This is his hour; this is the hour of the Antichrist.
AND I ALSO BECAME A SOLDIER
Then there came unto the world the Great War, which is called the World War; many became soldiers, and I also became a soldier.
We know that all around the world the Antichrist mingles with the soldiers as he has always done; with soldiers, who are compelled to regard life lightly while continually in the presence of Death, for it is actually Death who is their father and not the kaiser, and the ‘other world’ is their real fatherland even during their lifetime. It is therefore remarkable that the sons of Death should also let themselves be seduced by earthly things, that they should live for earthly glory and conceive a love for it. Although the Evil One can rarely seduce them with the clinking coins that others put into their wallets, he seduces soldiers with similar, somewhat larger coins which they can pin on to their chests. And he also seduces them through stars and buttons, through stripes and braids. I have seen so many who, one hour before we marched forth to sink into the arms of our father, Death, hastily obtain through cunning, baseness, the shabby trick of foolish ambition or even by physical violence, one more star, one more button, one more length of braid, so that he might be distinguished by these things from the others at the very second that they are all about to die. The train that carried us to the battlefield contained different kinds of cars, and in the better ones were those who had more braid and better buttons.
The first thing I will relate is that during the time when we were training and learning to use weapons we had various mundane tasks to perform on a daily basis. So one day I went out with a squad of soldiers whose job it was to collect metal throughout the town from which would be made cannon and cannonballs — latches, candlesticks and, in general, all kinds of domestic utensils that contained copper, brass, nickel, iron or steel. A large wagon covered with a canvas roof was driven into the courtyard of the barracks, and it was similar to the one that had delivered the first film theatre into our town. We were twenty-four soldiers, and the twenty-fifth, or, more accurately, the first, was the sergeant. When the horses were harnessed and the driver was ready to pull on the reins, the gate of the barracks was opened wide, and into the courtyard rolled a large black automobile with soft curtains spread over its windows. From the car stepped a very friendly black-clad gentleman carrying a black briefcase. Everything about him was dignified and kind — his pointed grey beard, his thick soft moustache and the gentle brown eyes with which he inspected us. From the pockets of his overcoat he withdrew chocolate bars and packs of cigarettes, and everyone received some of one and some of the other. If we had been one hundred or even one thousand, even then, none of us would have left empty-handed. This gentleman was like a kind yet powerful father. His mild, charitable hands had the ability, as soon as they were plunged into the depths of his pockets, to produce presents that he hadn’t even brought with him. He smiled at us, got back in his car and drove on ahead of us. And where he stopped we also stopped, went into homes and retrieved domestic utensils to put in our large wagon. After we had emptied many houses the black car stopped before a church. Here the mild gentleman stepped out and hurried up the steps with his hat in his hand. We followed him and stood, our caps in our hands, in the golden twilight of the church. The sexton came. The gentleman murmured something. The gentleman motioned to us, and we followed the sexton. We entered a small yard bordering the church. In the yard stood two bells, church bells, covered with verdigris as though with bluish-green velvet cloaks. They were old bells. Just as men attain the dignity of silver in old age, so do old bells acquire the dignity of verdigris, which is a kind of moss for metals, so that we are reminded of the ground in thick forests and of all types of ancient rocks and walls and stones. The bells were heavy. And as it was the first day we had been assigned to such a task we lacked suitable equipment, and while we were considering how we could lift the bells the kind gentleman came and said we should first overturn them and then roll them out of the yard. So we laid the bells down and saw that they were hollow bells, missing their clappers, which are the souls of bells; they were thus empty and dead bells. The gentleman bent down, and when he noticed that the clappers were missing he asked the sexton about it. So two of us went with the sexton and returned with the clappers. We then rolled away the bells with our hands, although it would have been easier to push them with our feet. But we didn’t dare. The empty bells echoed dully against the stones of the yard. Next, we threaded thick ropes through the holes, tied one end of each rope to a side of the wagon, and by mounting the vehicle we were able to hoist the bells up. We then drove on with two dead church bells, one on each side of the wagon. We stopped again in front of a large red-brick building outside of town, and in a great hall that already contained thousands of metal utensils of the type that we had brought with us (and hundreds of bells both laying and upright) we unloaded the contents of our wagon, the booty of our labours. And the clappers were put into a large zinc kettle. As we dumped them they emitted a ringing sound, as though they had remembered that they were bell clappers that were supposed to ring.
The bells were made into cannon. Later I was sent to the front. And on the side of one of the many roads through which we passed stood a kind gentleman, still young in years, clad from head to foot in brown leather and wearing large goggles that were part of his leather helmet. Now there seemed to be something missing from this helmet. I didn’t know what, but it was quite obvious that there was something missing. Only much later did I realize that what was missing from the helmet was horns. This leather-clad gentleman gave us all chocolate and cigarettes, which he extracted from a roomy leather sack carried by two soldiers. He then hurried back to the side of the road, and we marched past him again (as is normally done only for generals and other high military officers) while he turned the crank on a black box that had a round glass eye in the middle. This eye swallowed all of our shadows. So now I knew that many years before the shadows of the Russian and Japanese soldiers had been bought with chocolate and cigarettes. And I could already envision our shadows on the screens of theatres throughout the land.
Shortly before Christmas a black automobile came and stopped just behind the battlefield where dead soldiers lay, and several gentlemen stepped out of the car. Among them was one who seemed especially kind and dignified. We all liked him immediately, mainly because of his reassuring grey beard. We had halted, that is to say, in the parlance of war, that we could rest before beginning once again to shoot and to die. We were marched not far from the black automobile. The kind-looking gentleman spoke to us. And what he said pleased us because of his gentle and agreeable voice. He ordered a number of large leather sacks to be fetched, and it took twenty of us to lug these sacks, from which chocolate and cigarettes were distributed to the soldiers. At this time an aviator began to circle over our heads. And since the aviator was one of the enemy (called in the language of war ‘an enemy pilot’) he dropped a bomb. And then the black automobile vanished, smoke and stench rising from the place where it had stood. The kind gentleman turned around and left, accompanied by the others, who were somewhat more rigid-looking. Then a large grey car owned by the general pulled up and took away these gentlemen, whom we never saw again.