The Marquis of Bolibar by Leo Perutz Read Free Book Online

saints, but there isn't a clean bed in the house," Günther said peevishly of his own quarters. "Prayer books lie heaped in the kitchen, but I've yet to see a ham or a sausage."
    "It's impossible to carry on a sensible conversation with my landlord," Donop said. "He spends the whole day mumbling the name of the Holy Virgin, and whenever I come home he's on his knees before some St James or Dominic."
    "For all that," I interposed, "they say the citizens of La Bisbal are well-disposed toward the French. Your health, comrade! I drink to you."
    "And I to you, comrade, but they also say that disguised priests and insurgents are hiding in the town."
    "Very meek insurgents," said Günther. "They neither shoot at us nor murder us — they confine themselves to despising us. "
    "I'll wager my landlord is a priest in disguise," said Donop, chuckling to himself. "I know of no other trade that makes a man so fat."
    He passed his glass across the table and I refilled it. Just then the door burst open and Captain Brockendorf came blundering into the room in a cloud of wind-blown snowflakes.
    He must already have been drinking somewhere, because his full moon of a face, with its huge, crimson scar, was gleaming like a freshly hammered copper kettle. His cap sat askew over his left ear, his black moustache was waxed, and his two thick black braids hung stiffly from temples to chest. "Well, Jochberg," he bellowed, "have you caught him?"
    "Not yet," I replied, knowing that he meant the Marquis of Bolibar.
    "My Lord Marquis is taking his time. The weather isn't clement enough for him — he's afraid it may spoil his shoes."
    Brockendorf bent over the table and put his nose to the gourds.
    "What holy water is that in Bacchus's font?"
    "Alicante wine from the priest's cellar."
    "Alicante, eh?" Brockendorf cried gaily. " Allons , that's worth making a beast of oneself for!"
    When Brockendorf "made a beast" of himself in honour of good wine, he stripped off his tunic, waistcoat and shirt and sat there naked save for his breeches and boots and the mat of shaggy black hair on his chest. Two old women who were passing our windows in the street stopped short and stared into the room aghast. They crossed themselves, doubtless wondering what had met their eyes, a human being or some outlandish monster.
    We all proceeded to do justice to the wine, and for a while no conversation could be heard beyond "I toast you, comrade!" or "I thank you, brother!" or "Your health, comrade. Proficiat!"
    "I wish I were at home in Germany and had some Barbara or Dorothea in my bed tonight," Günther said suddenly in a maudlin voice, disheartened by his lack of success with the Spanish women whom he had been pursuing all day long. Brockendorf chaffed him. He himself, he said, would rather be a crane or a stork so that the wine took longer to travel down his throat. By now the Alicante was beginning to go to our heads. Donop was loudly declaiming Horace above the din when Eglofstein, the regimental adjutant, strode into the room.
    I sprang up and submitted my report.
    "No other news, Jochberg?" he asked.
    "None."
    "Has no one passed the guards at the gate?"
    "A Benedictine prior come from Barcelona to visit his sister in the town — the alcalde vouches for him — and an apothecary and his wife and daughter passing through here on the way to Bilbao. Their papers were issued by General d'Hilliers' headquarters and are perfectly in order."
    "No one else?"
    "Two townsmen left here this morning to do a day's work in their vineyards. They were given laissez-passers and presented them on their return."
    "Very good. Thank you."
    "Eglofstein, I drink to you!" called Brockendorf, brandishing his glass. "Your health! Come, my old crane, sit here by me."
    Eglofstein looked at our tipsy comrade and smiled. Donop, still steady on his feet, came over to him with two glasses of wine.
    "Captain," he said, "we're gathered here tonight to await the Marquis of Bolibar. Bide with us and greet