"All Quiet on the Western Front", an artistic analysis of Remarque's novel. Erich Maria Remarque
| All Quiet on the Western Front |
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| Im Westen nichts Neues | |
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Cover of the first edition of All Quiet on the Western Front |
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Erich Maria Remarque |
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"All Quiet on the Western Front"(German Im Westen nichts Neues) - famous novel Erich Maria Remarque, published in 1929. In the preface, the author says: “This book is neither an accusation nor a confession. This is just an attempt to tell about the generation that was destroyed by the war, about those who became its victims, even if they escaped the shells.
The anti-war novel recounts all the experiences seen at the front by the young soldier Paul Bäumer as well as his front-line comrades in the First World War. Like Ernest Hemingway, Remarque used the concept of " lost generation"To describe young people who, due to the mental trauma they received in the war, were not able to settle in civil life. Remarque's work thus stood in sharp contrast to the right-wing conservative military literature that prevailed in the era of the Weimar Republic, which, as a rule, tried to justify the war lost by Germany and glorify its soldiers.
Remarque describes the events of the war from the perspective of a simple soldier.
History of creation
The writer offered his manuscript "All Quiet on the Western Front" to the most authoritative and well-known publisher in the Weimar Republic, Samuel Fischer. Fischer acknowledged the high literary quality of the text, but withdrew from publication on the grounds that in 1928 no one would want to read a book about the First World War. Fischer later admitted that this was one of the biggest mistakes of his career.
Following the advice of his friend, Remarque brought the text of the novel to the Haus Ullstein publishing house, where it was accepted for publication by order of the company's management. On August 29, 1928, a contract was signed. But the publisher was also not entirely sure that such a specific novel about the First World War would be a success. The contract contained a clause according to which, in the event of the failure of the novel, the author must work off the costs of publication as a journalist. For reinsurance, the publisher provided advance copies of the novel to various categories of readers, including veterans of the First World War. As a result of criticism from readers and literary scholars, Remarque is urged to revise the text, especially some particularly critical statements about the war. About the serious adjustments to the novel made by the author, says a copy of the manuscript, which was in the New Yorker. For example, the latest edition is missing the following text:
We killed people and waged war; we should not forget about it, because we are at an age when thoughts and actions had the strongest connection with each other. We are not hypocrites, we are not timid, we are not burghers, we look both ways and do not close our eyes. We do not justify anything by necessity, by the idea, by the Motherland - we fought with people and killed them, people whom we did not know and who did nothing to us; what will happen when we return to the old relationship and confront the people who hinder us, hinder us?<…>What should we do with the goals that are offered to us? Only memories and my vacation days convinced me that the dual, artificial, invented order called "society" cannot calm us and will not give us anything. We will stay isolated and grow, we will try; someone will be quiet, and someone will not want to part with their weapons.
original text(German)
Wir haben Menschen getötet und Krieg geführt; das ist für uns nicht zu vergessen, denn wir sind in dem Alter, wo Gedanke und Tat wohl die stärkste Beziehung zueinander haben. Wir sind nicht verlogen, nicht ängstlich, nicht bürgerglich, wir sehen mit beiden Augen und schließen sie nicht. Wir entschuldigen nichts mit Notwendigkeit, mit Ideen, mit Staatsgründen, wir haben Menschen bekämpft und getötet, die wir nicht kannten, die uns nichts taten; was wird geschehen, wenn wir zurückkommen in frühere Verhältnisse und Menschen gegenüberstehen, die uns hemmen, hinder und stützen wollen?<…>Was wollen wir mit diesen Zielen anfangen, die man uns bietet? Nur die Erinnerung und meine Urlaubstage haben mich schon überzeugt, daß die halbe, geflickte, künstliche Ordnung, die man Gesellschaft nennt, uns nicht beschwichtigen und umgreifen kann. Wir werden isoliert bleiben und aufwachsen, wir werden uns Mühe geben, manche werden still werden und manche die Waffen nicht weglegen wollen.
Translation by Mikhail Matveev
Finally, in the fall of 1928, the final version of the manuscript appears. November 8, 1928, on the eve of the tenth anniversary of the armistice, Berlin newspaper "Vossische Zeitung", part of the Haus Ullstein concern, publishes a "preliminary text" of the novel. The author of “All Quiet on the Western Front” appears to the reader as an ordinary soldier, without any literary experience, who describes his experiences of the war in order to “speak out”, free himself from mental trauma. The introductory remarks for the publication were as follows:
Vossische Zeitung feels "obliged" to discover this "authentic", free and thus "authentic" documentary account of the war.
original text(German)
Die Vossische Zeitung fühle sich „verpflichtet“, diesen „authentischen“, tendenzlosen und damit „wahren“ dokumentarischen über den Krieg zu veröffentlichen.
Translation by Mikhail Matveev
So there was a legend about the origin of the text of the novel and its author. On November 10, 1928, excerpts from the novel began to appear in the newspaper. The success exceeded the boldest expectations of the Haus Ullstein concern - the circulation of the newspaper increased several times, the editorial office received a huge number of letters from readers admiring such a "bare image of the war."
At the time of the book's release on January 29, 1929, there were approximately 30,000 pre-orders, which forced the concern to print the novel in several printing houses at once. All Quiet on the Western Front became Germany's best-selling book of all time. On May 7, 1929, 500 thousand copies of the book were published. IN book version The novel was published in 1929, after which it was translated into 26 languages the same year, including Russian. The most famous translation into Russian is by Yuri Afonkin.
Main characters
Paul Bäumer - main character from whose perspective the story is being told. At the age of 19, Paul was voluntarily (like his entire class) drafted into the German army and sent to the western front, where he had to face the harsh reality of military life. Killed in October 1918.
Albert Kropp- Paul's classmate, who served with him in the same company. At the beginning of the novel, Paul describes him as follows: "short Albert Kropp is the brightest head in our company." Lost a leg. Was sent to the rear.
Muller Fifth- Paul's classmate, who served with him in the same company. At the beginning of the novel, Paul describes him as follows: “... still carries textbooks with him and dreams of passing preferential exams; under hurricane fire he crams the laws of physics. He was killed by a flare that hit him in the stomach.
Leer- Paul's classmate, who served with him in the same company. At the beginning of the novel, Paul describes him as follows: "he wears a bushy beard and has a weakness for girls." The same fragment that tore off Bertinka's chin rips open Leer's thigh. Dies from blood loss.
Franz Kemmerich- Paul's classmate, who served with him in the same company. At the very beginning of the novel, he is seriously injured, leading to the amputation of his leg. A few days after the operation, Kemmerich dies.
Joseph Bem- Boimer's classmate. Bem was the only one in the class who did not want to volunteer for the army, despite Kantorek's patriotic speeches. However, under the influence of the class teacher and relatives, he enlisted in the army. Bem was one of the first to die, two months before the official call-up date.
Stanislav Katchinsky (Kat)- served with Boymer in the same company. At the beginning of the novel, Paul describes him as follows: “the soul of our squad, a man of character, clever and cunning, he is forty years old, he has a sallow face, blue eyes, sloping shoulders and an unusual sense of smell when the shelling starts, where you can get hold of food and how best to hide from the authorities. The example of Katchinsky clearly shows the difference between adult soldiers, who have a lot of life experience behind them, and young soldiers, for whom war is their whole life. He was wounded in the leg, crushing the tibia. Paul managed to take him to the orderlies, but along the way Kat was wounded in the head and died.
Tjaden- one of Beumer's non-school friends, who served with him in the same company. At the beginning of the novel, Paul describes him as follows: “a locksmith, a frail young man of the same age as us, the most voracious soldier in the company, he sits down thin and slender for food, and after eating, he gets up pot-bellied like a sucked bug.” It has urinary system disorders, which is why it is sometimes written in a dream. His fate is not exactly known. Most likely, he survived the war and married the daughter of the owner of a horse meat shop. But perhaps he died shortly before the end of the war.
Haye Westhus- one of Boymer's friends, who served with him in the same company. At the beginning of the novel, Paul describes him as follows: "our peer, a peat worker, who is free to take a loaf of bread in his hand and ask, "Well, guess what's in my fist?" Tall, strong, not very smart, but a young man with a good sense of humor, was carried out from under the fire with a torn back.
Detering- one of Beumer's non-school friends, who served with him in the same company. At the beginning of the novel, Paul describes him as follows: "a peasant who thinks only of his household and his wife." Deserted to Germany. Was caught. Further fate unknown.
Kantorek- the class teacher of Paul, Leer, Müller, Kropp, Kemmerich and Boehm. At the beginning of the novel, Paul describes him as follows: "a strict little man in a gray frock coat, like a mouse face, with a little face." Kantorek was an ardent supporter of the war and agitated all his students to go to war as volunteers. Later he volunteered. Further fate is unknown.
Bertinck- Company Commander Paul. He treats his subordinates well and is loved by them. Paul describes him as follows: "a real front-line soldier, one of those officers who, with any obstacle, is always ahead." Saving the company from a flamethrower, he received a through wound in the chest. The chin was torn off by a shrapnel. Dies in the same battle.
Himmelstoss- the commander of the department in which Boymer and his friends underwent military training. Paul describes him as follows: “He was known as the most ferocious tyrant in our barracks and was proud of it. A small, stocky man who served twelve years, with a bright red, curled up mustache, was a postman in the past. He was especially cruel to Kropp, Tjaden, Bäumer and Westhus. Later he was sent to the front in the company of Paul, where he tried to make amends.
Josef Hamacher- one of the patients of the Catholic hospital in which Paul Bäumer and Albert Kropp were temporarily placed. He is well versed in the work of the hospital, and, in addition, has a "remission of sins." This certificate, issued to him after being shot in the head, confirms that at times he is insane. However, Hamacher is psychologically completely healthy and uses the evidence to his advantage.
Screen adaptations
- The work has been filmed several times.
- American film All Quiet on the Western Front() directed by Lewis Milestone received an Oscar.
- In 1979, director Delbert Mann made a television version of the film. All Quiet on the Western Front.
- In 1983 famous singer Elton John wrote an anti-war song of the same name referring to the film.
- Film .
Soviet writer Nikolai Brykin wrote a novel about the First World War (1975), titled it " Change on the Eastern Front».
Links
- I'm Westen nichts Neues on German in the philologist's library E-Lingvo.net
- All Quiet on the Western Front in Maxim Moshkov's Library
| Erich Maria Remarque | |
|---|---|
| Novels | Dream Shelter Gam Station on the horizon All Quiet on the Western Front Return of the Three Comrades Love thy neighbor Arch of Triumph Spark of life Time to live and time to die Black obelisk Life on loan A night in Lisbon Shadows in paradise |
| stories | The Enemy The Silence around Verdun Carl Breger in Fleury Joseph's Wife Annette's Love Story The Strange Fate of Johann Bartok |
| Collections of short stories, essays, letters, plays | Last act Last stop Be vigilant Eye as an active tempter Essential and minor ironic moments in my life. Interview with myself Episodes for desk Tell me that you love me... |
| Screen adaptations | Flotsam On the Western Front without change The road back Three comrades This is how our night ends Another love Triumphal Arch Iron curtain Last act A time to love and a time to die From the ashes The longest day A night in Lisbon Bobby Deerfield On Western front without change Arc de Triomphe Black obelisk Blood and iron: the history of the German war machine Flowers from the winners Third Reich in color On the Western Front, without change |
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See what "All Quiet on the Western Front" is in other dictionaries:
From German: Im Westen nichts Neues. Russian translation (translator Yu. N. Lfonkina) of the title of the novel German writer Erich Maria Remarque (1898-1970) about the First World War. This phrase was often found in German reports from the theater of operations ... Dictionary of winged words and expressions
Other films with the same or similar title: see All Quiet on the Western Front (film). All Quiet on the Western Front ... Wikipedia
All Quiet on the Western Front Genre Drama / War Director Lewis Milestone ... Wikipedia
Other films with the same or similar title: see All Quiet on the Western Front (film). All Quiet On The Western Front Genre ... Wikipedia
All Quiet On The Western Front (film, 1979) All Quiet On The Western Front Genre Drama Director Mann, Delbert Cast ... Wikipedia
All Quiet on the Western Front is the fourth novel by Erich Maria Remarque. This work brought fame, money, world vocation to the writer and at the same time deprived him of his homeland and subjected him to mortal danger.
Remarque completed the novel in 1928 and at first unsuccessfully tried to publish the work. Most of the leading German publishers felt that a World War I novel would not be popular with the modern reader. Finally, the work ventured to publish Haus Ullstein. The success caused by the novel anticipated the wildest expectations. In 1929 All Quiet on the Western Front was published in 500,000 copies and translated into 26 languages. It became the best-selling book in Germany.
IN next year based on a military bestseller, a film of the same name was made. The picture, released in the United States, was directed by Lewis Milestone. She has won two Oscars for best movie and directing. Later, in 1979, a TV version of the novel was released by director Delbert Mann. In December 2015, the next release of the film based on Remarque's cult novel is expected. The creator of the picture was Roger Donaldson, the role of Paul Bäumer was played by Daniel Radcliffe.
Outcast at home
Despite worldwide recognition, the novel was negatively received by Nazi Germany. The unsightly image of the war drawn by Remarque ran counter to what the Nazis represented in their official version. The writer was immediately called a traitor, a liar, a falsifier.
The Nazis even tried to find Jewish roots in the Remarque family. The most replicated "evidence" was the pseudonym of the writer. Erich Maria signed his debut works with the surname Kramer (Remarque vice versa). The authorities spread a rumor, this one is clearly Jewish surname and is real.
Three years later, the volume All Quiet on the Western Front, along with other uncomfortable works, was betrayed by the so-called “satanic fire” of the Nazis, and the writer lost his German citizenship and left Germany forever. Physical reprisal against the universal favorite, fortunately, did not take place, but the Nazis took revenge on his sister Elfrida. During World War II, she was guillotined for being related to an enemy of the people.
Remarque did not know how to dissemble and could not remain silent. All the realities described in the novel correspond to the reality that the young soldier Erich Maria had to face during the First World War. Unlike the protagonist, Remarque was lucky to survive and bring his artistic memoirs to the reader. Let's remember the plot of the novel, which brought its creator the most honors and sorrows at the same time.
The height of the First World War. Germany is actively fighting with France, England, the USA and Russia. Western front. Young soldiers, yesterday's students are far from the feuds of the great powers, they are not led by political ambitions the mighty of the world of this, day after day they are just trying to survive.
Nineteen-year-old Paul Bäumer and his schoolmates, inspired by the patriotic speeches of the class teacher Kantorek, signed up to volunteer. The war was seen by young men in a romantic halo. Today, they are already well aware of her true face - hungry, bloody, dishonorable, deceitful and vicious. However, there is no turning back.
Paul leads his ingenuous military memoirs. His memoirs will not fall into the official chronicles, because they reflect the ugly truth of the great war.
Side by side with Paul are fighting his comrades - Müller, Albert Kropp, Leer, Kemmerich, Josef Böhm.
Muller does not lose hope of getting an education. Even at the forefront, he does not part with physics textbooks and crams laws to the whistle of bullets and the roar of exploding shells.
Shorty Albert Kropp Paul calls "the brightest head." This smart fellow will always find a way out of difficult situation and never lose his temper.
Leer is a real fashionista. He does not lose his luster even in a soldier's trench, wears a thick beard to impress the fair sex - who can be found on the front line.
Franz Kemmerich is not with his comrades now. Recently, he was seriously wounded in the leg and is now fighting for his life in a military infirmary.
And Josef Bem is no longer among the living. He was the only one who initially did not believe in the pretentious speeches of the teacher Kantorek. In order not to be a black sheep, Beem goes to the front along with his comrades and (here's the irony of fate!) Is among the first to die even before the start of the official draft.
In addition to school friends, Paul talks about comrades he met on the battlefield. This is Tjaden - the most voracious soldier in the company. It is especially difficult for him, because it is difficult with provisions at the front. Although Tjaden is very thin, he can eat for five. After Tjaden gets up after a hearty meal, he resembles a drunken bug.
Haye Westhus is a real giant. He can squeeze a loaf of bread in his hand and ask “what is in my fist?” Haye is far from being the smartest, but he is unsophisticated and very strong.
Detering spends his days reminiscing about home and family. He hates war with all his heart and dreams that this torture will end as soon as possible.
Stanislav Katchinsky, aka Kat, is a senior mentor for recruits. He is forty years old. Paul calls him a real "clever and cunning". The young men learn from Kata the soldier's self-control and the skill of fighting not with the help of blind force, but with the help of intelligence and ingenuity.
Company commander Bertinck is a role model. Soldiers idolize their leader. He is a model of true soldier's prowess and fearlessness. During the fight Bertinck never sits undercover and always risks his life side by side with his subordinates.
The day of our acquaintance with Paul and his company comrades was, to some extent, happy for the soldiers. On the eve of the company suffered heavy losses, its strength was reduced by almost half. However, in the old fashioned manner, provisions were issued for one hundred and fifty people. Paul and his friends are triumphant - now they will get a double portion of lunch, and most importantly - tobacco.
A cook named Tomato resists giving out more than the prescribed amount. An argument ensues between the hungry soldiers and the head of the kitchen. They have long disliked the cowardly Tomato, who, with the most trifling fire, does not risk rolling his kitchen to the front line. So the warriors sit hungry for a long time. Dinner arrives cold and very late.
The dispute is resolved with the appearance of Commander Bertinka. He says that there is nothing good to waste, and orders to give out a double portion to his wards.
Having had their fill, the soldiers go to the meadow, where the latrines are located. Comfortably seated in open booths (during service, these are the most comfortable places for leisure), friends begin to play cards and indulge in memories of the past, forgotten somewhere on the ruins of peacetime, life.
There was a place in these memoirs for the teacher Kantorek, who agitated young pupils to sign up as volunteers. He was a "stern little man in a gray frock coat" with a sharp, mouse-like face. He began each lesson with a fiery speech, an appeal, an appeal to conscience and patriotic feelings. I must say that the orator from Kantorek was excellent - in the end, the whole class went straight to the military headquarters right from behind the school desks.
“These educators,” Bäumer concludes bitterly, “always have high feelings. They carry them at the ready in their vest pocket and give them out as needed by the lesson. But we didn’t think about it then.”
The friends go to a field hospital where their comrade Franz Kemmerich is staying. His condition is much worse than Paul and his friends could imagine. Both of Franz's legs were amputated, but his health is rapidly deteriorating. Kemmerich is worried about the new English boots, which he will no longer need, and the commemorative watch that was stolen from the wounded man. Franz dies in the arms of his comrades. Taking new English boots, saddened, they return to the barracks.
During their absence, newcomers appeared in the company - after all, the dead must be replaced by the living. The newcomers talk about the misfortunes they experienced, the famine and the rutabaga “diet” that the leadership arranged for them. Kat feeds the newbies the beans they won back from Tomato.
When everyone goes to dig trenches, Paul Bäumer talks about the behavior of a soldier on the front line, his instinctive connection with mother earth. How do you want to hide in her warm arms from annoying bullets, dig deeper from fragments of flying shells, wait out a terrible enemy attack in her!
And fight again. The dead are counted in the company, and Paul and his friends keep their own register - seven classmates are killed, four are in the infirmary, one is in a lunatic asylum.
After a short respite, the soldiers begin preparations for the offensive. They are drilled by the squad leader Himmelshtos, a tyrant everyone hates.
The theme of wandering and persecution in the novel by Erich Maria Remarque “Night in Lisbon” is very close to the author himself, who had to leave his homeland because of his rejection of fascism.
You can read another novel by Remarque "The Black Obelisk", which has a very deep and intricate plot that sheds light on the events in Germany after the First World War.
And again, the calculations of the dead after the offensive - out of 150 people in the company, only 32 remained. The soldiers are close to insanity. Each of them is tormented by nightmares. Nerves give up. It is hard to believe in the prospect of reaching the end of the war, I want only one thing - to die without torment.
Paul is given a short vacation. He visits his native places, his family, meets with neighbors, acquaintances. Civilians now seem to him strangers, narrow-minded. They talk about the justice of the war in pubs, develop whole strategies on how to beat the French more cleverly and have no idea what is happening there on the battlefield.
Returning to the company, Paul repeatedly gets to the front line, each time he manages to avoid death. The comrades die one by one: the wise man Muller was killed by a lighting rocket, Leer, the strong man Westhus and commander Bertinck did not live to see the victory. Boymer carries the wounded Katchinsky from the battlefield on his own shoulders, but cruel fate is adamant - on the way to the hospital, a stray bullet hits Katya in the head. He dies in the hands of military paramedics.
The trench memoirs of Paul Bäumer break off in 1918, on the day of his death. Tens of thousands of dead, rivers of grief, tears and blood, but the official chronicles dryly broadcast - "All Quiet on the Western Front."
All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque: summary
"War spares no one." This is true. Whether it is a defender or an aggressor, a soldier or a civilian - no one, looking into the face of death, will remain the same. Nobody is ready for the horrors of war. Perhaps this is what Erich Remarque, the author of the work All Quiet on the Western Front, wanted to say.
History of the novel
There has been a lot of controversy around this work. Therefore, it would be correct to start with the story of the birth of the novel before giving a summary. “All Quiet on the Western Front” Erich Maria Remarque wrote, being a participant in those terrible events.
He went to the front in the early summer of 1917. Remarque spent several weeks at the forefront, was wounded in August and stayed in the hospital until the end of the war. But all the time he corresponded with his friend Georg Middendorf, who remained in position.
Remarque asked to report as much as possible about life at the front and did not hide that he wanted to write a book about the war. With these events begins and a summary ("All Quiet on the Western Front"). Fragments of the novel contain a cruel but real picture of the terrible trials that befell the soldiers.
The war ended, but none of their lives returned to their former course.
Rota is resting
In the first chapter, the author shows real life soldier - unheroic, terrifying. He emphasizes the extent to which the cruelty of war changes people - moral principles are lost, values \u200b\u200bare lost. This is the generation that was destroyed by the war, even those who escaped the shells. With these words, the novel All Quiet on the Western Front begins.
Rested soldiers go to breakfast. The cook prepared food for the whole company - for 150 people. They want to take additional portions of their fallen comrades. The main concern of the cook is not to give out anything in excess of the norm. And only after a heated argument and the intervention of the company commander, the cook distributes all the food.
Kemmerich, one of Paul's classmates, ended up in the hospital with a thigh wound. Friends go to the infirmary, where they are informed that the guy's leg was amputated. Muller, seeing his strong English boots, argues that a one-legged one does not need them. The wounded man is writhing in unbearable pain, and, in exchange for cigarettes, friends persuade one of the orderlies to give their friend an injection of morphine. They left with a heavy heart.
Kantorek, their teacher, who had persuaded them to join the army, sent them a pompous letter. He calls them "iron youth". But the guys are no longer touched by the words about patriotism. They unanimously blame the class teacher for exposing them to the horrors of war. Thus ends the first chapter. Its summary. “All Quiet on the Western Front” reveals the characters, feelings, aspirations, dreams of these young guys, who found themselves face to face with the war, chapter by chapter.
Death of a friend
Paul reminisces about his life before the war. As a student, he wrote poetry. Now he feels empty and cynical. All this seems so far away to him. Pre-war life is uncertain, unrealistic dreams, unrelated to the world created by the war. Paul feels completely cut off from humanity.
They were taught in school that patriotism requires the suppression of individuality and personality. Paul's platoon was trained by Himmelstoss. The former postman was a small, stocky man who relentlessly humiliated his recruits. Paul and his friends hated Himmelstoss. But now Paul knows that those humiliations and discipline toughened them up and probably helped them survive.
Kemmerich is close to death. He is saddened by the fact that he will never become the head forest ranger he dreamed of. Paul sits next to his friend, consoles and assures him that he will get better and return home. Kemmerich says he is giving his boots to Müller. He becomes ill, and Paul goes to look for a doctor. When he returns, his friend is already dead. The body is immediately removed from the bed to make room.
It would seem with what cynical words the summary of the second chapter ended. "All Quiet on the Western Front", from chapter 4 of the novel, will reveal the true essence of the war. Having come into contact with it once, a person will not remain the same. War hardens, makes one be indifferent - to orders, to blood, to death. She will never leave a person, but will always be with him - in memory, in body, in soul.
Young replenishment
A group of recruits arrives in the company. They are a year younger than Paul and his friends, which makes them feel like grizzled veterans. There is not enough food and blankets. Paul and his friends remember the barracks where they were recruits with longing. Himmelstos's humiliations seem idyllic compared to actual war. The guys remember the drill in the barracks, discussing the war.
Tjaden arrives and announces excitedly that Himmelstoss has arrived at the front. They remember his bullying and decide to take revenge on him. One night, when he was coming back from the pub, they put a bed sheets, took off his pants and beat him with a whip, muffling his screams with a pillow. They retreated so quickly that Himmelstoss never found out who his offenders were.
night shelling
The company is sent at night to the front line for sapper work. Paul reflects that for a soldier, the land takes on a new meaning at the front: it saves him. Here, ancient animal instincts are awakened, which save many people if you obey them without hesitation. At the front, the instinct of the beast wakes up in men, Paul argues. He understands how much a person degrades, surviving in inhuman conditions. What is clearly seen from the summary of "All Quiet on the Western Front."
Chapter 4 will shed light on what it was like for young, unshot boys to be at the front. During the shelling, a recruit lies next to Paul, clinging to him, as if looking for protection. When the shots died down a little, he admitted with horror that he had defecated in his pants. Paul explains to the boy that many soldiers have this problem. The painful neighing of wounded horses is heard, thrashing in agony. The soldiers finish them off, relieving them of their torment.
The shelling begins with renewed vigor. Paul crawled out of his hiding place and sees that the same boy who pressed against him in fear is seriously injured.
terrifying reality
The fifth chapter begins with a description of the unsanitary conditions of life at the front. The soldiers are sitting, stripped to the waist, crushing lice and discussing what they will do after the war. They calculated that out of twenty people from their class, only twelve remained. Seven are dead, four are injured, and one has gone mad. They mockingly repeat the questions Kantorek asked them at school. Paul has no idea what he will do after the war. Kropp concludes that the war has destroyed everything. They can't believe in anything but war.
The fighting continues
The company is sent to the front line. Their path lies through the school, along the facade of which there are brand new coffins. Hundreds of coffins. Soldiers joke about it. But on the front line, it turns out that the enemy has received reinforcements. Everyone is in a depressed mood. Night and day pass in tense expectation. They sit in the trenches, through which disgusting fat rats scurry.
The soldier has no choice but to wait. Days pass before the earth begins to shake from the explosions. There was almost nothing left of their trench. Trial by fire is too much of a shock for new recruits. One of them got angry and tried to run. Obviously he's gone crazy. Soldiers tie him up, but another recruit manages to escape.
Another night has passed. Suddenly, the nearby gaps are silent. The enemy is on the offensive. German soldiers repel the attack and reach enemy positions. Around the scream and groans of the wounded, mutilated corpses. Paul and his comrades must return. But before doing so, they greedily grab cans of stew and note that the enemy has much better conditions than theirs.
Paul reminisces about the past. These memories hurt. Suddenly, the fire with new force hit their positions. The lives of many are claimed by a chemical attack. They die a painful slow death from suffocation. Everyone is running out of their hiding places. But Himmelstoss hides in a trench and pretends to be wounded. Paul tries to kick him out with blows and threats.
There are explosions all around, and it seems that the whole earth is bleeding. New soldiers are being brought in to replace them. The commander calls their company to the cars. The roll call begins. Of the 150 people, thirty-two remained.
After reading the summary of “All Quiet on the Western Front”, we see that the company suffers huge losses twice. The heroes of the novel return to duty. But the worst of all is another war. War against degradation, against stupidity. War with yourself. And here the victory is not always on your side.
Paul goes home
The company is sent to the rear, where there will be a reorganization. Having experienced the horror of the battles, Himmelstoss is trying to "rehabilitate himself" - he gets good food for the soldiers and easy work. Away from the trenches they try to joke. But the humor becomes too bitter and dark.
Paul gets seventeen days off. In six weeks he should appear in the training unit, and then to the front. He wonders how many of his friends will be left alive during this time. Paul comes to hometown and sees that the civilian population is starving. He learns from his sister that his mother has cancer. Relatives ask Paul how things are at the front. But he does not have enough words to describe all this horror.
Paul sits in his bedroom with his books and paintings, trying to bring back childhood feelings and desires, but the memories are only shadows. His identity as a soldier is the only thing left now. The end of the holiday draws near and Paul visits the mother of Kemmerich's deceased friend. She wants to know how he died. Paul lies to her that her son died without suffering or pain.
Mother sits with Paul in the bedroom all last night. He pretends to be asleep, but notices that his mother is in severe pain. He makes her go to bed. Paul returns to his room, and from surging feelings, from hopelessness, he squeezes the iron bars of the bed and thinks that it would be better if he did not come. It only got worse. Sheer pain - from pity for her mother, for herself, from the realization that this horror has no end.
POW camp
Paul arrives at the training section. Next to their barracks is a prisoner of war camp. Russian prisoners sneak around their barracks and rummage through the garbage cans. Paul cannot understand what they find there. They are starving, but Paul notes that the prisoners treat each other like brothers. They are in such a pitiful position that Paul has no reason to hate them.
Prisoners die every day. Russians bury several people. Paul sees the terrible conditions they are in, but drives away thoughts of pity so as not to lose his composure. He shares cigarettes with the prisoners. One of them found out that Paul played the piano and started playing the violin. It sounds thin and lonely, and it makes me sad even more.
Return to duty
Paul arrives at the location and finds his friends alive and unharmed. He shares with them the products he brought. In anticipation of the arrival of the Kaiser, the soldiers are tortured with drills and work. They were given new clothes, which were immediately taken away after his departure.
Paul volunteers to gather information about enemy forces. The area is being shelled with machine guns. A flare flashes above Paul, and he realizes that he must lie still. Footsteps sounded, and a heavy body fell on him. Paul reacts with lightning speed - strikes with a dagger.
Paul cannot watch an enemy he wounded die. He crawls up to him, bandaging his wounds and giving water to their flasks. A few hours later he dies. Paul finds letters in his wallet, a photo of a woman and a little girl. According to the documents, he guessed that it was a French soldier.
Paul talks to the dead soldier and explains that he didn't mean to kill him. Every word he read plunges Paul into guilt and pain. He rewrites the address and decides to send money to his family. Paul promises that if he remains alive, he will do everything so that this never happens again.
Three weeks feast
Paul and his friends guard a food warehouse in an abandoned village. They decided to use this time with pleasure. They covered the floor in the dugout with mattresses from abandoned houses. We got eggs and fresh butter. Caught two, miraculously survived, pigs. Potatoes, carrots, young peas were found in the fields. And they made themselves a feast.
A well-fed life lasted three weeks. Then they were evacuated to a neighboring village. The enemy began shelling, Kropp and Paul were wounded. They are picked up by an ambulance wagon full of wounded. In the infirmary, they are operated on and sent by train to the hospital.
One of the sisters of mercy with difficulty persuaded Paul to lie down on snow-white sheets. He is not yet ready to return to the bosom of civilization. Dirty clothes and lice make him uncomfortable here. Classmates are sent to a Catholic hospital.
Every day soldiers die in the hospital. Kropp's entire leg is amputated. He says he will shoot himself. Paul thinks the hospital is the best place to learn what war is. He wonders what awaits his generation after the war.
Paul receives leave to recover at home. Going to the front and parting with your mother is even more difficult than the first time. She is even weaker than before. This is the tenth chapter summary. “All Quiet on the Western Front” is a story that covers not only military operations, the behavior of heroes on the battlefield.
The novel reveals how, faced with death and harshness every day, Paul begins to feel uncomfortable in a peaceful life. He rushes about, trying at home, next to his family to find peace of mind. But nothing comes out. In the depths of his soul, he understands that he will never find him again.
Terrible losses
The war is raging, but the German army is noticeably weakening. Paul stopped counting the days and weeks that are like in battles. The pre-war years are "no longer valid" because they have ceased to mean anything. The life of a soldier is a constant avoidance of death. They reduce you to the level of mindless animals, because instinct is the best weapon against implacable mortal danger. This helps them survive.
Spring. They feed badly. The soldiers were emaciated and hungry. Detering brought a cherry blossom branch and remembered the house. Soon he deserts. He was missed on verification, caught. Nobody heard anything more about him.
Mueller is killed. Leer was wounded in the thigh, he is bleeding. Berting was wounded in the chest, Kat in the shin. Paul is dragging the wounded Kat on him, they are talking. Exhausted, Paul stops. The orderlies come up and say that Kat is dead. Paul did not notice that his comrade was wounded in the head. Paul doesn't remember anything else.
Defeat is inevitable
Autumn. 1918 Paul is the only one of his classmates who survived. The bloody battles continue. The United States joins the enemy. Everyone understands that the defeat of Germany is inevitable.
After being gassed, Paul rests for two weeks. He sits under a tree and imagines how he will return home. He becomes scared. He thinks that they will all return as living corpses. Shells of people, empty inside, tired, lost hope. It's hard for Paul to bear this thought. He feels that he own life was irretrievably destroyed.
Paul was killed in October. On an unusually quiet peaceful day. When he was turned over, his face was calm, as if to say that he was glad that everything had ended this way. At this time, a report was transmitted from the front line: "All Quiet on the Western Front."
Meaning of the novel
World War I made adjustments to world politics, became a catalyst for revolution and the collapse of empires. These changes affected everyone's life. About war, suffering, friendship - this is what the author wanted to say. This is clearly shown in the summary.
“All Quiet on the Western Front,” Remarque wrote in 1929. Following the First World War were more bloody and cruel. Therefore, the theme raised by Remarque in the novel was continued in his subsequent books, and in the works of other writers.
Undoubtedly, this novel is a grandiose event in the arena of world literature of the 20th century. This work gave rise to disputes not only about literary merits, but also caused a huge political outcry.
The novel is one of the 100 must-read books. The work requires not only an emotional attitude, but also a philosophical one. This is evidenced by the style and manner of narration, the author's style and summary. All Quiet on the Western Front, according to some sources, is second only to the Bible in terms of circulation and readability.
In the preface of the novel he writes: “This book is neither an accusation nor a confession. This is just an attempt to tell about the generation that was destroyed by the war, about those who became its victims, even if they escaped the shells. The title of the work is taken from German reports on the progress of hostilities during the First World War, that is, on the Western Front.
About the book and the author
In his book, Remarque describes a man in a war. He reveals to us this responsible and difficult topic, which has been touched upon many times in classical literature. The writer brought his tragic experience of the "lost generation" and offered to look at the war through the eyes of a soldier.
The book brought the author worldwide fame. She opened the initial stage of the long-term success of Remarque's novels. Reading the writer's works is like flipping through the pages of the history of the twentieth century. His trench truth has stood the test of time and withstood two wars, his thoughts are still a lesson for future generations of readers.
The plot of "All Quiet on the Western Front"
The main characters of the novel are young guys who just yesterday were sitting at school desks. They, like Remarque himself, went to war as volunteers. The guys fell for the bait of school propaganda, but upon arrival at the front, everything fell into place, and the war seemed more like an opportunity to serve the motherland, but was the most ordinary massacre, where there is no place for humanity and heroism. The main task is not so much to live and fight, but to escape from a bullet, to survive in any situation.
Remarque does not try to justify all the horrors of the war. He only paints us the real life of soldiers. Even the smallest details like pain, death, blood, dirt do not escape us. Before us is a war through the eyes of a simple person, for whom all ideals collapse in the face of death.
Why read All Quiet on the Western Front?
We note right away that this is not the Remarque with which you may be familiar with such books as, and. First of all, this is a military novel, which describes the tragedy of war. It lacks the simplicity and grandeur characteristic of Remarque's work.
Remarque's attitude to the won is a little wiser and deeper than that of many party theorists: for him, war is horror, disgust, fear. However, he also recognizes its fatal nature, that it will forever remain in the history of mankind, as it managed to take root in past centuries.
Main themes:
- partnership;
- senselessness of war;
- the destructive power of ideology.
Start online and you will understand how the people who lived at that time felt. In those terrible years, the war not only divided the peoples, it severed the internal connection between parents and their children. While the former made speeches and wrote articles about heroism, the latter went through the pangs of fear and died from their wounds.
Page 11 of 13
Chapter 10
We got ourselves a warm place. Our team of eight is to guard the village, which had to be abandoned because the enemy was shelling it too hard.
First of all, we are ordered to look after the food warehouse, from which not everything has been taken out yet. We must provide ourselves with food from available stocks. About this we are masters. We are Kat, Albert, Müller, Tjaden, Leer, Detering. This is where our entire department is gathered. True, Haye is no longer alive. But all the same, we can consider that we are still very lucky - in all other departments there are much more losses than ours.
For housing, we choose a concrete cellar with a staircase going outside. The entrance is protected by a special concrete wall.
Then we develop a vigorous activity. We once again had the opportunity to relax not only in body but also in soul. And we do not miss such cases, our situation is desperate, and we cannot breed sentiments for a long time. You can indulge in despondency only as long as things are not going completely bad. "But we have to look at things simply, we have no other way out. So simple that sometimes, when some other thought comes into my head for a minute, of those pre-war times, I feel downright frightened, but such thoughts do not linger for long.
We must take our position as calmly as possible. We use every opportunity for this. Therefore, next to the horrors of war, side by side with them, without any transition, in our life there is a desire to fool around. Even now we are working with zeal to create an idyll for ourselves - of course, an idyll in the sense of food and sleep.
First of all, we line the floor with mattresses that we dragged from the houses. A soldier's ass is also sometimes not averse to soak up the soft. Only in the middle of the cellar is there a free space. Then we procure blankets and duvets, unbelievably soft, downright luxurious things. Fortunately, all this in the village is enough. Albert and I find a folding mahogany bed with a blue silk canopy and lace wraps. We broke seven sweats while we dragged her here, but you really can’t deny yourself this, especially since in a few days she will surely be blown to pieces by shells.
Kat and I go home to reconnaissance. Soon we manage to hook up a dozen balls and two pounds of pretty fresh butter. We are standing in some living room, when suddenly there is a crash and, breaking through the wall, an iron stove flies into the room, which whistles past us and, at a distance of some meter, again goes into another wall. There are two holes left. The stove flew in from the house opposite, which was hit by a shell.
Lucky, Kat grins, and we continue our search.
Suddenly we prick up our ears and take to our heels. Following this, we stop as if spellbound: in a small cove, two live piglets frolic. We rub our eyes and look back carefully. Indeed, they are still there. We touch them with our hands. There is no doubt, these are really two young pigs.
It will be a delicious dish! About fifty paces from our dugout there is a small house in which the officers lodged. In the kitchen we find a huge stove with two burners, frying pans, pots and boilers. Everything is here, including an impressive supply of finely chopped firewood, stacked in a barn. Not a house, but a full bowl.
In the morning we sent two of them to the field to look for potatoes, carrots and young peas. We live in a big way, canned food from the warehouse does not suit us, we wanted something fresh. There are already two cauliflower heads in the closet.
Pigs are stabbed. This case was taken over by Kat. For the roast, we want to bake potato pancakes. But we don't have potato graters. However, even here we soon find a way out: we take lids from tin cans, punch a lot of holes in them with a nail, and the graters are ready. Three of us put on thick gloves so as not to scratch our fingers, the other two are peeling potatoes, and the matter is smooth.
Kath performs sacred duties over pigs, carrots, peas and cauliflower. He even made a white sauce for the cabbage. I bake potato pancakes, four at a time. Ten minutes later, I got the hang of tossing the pancakes, fried on one side, in the pan so that they turn over in the air and plop down again in their place. The piglets are roasted whole. Everyone stands around them like at an altar.
In the meantime, guests came to us: two radio operators, whom we generously invite to dine with us. They are sitting in the living room where the piano is. One of them sat down to him and plays, the other sings "On the Weser". He sings with feeling, but his pronunciation is clearly Saxon. Nevertheless, we are touched to listen to him, standing at the stove, on which all these delicious things are fried and baked.
After a while, we notice that we are being fired on, and in earnest. Tethered balloons detected smoke from our chimney, and the enemy opened fire on us. It's those mischievous little things that dig out a shallow hole and produce so many fragments flying far and low. They whistle all around us, getting closer and closer, but we can't really leave all the food here. Gradually, these bastards shot. Several fragments fly through the top window frame into the kitchen. We'll deal with the heat quickly. But baking pancakes is becoming increasingly difficult. The explosions follow each other so fast that more and more fragments slap against the wall and pour through the window. Hearing the whistle of another toy, every time I squat, holding a frying pan with pancakes in my hands, and press myself against the wall by the window. Then I immediately get up and continue baking.
The Saxon stopped playing - one of the fragments hit the piano. Little by little we have managed our affairs and are organizing a retreat. After waiting for the next gap, two people take pots of vegetables and run a bullet fifty meters to the dugout. We see them diving into it.
Another break. Everyone ducks down, and the second pair, each holding a coffee pot of first-class coffee, trotted off and managed to hide in the dugout before the next break.
Then Kat and Kropp pick up a large pan of browned roasts. This is the pinnacle of our program. The howl of a projectile, a crouch, - and now they are rushing, overcoming fifty meters of unprotected space.
I'm baking the last four pancakes; during this time I have to squat twice on the floor, but still now we have four more pancakes, and this is my favorite food.
Then I grab a plate with a tall stack of pancakes and stand leaning against the door. Hissing, crackling, - and I gallop off the spot, with both hands clutching the dish to my chest. I'm almost at the goal, when suddenly a growing whistle is heard. I rush like an antelope, and I go around the concrete wall in a whirlwind. Shards drum on it; I slide down the stairs to the cellar; my elbows are bruised, but I haven't lost a single pancake or knocked over a dish.
At two o'clock we sit down to dinner. We eat until six. Until half past seven we drink coffee, officer's coffee from the food warehouse, and at the same time we smoke officer cigars and cigarettes - all from the same warehouse, Exactly at seven we begin to have dinner. At ten o'clock we throw the pig skeletons out the door. Then we move on to cognac and rum, again from the stocks of the blessed warehouse, and again we smoke long, thick cigars with stickers on the belly. Tjaden claims that the only thing missing is the girls from the officers' brothel.
Late in the evening we hear meowing. A small gray kitten sits at the entrance. We lure him in and give him food. This gives us an appetite again. Going to bed, we are still chewing.
However, we have a hard time at night. We ate too much fat. Fresh suckling pig is very burdensome for the stomach. Walking does not stop in the dugout. Two or three people sit outside all the time with their pants down and curse everything in the world. I myself do ten visits. At about four o'clock in the morning we set a record: all eleven people, the guard team and guests, sat around the dugout.
Burning houses blaze in the night like torches. Shells fly out of the darkness and crash into the ground with a roar. Columns of vehicles with ammunition rush along the road. One of the walls of the warehouse has been demolished. Drivers from the column jostle along the gap like a swarm of bees, and, despite the falling fragments, take away the bread. We don't interfere with them. If we had thought of stopping them, they would have beaten us, that's all. Therefore, we act differently. We explain that we are guards, and since we know what is where, we bring canned food and exchange it for things that we do not have enough. Why bother with them, because anyway there will soon be nothing left! For ourselves, we bring chocolate from the warehouse and eat it whole bars. Kat says that it is good to eat it when the stomach does not give rest to the legs.
Almost two weeks pass, during which we only do what we eat, drink and mess around. Nobody worries us. The village slowly disappears under the explosions of shells, and we live happy life. As long as at least part of the warehouse is intact, we do not need anything else, and we have only one desire - to stay here until the end of the war.
Tjaden has become such a picky eater that he smokes only half of his cigars. He explains with gravity that it has become a habit with him. Kat is also weird - waking up in the morning, he first of all shouts:
Emil, bring caviar and coffee! In general, we are all terribly arrogant, one considers the other his batman, addresses him as "you" and gives him instructions.
Kropp, my soles itches, take the trouble to catch a louse.
With these words, Leer stretches out her leg to Albert, like a spoiled artist, and he drags him by the leg up the stairs.
At ease, Tjaden! By the way, remember: not "what", but "I obey." Well, one more time: "Tjaden!"
Tjaden bursts into abuse and again quotes the famous passage from Goethe's "Goetz von Berlichingen", which is always on his tongue.
Another week passes, and we receive an order to return. Our happiness has come to an end. Two large trucks are taking us with them. Planks are piled on top of them. But Albert and I still manage to hoist our canopy bed on top, with blue silk bedspreads, mattresses and lace wraps. At the head of the bed, we put a bag of selected products. From time to time we stroke and hard smoked sausages, jars of liver and preserves, boxes of cigars fill our hearts with jubilation. Each of our team has such a bag with them.
In addition, Kropp and I rescued two more red plush chairs. They stand in bed, and we, lounging, sit on them, as in a theater box. Like a tent, the silk veil trembles and swells above us. Everyone has a cigar in their mouth. So we sit, looking at the area from above.
Between us stands the cage in which the parrot lived; we tracked her down for the cat. We took the cat with us, she lies in a cage in front of her bowl and purrs.
Cars roll slowly along the road. We sing. Behind us, where the now completely abandoned village remains, shells are throwing up fountains of earth.
In a few days we're going out to take one seat. On the way, we meet refugees - the evicted residents of this village. They drag their belongings with them - in wheelbarrows, in baby carriages and just behind their backs. They walk downcast, grief, despair, persecution and humility written on their faces. Children cling to the hands of their mothers, sometimes an older girl leads the babies, and they stumble along after her and turn back all the time. Some carry some pitiful doll with them. Passing by us, everyone is silent.
So far, we are moving in a marching column - after all, the French will not bombard a village from which their fellow countrymen have not yet left. But after a few minutes, a howl is heard in the air, the earth trembles, screams are heard, the shell hit the platoon closing the column, and fragments thoroughly battered it. We scatter and fall prone, but at the same moment I notice that the feeling of tension, which always unconsciously dictated to me under fire the only correct decision, this time betrayed me; the thought “You are lost” flashes through my head like lightning, a disgusting, paralyzing fear stirs in me. Another moment - and I feel a sharp pain in my left leg, like a blow of a whip. I hear Albert screaming; he is somewhere near me.
Get up, run, Albert! - I yell at him, because he and I are lying without shelter, in open space.
He barely gets off the ground and runs. I stay close to him. We need to jump over the hedge; She is taller than human. Kropp clings to the branches, I catch his leg, he screams loudly, I push him, he flies over the hedge. Jump, I fly after Kropp and fall into the water - there was a pond behind the hedge.
Our faces are smeared with mud and mud, but we have found good cover. Therefore, we climb into the water up to the throat. Hearing the howl of a shell, we dive into it with our heads.
After doing this ten times, I feel like I can't do it anymore. Albert also groans:
Let's get out of here, or I'll fall and drown.
Where did you get hurt? I ask.
Seems like a knee.
Can you run?
Perhaps I can.
Then let's run! We reach a roadside ditch and crouch down along it. The fire is chasing us. The road leads to the ammunition depot. If he takes off, even a button will never be found from us. So we change the plan and run into the field, at an angle to the road.
Albert starts to fall behind.
Run, I'll catch up, - he says and falls to the ground.
I shake him and drag him by the hand:
Get up. Albert! If you lie down now, you won't be able to run. Come on, I'll support you!
Finally we get to a small dugout. Kropp flops down on the floor and I bandage him. The bullet entered just above the knee. Then I examine myself. I have blood on my pants, and on my arm too. Albert applies bandages from his sachets to the inlets. He can no longer move his leg, and we both wonder how it was that we were even enough to drag ourselves here. This is all, of course, only out of fear - even if our feet were torn off, we would still run away from there. Though on stumps, they would have run away.
I can still crawl somehow and call a cart passing by, which picks us up. It's full of wounded. They are accompanied by an orderly, he drives a syringe into our chest - this is an anti-tetanus vaccination.
In the field infirmary, we manage to get us put together. They give us a thin broth, which we eat with contempt, although greedily - we have seen better times, but now we still want to eat.
So, right, home, Albert? I ask.
Let's hope, he replies. “If only you knew what was wrong with me.”
The pain gets stronger. Under the bandage, everything burns with fire. We drink water endlessly, mug after mug.
Where is my wound? Much above the knee? asks Kropp.
At least ten centimeters, Albert, I reply.
In fact, there are probably three centimeters.
That's what I decided, - he says after a while, - if they take my leg away, I will put an end to it. I do not want to hobble around the world on crutches.
So we lie alone with our thoughts and wait.
In the evening they carry us to the "cutting room". I get scared, and I quickly figure out what to do, because everyone knows that in field hospitals doctors amputate arms and legs without hesitation. Now, when the infirmaries are so crowded, it's easier than painstakingly stitching a person together from pieces. I remember Kemmerich. There's no way I'm going to let myself be chloroformed, even if I have to bash someone's head in.
So far, everything is going well. The doctor picks at the wound, so my vision goes dark.
Nothing to pretend, he scolds, continuing to shred me.
The tools gleam in the bright light like the teeth of a bloodthirsty beast. The pain is unbearable. Two orderlies hold my hands tightly: I manage to free one, and I'm about to go to the doctor for glasses, but he notices this in time and jumps back.
Give this guy anesthesia! he screams furiously.
I immediately become humble.
Excuse me, doctor, I'll be quiet, but don't put me to sleep.
That's the same, - he creaks and again takes up his instruments.
He's a blond guy with dueling scars and nasty gold glasses on his nose. He is thirty years old at the most. I see that now he is purposely torturing me - he is rummaging through my wound, from time to time looking sideways at me from under his glasses. I clutched the railing, - let me die, but he will not hear a sound from me.
The doctor fishes out a fragment and shows it to me. Apparently, he is pleased with my behavior: he carefully puts a splint on me and says:
Tomorrow on the train, and home! Then they make me a plaster cast. When I see Kropp in the ward, I tell him that the ambulance train will probably arrive tomorrow.
We need to talk to the paramedic so that we can be left together, Albert.
I manage to hand the paramedic two cigars with stickers from my stock and screw in a few words. He sniffs the cigars and asks:
What else do you have?
Good handful, I say. - And my comrade, - I point to Kropp, - there is also. Tomorrow, together with pleasure, we will hand them over to you from the window of the hospital train.
He, of course, immediately realizes what is the matter: after sniffing again, he says:
We can't sleep for a minute at night. Seven people are dying in our ward. One of them sings chorales for an hour in a high, strangled tenor, then the singing turns into a death rattle. The other gets off the bed and manages to crawl to the windowsill. He lies under the window, as if gathered in last time look out into the street.
Our stretchers are at the station. We are waiting for the train. It's raining and the station has no roof. Blankets are thin. We've been waiting for two hours.
The paramedic takes care of us like a caring mother. Although I feel very bad, I do not forget about our plan. As if by chance, I pull back the blanket so that the paramedic can see the packs of cigars, and I give him one as a deposit. For this, he covers us with a raincoat.
Oh, Albert, my friend, - I remember, - do you remember our four-poster bed and a cat?
And chairs, he adds.
Yes, red plush chairs. In the evenings we sat on them like kings and were about to rent them out. One cigarette an hour. We would live our worries without knowing, and even have benefits.
Albert, - I remember, - and our bags of grub ...
We become sad. All this would be very useful to us. If the train had left a day later. Kath would certainly have sought us out and brought us our share.
That's bad luck. We have a stew of flour in our stomachs - meager infirmary grubs - and in our bags there are canned pork. But we are already so weak that we are not able to worry about this.
The train arrives only in the morning, and by this time water is sloshing in the stretcher. The paramedic arranges us in one car. Sisters of mercy from the Red Cross scurry everywhere. Kroppa is placed below. They lift me up, I have a place above him.
Well, wait, - suddenly breaks out from me.
What's the matter? the sister asks.
I take another look at the bed. It is covered with snow-white linen sheets, incomprehensibly clean, they even show wrinkles from the iron. And I haven't changed my shirt for six weeks, it's black with dirt.
Can't you get in yourself? the sister asks anxiously.
I'll climb in, - I say, feeling that I have protested, - just take off your underwear first.
Why? I feel like I'm dirty as a pig. Will they put me here?
Why, I ... - I do not dare to finish my thought.
Will you smear it a little? she asks, trying to cheer me up. - It's not a problem, we'll wash it later.
No, that's not the point, I say excitedly.
I am not at all ready for such a sudden return to the bosom of civilization.
You were lying in the trenches, so why don't we wash the sheets for you? she continues.
I look at her; she is young and looks as fresh, crisp, cleanly washed and pleasant as everything around, it's hard to believe that this is not only for officers, it makes her uncomfortable and even somehow scary.
And yet this woman is a real executioner: she makes me talk.
I just thought... - On this I stop: she must understand what I mean.
What else is it?
Yes, I'm talking about lice, - I blurt out at last.
She is laughing:
They also need to live to their hearts' content someday.
Well, now I don't care. I climb onto the ledge and cover my head.
Someone's fingers are rummaging through the blanket. This is a paramedic. After receiving the cigars, he leaves.
An hour later, we notice that we are already driving.
I wake up at night. Kropp also tosses and turns. The train rolls quietly along the rails. All this is still somehow incomprehensible: bed, train, home. I whisper
Albert!
Do you know where the restroom is?
I think it's behind that door on the right.
Let's see.
It's dark in the car, I feel for the edge of the shelf and I'm going to carefully slide down. But my leg does not find a point of support, I begin to slide off the shelf - you can’t lean on a wounded leg, and I fall to the floor with a crash.
Damn it! I say.
Are you hurt? asks Kropp.
And you haven't heard, have you? I snap. He hit his head so hard...
A door opens at the end of the car. My sister comes up with a lantern in her hands and sees me.
He fell off the shelf... She feels my pulse and touches my forehead.
But you don't have a fever.
No, I agree.
Must have been something bugged? she asks.
Yes, probably, I answer evasively.
And the questions begin again. She looks at me with her clear eyes, so clean and amazing - no, I can’t tell her what I need.
They lift me up again. Wow, it's done! After all, when she leaves, I will have to go down again! If she had been an old woman, I would probably have told her what was the matter, but she is so young, she can not be more than twenty-five. There's nothing you can do about it, I can't tell her.
Then Albert comes to my aid - he has nothing to be ashamed of, because this is not about him. He calls his sister to him:
Sister, he needs...
But Albert also does not know how to put it in a way that would sound quite decent. At the front, in a conversation among ourselves, one word would have been enough for us, but here, in the presence of such a lady ... But then he suddenly recalls his school years and finishes smartly:
He should go out, sister.
Ah, that's it, says the sister. - So for this he does not need to get out of bed at all, especially since he is in a cast. What exactly do you need? she turns to me.
I am scared to death of this new turn of affairs, as I have no idea what terminology is adopted for these things.
My sister comes to my rescue
Small or big?
What a shame! I feel that I am sweating all over, and I say embarrassedly:
Only in a small way.
Well, it didn't end so bad after all.
They give me a duck. A few hours later, a few more people follow my example, and by the morning we are already used to it and do not hesitate to ask for what we need.
The train is moving slowly. Sometimes he stops to unload the dead. He stops quite often.
Albert is feverish. I feel tolerably good, my leg hurts, but much worse is that under the cast, obviously, lice are sitting. The leg itches terribly, but you can’t scratch it.
Our days are spent in slumber. Views drift silently through the window. On the third night we arrive in Herbestal. I learn from my sister that Albert will be dropped off at the next stop, because he has a temperature.
Where will we stop? I ask.
In Cologne.
Albert, we'll stay together, I say, you'll see.
When my sister makes her next round, I hold my breath and force the air in. My face is flushed and reddened. Sister stops:
Are you in pain?
Yes, I say with a groan. - Somehow suddenly began.
She gives me a thermometer and walks on. Now I know what to do, - after all, I did not learn from Kata in vain. These soldier's thermometers are not designed for highly experienced warriors. One has only to drive mercury up, as it will get stuck in its narrow tube and will no longer fall.
I put the thermometer obliquely under my arm, mercury up, and click on it for a long time. index finger. Then I shake and turn it over. It turns out 37.9. But this is not enough. Carefully holding it over a burning match, I catch up with the temperature to 38.7.
When my sister returns, I puff up like a turkey, try to breathe abruptly, look at her with dazed eyes, toss and turn uneasily, and say in an undertone:
Oh, there is no urine to endure! She writes down my name on a piece of paper. I know for sure that my plaster cast will not be touched unless absolutely necessary.
They drop me off the train with Albert.
We lie in the infirmary at the Catholic monastery, in the same ward. We are very lucky: Catholic hospitals are famous for their good care and delicious food. The infirmary is full of the wounded from our train; many of them are in critical condition. Today we are not being examined yet, because there are too few doctors here. Every now and then, low rubber-wheeled carts are carried along the corridor, and every time someone lies on them, stretched out to their full height. Damn uncomfortable position - so only sleep well.
The night passes very restlessly. Nobody can sleep. In the morning we manage to doze off for a while. I wake up from the light. The door is open and voices are heard from the corridor. My roommates are also waking up. One of them - he has been lying for several days - explains to us what the matter is:
Up here, the sisters say prayers every morning. They call it morning. In order not to deprive us of the pleasure of listening, they open the door to the ward.
Of course, this is very caring of them, but all our bones hurt and our head cracks.
What a disgrace! I say. - I just fell asleep.
Up here they are lying with minor injuries, so they decided that they can do this with us, ”my neighbor answers.
Albert groans. Anger breaks me down and I scream:
Hey there, shut up! A minute later, a sister appears in the ward. In her black and white monastic robes, she looks like a pretty coffee pot doll.
Shut the door, sister, someone says.
The door is open because a prayer is being read in the hallway,” she replies.
And we haven't slept yet.
Better to pray than sleep. She stands and smiles an innocent smile. Besides, it's already seven o'clock.
Albert groaned again.
Close the door! I bark.
My sister was taken aback - apparently, she can't get her head around how you can scream like that.
We are praying for you too.
Anyway, close the door! She disappears, leaving the door unlocked. The monotonous mumbling is heard again in the corridor. It pisses me off and I say:
I count to three. If they don't stop by then, I'll throw something at them.
And so do I,” says one of the wounded.
I count to five. Then I take the empty bottle, take aim and throw it through the door into the corridor. The bottle shatters into small pieces. The voices of the worshipers are silent. A flock of sisters appears in the ward. They swear, but in very restrained terms.
Close the door! we shout.
They are removed. The one, the little one, that just now came to us, is the last to leave.
Atheists, she murmurs, but she closes the door anyway.
We have won.
At noon the head of the infirmary comes and gives us a thrashing. He frightens us with a fortress and even with something even worse. But all these military doctors, just like the quartermasters, are still nothing more than officials, although they carry a long sword and epaulettes, and therefore even recruits do not take them seriously. Let him speak to himself. He won't do anything to us.
Who threw the bottle? he asks.
I had not yet had time to figure out whether I should confess, when suddenly someone says:
I! On one of the beds a man with a thick, matted beard rises. Everyone can't wait to find out why he named himself.
Yes sir. I got flustered at being woken up for no reason and lost control of myself so I didn't know what I was doing. He speaks as if by writing.
What is your last name?
Josef Hamacher, called up from the reserve.
The inspector leaves.
We are all driven by curiosity.
Why did you give your last name? After all, you didn't do it!
He smirks.
So what if it's not me? I have "absolution of sins".
Now everyone understands what's going on here. He who has "remission of sins" can do whatever he pleases.
So, - he says, - I was wounded in the head, and after that they gave me a certificate that at times I was insane. Since then, nothing has happened to me. I can't be annoyed. So they won't do anything to me. This guy from the first floor will be very angry. And I named myself because I liked the way they threw the bottle. If tomorrow they open the door again, we'll throw another one.
We rejoice loudly. As long as Josef Hamacher is among us, we can do the most risky things.
Then silent carriages come for us.
The bandages are dry. We moo like bulls.
There are eight people in our room. Peter, a black-haired, curly-haired boy, has the most severe injury - he has a complex penetrating wound in his lungs. His neighbor Franz Wächter has a fractured forearm, and at first it seems to us that his affairs are not so bad. But on the third night he calls us and asks to call - it seems to him that the blood has passed through the bandages.
I forcefully press the button. The night nurse does not come. In the evening we made her run around - all of us were bandaged, and after that the wounds always hurt. One asked to put his foot like this, the other - that way, the third was thirsty, the fourth had to fluff up the pillow - in the end the fat old woman began to grumble angrily, and slammed the door as she left. Now she probably thinks that everything is starting over, and therefore does not want to go.
We are waiting. Franz then says:
Call again! I'm calling. The nurse does not show up. At night, only one sister remains in our wing, perhaps just now she was called to other wards.
Franz, are you sure you're bleeding? I ask. - And then they will scold us again.
The bandages got wet. Can someone turn on the light?
But nothing happens with the light either: the switch is at the door, and no one can get up. I press the call button until my finger numbs. Perhaps the sister was asleep? After all, they have so much work to do, they already look overtired during the day. Plus, they keep praying.
Shall we throw a bottle? asks Josef Hamacher, the man to whom everything is permitted.
Since she does not hear the call, she will certainly not hear it.
Finally the door opens. A sleepy old woman appears on the threshold. Seeing what happened to Franz, she begins to fuss and exclaims:
Why didn't anyone let me know about this?
We did call. And none of us can walk.
He was bleeding heavily and is being bandaged again. In the morning we see his face: it turned yellow and sharpened, and yet last night he looked almost completely healthy. Now my sister began to visit us more often.
Sometimes sisters from the Red Cross take care of us. They are kind, but sometimes they lack skill. When they transfer us from the stretcher to the bed, they often hurt us, and then they get so scared that it makes us even worse.
We trust nuns more. They are good at picking up the wounded, but we would like them to be a little more cheerful. However, some of them have a sense of humor, and these, really, well done. Who among us would not, for example, render some service to Sister Libertine? As soon as we see this amazing woman at least from a distance, the mood in the whole wing immediately rises. And there are many of them here. For them, we are ready to go through fire and water. No, there is no need to complain - the nuns treat us just like civilians. And when you remember what is happening in the garrison infirmaries, it becomes so simply scary.
Franz Wächter never recovered. One day they take it away and never bring it back. Josef Hamacher explains:
Now we won't see him. They took him to the dead.
What is this dead one? asks Kropp.
Well, death row.
Yes, what is it?
This is a room at the end of the outbuilding. Those who were going to stretch their legs are placed there. There are two beds. Everyone calls her dead.
But why do they do it?
And they have less fuss. Then it's more convenient - the room is located just at the elevator, which rises to the morgue. Or maybe this is done so that no one dies in the wards, in front of others. And it's easier to look after him when he lies alone.
And what is it like for him?
Joseph shrugs.
So after all, whoever got there, usually doesn’t really understand what they are doing with him.
And what does everyone here know?
Those who have been here for a long time, of course, they know.
After dinner, a new one is placed on Franz Waechter's bed. A few days later, he is also taken away. Joseph makes an expressive gesture with his hand. He is not the last - many more come and go before our eyes.
Sometimes relatives sit by the beds; they cry or talk quietly, embarrassed. One old woman does not want to leave, but she cannot stay here for the night. The next morning she comes very early, but she should have come even earlier - going to the bed, she sees that another one is already lying on it. She is invited to go to the morgue. She brought apples with her and is now giving them to us.
Little Peter also feels worse. His temperature curve rises menacingly, and one fine day a low carriage stops at his bunk.
Where? he asks.
In the dressing room.
They lift him into a wheelchair. But the sister makes a mistake: she takes his soldier's jacket off the hook and puts it next to him so as not to come for it again. Peter immediately guesses what the matter is and tries to roll out of the carriage:
I'm staying here! They don't let him get up. He screams softly with his perforated lungs:
I don't want to go to the dead!
Yes, we're taking you to the dressing room.
What do you need my jacket for then? He is no longer able to speak. He whispers in a hoarse, excited whisper:
Leave me here! They do not answer and take him out of the room. At the door he tries to get up. His black curly head is shaking, his eyes are full of tears.
I'll be back! I'll be back! he shouts.
The door closes. We are all excited, but silent. Finally Joseph says:
We are not the first to hear this. Yes, but whoever got there, he can’t survive.
I have an operation, and after that I vomit for two days. My doctor's clerk says my bones don't want to heal. In one of our departments, they have grown together incorrectly, and they are breaking them again. This is also a small pleasure. Among the newcomers there are two young soldiers suffering from flat feet. During the rounds, they catch the eye of the head doctor, who stops happily near their beds.
We'll get rid of that," he says. - A small operation, and you will have healthy legs. Sister, write them down.
As he leaves, the omniscient Joseph warns the newcomers:
Look, do not agree to the operation! This, you see, our old man has such a fad on the scientific side. He sees in a dream how to get himself someone for this business. He will perform an operation on you, and after that your foot will indeed no longer be flat; but it will be twisted, and you will hobble with a stick until the end of your days.
What are we to do now? one of them asks.
Do not give consent! You were sent here to treat wounds, not to fix flat feet! What kind of legs did you have at the front? Ah, here it is! Now you can still walk, but you will visit the old man under the knife and become crippled. He needs guinea pigs, so for him war is the most beautiful time, as for all doctors. Take a look at the lower section - there are crawling about a dozen people whom he operated on. Some have been sitting here for years, from the fifteenth and even from the fourteenth year. None of them began to walk better than before, on the contrary, almost all of them are worse, most of them have legs in plaster. Every six months he drags them to the table again and breaks their bones in a new way, and each time he tells them that now success is guaranteed. Think carefully, without your consent, he has no right to do this.
Eh, my friend, - says one of them wearily, - legs are better than a head. Can you say in advance what place you will get when you are sent there again? Let them do what they want with me, just to get home. It's better to hobble and stay alive.
His friend, a young guy of our age, does not agree. The next morning the old man orders them to be brought downstairs; there he begins to persuade them and yells at them, so that in the end they still agree. What is left for them to do? After all, they are just gray cattle, and he is a big shot. They are brought into the ward under chloroform and in plaster.
Albert is not doing well. He is taken to the operating room for amputation. The leg is taken away entirely, to the very top. Now he has almost stopped talking. Once he says that he is going to shoot himself, that he will do it as soon as he gets to his revolver.
A new echelon with the wounded arrives. They put two blind people in our ward. One of them is still a very young musician. Serving him dinner, the sisters always hide knives from him - he once pulled the knife out of one of their hands. Despite these precautions, trouble befell him.
In the evening, at dinner, his sister serving him is called out of the ward for a minute, and she puts a plate with a fork on his table. He gropes for a fork, takes it in his hand and plunges it into his heart with a flourish, then grabs a shoe and beats it with all his might on the handle. We call for help, but you can't handle him alone, it takes three people to take the fork from him. The blunt teeth managed to penetrate quite deeply. He scolds us all night so no one can sleep. In the morning he has a fit of hysteria.
We have vacant beds. Days go by, and each of them is pain and fear, groans and wheezing. The "dead" are now useless, there are too few of them - at night people die in the wards, including ours. Death overtakes the wise foresight of our sisters.
But then one fine day the door swings open, a carriage appears on the threshold, and on it - pale, thin - sits, victoriously raising his black curly head, Peter. Sister Libertine, with a beaming face, rolls him over to his old bunk. He returned from the dead. And we have long believed that he died.
He looks in all directions:
Well, what do you say to that?
And even Josef Hamacher is forced to admit that he has never seen such a thing.
After a while some of us get permission to get out of bed. They also give me crutches, and little by little I begin to hobble. However, I rarely use them, I can't bear the look Albert looks at me as I walk across the ward. He always looks at me with such strange eyes. Therefore, from time to time I run away into the corridor - there I feel freer.
A floor below lie those wounded in the stomach, in the spine, in the head, and with the amputation of both arms or legs. In the right wing - people with crushed jaws, gassed, wounded in the nose, ears and throat. The left wing is assigned to the blind and wounded in the lungs, in the pelvis, in the joints, in the kidneys, in the scrotum, in the stomach. Only here you can clearly see how vulnerable the human body is.
Two of the wounded die of tetanus. Their skin turns grey, their bodies numb, and in the end life glimmers - for a very long time - in their eyes alone. For some, a broken arm or leg is tied with a string and hangs in the air, as if hung up on a gallows. Others have stretch marks attached to the headboard with heavy weights at the end that hold the healing arm or leg in a tense position. I see people with open intestines, in which feces constantly accumulate. The clerk shows me x-rays of the hip, knee and shoulder joints, shattered into small fragments.
It seems incomprehensible that these tattered bodies are assigned human faces still living ordinary, everyday life. But this is only one infirmary, only one of its branches! There are hundreds of thousands of them in Germany, hundreds of thousands in France, hundreds of thousands in Russia. How senseless everything that is written, done and rethought by people, if such things are possible in the world! To what extent our thousand-year-old civilization is false and worthless, if it could not even prevent these flows of blood, if it allowed hundreds of thousands of such dungeons to exist in the world. Only in the infirmary you see with your own eyes what war is.
I am young - I am twenty years old, but all that I have seen in my life is despair, death, fear and interweaving of the most absurd thoughtless vegetative life with immeasurable torment. I see that someone is setting one nation against another, and people are killing each other, in insane blindness submitting to someone else's will, not knowing what they are doing, not knowing their own guilt. I see that the best minds of mankind invent weapons to prolong this nightmare, and find words to justify it even more subtly. And together with me, all people of my age see it, in our country and in them, all over the world, our entire generation is experiencing it. What will our fathers say if we ever rise from our graves and stand before them and demand an account? What can they expect from us if we live to see the day when there will be no war? Long years we were in the business of killing. This was our calling, the first calling in our lives. All we know about life is death. What will happen next? And what will become of us?
The eldest in our ward is Lewandowski. He is forty years old; he has a severe wound in the stomach, and he has been in the infirmary for ten months. Only for recent weeks he has recovered so much that he can stand up and, arching his lower back, hobble a few steps.
He's been very excited for several days now. From a provincial Polish town, a letter came from his wife, in which she writes that she has saved up money for the journey and can now visit him.
She has already left and should arrive here any day now. Lewandowski lost his appetite, he even gives sausages and cabbage to his comrades, barely touching his portion. All he knows is that he is walking around the ward with a letter; each of us has already read it ten times already, the stamps on the envelope have been checked an infinite number of times, it is all greasy and so captured that the letters are almost invisible, and finally something happens that was to be expected - Lewandowski's temperature jumps and he have to go to bed again.
He did not see his wife for two years. During this time she bore him a child; she will bring it with her. But Lewandowski's thoughts are not at all occupied with this. He expected that by the time his old woman arrived, he would be allowed to go out into the city - after all, it is clear to everyone that it is, of course, pleasant to look at his wife, but if a person has been separated from her for so long, he wants, if possible, to satisfy some other desires.
Lewandowski discussed this issue with each of us for a long time, because the soldiers have no secrets on this score. Those of us who are already being allowed into the city named him several excellent corners in gardens and parks, where no one would interfere with him, and one even had a small room in mind.
But what's the point of all this? Lewandowski lies in bed, and he is besieged by worries. Even life is not sweet to him now - he is so tormented by the thought that he will have to miss this opportunity. We console him and promise that we will try to somehow turn this business around.
The next day his wife appears, a small, scrawny woman with timid, quickly shifting bird eyes, in a black mantilla with ruffles and ribbons. God knows where she dug up such a thing, must have inherited it.
The woman mumbles something softly and stops timidly in the doorway. She was afraid that there were six of us.
Well, Marya, - says Lewandowski, moving his Adam's apple with a troubled look, - come in, don't be afraid, they won't do anything to you.
Lewandowska walks around the cots and shakes hands with each of us, then shows the baby, who in the meantime managed to get the diapers dirty. She brought with her a large beaded bag; taking a clean piece of flannel out of it, she deftly swaddles the baby. This helps her overcome her initial embarrassment and she starts talking to her husband.
He is nervous, now and then squinting at us with his round bulging eyes, and he looks the most unhappy.
The time is right now - the doctor has already made a round, in the worst case, a sister could look into the ward. Therefore, one of us goes out into the corridor - to find out the situation. Soon he returns and makes a sign:
There is nothing. Go ahead, Johann! Tell her what's up and move on.
They talk about something to each other in Polish. Our guest looks at us embarrassed, she blushed a little. We smirk good-naturedly and vigorously brush off, - well, what, they say, is this here! To hell with all prejudice! They are good for other times. Here lies the carpenter Johann Lewandowski, a soldier crippled in the war, and here is his wife. Who knows, when he meets her again, he wants to possess her, let his wish come true, and that's it!
In case any sister does appear in the corridor, we put two people at the door to intercept her and engage her in conversation. They promise to watch for a quarter of an hour.
Lewandowski can only lie on his side. So one of us puts a few more pillows behind his back. The baby is handed to Albert, then we turn away for a moment, the black mantilla disappears under the covers, and we, with loud knocks and jokes, cut ourselves into a stingray.
Everything goes well. I scored some crosses, and even that is a trifle, but by some miracle I manage to wriggle out. Because of this, we almost forgot about Lewandowski. After a while, the baby begins to cry, although Albert swings him with all his might in his arms. Then there is a quiet rustling and rustling, and when we casually raise our heads, we see that the child is already sucking his horn on his mother's lap. It is done.
Now we feel like one big family; Lewandowski's wife is quite cheerful, and Lewandowski himself, perspiring and happy, lies in his bed and beams all over.
He unpacks the embroidered bag. It contains several excellent sausages. Lewandowski takes the knife, solemnly, as if it were a bouquet of flowers, and cuts them into pieces. He gestures broadly at us, and a small, thin woman comes up to everyone, smiles, and divides the sausage between us. Now she looks really pretty. We call her mother, and she rejoices in this and fluffs pillows for us.
After a few weeks, I start going to therapeutic exercises every day. They put my foot on the pedal and give it a warm-up. The hand has long since healed.
New echelons of the wounded arrive from the front. The bandages are no longer made of gauze, but of white corrugated paper - it has become tight with the dressing material at the front.
Albert's stump heals well. The wound is almost closed. In a few weeks he will be discharged for prosthetics. He still doesn't talk much and is much more serious than before. Often he stops in mid-sentence and looks at one point. If not for us, he would have committed suicide long ago. But now the most difficult time is behind him. Sometimes he even watches us play skat.
After discharge, they give me leave.
My mother doesn't want to leave me. She is so weak. It's even harder for me than last time.
Then a call comes from the regiment, and I go to the front again.
It is difficult for me to say goodbye to my friend Albert Kropp. But such is the lot of a soldier - over time he gets used to this.
