His right hand was, literally, Bachmatiuk. Although they were roughly of equal age, the RSM behaved like an old clerk towards his young boss.
“Colonel,” he explained, “we work from six to eleven, and from two to five. The men get exhausted. In this heat you can’t do more… Night exercises twice a week—”
“You can! You can!” interjected the lieutenant-colonel. “You have to! High command informs us that the general will be inspecting at the end of the month!”
“With respect, sir, may I request that you give the order to work from five to twelve and from two till seven?…”
They were both aware that such an order was impossible, being contrary to the regulations regarding working hours in summer. Leithuber glanced at the photograph, then he changed his tone and changed the subject. Now he wanted to explore Bachmatiuk’s views about his decision to send Captain Slavíček to the front. He wanted to get rid of this captain, because he could not stand Czechs. His dislike of Czechs went back to his childhood. The family house was in a working-class district of Vienna and it was attached to a wine bar owned by the lieutenant-colonel’s father Johann, popularly known as Leithuber-Johnny. Leithuber-Johnny was a member of the Christian-Social Party and he venerated Mayor Lueger… In the noisy arguments with customers around little green tables covered with red-and-white chequered tablecloths, he predicted the imminent fall of the monarchy at the hands of the Czechs and the socialists. Leithuber’s son (Leithuber-Al) became convinced of the accuracy of his father’s predictions many years later, on the outbreak of the infamous zde affair. Czech reservists were unwilling to announce their presence in German: “Hier!”, calling out in their own language: “Zde!” This scandal echoed loudly round the walls of the neoclassical Parliament. He could not forgive the Czechs for 1912. During that partial mobilization, reservists in the Czech infantry regiments—the Imperial and Royal 18th, the Imperial and Royal 36th, and the 8th Regiment of Dragoons—had openly mutinied.
“Captain Slavíček,” respectfully remarked Bachmatiuk, “is a professional officer. He has served in the regiment for eighteen years, without a break. Captain Castelli came to us out of retirement. I don’t know what he did previously. With my own ears I heard him utter an obsolete command that is no longer in the regulations. It was used back in the days of—”
“I said Captain Slavíček will leave with the battalion while Captain Castelli will be in charge of the recruits. That’s that and there is no more to be said!”
“Yes sir!”
Bachmatiuk clicked his heels, took out his notebooks and began giving a detailed report of everything that had taken place at the barracks during the last twenty-four hours. In this way, as he did every morning, he confidentially conveyed the most important information to his commanding officer. As he listened to Bachmatiuk, the lieutenant-colonel occasionally jotted down names and numbers on a separate pad. Bachmatiuk reported every incident. Yesterday, around eleven at night, he had passed by the guardhouse and looked in through the window. It turned out that the commander of the guard had been asleep. This morning in the baths a certain Jew had felt sick.
“It’s amazing what sort of human material they’re sending us now!” he complained, like an estate steward to the heir.
The recruits’ state of health was of no interest to the lieutenant-colonel. It was a matter for the doctors.
“Pachmatiuk!”—Leithuber pronounced his “B”s, in his Viennese accent, as “P”s. “See to it that you get me all the recruits into uniform by tomorrow. Done and dusted! I will attend the swearing-in.”
“Yes sir!”
Someone knocked at the door. It was the adjutant—with two bulky folders. He also had sideburns, but they were black, shiny as satin. And a moustache to match.
“Pachmatiuk, dis—miss!”
Bachmatiuk saluted both superiors in turn, then he left.
Leithuber disliked the adjutant. For a start, he was offended by the title of “Baron”, though he derived considerable satisfaction from the fact that the son of a bar-keeper had “under him” someone high-born, even born in one of those romantic feudal castles perched like birds’ nests on top of wild rocks, to the delight of passengers on the Vienna–Venice railway line. He was offended by the baron’s appearance. A fop. Shirker in the barracks, son-in-law of some influential field marshal in the War Ministry, wearing field uniform as though he was leaving with the battalion this very day. Instead of medals he wore thin ribbons, covering the stars on the collar with a silk handkerchief, so they would not accidentally be revealed to the enemy he was never going to meet. Leithuber could not bear comedy and pretence. He ostentatiously wore peacetime uniform. He did not conceal his gold collar. He also disliked the adjutant for his affected manner of speech. No, he could not swallow it! Why had they sent this dandy to the Galician regiment, not understanding a word of Polish or Ukrainian?
But speaking fluent French! There was not a single Frenchman in the regiment. There were no Frenchmen in the entire Imperial and Royal Army. Even in conversations with him—with Leithuber—he used French expressions. En attendant!… On one occasion, Leithuber could not stand it any longer and he yelled in his face:
“Am attandan, Lieutenant, I don’t think it is right for an Austrian officer to speak to his superior in the language of a nation with whom we are at war!” Lieutenant-Colonel Leithuber could not speak French.
Today the baron turned up once more in battledress. In a voice quivering with submissiveness, he reported on all the day’s occurrences, presenting paper after paper for signature, and finally reading out the draft orders of the day. Reluctantly, Leithuber listened to him. At Item 6, he lost patience, interrupting the adjutant and ordering him to find a pencil and take down, in shorthand:
“It has come to my attention that some guard commanders, guard commanders—are asleep while on duty in the guardroom. I order, no—I draw attention to the fact that it is a serious offence, punished severely—severely punished, not as a disciplinary matter but according to the code of war. If anything similar occurs again, the offender will be immediately brought before the divisional court. Divisional. Full stop. Let no one think that I can be deceived. I can—are you taking this down?—I can see everything and I forgive nothing. Full stop.
Item 7. PENALTIES. As of today, I impose the following penalties on the following NCOs and privates—you will fill in the names yourself, but please write clearly, so the typists make no mistakes. Names have been misspelt in the orders several times before. When I pointed this out to Sergeant Kandl, he reported that they transcribed the adjutant’s shorthand accurately in the orderly room. Where did you learn your shorthand, Lieutenant? In the conservatoire?”
A delicate allusion to the baron’s violin-playing, which Leithuber hated. At each gathering in the mess, it was always the same pieces: Schumann’s ‘Träumerei’, Chopin’s Nocturne no. 2, and Si j’étais roi. Like a lovelorn cadet at the military academy.
“Please take this down: Item 8. ASSIGNMENTS. As of today, Captain Erwin Castelli is assigned to the 1st Battalion and will enter the field as commander of the second company. Command of the battalion recruits will be assumed by Captain Jaroslav Slavíček… have you got that, Lieutenant?—Jaroslav.”
Can you imagine a war conducted in frock-coats, jerkins, kaftans, ties, bowler hats and Jewish skull-caps? No, not even Piotr Niewiadomski could imagine such a war. He clearly understood that you were only allowed to kill a man when wearing uniform, and death in the name of the Emperor only counts if bodies are packaged in the official state wrapping and intact. You see, besides his monopoly in tobacco and salt, the Emperor also had a monopoly in the killing of people. But God created man in his own image and likeness, so the Emperor too gave men a uniform in order to create at least some likeness. Of course, there was a great difference between the uniform of the Emperor himself and that which Piotr Niewiadomski was to wear today. Yes, but there was also a good deal of difference between those two mortals.