The Marquis of Bolibar

by Leo Perutz

  "Let me go, Colonel," he said quickly, glancing around for fear another might forestall him. His sallow face glowed with eagerness for the fray and the Légion d'Honneur on his chest caught the candlelight. Watching him as he stood there a trifle crouched with his hands grasping invisible reins, I seemed to see him already in the saddle and galloping hell-for-leather through the rebel lines.

  The colonel gave him a long look, then shook his hand.

  "You're a brave man, Salignac. I thank you and shall report your conduct to the Emperor. Return to your billet at once and put on whatever disguise you think best. Lieutenant Jochberg will escort you as far as the enemy lines. I shall expect you back here a quarter of an hour from now, ready to receive your orders. The rest of you may dismiss."

  The orderly-room began to empty. Lieutenant von Dubitsch, relieved that someone else had undertaken such a dangerous mission, was the first to go. Eglofstein and Castel-Borckenstein lingered at the door for a moment, each determined to give the other precedence.

  Castel-Borckenstein made an infinitesimal gesture of invitation. "Baron?" he said.

  "Count?" Eglofstein rejoined with a stiff little bow.

  Someone blew out the candles. I continued to hug the stove in the darkness, loath to leave the warmth that was drying my sodden clothes. The colonel's gruff, indignant voice made itself heard outside.

  "Well, Brockendorf, what the devil do you want now?"

  "It's about our quarters, Colonel," Brockendorf said pleadingly.

  "Brockendorf, you're pestering me again. I already told you: there are no other quarters."

  "But Colonel, I know of a billet that would house my whole company."

  "Very well, take it. Why trouble me if you know of one?"

  Brockendorf hesitated. "The Spaniards, Colonel . . ."

  "The Spaniards? Pay no heed to the Spaniards — throw them out. Let them fend for themselves."

  "Bravo, Colonel, no sooner said than done!" Brockendorf cried delightedly. I heard him blunder down the short flight of steps to the street, loudly voicing his heartfelt enthusiasm as he went.

  "A paragon, our colonel!" he exclaimed. "A true father to

  his men, I've always said so. Anyone who maligns him is a blackguard!"

  The colonel's ponderous footsteps receded into the interior of the house. A door closed and silence fell, broken only by the crackle of the flames in the stove.

  I saw, when my eyes had become accustomed to the darkness around me, that I was not alone: Salignac was still standing in the middle of the room.

  Years have gone by since then. Looking back, I find that the passage of time has cast an uncertain twilight over much that once stood out sharp and distinct in my mind's eye, and I sometimes fancy that Salignac's strange conversation with someone invisible to me was merely a dream. But no, I was awake, I know. It was only when Eglofstein returned with the colonel and the room was illumined by their candle's friendly light - only in that brief instant that I yielded to the illusion that their entrance had roused me from a sinister and oppressive nightmare. An illusion it was, however. I was awake throughout, and I clearly recall my surprise on discerning Salignac's figure in the gloom. I wondered why he had remained behind, for I knew that he had been ordered to return to his quarters and disguise himself as a Spanish peasant or muleteer. Time went by, but still he continued to stand motionless, staring at the wall.

  I naturally concluded, when I heard him whispering, that there must be someone else in the room — Donop, perhaps, or one of the Hessian officers, or the surgeon, but what could they be discussing in the darkness with such secrecy? My eyes explored the gloom. The desk, the chair with Eglofstein's cloak draped over the arm, the two oak chests containing regimental papers, the small table in the corner on which lay Eglofstein's silver field toilet and an earthenware wash-basin — all these things I made out, together with Salignac's shadowy form in the middle of the room, but of the surgeon or some brother officer I could see no sign.

  Weary though I was, the spectacle aroused my curiosity. With whom could Salignac be conversing so earnestly, and where could that mysterious, unseen personage be lurking? I closed my eyes the better to listen, but Salignac's low voice was drowned by the wind that rattled the door and buffeted the windows. The warmth of the stove, which bathed part of the room in a faint glow, was making me drowsy. I groped my way back to the heap of firewood and pillowed my head on my arms, and it may be that I truly dozed off for some moments before Salignac's laughter jolted me awake.

  Salignac was laughing, yes, but not in any mirthful way. His laughter conveyed some indefinable emotion. Hatred, perhaps, or defiance and disdain? No, none of those. Despair and dread? Not those either. Derision and contempt? No, I had never before heard such laughter and could fathom its significance as little as I understood the words its author flung at empty space a moment later.

  "Do you call me again?" I heard him cry. "Ah no, Kindly One, from you I hope for nothing. Ah no, Wise and Merciful One, you have too often betrayed me in the past."

  I pressed close to the wall and listened with bated breath as Salignac went on.

  "You mean to delude me with false hopes — you mean to see me disappointed, afflicted and despairing. I know your cruel purpose. No, Righteous One, you that beguile time and eternity with your vengeful whims, I mistrust you. I know that you never forget."

  He fell silent as if listening to some voice that came to him out of the roar of the wind and the rain. Then, slowly and reluctantly, he took a step forward.

  "You order me? Very well, I must obey you still. Is that your wish? So be it, I shall go, but know this: the journey on which you send me I undertake for one who is mightier than you.

  Again he listened unspeaking in the gloom, and again I could not tell whence - from what abyss or far-off place — his answer came, for I heard none of it. He drew himself erect.

  "Your voice is as the tempest, yet I do not flinch. He whom I serve has the mouth of a lion, and his voice rings out across the blood-stained fields of this world from a thousand throats."

  All at once the fire in the stove flared up and gave me a momentary glimpse of his sallow, ecstatic face. Then darkness enveloped it once more.

  "Yes," I heard him exult, "it is he! Do not lie! He is the Promised One, the Just One, for all the exalted signs are fulfilled. He is come from the island of the sea and wears ten crowns upon his head, as it was foretold. Where is his equal, and who can contend with him? Power has been given him over all nations, and all who dwell on earth shall worship him!"

  I shrank when I heard these words, because I recognized them as a description of the Antichrist, the foe of mankind who employs his portents and marvels, victories and triumphs to exalt himself above God and His servants. The seals of life were shattered before my eyes, and I suddenly discerned the ferment of the age and perceived its mysterious, terrible purpose. Overcome with horror, I yearned to jump up, flee from the room and be alone, but my limbs would not move. I lay there like a helpless captive whose chest is crushed by some mountainous weight, and the voice in the darkness, gaining strength, rang out in triumph and rebellion, exultation and defiance.

  "Tremble, wretch that you are! The end of your power is nigh. Where are those that fight on your behalf? Where are the hundred and forty-four thousand who wear your name upon their brow? Them I cannot see, but He is come, the Terrible One, the Vanquisher, and He will destroy your earthly kingdom!"

  I strove to cry out, but in vain. All that escaped my lips was a low, agonized groan, and I was again compelled to hear the voice that rose above the roar of the wind and the rain, which continued to buffet the window-panes without respite.

  "I stand here before you, as I did of old, and see you as powerless and dispirited as you were then. What is there to prevent me from raising my fist once more and driving it into that hateful countenance?"

  He broke off abruptly as the door swung open and candlelight flooded the room. Eglofstein and the colonel appeare
d on the threshold.

  For a fraction of a second I saw Salignac gazing, fist clenched and face contorted, at an effigy of the Redeemer mounted on the whitewashed wall. Then his rigid features relaxed. He lowered his arm, turned about, and calmly walked over to the colonel, who stared at him and frowned.

  "Still here, Salignac? I ordered you to return to your quarters and make ready. Time is running out. What have you been doing?"

  "Praying, Colonel," said Salignac, "but I'm ready now."

  The colonel had meanwhile looked around the room and caught sight of me.

  "Why, there's Jochberg," he said with a smile. "The youngster fell asleep beside the stove, I'll warrant. Well, Jochberg, you look as if you're fresh from the arms of Morpheus."

  Although I myself felt as if I had slept and dreamed heavily, I shook my head. The colonel paid me no further attention and readdressed himself to Salignac.

  "You were instructed to take off your uniform and disguise yourself as a peasant or muleteer."

  "I propose to ride as I am, Colonel."

  The colonel's expression was a mixture of surprise, anger and dismay.

  "Are you mad, Salignac?" he said sharply. "You'll be shot by the first enemy sentry to set eyes on you."

  "I'll ride him down."

  "The bridge over the Alcar is within range of the enemy's guns."

  "I'll cross it at a gallop."

  The colonel stamped his foot in a rage.

  "Damned obstinacy! Figueras lies on your route, and the guerrillas hold the village in strength. You'll never get through."

  Salignac drew himself up proudly.

  "Would you teach me how to wield my sabre, Colonel?"

  "Be reasonable, Salignac!" cried the colonel, thoroughly at a loss now. "The fate of the regiment — indeed, the success of the whole campaign — depends on the outcome of your mission." "You may rest easy on that score, Colonel," Salignac replied with perfect equanimity.

  The colonel paced furiously up and down the room. Then Eglofstein stepped in.

  "I've known the captain since the East Prussian campaign," he said. "If anyone can get through the guerrillas' lines unscathed - by God, he's the man."

  The colonel stood there irresolutely for a while, thinking hard. Then he shrugged.

  "Very well," he grunted. "How you get through is your business, after all, no one else's." He took the map from the table, unfolded it, and pointed out the spot where Salignac was to meet General d'Hilliers' advance guard.

  "I'll lend you my best horse, the dun that bears the brand of the Ivenec stud. Ride like the wind."

  We passed Günther's room on the way out. The fever seemed to have left him for a space, and he was half sitting up in bed.

  "How goes it, Günther?" the colonel asked him in passing.

  "I'm wounded mortaliter," he mumbled, "— bestialiter, diaboliter." Then his mind clouded over again. "Donop!" he called. "Can you understand my Latin? Don't weep, dearest, I told you not to. You look like Mary Magdalene when you weep ..."

  We opened the door and went out. The first rays of a dismal dawn were visible in the east. The colonel shook Salignac by the hand.

  "It's time. Do your best, but have a care. May God preserve you."

  "Never fear, Colonel," Salignac said serenely, "— he will."

  THE COURIER

  The sun had not yet risen when we left our lines toward seven that morning, and all that could be seen in the sky was the moon, which floated among the louring clouds like a big silver thaler. Corporal Thiele and four dragoons came with us. We were all unmounted save Salignac, who was leading his horse by the bridle. The dun proceeded at a placid walk, head bowed.

  We came upon our outermost line of sentries where the buckthorn bushes began. A sergeant and two grenadiers were stretched out on the ground, their greatcoats beaded with moisture and their shakos filmed with rime. The sergeant rose as we approached and kicked aside the pack of cards with which he and his comrades intended to play as soon as it became light enough. He did not trouble to ask for the password because he knew me and Corporal Thiele by sight.

  "Colonel's courier on a special mission," Salignac told him curtly. The sergeant raised a hand to his cap in salute before resuming his seat on the ground. He rubbed his hands, shivering, and complained that he did not know how he would get the muskets to fire after a whole night of rain.

  "There'll be more rain today," he said, "— warm rain. The toads and snails are venturing out of their holes."

  Being tired and hungry, none of us felt disposed to engage in a conversation about the weather. We walked on. Our route took us straight through the scrub for a stretch; then we bore left. The dun, scenting the proximity of water, pricked up its ears and snorted softly.

  The eastern sky paled, the wind drove swaths of mist across hill and meadow. Ahead of us, half devoured by foxes and birds of prey, lay a dead horse with a gaping wound in its flank. A flock of crows took wing as we approached and disappeared in the direction of the Alcar, cawing harshly. One lone bird, which turned back half-way and fluttered above us in great agitation, refused to be driven off.

  Thiele paused and shook his head.

  "Carrion crows are birds of ill omen," he growled. "Look at Satan's ambassador there. Now we know that one of us will stop a bullet this morning."

  "That's not hard to predict," retorted one of the dragoons, glancing at Salignac, "and I know who he is, with or without the help of that Devil's messenger."

  "It's a shame," said another, "— a shame to see a gallant officer go to his death in vain."

  Thiele shook his head.

  "Not he," he said. "He's not going to his death. You don't know him."

  For a while we followed the course of the Alcar. The wind sang in the reeds that clothed its banks. On the other side we could see the long line of watchfires around which the guerrillas had spent the night. Then we changed direction and started up a hill overgrown with cork oaks. At its summit I saw a hut of the kind in which vine-dressers customarily kept their implements.

  Just as I turned my back on the river, however, I was struck by a sudden thought and hurried in Salignac's wake.

  I caught him up. His horse, which had slipped on the muddy ground, was lashing out and trying to bite. To calm the beast, Salignac offered it some morsels of bread from his pocket.

  "It occurs to me," I said as I panted along beside him, "that if someone rowed upstream, keeping to the lee of the trees on the bank, he would very likely be out of range by the time the guerrillas sighted him."

  "Jochberg," said Salignac without looking round, and his tone implied that I was frightened for myself, not for him, "take your men and go back. I have no more need of your assistance."

  "Whether or not you need me," I replied, "my orders are to escort you to the enemy lines. We have little farther to go in any case, as you can see."

  It was light by now. Hidden from view by the cork oaks' massive trunks, we had approached to within a hundred paces of the hut. A thin column of blackish smoke was rising from behind the stakes of the fence that enclosed it. We were, beyond doubt, confronted by a rebel outpost whose occupants had lit a fire on which to boil soup or roast maize cobs.

  We paused among some thorn-apple and buckthorn bushes and waited for Thiele and his men to come up with us. Then we held a whispered conference on how best to take the hut. We all agreed that the insurgents must not be given time to fire a shot, for that would have brought the enemy down on us in hundreds.

  We made ready. One of the dragoons took a swig of brandy and offered me his canteen. Then I gave the signal and we charged silently up the hill.

  We were almost at the top when we saw the guerrillas' coloured stocking-caps and their startled, dismayed faces appear above the fence, but Corporal Thiele and I were already vaulting over it. One of our adversaries drew a bead on Thiele, but I dashed the carbine from his hands as I landed on the other side. Then the rest of my men swarmed over the fence, and the guerrillas, finding
themselves at a disadvantage, surrendered with a curse or two but little active resistance. There were three of them. They wore jackets of brown cloth and, over these, sashes whose ends were woven with silver thread. Just then a fourth rebel emerged from the hut with a cauldron in his hand, having evidently been about to go down to the river to fetch water.

  He was a giant of a man, a Carmelite friar with a sword belted about his habit. He dropped the cauldron when he saw us. Instead of drawing his sword, however, he stooped to pick up an axle-tree and, whirling this lethal weapon above his head, set about us.

  We had some difficulty in disarming him, being unable to open fire. Thiele sustained a blow that numbed his arm for several minutes, but we at last contrived to wrest the axle-tree from the friar's grasp. Then we shut the guerrillas in the hut, all four of them, and barred the door.

  Our task was complete. The dragoons found some slices of raw mule flesh and spitted them on their sabres to roast over the fire. Thiele's tobacco-pipe went the rounds. Meanwhile, Salignac strode impatiently up and down. At length, after pausing to adjust his horse's girth and stirrup, he came over to me.

  "It's time, Jochberg. Give me the letter."

  I handed him the pouch containing the map, a compass, and the dispatch addressed to General d'Hilliers. Followed by the rest of us, he led his horse out of the enclosure.

  Our present position commanded an excellent view of the hilly terrain around us. Visible on every side were detachments of guerrillas large and small, many mounted with others on foot. Sentries paced the entrenchments with muskets shouldered, pack-mules congested the crossroads, a supply waggon drawn by oxen lumbered slowly over the bridge, horses were led to water, a distant trumpet summoned troops to muster, and two officers, recognizable as such by their thick pigtails and three-cornered hats, emerged from the door of the farmhouse.

  Salignac had already mounted up. The dragoons eyed him with covert concern, and every man of us shuddered at the reckless impossibility of the venture. He bent forward in the saddle and gave the dun two lumps of sugar steeped in port wine. Then, with a perfunctory wave to me, he spurred his horse into motion. There was a jingle of harness, and a moment later he was careering down the hill.