ANNA: Don’t complain. What do you suppose Mr Schweyk would say about it, when he probably hasn’t even got a baked potato to his name?
BALOUN: That’s true, mustn’t grumble. You can always manage. In Pudonice when my sister got married they had a real crowd, thirty of them, it was at the pub there, girls and chaps and the old folk too, and they kept going right through soup, veal, pork, chicken, two roast calves and two fat pigs, the lot from snout to tail, and dumplings with it and great barrels of sauerkraut, and first beer and then schnapps. All I remember is my plate was never empty and I had a bucketful of beer or a tumber of schnapps after every mouthful. At one point there was absolute silence, just like in church, that was when they brought the roast pork in. They were all such good pals together sitting there, eating their fill, I’d have gone through fire for any one of them. And there were all sorts among them, there was a judge from the County Court at Pilsen used to really have it in for the thieves and the workers when he’d got his wig on. Eating draws people’s sting.
MRS KOPECKA: In honour of Mr Baloun I am now going to sing the ‘Song of the Chalice’. She sings:
Come right in and take a seat
Join us at the table
Soup and Moldau fish to eat
Much as you are able.
If you need a bite of bread
And a roof above your head
You’re a man and that will do.
The place of honour’s here for you.
If you’ve 80 Hellers.
We don’t want to know your life
Everyone’s invited.
Step inside and bring the wife
We shall be delighted.
All you need’s a friendly face
Clever talk is out of place
Eat your cheese and drink your beer
And you’ll find a welcome here
So will 80 Hellers.
One day soon we shall begin
Looking at the weather
And we’ll find the world’s an inn
Where men come together.
All alike will come inside
Nobody will be denied
Here’s a roof against the storm
Where the freezing can get warm
Even on 80 Hellers.
Everyone has joined in the refrain.
BALOUN: My grandfather used to be an accountant with the water board, and when they told him at the Pankrac clinic he’d have to cut down on his food or go blind he answered ‘I’ve seen quite enough, but I haven’t eaten enough by a long chalk’. Suddenly stops eating. Christ, let’s hope old Schweyk isn’t freezing to death out there in that icy cold.
ANNA: He mustn’t lie down. It’s just when you feel nice and warm that you’re closest to dying of exposure, they say.
The Chalice disappears. It is daytime again. A snowstorm has set in. Schweyk moves beneath a blanket of flakes. The rattle of tank tracks becomes audible.
SCHWEYK sitting up: Nearly dropped off. But now, on to Stalingrad!
He works his way up and starts marching again. Then out of the driving snow a large armoured vehicle appears full of German soldiers with chalk white or blueish faces under their steel helmets, all of them wrapped up in every kind of rags, skins, even women’s skirts.
THE SOLDIERS sing the ‘German Miserere’:
One day our superiors said: Germany, awaken
The small town of Danzig has got to be taken.
They gave us tanks and bombers, then Poland was invaded.
In two weeks at the outside we had made it.
God preserve us.
One day our superiors said: Germany, awaken
Now Norway and France have got to be taken.
They gave us tanks and bombers, both countries were invaded.
Five weeks of 1940, and we’d made it.
God preserve us.
One day our superiors said: Germany, awaken
The Balkans and Russia have got to be taken.
The third year saw the Balkans and Russia both invaded.
We should have won, but something has delayed it.
God preserve us.
Wait till our superiors say: Germany, awaken
The depths of the ocean and the moon must be taken.
Over Russia’s cold steppes they’ve left us to roam
And the fighting’s tough and we don’t know our way home.
God preserve us and bring us back home alive.
The armoured vehicle disappears again in the snowstorm. Schweyk marches on. A signpost appears, pointing at right angles to his route. Schweyk ignores it. Suddenly, however, he stops and listens. Then he bends down, whistles softly and snaps his fingers. Out of the snow-covered undergrowth creeps a starving mongrel.
SCHWEYK: I knew you were there in the bushes, hanging about and wondering whether to come out or not, eh? You’re a cross between a schnauzer and an alsatian, with a bit of mastiff in the middle. I shall call you Ajax. Stop cringing and cut out that shivering, I can’t stand it. He marches on, followed by the dog. We’re going to Stalingrad. You’ll find other dogs there and plenty going on. If you want to get through the war in one piece, keep close to the others and stick to routine, don’t volunteer for anything, lie doggo till you get a chance to bite. War doesn’t last for ever, any more than peace does, and when it’s over I’ll take you along to the Chalice and we’ll have to keep an eye on Baloun to see he doesn’t eat you, Ajax. There’ll still be people wanting dogs, and pedigrees’ll still have to be faked because they want pure breeds, it’s a load of tripe but that’s what they want. Don’t get under my feet, or you’ll get a fourpenny one. On to Stalingrad!
The blizzard gets thicker and envelops them.
EPILOGUE
Hitler’s good soldier Schweyk is marching untiringly to Stalingrad, which remains just as far away as ever, when a wild music is heard amidst the snowstorm and a larger-than-life figure appears: Adolf Hitler. The historic meeting between Hitler and Schweyk takes place.
HITLER
Halt! Who goes there? Friend or foe?
SCHWEYK giving the customary salute:
Heitler!
HITLER over the storm:
I can’t hear what you say.
SCHWEYK louder:
I said Heitler. Can you hear me now?
HITLER
Yes.
SCHWEYK
It’s the wind that carries it away.
HITLER
You’re right, and we seem to be getting some snow. Do you recognize me?
SCHWEYK
Beg to report, sir, no.
HITLER
I am the Führer.
Schweyk, whose hand has remained up in the Nazi salute, raises the other to join it in a gesture of surrender, dropping his gun.
SCHWEYK
Holy Saint Joseph!
HITLER
At ease. Who are you?
SCHWEYK
I’m Schweyk from Budweis at the bend in the Moldau. And I’ve come to help you at Stalingrad. But would you mind telling me just one thing: where is it?
HITLER
How the devil can you expect me to know any of our positions
In these blasted Bolshevistic traffic conditions?
The direct road from Rostov to Stalingrad looked no longer than my finger on the map.
It is, though;—filthy Communistic trap!
What’s more, the winter’s set in early again this year—on the first of November instead of the third.
It’s the second year running that that’s occurred.
This winter’s probably all part of their damned Bolshevistic theories.
As a matter of fact at the moment I don’t even know where the front or the rear is.
I set out from the principle that the stronger side would win.
SCHWEYK
That’s just what’s happened.
He has begun to stamp his feet and fling his arms around his chest, being extremely cold.
HITLER
> Mr Schweyk, remember, if the Third Reich should cave in the forces of nature were the only thing that could hold me.
SCHWEYK
Yes, the winter and the Bolsheviks. So you’ve already told me.
HITLER beginning an extended explanation:
History shows us that East and West don’t mix, and if …
SCHWEYK
Look, you explain it to me on the way, or else we’ll be frozen stiff.
HITLER
Right. Then forward.
SCHWEYK
But which way shall we go?
HITLER
Let’s try the north.
They advance a few paces to the north.
SCHWEYK stops, sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles to Hitler:
That way there’s some pretty deep snow.
HITLER
Then the south.
They advance a few paces southwards.
SCHWEYK stops and whistles:
That way there are mountains of dead men.
HITLER
Then I’ll push East.
They advance eastwards a few paces.
SCHWEYK stops and whistles:
That way you’ll find an awful lot of red men.
HITLER
You’re right.
SCHWEYK
Maybe we could go home then? That’d make
a bit of sense.
HITLER
What: and face my German people without any defence? Hitler rushes in each direction, one after the other. Schweyk keeps whistling him back.
HITLER
East! West! North! South!
SCHWEYK
You can’t stay here, and you can’t get out.
Hitler’s movements in all directions become quicker.
SCHWEYK begins to sing:
Yes, you cannot retreat, and you cannot progress.
You’re all rotten on top, below you’re a mess.
The east wind is far too cold, and hellfire is far too hot
So they’ve left it to me now to say whether or not
I should heap you with shit or riddle you with shot.
Hitler’s desperate attempts at escape have turned into a wild dance.
CHORUS OF ALL THE ACTORS taking off their masks and going down to the footlights:
For times have to change. All the boundless ambitions
Of those now in power will soon have been spent.
Like bloodspattered cocks they defend their positions
But times have to change—which no force can prevent.
The stones of the Moldau are stirring and shifting
In Prague lie three emperors turning to clay.
The great shall not stay great, the darkness is lifting.
The night has twelve hours, but at last comes the day.
Appendix
HENRY SLEPT BESIDE HIS NEWLY WEDDED*
Henry slept beside his newly wedded
Heiress to a castle on the Rhine
Snake bites, which tormented the false lover
Would not let him peacefully recline.
At the stroke of twelve the curtain parted.
On the sill a pale cold hand appeared.
In a shroud he saw his Wilhelmina
And her mournful, ghostly voice he heard.
Do not tremble, said his Wilhelmina;
Faithless lover, do not be afraid.
I have not come here in hate or anger
I’ve not come to curse your marriage bed.
Bitter grief my poor young life has shortened
I have died because I loved you well
But the Lord has fortified my spirit
Saved me from the headlong plunge to hell.
Why did I believe your protestations
That your love would always be the same
Never dreaming that for you to vanquish
Maiden’s heart was but a paltry game?
Do not weep. This world does not deserve it
’Tis not worth a single tear or moan.
Live serene and happy with Eliza
Now that you have got her for your own.
Henry, you have treasure, ah, uncounted
Use it now to give my soul repose.
Give your Wilhelmine the peace of spirit
You denied her living, heaven knows.
Sacrifice! cried Henry in his fever;
That’s what you have come to ask, he cried.
* This street ballad is sung by Kati and Anna in scene 4. Translated by Ralph Manheim.
Whereupon the poor spurned woman vanished
And the churl committed suicide.
God had mercy on her, but the faithless
Lover was condemned beyond repair.
Still he lives, an evil spooky monster
Wand’ring in the dreary midnight air.
The Caucasian Chalk Circle
Collaborator: R. BERLAU
Translators: JAMES AND TANIA STERN, with W. H. AUDEN
Characters
Delegates of the Galinsk goat-breeding kolchos: an old peasant, a peasant woman, a young peasant, a very young workman • Members of the Rosa Luxemburg fruit-growing kolchos: an old peasant, a peasant woman, the agronomist, the girl tractor driver; the wounded soldier and other peasants from the kolchos • The expert from the capital • The singer Arkadi Cheidze • His musicians • Georgi Abashvili, the Governor • His wife, Natella • Their son, Michael • Shalva, the adjutant • Arsen Kazbeki, the fat prince • The rider from the capital • Niko Mikadze and Mikha Loladze, doctors • Simon Chachava, a soldier • Grusha Vachnadze, a kitchen-maid • Three architects • Four chambermaids: Assia, Masha, Sulika and Fat Nina • A nurse • A man cook • A woman cook • A stableman • Servants in the governor’s palace • The governor’s and the fat prince’s Ironshirts and soldiers • Beggars and petitioners • The old peasant with the milk • Two elegant ladies • The innkeeper • The servant • A corporal • ‘Blockhead’, a soldier • A peasant woman and her husband • Three merchants • Lavrenti Vachnadze, Grusha’s brother • His wife, Aniko • Their stableman • The peasant woman, for a time Grusha’s mother-in-law • Yussup, her son • Brother Anastasius, a monk • Wedding guests • Children • Azdak, the village clerk • Shauva, a policeman • A refugee, the Grand Duke • The doctor • The invalid • The limping man • The blackmailer • Ludovica, the innkeeper’s daughter-in-law • A poor old peasant woman • Her brother-in-law Irakli, a bandit • Three farmers • Illo Shaboladze and Sandro Oboladze, lawyers • The very old married couple
1
THE STRUGGLE FOR THE VALLEY
Among the ruins of a badly shelled Caucasian village the members of two kolchos villages are sitting in a circle, smoking and drinking wine. They consist mainly of women and old men, but there are also a few soldiers among them. With them is an expert of the State Reconstruction Commission from the capital.
A PEASANT WOMAN left, pointing: In those hills over there we stopped three Nazi tanks. But the apple orchard had already been destroyed.
AN OLD PEASANT right: Our beautiful dairy farm. All in ruins.
A GIRL TRACTOR DRIVER left: I set fire to it, Comrade. Pause.
THE EXPERT: Now listen to the report: the delegates of the Galinsk goat-breeding kolchos arrived in Nukha. When the Hitler armies were approaching, the kolchos had been ordered by the authorities to move its goat-herds further to the east. The kolchos now considers resettling in this valley. Its delegates have investigated the village and the grounds and found a high degree of destruction. The delegates on the right nod. The neighbouring Rosa Luxemburg fruit-growing kolchos—to the left—moves that the former grazing land of the Galinsk kolchos, a valley with scanty growth of grass, should be used for the replanting of orchards and vineyards. As an expert of the Reconstruction Commission, I request the two kolchos villages to decide between themselves whether the Galinsk kolchos shall return here or not.
AN OLD MAN right: First of all, I want to protest against t
he restriction of time for discussion. We of the Galinsk kolchos have spent three days and three nights getting here. And now we are allowed a discussion of only half a day.
A WOUNDED SOLDIER left: Comrade, we no longer have as many villages and no longer as many working hands and no longer as much time.
THE GIRL TRACTOR DRIVER left: All pleasures have to be rationed. Tobacco is rationed, and wine and discussion, too.
THE OLD MAN right, sighing: Death to the Fascists! But I will come to the point and explain to you why we want to have our valley back. There are a great many reasons, but I want to begin with one of the simplest. Makinae Abakidze, unpack the goat cheese.
A peasant woman, right, takes from a basket an enormous cheese wrapped in a cloth. Applause and laughter.
Help yourselves, comrades. Start in.
AN OLD PEASANT left, suspiciously: Is this meant to influence us, perhaps?
THE OLD MAN right, amidst laughter: How could it be meant as an influence, Surab, you valley-thief? Everyone knows that you will take the cheese and the valley, too. Laughter. All I expect from you is an honest answer: Do you like the cheese?
THE OLD MAN left: The answer is yes.
THE OLD MAN right: Oh. Bitterly. I might have guessed you know nothing about cheese.
THE OLD MAN left: Why not? When I tell you I like it!
THE OLD MAN right: Because you can’t like it. Because it’s not what it was in the old days. And why isn’t it? Because our goats don’t like the new grass as they used to like the old. Cheese is not cheese because grass is not grass, that’s it. Mind you put that in your report.
THE OLD MAN left: But your cheese is excellent.
THE OLD MAN right: It’s not excellent. Barely decent. The new grazing land is no good, whatever the young people may say. I tell you, it’s impossible to live there. It doesn’t even smell of morning there in the morning.
Several people laugh.
THE EXPERT: Don’t mind their laughter. They understand you all the same. Comrades, why does one love one’s country? Because the bread tastes better there, the sky is higher, the air smells better, voices sound stronger, the ground is easier to walk on. Isn’t that so?