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Anti-war essays, poems, short stories and literary excerpts
Jaroslav Hašek: Bathe in the blood of the enemy and slaughter them all as Herod did the babies
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Jaroslav Hašek
From The Good Soldier Schweik (1923)
Translated by Paul Selver
Captain Sagner then had a brief talk with Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek. He merely reminded him that the keeper of the battalion records, volunteer officer Marek, would be in the same truck with Schweik.
“I may as well tell you that this fellow Marek is a political suspect. Of course, that doesn’t mean much to-day. Lots of people are supposed to be that. But if he should start any talk of that kind, you know what I mean, just jump on him at once so that I shan’t have the unpleasant job of inquiring into it. Just tell him to drop all that sort of talk and that’ll be all right. But I don’t want you to come running to me. Tell him off, but do it in a friendly way. A little coaxing like that is always better than a lot of idiotic speechifying. Anyhow, I don’t want to hear anything about it, because – You see what I mean. That’s the sort of thing that spreads all over a battalion.”
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Marek, the volunteer officer, who at last, after all his tribulations, had managed to get a job as keeper of battalion records, was seated at the folding table. He was preparing an advance and reserve stock of heroic deeds for the battalion, and it was plain that this peep into the future was causing him much amusement.
Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek looked on with interest at the volunteer officer who, with a broad grin, was writing busily. Presently, he stood up and looked over the shoulder of the volunteer officer, who began to explain matters to him:
“This is no end of a lark, laying up stocks of history for the battalion. The chief thing is to go about the job in a systematic way. There’s got to be system in the whole business.”
“A systematic system,” remarked Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek, with a more or less contemptuous smile.
“Yes,” said the volunteer officer in an offhand tone, “a systematized, systematic system for writing the history of the battalion. It’s no use coming out with great victories right at the very start. The whole thing’s got to take its course gradually and according to a definite plan. One battalion can’t win the war right off. The important thing for a painstaking historian like me to do is first of all to draw up a general scheme of the victories we’re going to win. For example, this is where I describe how our battalion, about two months from now, nearly crosses the Russian frontier, which is strongly guarded, let us say, by some regiments of Don Cossacks, while a number of enemy divisions are about to surround us by a flanking movement. At first sight, it looks as if our battalion’s done for and that they’ll make mincemeat of us. But then Captain Sagner issues this order to the battalion: ‘It is not God’s will that we should perish here; let us retreat.’ So our battalion takes to its heels, but the enemy division, which has now surrounded us, sees that we’re really chasing after them, and so they begin to take fright and skedaddle, so that without firing a shot they get captured by our reserves. That’s where the history of our battalion really begins. From quite a trifling event, if I may speak prophetically, Sergeant, matters of great moment develop. Our battalion passes from victory to victory. It’ll be interesting to see how our battalion takes the enemy by surprise while they’re asleep. Each man in the battalion will pick one of the enemy and with all his might will shove his bayonet through his chest. The bayonets, with their well-ground edges, will slide in as if they were cutting butter, and only here and there you’ll hear a rib cracking. The bodies of the sleeping enemy will twitch, their eyes, horrified but already sightless, will bulge, they will make gurgling noises and then grow rigid. Blood and foam will appear on the lips of the sleeping enemy and that will end the whole business. Our battalion will score a victory. Or it’ll be even better, say, in about three months’ time, when our battalion captures the Czar. But we’ll talk about that later on, Sergeant. In the meanwhile I must lay in a stock of little incidents giving proof of unexampled bravery. Thus, I’ll write about the dogged self-sacrifice of our men when they are studded with bits of hand grenade. And then, through the explosion of an enemy mine, one of our sergeants, say, of the 12th or 13th company, will have his head blown off. And, by the way,” continued Marek, with a gesture indicating sudden remembrance, “I nearly forgot to tell you, Sergeant, to get me a list of all the N. C. O.’s. Tell me the name of one of the sergeant-majors in the 12th company. Houska? Very well, then, Houska’s going to have his head blown off by this mine. His head will fly off, but his body will go on walking for another few yards, he’ll take aim and shoot down an enemy aeroplane. Of course, the royal family will have to arrange a special evening party in their own home to celebrate exploits of that kind. Quite a select affair, to be held in the apartment next to the Emperor’s bedroom. The place will be lit up with candles only, because, as I expect you know, electric light is unpopular in court circles, on account of our aged monarch’s prejudice against short circuits. The festivities in honour of our battalion will begin at six p. m. At that hour the grandchildren of His Royal Highness will be in bed, and after the Emperor has proposed a toast to our draft, a few words will be said by the Archduchess Marie Valerie, who will refer to you, Sergeant, in terms of approval. I tell you, Austria’s got lots and lots of battalions, but ours is the only one that’ll distinguish itself to that extent. Of course, from the notes I have made, it is evident that our battalion will suffer severe and irretrievable losses, because a battalion without any dead can hardly be called a battalion. A fresh article will have to be written about our losses. Victories are all very well in their way, and I’ve got about forty-two of ‘em on tap now. But the history of the battalion has got to be something more than a string of dry facts about victories. So, as I say, there’s got to be plenty of losses as well. For instance, Sergeant, you’re going west by the side of a brook, and Baloun here, who’s squinting at us with such a queer look in his eyes, is not going to be done in by a bullet or by shrapnel or by a bomb. No, he’s going to be strangled by a lasso chucked out of an enemy aeroplane just at the moment when he’s guzzling Lieutenant Lukash’s lunch. But don’t get the wind up, Baloun. You’ll be mentioned all right in the history of the battalion and there’ll be an account of how you met death like a hero, grub in mouth, on the way from the officers’ mess to the trenches. You’ll be mentioned along with all the men of our battalion who fell for the glory of our empire, like Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek here.”
“What sort of a death have you got me down for, Marek?” “Wait a bit, Sergeant. Don’t be in such a hurry. You’ve got to go slow with this sort of thing.”
The volunteer officer lapsed into thought. Then he said: “You’re from Kralupy, aren’t you? Very well, then, you write home to Kralupy and tell them that you’re going to vanish without a trace, but be careful how you put it. Or perhaps you’d rather be gravely wounded behind the barbed wire in no-man’s-land. We can leave you lying there quite nicely with a broken leg all day long. In the night the enemy will get at our position with a searchlight and then they’ll spot you. So they’ll strafe you with plenty of bombs and shrapnel. You’ll have rendered invaluable services to the army because the enemy will use up as much ammunition on you as on the whole battalion and your ingredient parts and accessories will sail about in the air and chant a great anthem of victory. And in the same way everyone in the battalion will have his turn at distinguishing himself, until, say somewhere in September, there’ll be nothing left of us except these glorious pages of history which will thrill the hearts of all Austrians. And this is how I’ve wound up the whole thing, Sergeant: All honour to the memory of the fallen! Their love for our monarchy is the holiest love, for it culminates in death. Let their names, e.g., Vanek, be uttered with awe. And they who were most closely affected by the loss of their bread winners — let them proudly dry their tears, for they who fell were the heroes of our battalion.”
Chodounsky the telephonist and Jurajda the cook were listening with bated breath to the volunteer officer’s account of the projected history of the battalion.
“Gather round, gentlemen,” said the volunteer officer, turning over his collection of jottings. “I’ve got you all down. Here we are, page 15, Telephonist Chodounsky fell on September 3rd, side by side with Jurajda the battalion cook. Just listen here to what I’ve written about you: ‘Unexampled heroism. The former, at the risk of his life, protected the telephone wires in his bombproof shelter, remaining there at the telephone for three days without being relieved. The latter, seeing the menace from the enemy on the flank, hurled himself on the enemy with a cauldron of boiling soap, spreading terror and scalds among the enemy. Both died a glorious death. The former blown to pieces by a mine, the latter suffocated by poison gas. Both perished with the cry (in German): ‘Long live our battalion commander!’ The supreme command can only show its gratitude by issuing orders acquainting the rest of the army with the gallantry of our battalion and urging them to take an example from us. Here’s an extract from an army order which will be read to all detachments. I may say that it’s very much like the order issued by Archduke Karl in 1805, on the day before he and his army got a devil of a walloping at Padua: ‘I hope that the whole army will take the above-mentioned battalion as an example and in particular will gird itself with that spirit of self-reliance, self-confidence and unwavering dauntlessness in the face of danger, that unexampled heroism, that attachment to and confidence in their superior officers, in short, with all those virtues by which this battalion distinguished itself and led it on to memorable exploits, to the welfare and victory of our Emperor.’”
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