All Quiet on the Western Front. Erich Maria Remarque
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we were trained in the army for ten weeks and in this time more profoundly influenced than by ten years at school.
at first astonished, then embittered, and finally indifferent, we recognized that what matters is not the mind but the boot brush, not intelligence but the system, not freedom but drill.
kropp, mu ̈ller, kemmerich, and I went to No. 9 platoon under Corporal himmelstoss. he had the reputation of being the strictest disciplinarian in the camp and was proud of it. he was a small, undersized fellow with a foxy, waxed mustache, who had seen twenty years’ service and was in civil life a postman.
we became soldiers with eagerness and enthusiasm, but they have done everything to knock that out of us.
he had a special dislike of kropp, tjaden, westhus, and myself, because he sensed a quiet defiance.
unacceptable...
...make that bedagain!
prepare to advance, advance......lie
down!
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under his orders I have scrubbed out the corpo-rals' mess with a tooth- brush.
kropp and I have been given the job of clearing the barracks-square of snow with a hand-broom and a dust pan.
for six weeks I did guard every sunday and was hut-orderly for the same lengh of time.
when he reported us, the company commander laughed at him and told him he ought to keep his eyes open.
at bayonet practice I had constantly to fight with himmelstoss, I with a heavy iron weapon, bayonet covered with its scabbard, whilst he had a handy wooden one with which he easily struck my arms till they were black and blue.
once I became so infuriated that I ran at him blindly and gave him a mighty jab in the stomach...
...and knocked him down.
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one sunday as kropp and I were lugging a latrine bucket on a pole across the barracks-yard, himmelstoss came by, all polished up and spry for going out.
he raved, but the limit had been reached.
himmelstoss saw that we meant it, and went off saying...
that was the end of his authority. he tried it on once more in the ploughed field, but we moved so slowly that he became desperate.
in spite of ourselves we tripped and emptied the bucket over his leg.
how do you like the job?
that meansclink!
there’ll be an inquiry first, and then we’ll unload.
we’ll show you up, corporal.
you’ll drink this!
...advance...
...lie down!
prepare to advance...
after that he left us in peace. he did indeed always refer to us as swine, but there was, nev-ertheless, a certain respect in his tone.
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we became hard, suspicious, pitiless, vicious, tough--and that was good; for these attributes were what we lacked. had we gone into the trenches without this period of training most of us would certainly have gone mad.
I sit by kEmmerich’s bed. he is sinking steadily. around us is great commotion. a hospi-tal train has arrived and the wounded fit to be moved are being selected. the doctor passes by kemmerich’s bed without once looking at him.
by far the most important result was that it awak-ened in us a strong, practical sense of esprit de corps, which in the field developed into the finest thing that arose out of the war--comradeship.
it might have been both legs. wege-ler lost his right arm. that’s much worse. besides, you will be going home.
they have amputated my leg.
do youthink so?
I don’tthink so.
I wanted to become a for-ester once.
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an hour passes. the hospital orderlies go to and fro with bottles and pails. one of them glances at franz, and then walks away. they are waiting. they want the bed.
his lips have fallen away, his mouth has becomelarger, his teeth stick out and look as though they were made of chalk. the flesh melts. the forehead bulges more prominently, the cheekbones protrude. the skeleton is working itself through.
the world should pass by this bed and say: “this is franz kemmerich, nineteen and a half years old. he doesn’t want to die. let him not die.”
in a few hours it will be over.
so you may still.
there are splendid artificial limbs now, you'd hardly know there was anything missing.
look here though, these fingers...
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suddenly kemmerich groans and begins to gurgle.
we are by kemmerich’s bed...
...he is dead.
I collect kemmerich’s things and untie his identification disc. behind me they are already hauling franz on to a waterproof sheet.
outside the door I am aware of the darkness and the wind as a deliverance.
one operation after another since five o’clock this morning. there have beEn sixteen deaths. yours is the seventeenth...
you can give my boots to mu ̈ller. if you find my watch send it home.
where isthe doctor? where is the doctor?
come quick! franz kemmerich is dying!
...there will be twenty altogether.
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I breathe as deep as I can and feel the breeze in my face, warm and soft as never before. thoughts of girls, of flowery meadows, of white clouds suddenly come into my head. my feet begin to move forward in my boots, I go quicker, I run.
I breathe the air deeply. the night lives, I live. I feel a hunger, greater than comes from the belly alone.
I give him the boots. we go in and he tries them on. they fit well.
he roots among his supplies and offers me a fine piece of saveloy. with it goes hot tea and rum.
müller stands in the doorway of the hut waiting for me.
the night crackles electrically, the front thunders like a concert of drums.
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reinforcements have arrived. some of them are old hands, but there are twenty-five men of a later draft.
for the recruits kat produces a tub of meat and haricot beans.
seenthe infants?
for