Read Online The Marquis of Bolibar by Leo Perutz - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Leo Perutz
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recognize him?" Eglofstein asked the dragoon impatiently. "Is he the fellow that stole your purse this morning?
"Do I recognize him!" Kümmel retorted. "A cap like a stork's nest, a face like a pumpkin and a mouth like a ladle - there isn't another like him in the whole of the army. Come here, my lad, let's take a look at you."
He reached for the torch and looked the Spaniard up and down.
"Captain," he exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief, "this isn't the man!" He turned to the Spaniard. "May the Devil saddle and ride you: this morning you had only four thieving fingers on your right hand, and now, all of a sudden, you have five."
"Are you sure?" said Eglofstein, barely able to disguise his vexation and disappointment. "Search him — see if he has the money on him."
Dragoon Kümmel felt in the pockets of the muleteer's brown cloak and pulled out a big leather pouch.
"That's it! That's my purse! Do you still deny it, you thieving magpie?"
He looked in the pouch but found nothing. All it contained was some garlic and a piece of bread.
"My money's gone!" he bellowed in a rage. "Why should I always be plucked like a goose? Where are my thalers, pray? Did you pour them all down your gullet in a single day?"
The Spaniard stared helplessly at the floor and said nothing.
"Where's my money?" yelled the dragoon. "What did you do, bury it or drink it? If you have a tongue in your head, speak!"
"God has made a scourge for my back," said the Spaniard. "It is His will. What must be, must be."
"Captain," said Sergeant Urban, "this must surely be the same thief that stole one of the colonel's trunks five days ago - the one in which his late wife's silken gowns and chemises were packed."
"Enough, enough!" Eglofstein said hastily. He was alarmed that the sergeant should begin to speak of the colonel and his wife, being afraid that the muleteer might now come out with what he had overheard of our conversation. "Enough! This Spaniard is found guilty of theft. Muster half a dozen men with loaded muskets, Sergeant. Then march him out into the yard and make an end of him."
"And be quick about it!" Günther urged. "I don't care for priests who say Mass too slowly."
"I'll spend only half as long on him as a Mass takes from introit to Agnus Dei," said the sergeant. He turned to the dragoons who had followed Kümmel downstairs in their eagerness to see what was afoot.
"Fall in!" he commanded. "Prisoner and escort, by the right, quick march!"
"Señor!" cried the muleteer, breaking away from the dragoons. "You're a Christian. Would you send me to my death unshriven?"
Eglofstein knit his brow. He wanted no delay. To allow the Spaniard to speak with another in private seemed dangerous and contrary to all common sense.
"If I must die, let me first confess!" the Spaniard cried, looking distraught. "You believe, like me, in God and the Holy Trinity. For my spiritual salvation's sake, summon the Se ñ or Cura or the Superior of the Convent of Santa Engracia. "
"What need of a priest? Make your confession to him," said Brockendorf, pointing to Lieutenant Donop. "He has a bald pate too, and Latin gushes from his mouth like water from a spring."
"Enough!" cried Günther, for whom matters were progressing too slowly. "Take him away, Sergeant!"
"No!" the Spaniard cried, holding fast to the table with both hands. "Let me speak with the Señor Cura. Only for a short while, a few minutes — only for as long as it takes to say a rosary."
That, however, was just what we had to prevent.
"Silence, you thief!" Günther thundered. "Do you think I don't know what accursed lies you plan to whisper in the priest's ear? Sergeant, take him away!"
The Spaniard looked at him, drew a deep breath, and began again.
"Listen to me, señores. I still have one thing left to do in this town. No one will attend to it when I am dead - not unless you let me speak with the Señor Cura. I cannot die before I know that the task has been entrusted to him."
He
"Do I recognize him!" Kümmel retorted. "A cap like a stork's nest, a face like a pumpkin and a mouth like a ladle - there isn't another like him in the whole of the army. Come here, my lad, let's take a look at you."
He reached for the torch and looked the Spaniard up and down.
"Captain," he exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief, "this isn't the man!" He turned to the Spaniard. "May the Devil saddle and ride you: this morning you had only four thieving fingers on your right hand, and now, all of a sudden, you have five."
"Are you sure?" said Eglofstein, barely able to disguise his vexation and disappointment. "Search him — see if he has the money on him."
Dragoon Kümmel felt in the pockets of the muleteer's brown cloak and pulled out a big leather pouch.
"That's it! That's my purse! Do you still deny it, you thieving magpie?"
He looked in the pouch but found nothing. All it contained was some garlic and a piece of bread.
"My money's gone!" he bellowed in a rage. "Why should I always be plucked like a goose? Where are my thalers, pray? Did you pour them all down your gullet in a single day?"
The Spaniard stared helplessly at the floor and said nothing.
"Where's my money?" yelled the dragoon. "What did you do, bury it or drink it? If you have a tongue in your head, speak!"
"God has made a scourge for my back," said the Spaniard. "It is His will. What must be, must be."
"Captain," said Sergeant Urban, "this must surely be the same thief that stole one of the colonel's trunks five days ago - the one in which his late wife's silken gowns and chemises were packed."
"Enough, enough!" Eglofstein said hastily. He was alarmed that the sergeant should begin to speak of the colonel and his wife, being afraid that the muleteer might now come out with what he had overheard of our conversation. "Enough! This Spaniard is found guilty of theft. Muster half a dozen men with loaded muskets, Sergeant. Then march him out into the yard and make an end of him."
"And be quick about it!" Günther urged. "I don't care for priests who say Mass too slowly."
"I'll spend only half as long on him as a Mass takes from introit to Agnus Dei," said the sergeant. He turned to the dragoons who had followed Kümmel downstairs in their eagerness to see what was afoot.
"Fall in!" he commanded. "Prisoner and escort, by the right, quick march!"
"Señor!" cried the muleteer, breaking away from the dragoons. "You're a Christian. Would you send me to my death unshriven?"
Eglofstein knit his brow. He wanted no delay. To allow the Spaniard to speak with another in private seemed dangerous and contrary to all common sense.
"If I must die, let me first confess!" the Spaniard cried, looking distraught. "You believe, like me, in God and the Holy Trinity. For my spiritual salvation's sake, summon the Se ñ or Cura or the Superior of the Convent of Santa Engracia. "
"What need of a priest? Make your confession to him," said Brockendorf, pointing to Lieutenant Donop. "He has a bald pate too, and Latin gushes from his mouth like water from a spring."
"Enough!" cried Günther, for whom matters were progressing too slowly. "Take him away, Sergeant!"
"No!" the Spaniard cried, holding fast to the table with both hands. "Let me speak with the Señor Cura. Only for a short while, a few minutes — only for as long as it takes to say a rosary."
That, however, was just what we had to prevent.
"Silence, you thief!" Günther thundered. "Do you think I don't know what accursed lies you plan to whisper in the priest's ear? Sergeant, take him away!"
The Spaniard looked at him, drew a deep breath, and began again.
"Listen to me, señores. I still have one thing left to do in this town. No one will attend to it when I am dead - not unless you let me speak with the Señor Cura. I cannot die before I know that the task has been entrusted to him."
He
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