LITTLE FAT MAN: I can translate it for you. The banner high / And tightly closed the columns / Storm troops march on with firm and steady tread. / The comrades who have shed their heroes’ blood before us / March on with us in spirit straight ahead.
SCHWEYK: I know a different version, we used to sing it at the Chalice. He sings to the accompaniment of the military band, singing the chorus to the tune and the verses to the drumming in between:
Led by the drummer the
Sheep trot in bleating.
Their skins make the drumskin
Which he is beating.
The butcher calls. They don’t see where he’s leading
But march like sheep with firm and steady tread.
The sheep before them in the slaughterhouse lie bleeding
And march in spirit once their body’s dead.
They hold up their hands to show
The work that they do
Hands that are stained with blood
And empty too.
The butcher calls. They don’t see where he’s leading
But march like sheep with firm and steady tread.
The sheep before them in the slaughterhouse lie bleeding
And march in spirit once their body’s dead.
The crosses that go before
On big blood-red banners
Are angled to twist the poor
Like bloody great spanners.
The butcher calls. They don’t see where he’s leading
But march like sheep with firm and steady tread.
The sheep before them in the slaughterhouse lie bleeding
And march in spirit once their body’s dead.
The other prisoners have joined in the second and third choruses. At the end the cell door opens and a German military doctor appears.
DOCTOR: Nice of you all to join in the singing so merrily. You’ll be pleased to know that I consider you all healthy enough to join the army, and that you’re hereby enlisted. Stand up, the lot of you, and put your shirts on. Ready to move off in ten minutes. Exit.
The prisoners, crushed, put their shirts on again.
BENT MAN: Without a medical examination it’s completely illegal.
DYING MAN: I’ve got cancer of the stomach, I can prove it.
SCHWEYK to the little fat man: They’ll put us in different units, I’m told, so we’re not together and can’t start buggering about. All the best, Mr Vojta, pleased to meet you, and see you all again in the Chalice at six o’clock after the war.
Schweyk, greatly moved, shakes everyone’s hand as the cell door opens again. He marches out first, smartly.
SCHWEYK: Heitler! On to Moscow!
8
Weeks later. Deep in the wintry Russian steppes Hitler’s good soldier Schweyk is marching to join his unit in the Stalingrad area. He is muffled up in a huge pile of clothes on account of the cold.
SCHWEYK sings:
When we marched off to Jaromiř
Believe it, you folks, or not
We reached the town at suppertime
And got there on the dot.
A German patrol challenges him.
FIRST SOLDIER: Halt! Password!
SCHWEYK: ‘Blitzkrieg!’ Could you tell me the way to Stalingrad, I’ve got accidentally separated from my draft and I’ve been marching all day.
The first soldier examines his army papers.
SECOND SOLDIER passing his flask: Where are you from?
SCHWEYK: Budweis.
SOLDIER: Then you’re a Czech.
SCHWEYK nods: I’ve heard things aren’t too good up at the front. The two soldiers look at each other and laugh grimly.
FIRST SOLDIER: What would a Czech be looking for up there?
SCHWEYK: I’m not looking for anything, I’m coming to help protect civilization against Bolshevism just like you, or else it’ll be a bullet in the guts, am I right?
FIRST SOLDIER: You could be a deserter.
SCHWEYK: Not me, because you’d shoot me on the spot for breaking my oath as a soldier and not dying for my Führer, Heil Hitler.
SECOND SOLDIER: So you’re one of the keen ones, are you? Takes his flask back.
SCHWEYK: I’m as keen as Tonda Novotny when he applied at the vicarage in Vysocany for the job of sexton not knowing if the church was protestant or Catholic, and because the vicar was in his braces and there was a woman in the room he said he was a protestant and got it wrong for a start.
FIRST SOLDIER: And why must it be Stalingrad of all places, you doubtful ally?
SCHWEYK: Because that’s where my regimental office is, mate, where I’ve got to get my papers stamped to show I’ve reported, otherwise they’re bugger all use and I shan’t be able to show my face in Prague again. Heil Hitler!
FIRST SOLDIER: And suppose we said to you ‘Sod Hitler!’ and we’re deserting to the Russians and taking you with us because you can speak Russian, because Czech is supposed to be like it.
SCHWEYK: Czech’s very like it, but I’d say you’d do better not to, I don’t know my way around here and I’d sooner get directions to Stalingrad.
FIRST SOLDIER: Perhaps you’d rather not trust us—is that the reason?
SCHWEYK: I’d rather think you were good soldiers. Because if you were deserting you’d be bound to be taking something with you for the Russians, a machine-gun or something, maybe a good telescope, something they could use, and you’d hold it up in front of you so they wouldn’t shoot you at sight. That’s the way it’s done, I’m told.
FIRST SOLDIER laughs: You mean they’ll understand that even if it isn’t Russian. I get you, you’re a crafty bastard. And you’d sooner say you just want to know where your grave at Stalingrad is. It’s that way. He shows him.
SECOND SOLDIER: And if anyone asks you, we’re a military patrol and we gave you the full treatment, got that?
FIRST SOLDIER as he goes: And that’s not bad advice of yours, mate.
SCHWEYK waving after them: Glad to help. Be seeing you. The soldiers move off quickly. Schweyk too continues in the direction he was shown, but he can be seen to be wandering from it in a wide arc. He vanishes into the gloom. When he reappears on the other side he stops for a short time at a signpost and reads: ‘Stalingrad—50 km.’ He shakes his head and marches on. The moving clouds in the sky are now red from distant fires. He looks at them interestedly as he marches.
SCHWEYK sings:
When Hitler sent for me
To help him win his war
I thought the whole damn lark would last
A fortnight and no more.
While he continues to march, smoking his pipe, the clouds turn pale again and the regulars’ table at the Chalice appears, bathed in pink light. Baloun is kneeling on the floor, next to him stands Mrs Kopecka with her embroidery, and at the table Anna is sitting behind a beer.
BALOUN as if reciting the litany: I now swear of my own free will and on an empty stomach, since all attempts by everybody to organize some meat for me have failed, that’s to say without me having had a real meal, by the Virgin Mary and all the saints, that I will never volunteer for the Nazi army, and may Almighty God help me. I do this in memory of my friend Mr Schweyk, now marching across the icy Russian steppes faithfully doing his duty because he has to. He was a good man.
MRS KOPECKA: Right, you can stand up now.
ANNA takes a drink from the beer mug, stands up and embraces him: And now we can get married as soon as we’ve got the papers from Protivin. After kissing him, to Mrs Kopecka: What a pity things haven’t worked out for you.
Young Prochazka stands in the doorway, a parcel under his arm.
MRS KOPECKA: Mr Prochazka, I forbade you ever to set foot in here again. It’s all over between us. Since your great love doesn’t even stretch to two pounds of pickled pork.
YOUNG PROCHAZKA: What if I’ve brought it, though? Shows his parcel. Two pounds of pickled pork.
MRS KOPECKA: What, you’ve brought it? In spite of what you might get if they ca
ught you?
ANNA: It’s not really necessary any more, is it? Mr Baloun has taken his oath without.
MRS KOPECKA: But you must admit it proves a genuine affection on Mr Prochazka’s part. Rudolf! She embraces him ardently.
ANNA: That would please Mr Schweyk if he knew about it, poor old fellow. She looks tenderly at Schweyk’s bowler, which is hanging over the regulars’ table. Take good care of that hat, Mrs Kopecka, I’m certain Mr Schweyk will be back to collect it after the war.
BALOUN sniffing the parcel: Some lentils would go well with that.
The Chalice disappears again. From upstage staggers a drunk in two thick sheepskins and a steel helmet. Schweyk encounters him.
DRUNK: Halt! Who are you? I can see you’re one of our lot and not a gorilla, thank God. I’m Chaplain Ignatius Bullinger from Metz, you don’t happen to have a drop of kirsch with you, do you?
SCHWEYK: Beg to report I haven’t.
CHAPLAIN: That’s odd. I don’t want it for boozing, as you may have thought, you swine, admit it, that’s what you think of your priest; I need it for my car with the field altar back there, I’ve run out of petrol, they’re keeping the Lord short of petrol in Rostov, they’re going to have to answer for that all right when they stand before the throne of God and He asks in a voice like thunder ‘You motorized My altar, but what about the petrol?’
SCHWEYK: I don’t know, your Reverence. Could you tell me which is the way to Stalingrad?
CHAPLAIN: God knows. Do you know the one about the bishop who asks the ship’s captain in a storm ‘Are we going to make it?’, and the captain answers ‘We’re in God’s hands now, bishop’, and the bishop just says ‘As bad as that?’ and bursts into tears?
SCHWEYK: Is Lieutenant Bullinger of the SS your brother, sir?
CHAPLAIN: Yes, for my sins. D’you know him? So you’ve no kirsch or vodka?
SCHWEYK: No, and you’ll catch cold if you sit down in the snow.
CHAPLAIN: It doesn’t matter about me. But they’re mean with their petrol, they’ll see how they get along without God and without the Word of God in battle. By land, sea and air, and so on. I only joined their stupid Nazi Union for German Christians after the most terrible struggles with my conscience. For their sake I’ve scrapped Jesus the Jew and made him a Christian in my sermons, with lots of bull about his blue eyes and references to Wotan, and I tell them the world has got to be German, even if it costs rivers of blood, because I’m a worm, a wretched apostate worm who’s betrayed his beliefs for pay, and they go and give me too little petrol and just look what they’ve brought me to.
SCHWEYK: The Russian steppes, chaplain, and you’d better come back to Stalingrad with me and sleep it off. He pulls him to his feet and drags him along a few yards. You’ll have to walk on your own feet, though, or I’ll leave you lying here, I’ve got to find my draft and come to Hitler’s rescue.
CHAPLAIN: I can’t leave my field altar standing here or it’ll be captured by the Bolsheviks, and what then? They’re heathens. I came past a cottage just over there, the chimney was smoking, d’you think they’d have any vodka, just tap them on the head with your rifle butt and Bob’s your uncle. Are you a German Christian?
SCHWEYK: No, the ordinary sort. Now don’t start being sick over yourself, it’ll freeze on you.
CHAPLAIN: Freeze? I’m as cold as the devil. I’ll hot things up for them at Stalingrad, though.
SCHWEYK: You’ve got to get there first.
CHAPLAIN: I’ve no real confidence left any more. Calmly, almost soberly: You know, What’s-his-name, they laugh at me to my face, me the priest of God, when I threaten them with hell. The only explanation I can see is that they think they’re there already. Religion’s going to pieces, and it’s Hitler who’s responsible, don’t tell anybody I said so.
SCHWEYK: Hitler’s a wet fart, I’m telling you because you’re drunk. And who’s responsible for Hitler, them that handed him Czechoslovakia on a plate at Munich for ‘peace in our time’, and a fat long time it was too. But the war’s lasted all right, and for a lot of people it’s been ‘war in our time’ from what I can see.
CHAPLAIN: So you’re against the war that has to be fought against the godless Bolsheviks, you swine. D’you know I’m going to have you shot when we get to Stalingrad?
SCHWEYK: If you don’t pull yourself together and get a move on you’ll never get there. I’m not against war, and I’m not walking to Stalingrad just for a lark, but because like Naczek the cook said back in the First World War ‘Get near the shooting, you’ll find something cooking’.
CHAPLAIN: Don’t give me that. You’re saying to yourself ‘They can stuff their war’, I can see it from your face. Grabs him. What do you want to be pro-war for, what do you get out of it, confess it means bugger all to you.
SCHWEYK roughly: I’m marching to Stalingrad, and you are too, because it’s orders and we’d probably starve here left to ourselves. I’ve told you once already.
They march on.
CHAPLAIN: War’s a depressing business on foot. Stops. There’s that cottage, we’ll go in there, got your safety-catch off?
A cottage appears, they go up to it.
SCHWEYK: But just one thing, don’t kick up a row, they’re people like you and me, and you’ve drunk enough.
CHAPLAIN: Have your finger on the trigger, they’re heathens, don’t answer back.
Out of the cottage come an old peasant woman, and a young woman with a little child.
CHAPLAIN: Look, they’re going to run away. We’ve got to stop that. Ask where they’ve buried the vodka. And look at that shawl she’s wearing, I’ll have that, I’m freezing like hell.
SCHWEYK: You’re freezing because you’re drunk and you’ve got two fur coats already. To the young woman, who stands without moving: Good evening, which is the way to Stalingrad? The young woman points rather absent-mindedly.
CHAPLAIN: Does she admit they’ve got vodka?
SCHWEYK: You sit down, I’ll deal with them and then we’ll go on, I don’t want any trouble. To the woman, cordially: Why are you standing outside the house like that? Were you just going away? The woman nods. That’s a thin shawl you’ve got on, though; have you nothing else? It’s not really enough, is it?
CHAPLAIN sitting on the ground: Use your rifle butt, they’re gorillas, the lot of them. Heathens.
SCHWEYK roughly: You bloody well shut up. To the woman: Vodka? This man is ill.
Schweyk has accompanied all his questions with illustrative gestures. The woman shakes her head.
CHAPLAIN bad-temperedly: You shaking your head? I’ll show you. Here am I freezing, and you shake your head. He scrambles to his feet with difficulty and staggers towards the woman, his fist raised. She retreats into the cottage, closing the door after her. The chaplain kicks it in and pushes his way in. I’ll settle your hash.
SCHWEYK who has vainly tried to hold him back: You stay out. It’s not your house. He follows him in. The old woman goes in too. Then a scream is heard from the woman and sound of a fight. Schweyk from within: And put that knife away. Stay still, will you! I’ll break your arm, you swine. Right, outside!
Out of the cottage comes the woman with the child. She has one of the chaplain’s coats on. Behind her comes the old woman.
SCHWEYK following them into the open: Let him sleep it off. Make sure you get well away.
OLD WOMAN curtseys deeply to Schweyk in the old style: God protect you, soldier, you’re a good man, and if we had any bread left I’d give you a crust. You look as if you could do with it. Which way’s your road?
SCHWEYK: To Stalingrad, ma, to the battle. Could you tell me how I get there?
OLD WOMAN: You’re a Slav, you speak the way we do, you haven’t come to murder, you’re not one of Hitler’s lot, God bless you.
She begins to bless him with broad gestures.
SCHWEYK without embarrassment: Don’t worry, ma, I’m a Slav, and don’t waste your blessing on me, I’m a collaborationist.
OL
D WOMAN: God shall protect you, my son, you’ve a pure heart, you’ve come to help us, you’ll help beat Hitler’s lot.
SCHWEYK firmly: No offence, I’ve got to get on, it’s not my own choice. And I’m beginning to believe you must be deaf, ma.
OLD WOMAN in spite of the fact that her daughter keeps tugging at her sleeve: You’ll help us to get rid of these bandits, hurry soldier, and God bless you.
The young woman pulls the old one away, and they move off. Schweyk marches on shaking his head. Night has fallen and the stars have appeared. Schweyk stops at a signpost again and turns a dark lantern on to it. Astonished he reads: ‘Stalingrad—50 km’ and marches on. Suddenly shots ring out. Schweyk immediately puts his hands up, holding his rifle, in order to surrender. No one comes, however, and the shots cease. Schweyk goes on more quickly. When he again appears in his circular course he is out of breath and sits down on a snowdrift.
SCHWEYK sings:
When we were stationed in Kovno
They couldn’t have been slicker
They had the boots from off our feet
For one tiny glass of liquor.
The pipe sinks from his mouth, he dozes off and dreams. The regulars’ table at the Chalice appears in golden light. Around it sit Mrs Kopecka in her bridal gown, young Prochazka in his Sunday suit, Kati, Anna and Baloun. In front of the latter is a full plate.
MRS KOPECKA: And what you’re getting for the wedding breakfast, Mr Baloun, is your pickled pork. You swore without it, and that’s to your credit, but a little bit of meat now and then won’t hurt to help you keep your vow.
BALOUN eating: You know, I really do like eating. God bless it. The dear Lord created everything, from the sun down to the carraway seed. Indicating his plate: Can that be a sin? Pigeons fly, chickens peck up seed from the earth. The landlord of the Huss knew seventeen ways of cooking a chicken, five sweet, six savoury, four with stuffing. ‘The earth brings forth wine for me, likewise bread, and I’m not able to use them’, the minister at Budweis used to say, that wasn’t allowed to eat because he had diabetes. I had a hare at the Schlossbräu in Pilsen back in 1932, the cook has died since, so people don’t go there any more, and I’ve never had another like it. It was in gravy with dumplings. There’s nothing special about that, but there was something in that gravy did things to the dumplings, quite fantastic, they’d hardly have recognized themselves, inspired they were, really first class, I’ve never come across anything like it again, the cook took the recipe to the grave with him. It’s a real loss to mankind.