloun?" inquired Schweik compassionately, as he prodded him in the bulging stomach.

  "That's gherkins," wheezed Baloun, stifled by the dough, which wouldn't move up nor down. "Be careful, that's salt gher-

  * * *

  kins. I ate three of 'em in a bit of a hurry, and brought the rest for you."

  Baloun began to extract gherkin after gherkin from beneath his tunic and handed them round.

  At this juncture the mayor appeared on the threshold, with a light, and seeing what had happened, he crossed himself and lamented :

  "The Russians took everything, and now our soldiers are taking everything, too."

  They then all proceeded into the village, escorted by a pack of dogs who clung most obstinately to Baloun and pranced at his trouser pockets, where he had a lump of bacon. This was another of his finds in the pantry, but for sheer gluttony he had basely kept it to himself.

  As they went round in search of billets, they ascertained that Liskowiec was a large place but that it really had been reduced to dire straits by the turmoil of war. It had not actually incurred any damage by fire, as, miraculously enough, neither side had included it in the sphere of operations, but on the other hand the inhabitants of neighbouring villages which had been destroyed were now crowded into it. In some huts there were as many as eight families living in the greatest misery, after all the losses they had suffered as a result of the pillage arising from the war, the first phase of which had swamped them like the turbulent waves of a flood.

  The company had to be quartered partly in a small devastated distillery at the other end of the village, where half of them could be accommodated in the fermenting room. The rest, in batches of ten, were billeted on a number of farms, the wealthy owners of which had refused to admit any of the poverty-stricken rabble who had been reduced to beggary by being robbed of their goods and chattels.

  The staff, with all the officers, Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek, orderlies, telephone operators, ambulance section, cooks and Schweik, quartered themselves in the parsonage, where there was plenty of room, because the incumbent had likewise refused to admit any of the families who had lost all their possessions.

  He was a tall, gaunt old man in a faded and greasy cassock,

  * * *

  who was so stingy that he would scarcely eat anything. His father had brought him up in great hatred of the Russians, but he suddenly got rid of his hatred when the Russians withdrew and the Austrian troops arrived, eating up all the geese and chickens which the Russians had not interfered with, while a few shaggy Cossacks had been quartered on him. And his grudge against the Austrian troops had increased when the Magyars had come into the village and taken all the honey from his hives. He now looked daggers at his nocturnal gue
sts, and if did him good to be able to shrug his shoulders and declare, as he paced to and fro before them:

  "I've got nothing. I'm a complete pauper and you won't find so much as a slice of bread here."

  Baloun looked particularly upset to hear of this distress, and it was a wonder he did not burst into tears. He found his way into the kitchen of the parsonage, upon which a sharp eye was being kept by a lanky youth acting as both handy-man and cook to the incumbent, who had given him strict orders to see that nothing, was stolen anywhere. And Baloun had found nothing in the kitchen, except a little caraway seed wrapped up in paper inside a salt cellar. So he had made short work of that.

  In the yard of the small distillery behind the parsonage the fires were alight under the field cookers, and the water was already on the boil, but there was nothing in the water. The quartermaster-sergeant and the cooks had searched the village from end to end for a pig, but no pig had they found. Everywhere they obtained the same answer : the Russians had taken and eaten everything.

  Then they knocked up the Jew in the tavern. He tugged at his side curls and displayed enormous distress at not being able to oblige them. But in the end he induced them to buy from him an ancient cow, a relic of the previous century, a gaunt eyesore on its last legs, a sheer mass of skin and bone. He demanded an exorbitant sum for this appalling object, and tearing his side curls he swore that they would not find another cow like this in the whole of Galicia, in the whole of Austria and Germany, in the whole of Europe, in the whole world. He wailed, whined and protested that this was the fattest cow which had ever come into the world at Jehovah's behest. He vowed by all his forefathers that

  * * *

  people came from far and wide to look at this cow, that the whole countryside talked about this cow as a legend, that, in fact, it was no cow at all, but the juiciest of oxen. Finally, he kneeled down before them, and clutching at the knees of one after another, he exclaimed :