'Tomorrow we're going to celebrate a drumhead mass.
Make some black coffee and put some rum in it. Or, still better, make some grog.'
II
Svejk Goes with the Chaplain to Celebrate a Drumhead Mass
1
Preparations for the slaughter of mankind have always been made in the name of God or some supposed higher being which men have devised and created in their own imagination.
Before the ancient Phoenicians cut a prisoner's throat they also performed religious ceremonies just as solemnly as did new generations some thousand years later before marching to war and destroying their enemies with fire and sword.
The cannibals of the Guinea Islands and Polynesia sacrifice to their gods and perform the most diverse religious rites before ceremoniously devouring their captives or unnecessary people like missionaries, travellers, agents of various business firms or persons who are just inquisitive.
As the culture of vestments has not yet reached them they decorate the outsides of their thighs with bunches of gaudy feathers of forest birds.
Before the Holy Inquisition burnt its victims, it performed the most solemn religious service -a High Mass with singing.
When criminals are executed, priests always officiate, molesting the delinquents with their presence.
In Prussia the unfortunate victim was led to the block by a pastor, in Austria to the gallows by a Catholic priest, in france to the guillotine, in America to the electric chair by a clergyman and in Spain to a chair where he was strangled by an ingenious appliance. In Russia the revolutionary was taken off by a bearded Orthodox priest etc.
Everywhere on these occasions they used to march about with a crucified Christ figure, as if to say:
'They're only cutting your head off, they're only hanging you, strangling you, putting fifteen thousand volts into you, but think what that chap there had to go through.'
The great shambles of the world war did not take place without the blessing of priests.
Chaplains of all armies prayed and celebrated drumhead masses for victory for the side whose bread they ate.
When mutineers were executed a priest appeared. A priest could also be seen at the execution of Czech legionaries.
Nothing has changed from the time when the robber Vojtech, 1 whom they nicknamed 'the Saint', operated with a sword in one hand and a cross in the other, murdering and exterminating the Baltic Slavs.
Throughout all Europe people went to the slaughter like cattle, driven there not only by butcher emperors, kings and other potentates and generals, but also by priests of all confessions, who blessed them and made them perjure themselves that they would destroy the enemy on land, in the air, on the sea etc.
Drumhead masses were generally celebrated twice: once when a detachment left for the front and once more at the front on the eve of some bloody massacre and carnage.
I remember that once when a drumhead mass was being celebrated an enemy aeroplane dropped a bomb on us and hit the field altar. There was nothing left of the chaplain except some bloodstained rags.
Afterwards they wrote about him as a martyr, while our aeroplanes prepared the same kind of glory for the chaplains on the other side.
We had a great deal of fun out of this, and on the provisional cross, at the spot where they buried the remains of the chaplain, there appeared overnight this epitaph:
What may hit us has now hit you. You always said we'd join the saints. Well, now you've caught it at Holy Mass.
And where you stood are only stains.
II
Svejk brewed a splendid grog which eclipsed the grogs of old sea-dogs.
Pirates of the eighteenth century might have drunk a grog like that and been satisfied with it.
The chaplain was delighted.
'Where did you learn to make such a marvellous thing?' he asked.
'Years ago as a wandering apprentice,' answered Svejk,
'I learned it in Bremen from a debauched sailor, who used to say that grog must be so strong that if anyone fell into the sea he could swim across the whole English Channel.
After a weak grog he'd drown like a puppy.'
'After a grog like this, Svejk, we'll be able to celebrate a marvellous drumhead mass,' reflected the chaplain.
'I think I ought to say a few farewell words first.
A drumhead mass is not such fun as a mass in the garrison gaol or preaching to those rascals.
You have to have all your wits about you.
We have a field altar. It's a folding one-a pocket edition. 'Jesus Mary, Svejk,' he cried, holding his head in his hands, 'we're bloody idiots.
Do you know where I used to keep that folding field altar?
In the sofa which we sold.'
'Oh dear, that's really a misfortune, sir,' said Svejk.
'As a matter of fact I know that furniture-dealer, and the day before yesterday I met his wife.
He's in jug because of a stolen wardrobe and a teacher in Vrsovice has got our sofa.
It's going to be a disaster if we don't have that field altar.
The best thing we can do is to drink up the grog and go and look for it, because I think that without a field altar you can't celebrate a mass.'
'A field altar's really the only thing that's missing,' said the chaplain in a melancholy voice.
'Everything's ready on the parade ground.
The carpenters have already made a platform for it.
The monstrances are being lent to us from Brevnov monastery.
I ought to have a chalice of my own, but where on earth is it ... ? ' He reflected: