The Good Soldier Svejk (54 page)

2.

At Budapest.

At the railway station in Budapest, Matushitch brought Captain Sagner a telegram from the command, sent by the wretched brigade commander who had been taken to a sanatorium. It was
au clair
and identical with the one delivered at the previous station : "Finish cooking promptly and advance on Sokol." To it was added: "Assign army service corps to eastern group. Reconnoitring work to be discontinued. Draft No. 13 to build bridge over River Bug. Further particulars in newspapers."

Captain Sagner at once proceeded to the railway transport

headquarters. He was received by a fat little major with a friendly smile.

"This brigade general of yours has been up to fine old pranks," he said, chuckling with gusto. "I had to deliver the drivel to you because we haven't yet had any instructions from the division that his telegrams are to be kept back. Yesterday the 14th draft of the 75th regiment passed through here and the battalion commander had a telegram to say he was to issue six crowns extra pay to each man as a bonus for Przemyśl, and also that of these six crowns two were to be deposited here in the office as subscription to war loan. From what I hear on good authority, your brigade-general has got G. P. I."

"According to regimental orders, sir," said Captain Sagner to the railway transport officer, "we are to proceed to Gôdôlô. Each man is to be given five ounces of Emmenthaler cheese here. At the last stopping place they were to receive five ounces of Hungarian salami. But they got nothing."

"I expect that's what'll happen here, too," replied the major, still smiling affably. "I don't know anything about such orders, at least as far as the Czech regiments are concerned." He spoke the last words meaningly. "Anyway, that's not my business. You'd better apply to the commissariat."

"When are we leaving, sir?"

"In front of you there's a train with heavy artillery for Galicia. We're starting it off in an hour's time. On the third track there's a hospital train. That's leaving twenty-five minutes after the artillery. On track No. 12 we've got a munition train. That leaves ten minutes after the hospital train and twenty minutes after that your train's leaving.

"That is, of course, if there are no changes," he added, still smiling in a manner which made Captain Sagner feel quite sick.

"Excuse me, sir," Captain Sagner then asked. "Can you explain to me why you know nothing about orders relating to the issue of five ounces of Emmenthaler cheese per man in the Czech regiments?"

"There's a special proviso about that," answered the railway transport officer at Budapest, still smiling.

"I suppose I was asking for it," thought Captain Sagner to himself, as he left the office. "Why the devil didn't I tell Lieutenant Lukash to call together all platoon commanders and go with them to the commissariat to fetch five ounces of Emmenthaler cheese per man?"

Before Lieutenant Lukash, commander of the nth company, could carry out the orders of Captain Sagner relating to the procedure to be followed in respect of the issue of five ounces of Emmenthaler cheese per man, Schweik made his appearance before him, accompanied by the wretched Baloun.

Baloun was trembling from head to foot.

"Beg to report, sir," said Schweik with his customary
aplomb,
"this is most important matter, sir. I'd take it as a favour, sir, if we could just step on one side to talk it over, like one of my friends who was best man at a wedding and while he was in church he suddenly wanted to -"

"Well, what is it, Schweik?" interrupted Lieutenant Lukash, who had already begun to pine for Schweik, as much as Schweik for Lieutenant Lukash. "We can just walk on a little."

Baloun followed behind them, still trembling all over. He had quite lost his composure and was dangling his arms in the last stages of despair.

"Well, what is it, Schweik?" repeated Lieutenant Lukash, when they had moved a little further on.

"Beg to report, sir," said Schweik, "that it is always better to own up to a thing before the row starts. You gave definite orders, sir, that when we got to Budapest Baloun was to bring you your liver paste and rolls.

"Did you get that order or not?" added Schweik, turning to Baloun.

Baloun began to dangle his arms still more, as if he were about to defend himself against the onset of an enemy.

"I'm sorry to say, sir," continued Schweik, "that your order couldn't be carried out. I ate your liver paste.

"I ate it," went on Schweik, nudging the horrified Baloun, "because I thought it might go bad. I've read over and over again in the papers that whole families have been poisoned with liver paste. There was one at Zderaz, another at Beroun, another at

Tâbor, another at Mladâ Boleslav, another at Pribram. They was all finished off by the poison. Liver paste's shocking stuff."

Baloun, meanwhile, was standing on one side in a state of huge trepidation.

"What's the matter with you, Baloun?" asked Lieutenant Lukash.

"B-b-beg t-to re-re-port, s-s-sir," began the wretched Baloun, "I—I—I a-a-ate it."

"You see how it is, sir," said Schweik, as cool as a cucumber. "I was going to take the blame on myself, and then this silly ass blurts it all out and gives himself away. He's not a bad sort, you know, sir, but he eats up everything that's put in his charge. I used to know another chap like that. He was a commissionaire in a bank. You could trust him with thousands. Why, one day he went to another bank to fetch some money and they gave him a thousand crowns too much and he took it back on the spot. But send him for a quarter of a pound of meat, and he'd eat half of it up before he got back. He was such a one for his grub that when the clerks used to send him to fetch liver sausage, he'd scoop lumps out with a pocketknife on the way and plug up the holes with court-plaster that cost him more for five sausages than a whole sausage would have done."

Lieutenant Lukash sighed and walked away.

"Any more orders, sir?" Schweik shouted after him.

Lieutenant Lukash waved him aside and proceeded to the commissariat. The odd idea struck him that when the troops were eating liver paste belonging to officers, there wasn't much chance for Austria to win the war.

The signal was given for the train to start, and the men again returned without any rations. Instead of the five ounces of Emmenthaler cheese which was to have been served out, they each received a box of matches and a picture postcard, issued by the Austrian War Graves Committee. Instead of five ounces of Emmenthaler cheese, they were provided with a picture of the Western Galician Military Cemetery, with a monument to some unfortunate militiamen which had been prepared by Scholz, a sculptor and a volunteer sergeant-major, who had successfully managed to dodge the front.

There was quite a hum of excitement in the vicinity of the staff carriage. The officers of the draft had gathered round Captain Sagner, who was excitedly explaining something to them. He had just come back from the railway transport office, where he had received a very confidential (and genuine) telegram from brigade headquarters, a telegram containing news of far-reaching importance and accompanied by instructions as to how to act in the new situation which had arisen for Austria on May 22, 1915.

The telegram from the brigade stated that Italy had declared war on Austria-Hungary.

While they were still in Bruck, the officers during meals had frequently discussed, with their mouths full, the strange behaviour of Italy, but on the whole nobody had expected that the prophetic words of that fool of a Cadet Biegler would be fulfilled. One night at supper he had thrust from him a plate of macaroni and declared :

"I won't eat any of that stuff till I reach the gates of Verona."

Captain Sagner, having perused the instructions just received from the brigade, gave orders for the alarm to be sounded.

When the whole draft had assembled, the men were drawn up in a square, and Captain Sagner, in an unusually solemn voice, read them the telegraphic message which had reached him from the brigade.

"As the result of unparalleled treachery and greed, the King of Italy has forgotten the fraternal agreement by which he was bound as an ally of our monarchy. Since the outbreak of the war, the treacherous King of Italy has been playing a double game and carrying on secret negotiations with our enemies, and this treachery reached its climax on May 22nd-23rd, by the declaration of war on our monarchy. Our supreme commander is convinced that our ever staunch and glorious troops will reply to this vile treachery on the part of a faithless ally with such a blow that the traitor will realize how, by having started war basely and treacherously, he was preparing his own destruction. We firmly trust that with God's help the day will soon dawn when the plains of Italy will again see the victor of Santa Lucia, Vicenza, Novara, Custozza. We desire to conquer, we must conquer, and assuredly we shall conquer !"

After that they gave the usual three cheers, and the troops got back into the train, feeling rather dazed. Instead of five ounces of Emmenthaler cheese, they had war with Italy foisted off upon them.

In the truck in which Schweik was sitting with Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek and Chodounsky the telephonist, Baloun and Jurajda the cook, an interesting conversation had started on the subject of Italy's entry into the war.

"Well, now that we've got another war," remarked Schweik, "now that we've got one more enemy and a new front, we'll have to be more economical with the ammunition. 'The more kids there are in a family, the more canes are needed.' That's what old Cho-vanec used to say. He lived at Motol and he used to wallop all the kids in the neighbourhood at a flat rate, as they say."

"All I'm afraid of is," said Baloun with great concern, "that this Italian business is going to mean smaller rations."

Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek reflected and then said gravely :

"It's bound to, because now it'll take us a bit longer to win the war."

"What we want now," declared Schweik, "is another chap like Radetzky. He knew his way about in those parts and how to catch the Italians napping and what places to bombard and from what side to do it. It's an easy enough job to get into a place. Anybody can manage that. But getting out again, that's how a man shows if he's good at soldiering or not. When you find your way in, you've got to know everything that's going on all round you, or else all of a sudden you'll find your number's up and you're in what they call a catastrophe. But old Radetzky, he knew every inch of the ground, he did, and they could never get at him. Once I read in a book about him how he skedaddled from Santa Lucia and the Italians skedaddled too, and it wasn't until the next day that he discovered that it was really him who'd won, because he couldn't spot any Italians there, even though he had a squint through a telescope. So back he goes as large as life, and made himself at home in Santa Lucia. They made him a field-marshal for doing that."

Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek had a sneaking regard for

Italy. In his drugstore at home he did a side line in lemonade which he manufactured from decayed lemons, and he always obtained the cheapest and most decayed lemons from Italy. Now there wouldn't be any more lemons coming from Italy to Vanek's drugstore at Kralup. There could be no doubt that the war with Italy was going to produce many awkward surprises like that.

Baloun, meanwhile, had been laboriously pondering about something, until finally he asked Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek, in a scared voice :

"Then you think, Sergeant, that all along of this war with Italy we're going to have smaller rations served out?"

"You bet we are," replied Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek.

"God Almighty !" exclaimed Baloun, sinking his head in his hands and squatting glumly in a corner.

This definitely concluded the debate on Italy.

In the staff carriage, the conversation on the latest turn of events, brought about by Italy's entry into the war, would certainly have been very dull, now that Cadet Biegler, that great expert on military strategy, was no longer there, if he had not been replaced, to a certain extent, by Lieutenant Dub of the 3rd company.

In civil life Lieutenant Dub was a school master who taught Czech as a special subject, and even before the war he had displayed an extraordinary propensity for ramming his loyalty down people's throats on every possible occasion. The subjects for essays which he used to choose for his pupils were all taken from the history of the House of Habsburg. He had once set the top class an essay on "Emperor Franz Josef I as a Patron of the Arts and Sciences," and the result of this had been that one pupil was disqualified from ever again entering a secondary school in the Austro-Hungarian Empire for having written that this ruler's finest achievement had been to establish the Franz Josef I Bridge in Prague.

He always made a point of seeing that on the Emperor's birthday and other imperial festivities all his pupils sang the Austrian anthem with due enthusiasm. He was disliked among his fellow-townsmen because he was known to keep on the right side of the powers that be by telling tales about his colleagues. Among the

local dignitaries he formed one of a trio composing the biggest imbeciles and bigots, and consisting
of himself, the
district chief of police and the headmaster of the local
grammar school.

Lieutenant Dub now began to hold forth in the tones
of a
priggish school master :