Complete weird tales of.., p.800
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 800
“In other words, you are an American with all the Belgian aristocracy’s sense of responsibility to race and tradition. You are a good American, but there are inherited instincts which sent you back to serve two years with the colours — to serve a country which for ten hundred years your race has defended. And — the Guides alone was open to a Gueldres — where, in America, a Guild was free to choose. Monsieur, you are Belgian; and, as a Belgian, you were properly seized as a hostage and properly sentenced to pay the penalty for the murderous misbehaviour of your own people! I approve the sentence. Have you anything to say?”
“No.”
The general regarded him closely, then rose, came around the end of the desk, walked across the room and halted directly in front of Guild.
“So you see there is no chance for you,” he said, staring hard at him.
Guild managed to control his voice and speak clearly: “I see,” he said.
“Suppose,” said von Reiter, still staring at him, “I ask you to do me a favour?”
Guild’s face was marble, but he managed to force a smile: “You ask a favour of a prisoner a few moments before his execution?”
“I do. Will you grant it?”
“What is it?”
“Nothing dishonourable to a good — American.”
“That is not enough; and you know it.”
“Very well. I shall tell you then. I have a daughter in England. I can’t get her away from England — I can’t get word to her. I—” suddenly his dry, blond features twitched, but instantly the man had them under iron control again, and he cleared his throat: “She is in England near London. We are at war with England. I want my daughter out of the country. I can’t get her out. Go and get her for me!”
For a full minute the two men gazed at each other in silence. Then von Reiter said: “I know enough of you. If you say you’ll do it I’ll free the Burgomaster and the others in there—” he jerked his bony thumb toward the hallway outside— “If you say you’ll do it — if you say you’ll go to England, now, and find my daughter, and bring her here to me — or conduct her to whatever point I designate, I’ll not have those men shot; I’ll not burn the rest of Yslemont; I’ll see that you are conducted to the Dutch frontier unmolested after you carry out your engagements with me. Will you do it?”
“‘If you say you’ll do it, ... I’ll not have those men shot’”
Guild met his intent gaze with a gaze as searching:
“What is your daughter’s name?”
“Her name is Karen.”
“Where am I to find her?”
“Thirty miles out of London at Westheath. She is known there as Karen Girard.”
“What!” said Guild sharply.
“She chose to be so known in her profession.”
“Her profession?”
“She has been on the stage — against my wishes. She is preparing herself further — contrary to my wishes. Until she disassociates herself from that profession she will not use the name of von Reiter.”
Guild nodded slowly: “That is why your daughter is known as Karen Girard?”
“That is why. She is a young girl — nineteen. She went to school in her mother’s country, Denmark. She imbibed notions there — and, later, in England among art students and others. It is the well-born who succumb most easily to nonsense once the discipline is relaxed. She has had her way in spite of my authority. Now it is time for such insubordination to cease. I wish to have my daughter back. I cannot get her. You are — American — to all intents and purposes, and you would be under no suspicion in England. Your appearance, your speech, your manners all are above suspicion. You can do this. I have made up my mind concerning you, and I trust you. Will you go to England, find my daughter and bring her back to me here; or, if I am ordered elsewhere, will you escort her to my country place in Silesia which is called Rehthal?”
“Suppose I do not find her? Suppose I fail?”
“You will return here and report to me.”
“If I fail and I return here and report my failure, does that mean the execution of the gentlemen in the drawing-room yonder?”
“It does.”
“And the destruction of Yslemont?”
“Absolutely.”
“And—” the young man smiled— “incidentally it means my own execution, does it not?”
“It does.”
They gazed at each other with intense interest.
“Under such circumstances do you think I’ll come back if I am not successful?” inquired the younger man.
“I am satisfied that you will return if you say you will.”
“Return to face my own execution?” repeated Guild, curiously. “You believe that of me? — of a man about whom you know nothing — a man who” — his animated features suddenly darkened and he caught his breath a moment, then— “a man who considers your nation a barbarous one, your rulers barbarians, your war inexcusable, your invasion of this land the vilest example of treachery and dishonour that the world has ever witnessed — you still believe that such a man might consider himself bound to return here if unsuccessful and face one of your murdering platoons? Do you?” he repeated, the slightest intonation of violence beginning to ring in the undertones of his voice.
Von Reiter’s dry, blond features had become greyer and more set. His light blue eyes never left the other; behind their pale, steady scrutiny he seemed to be considering every word.
He drew in his breath, slowly; his very thin lips receded for a moment, then the fixed tranquillity returned.
“We Germans,” he said drily, “care nothing for what Europe may think of us or say about us. Perhaps we are vandals, Goths, Huns — whatever you call them. Perhaps we are barbarians. I think we are! For we mean to scour the old world clean of its rottenness — cauterize it, cut out the old sores of a worn-out civilization, scrape its surface clean of the parasite nations. ... And, if fire be necessary to burn out the last traces—” His light blue eyes glimmered a very reflection of the word— “then let fire pass. It has passed, before — God’s Angel of the Flaming Sword has returned again to lead us! What is a cathedral or two — or pictures or foolish statues — or a million lives? Yes, if you choose, we are barbarians. And we intend to plow under the accumulated decay of the whole world, and burn up its rubbish and found our new world on virgin earth. Yes, we are barbarians. And our Emperor is a barbarian. And God, who creates with one hand and destroys with the other — God — autocrat of material creation, inexorable Over-Lord of ultimate material annihilation, is the greatest barbarian of all! Under His orders we are moving. In His name we annihilate! Amen!”
A dead silence ensued. And after it had lasted a little while the tall Prussian lifted his hand absently to his mustache and touched it caressingly.
“I am satisfied, whatever your opinion may be of me or of my people, that you will return if you say you will, successful or otherwise. I promise you immunity if you return with my daughter; I promise you a wall and a file of men if you return unsuccessful. But, in either event, I am satisfied that you will return. Will you go?”
“Yes,” said Guild, thoughtfully. They stood for a moment longer, the young man gazing absently out of the window toward the menacing smoke pall which was increasing above Yslemont.
“You promise not to burn the remainder of the village?” he asked, turning to look at von Reiter.
“I promise not to burn it if you keep your promise.”
“I’ll try.... And the Burgomaster, notary, magistrate, and the others are to be released?”
“If you do what I ask.”
“Very well. It’s worth trying for. Give me my credentials.”
“You need no written ones. Letters are unsafe. You will go to my daughter, who has leased a small cottage at Westheath. You will say to her that you come from me; that the question which she was to decide on the first of November must be decided sooner, and that when she arrives at Rehthal in Silesia she is to telegraph me through the General Staff of her arrival. If I can obtain leave to go to Silesia I shall do so. If not, I shall telegraph my instructions to her.”
“Will that be sufficient for your daughter to place her confidence in a man absolutely strange to her and accompany that man on a journey of several days?” asked Guild, slightly astonished.
“Not quite sufficient,” said von Reiter, his dry, blond visage slightly relaxing.
He drew a rather plain ring from his bony finger: “See if you can wear that,” he said. “Does it fit you?”
Guild tried it on. “Well enough.”
“Is there any danger of its slipping off?”
Guild tried it on another finger, which it fitted snugly.
“It looks like any other plain gold ring,” he remarked.
“Her name is engraved inside.”
“Karen?”
“Karen.”
There came a short pause. Then: “Do you know London?” asked von Reiter.
“Passably.”
“Oh! You are likely to require a touring car. You’ll find it difficult to get. May I recommend the Edmeston Agency? It’s about the only agency, now, where any gasoline at all is obtainable. The Edmeston Agency. I use it when I am in London. Ask for Mr. Louis Grätz.”
After a moment he added, “My chauffeur brought your luggage, rücksack, stick, and so forth, from Yslemont. You will go to the enemies’ lines south of Ostend in my car. One of my aides-de-camp will accompany you and show you a letter of instructions before delivering you to the enemies’ flag of truce. You will read the letter, learn it by heart, and return it to my aide, Captain von Klipper.
“There is a bedroom above. Go up there. Food will be sent you. Get what sleep you can, because you are to leave at sunrise. Is this arrangement agreeable to you — Monsieur le Comte de Gueldres?”
“Perfectly, General Baron von Reiter.”
“Also. Then I have the honour to wish you good night and a pleasant sleep.”
“I thank you and I have the honour to wish you the same,” said Guild, bowing pleasantly.
General von Reiter stood aside and saluted with stiff courtesy as the young man passed out.
A few moments later a regimental band somewhere along the Yslemont highway began to play “Polen Blut.”
If blood were the theme, they ought to have played it well enough.
* * *
CHAPTER III
TIPPERARY
AT NOON ON the following day Kervyn Guild wrote to his friend Darrel:
Dear Harry:
Instead of joining you on the Black Erenz for the late August trout fishing I am obliged to go elsewhere.
I have had a most unpleasant experience, and it is not ended, and I do not yet know what the outcome is to be.
From the fact that I have not dated this letter it will be evident to you that I am not permitted to do so. Also you will understand that I have been caught somewhere in the war zone and that is why the name of the place from which I am writing you is omitted — by request.
We have halted for luncheon at a wayside inn — the gentleman who is kind enough to accompany me, and I — and I have obtained this benevolent gentleman’s authorization to write you whatever I please as long as I do NOT
1st. Tell you where I am going.
2d. Tell you where I am.
3d. Tell you anything else that does not suit him.
And he isn’t a censor at that; he is just a very efficient, polite, and rather good-looking German officer serving as aide on the staff of a certain German major-general.
Day before yesterday, after luncheon, I was playing a quiet game of chess with the Burgomaster of a certain Belgian village, and was taking a last look before setting out for Luxembourg on foot, rücksack, stick, and all, when — well, circumstances over which I had no control interrupted the game of chess. It was white to go and mate in three moves. The Burgomaster was playing black. I had him, Harry. Too bad, because he was the best player in — well in that neighbourhood. I opened with a Lopez and he replied most irregularly. It certainly was interesting. I am sorry that I couldn’t mate him and analyze the game with him. However, thank Heaven, I did announce mate in three moves, and the old gentleman was still defiantly studying the situation. I admit he refused to resign.
I left that village toward evening in a large, grey automobile. I and the gentleman who still accompanies me slept fairly well that night, considering the fact that a town was on fire all around us.
In the morning we made slow progress in our automobile. Roads and fields were greenish grey with troops — a vast horde of them possessed the valleys; they enveloped the hills like fog-banks turning the whole world grey — infantry, artillery, cuirassiers, Uhlans, hussars — all mist colour from helmet to heel — and so are their waggons and guns and caissons and traction-engines and motor-cycles and armoured cars and aeroplanes.
The latter are magnificent in an artistic sense — perfect replicas of giant pigeon-hawks, circling, planing, sheering the air or sailing high, majestic as a very lammergeier, fierce, relentless, terrible.
My efficient companion who is reading this letter over my shoulder as I write it, and who has condescended to permit a ghost of a smile to mitigate, now and then, the youthful seriousness of his countenance, is not likely to object when I say to you that what I have seen of the German army on the march is astoundingly impressive.
(He smiles again very boyishly and says he doesn’t object.)
Order, precision, a knowledge of the country absolutely unhesitating marks its progress. There is much singing in the infantry ranks. The men march well, their physique is fine, the cavalry are superbly mounted, the guns — (He shakes his head, so never mind the guns.)
Their regimental bands are wonderful. It is a sheer delight to listen to them. They play everything from “Polen Blut” and “Sari,” to Sousa, “Tannhäuser,” and “A Hot Time,” but I haven’t yet heard “Tipperary.” (He seems puzzled at this, but does not object.) I expect shortly to hear a band playing it. (I have to explain to my efficient companion that “Tipperary” is a tune which ought to take Berlin and Vienna by storm when they hear it. It takes Berlin and Vienna to really appreciate good music. He agrees with me.)
Yesterday we passed a convoy of prisoners, some were kilted. I was not permitted to speak to them — but, Oh, those wistful eyes of Scottish blue! I guess they understood, for they got all the tobacco I had left. (My companion is doubtful about this, but finally shrugs his shoulders.)
There is an awesome noise going on beyond us in — well in a certain direction. I think that all the artillery ever made is producing it. There’s practically no smoke visible against the clear blue August sky — nothing to see at all except the feathery cotton fleece of shrapnel appearing, expanding, vanishing over a hill on the horizon, and two aeroplanes circling high like a pair of mated hawks.
And all the while this earth-rocking diapason continues more terrible, more majestic than any real thunder I ever heard.
We have had luncheon and are going on. He drank five quarts of Belgian beer! I am permitted a few minutes more and he orders the sixth quart. This is what I have to say:
In case anything should go wrong with me give the enclosed note to my mother. Please see to it that everything I have goes to her. My will is in my box in our safe at the office. It is all quite clear. There should be no trouble.
I expressed my trunk to your care in Luxembourg. You wrote me that you had received it and placed it in storage to await my leisurely arrival. In case of accident to me send it to my mother.
About the business, my share in any deals now on should go to my brother. After that if you care to take George in when he comes out of Harvard it would gratify his mother and me.
He’s all to the good, you know. But don’t do this if the business does not warrant it. Don’t do it out of sentiment, Harry. If he promises to be of use, and if you have no other man in view, and if, as I say, business conditions warrant such an association with a view to eventual partnership, then if you care to take in George it will be all right.
He has sufficient capital, as you know. He lacks only the business experience. And he is intelligent and quick and it won’t take him long.
But if you prefer somebody else don’t hesitate. George is perfectly able to take care of his mother and himself.
This is all, I think. I’m sorry about the August fishing on the Black Erenz. It is a lovely stream and full of trout. All Luxembourg is lovely; it is a story-book country — a real land of romance. I wish I might have seen it again. Never were such forests, such silver streams, such golden glades, such wild-flowers — never such hills, such meadows, such skies.
Well — if I come back to you, I come back. If not — good-bye, old fellow — with all it implies between friends of many years.
Say to your kind friends, the Courlands, who so graciously invited you to bring me with you to Lesse Forest, that I shall not be able to accept their delightful hospitality, and that my inability to do so must remain to me a regret as long as I live. (These guns are thundering enough to crack the very sky! I really wish I could hear some band playing “Tipperary.”)
Good-bye for a while — or indefinitely. Good luck to you.
Kervyn Guild.
“Is that quite acceptable to you?” asked Guild of the young Death’s Head hussar beside him.
“Quite acceptable,” replied the officer politely. “But what is there remarkable in anybody drinking six quarts of beer?”
Guild laughed: “Here is the note that I desire to enclose with it, if I may do so.” And he wrote:
Dearest:
You must not grieve too much. You have George. It could not be avoided, honourably. He and I are good Americans; we are, perhaps, something else, too. But what the Book of Gold holds it never releases; what is written there is never expunged. George must do what I did when the time comes. I would have done more — was meaning to — was on my way. Destiny has ordered it otherwise.
While I live I think always of you. And it shall be so until the last.
This letter is to be sent to you by Harry Darrel only in the event of my death.
