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Authors: Sven Hassel
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that, but it is spread over a considerable area and is full of large parks, broad boulevards and endless streets of houses standing in their own gardens.
But we had no need to worry. As we were walking down a street in one of the best residential districts we saw a strange procession coming toward us, so strange that everyone stopped and stared. Four men--two Romanian privates, an Italian Bersagliere sergeant and a man in full evening dress--came staggering along with a sedan chair the size of a compartment in a railway carriage between them. As they went, they bawled out "In a Persian Garden" to the accompaniment of a flute. The flutist could not be seen; he sat inside the monster of red lacquer and gilt. Suddenly he shouted:
"Halt, slaves! Prepare to land! Attention--land!"
The two front bearers let down their end with a thud that could be heard for miles, and out tumbled Porta. He, too, was in stiff shirt and tails, wearing a top hat and a monocle. He greeted us with a gesture of the kind that the bad French novelists of the turn of the century called "indescribable," and hailed The Old Un and the rest of us in an affected voice:
" Cheris! Mes freres! My name is Count de la Porta, by God's grace von und zu. If I am not mistaken, I know you gentlemen? Goes all well with Germany's arms? Let me see a list of today's victories."
"What the devil's that you're going round in?" said Titch. "Is our honest boxcar no longer good enough for you?"
"I am thinking of having myself transported to the Eastern Front in this special conveyance, which is now reserved exclusively for the best soldier in the German Army. James"--this was addressed to me--"you shall walk just behind me and hand me my rifle when I have to shoot. See that Germany's best man has aimed properly before I pull the trigger. We don't want any misses in this war."
"And where's your uniform?"
"Gentlemen, this war is a gentlemen's war. I have put on a gentleman's uniform.... As well as this sedan chair and these irreproachable tails, I have won 2,300 lei and a very fine music box, which I shall now play for you."
Porta dived into the depths of the sedan chair and emerged with a magnificent rococo music box, which played a little minuet while two porcelain shepherdesses danced. It was undoubtedly a valuable piece. A couple of days later he presented it to a trolley conductor.
"And lastly I have won a mistress--with thighs and the rest of it."
"A what?"
"A what?" Porta echoed. "Don't you know, child, what a mistress is? It's a toy for counts and barons. It has thighs and breasts and buttocks. That's what you play with. You can buy them in very expensive shops where you drink champagne while you inspect the models. It has to be to wound up with a check before it will move. It moves up and down till it becomes tired, then it has to be wound up with another check. If you have enough checks it will never stop."
Porta thrust a bottle of wine at his four bearers and bellowed:
"Here, slaves, fuel! Drink and be merry!"
Then he handed us a couple of bottles of schnapps and said with a flourish:
"Let us sing the praises of the good old gods!"
He put the flute to his lips and began to play, while his four delighted bearers chorused:
" Now it is the time to drain the flowing bowl ,
Now with unfettered foot to beat the ground with dancing ,
Now with Salian feast to deck the couches of the gods, my Comrades! "
"Where the devil did you get your Horace from?" said I.
Porta replied impudently that he had penned the lines himself.
"Did you really?" said The Old Un interestedly. "I never thought you were so old. The Romans used to sing that two thousand years ago."
Porta's slaves now gave us a vivid description of the events of the night. Porta had played poker with a young baron. Both had cheated so grossly that a child must have seen it. In the end Porta had won everything, including the clothes off the baron's back. After that he had gone feasting with the four merry
But we had no need to worry. As we were walking down a street in one of the best residential districts we saw a strange procession coming toward us, so strange that everyone stopped and stared. Four men--two Romanian privates, an Italian Bersagliere sergeant and a man in full evening dress--came staggering along with a sedan chair the size of a compartment in a railway carriage between them. As they went, they bawled out "In a Persian Garden" to the accompaniment of a flute. The flutist could not be seen; he sat inside the monster of red lacquer and gilt. Suddenly he shouted:
"Halt, slaves! Prepare to land! Attention--land!"
The two front bearers let down their end with a thud that could be heard for miles, and out tumbled Porta. He, too, was in stiff shirt and tails, wearing a top hat and a monocle. He greeted us with a gesture of the kind that the bad French novelists of the turn of the century called "indescribable," and hailed The Old Un and the rest of us in an affected voice:
" Cheris! Mes freres! My name is Count de la Porta, by God's grace von und zu. If I am not mistaken, I know you gentlemen? Goes all well with Germany's arms? Let me see a list of today's victories."
"What the devil's that you're going round in?" said Titch. "Is our honest boxcar no longer good enough for you?"
"I am thinking of having myself transported to the Eastern Front in this special conveyance, which is now reserved exclusively for the best soldier in the German Army. James"--this was addressed to me--"you shall walk just behind me and hand me my rifle when I have to shoot. See that Germany's best man has aimed properly before I pull the trigger. We don't want any misses in this war."
"And where's your uniform?"
"Gentlemen, this war is a gentlemen's war. I have put on a gentleman's uniform.... As well as this sedan chair and these irreproachable tails, I have won 2,300 lei and a very fine music box, which I shall now play for you."
Porta dived into the depths of the sedan chair and emerged with a magnificent rococo music box, which played a little minuet while two porcelain shepherdesses danced. It was undoubtedly a valuable piece. A couple of days later he presented it to a trolley conductor.
"And lastly I have won a mistress--with thighs and the rest of it."
"A what?"
"A what?" Porta echoed. "Don't you know, child, what a mistress is? It's a toy for counts and barons. It has thighs and breasts and buttocks. That's what you play with. You can buy them in very expensive shops where you drink champagne while you inspect the models. It has to be to wound up with a check before it will move. It moves up and down till it becomes tired, then it has to be wound up with another check. If you have enough checks it will never stop."
Porta thrust a bottle of wine at his four bearers and bellowed:
"Here, slaves, fuel! Drink and be merry!"
Then he handed us a couple of bottles of schnapps and said with a flourish:
"Let us sing the praises of the good old gods!"
He put the flute to his lips and began to play, while his four delighted bearers chorused:
" Now it is the time to drain the flowing bowl ,
Now with unfettered foot to beat the ground with dancing ,
Now with Salian feast to deck the couches of the gods, my Comrades! "
"Where the devil did you get your Horace from?" said I.
Porta replied impudently that he had penned the lines himself.
"Did you really?" said The Old Un interestedly. "I never thought you were so old. The Romans used to sing that two thousand years ago."
Porta's slaves now gave us a vivid description of the events of the night. Porta had played poker with a young baron. Both had cheated so grossly that a child must have seen it. In the end Porta had won everything, including the clothes off the baron's back. After that he had gone feasting with the four merry
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