The Hound of Florence (3 page)

“Well, Cambyses . . . already tired of running, are you?”

The words were uttered in a stern, sharp voice, only artificially softened by a friendliness both labored and unfamiliar.

With feelings of mingled fear and joy Lucas looked up into the arrogant face peering down on him. He tried to reply, to utter a greeting, but was aware that every effort at expression made by his will merely ran down his back. He tried to be friendly and to smile, but even these desires ran down his back and became active somewhere there. Springing aside, he turned his head. Behind him he felt something unfamiliar moving, signifying his answer, his greeting and his smile. Lo and behold! he discovered that he was wagging his tail!

“He can lie on the floor inside if he's tired,” he heard the Archduke say, close above his head, addressing a gentleman sitting opposite him, his back to the horses; “after all, he can't be expected to run the whole of the journey.” And, without waiting for an answer, he again leaned out, threw the door wide open, and called out: “Well, Cambyses—jump up!”

I shall never be able to do that! thought Lucas, dropping his shoulders and scratching the dust with his forepaws, as he measured the height of the coach. He wanted to thank the Archduke effusively and beg him to wait a moment. As he did so, he noticed that his tail was wagging more and more violently.

“Come along, jump up!” The Archduke's tone was sharper. The words seemed to lift Lucas from the ground and hurl him up. He jumped, feeling as light as a feather, and in a trice was standing on the mat of the coach. The door closed with a bang.

“Lie down!”

Lucas collapsed at the feet of his master as though he had been struck by lightning. Before him he could see only the dainty little shoes, with their glittering diamond buckles and red heels that shone like blood, while his nose could scent the delicate aromas exhaled by the Archduke's silk stockings, his furs and his clothes.

Swaying gently from side to side, the coach drove on. He could hear the dull rolling of the wheels, the snorting of the horses, and the faint jumble of murmuring voices.

After a while he raised himself up cautiously and sat on his haunches, examining the Archduke more closely with eager curiosity. He saw his thin proud face, his pallid cheeks, his large bright eyes, gazing apathetically and superciliously into the distance, his hard mouth, always slightly open beneath his long refined nose, and his lower lip protruding as if in disdain. The listless face, with its expression of imperious and unquestioned authority, filled him with astonishment and fascinated him as an altogether new phenomenon.

By way of comparison he cast a swift glance at the man on the seat opposite. He had a round, contented face, of a type sufficiently common, somewhat somnolent and at the same time alert, ever on the
qui vive
for a sudden word of command. Quickly Lucas turned to look at the Archduke again.

“What do you want now, Cambyses?”

Lucas felt his body quiver at the sound of this voice. But he continued to study his master's face with passionate, searching curiosity.

For a moment or two the pair of them, the man and the dog, remained looking into each other's eyes. Then suddenly the smile that touched the Archduke's lips vanished, his face clouded over, and a faint trace of embarrassment suffused his pale cheeks.

“Stop that, Cambyses! Don't stare like that!” Heaving a sigh he fell back in his seat. “Strange,” he observed to the gentleman-in-waiting opposite him, who leaned forward eagerly to catch his words, “strange how a dog like that sometimes has a look that is quite human . . . as if he wanted to say something. . . . I don't mean to be rude, Waltersburg, but just then Cambyses looked more intelligent than you do.”

• • •

At midnight Lucas woke up with a start. Gradually he became aware that he was lying on the ground, covered in straw. A moist heat, soft as a blanket, enveloped him and with every breath he inhaled the pungent smell of sweating horses. He could hear the jangling of chains, and snorting and bellowing; the occasional stamp of hooves fell vaguely on his ears. Timidly he raised his head. Close beside him stood an animal which, seen from below in the dim ruddy glow of a lantern, seemed to loom up like a giant. Lucas sprang to his feet in horror. He was in a stable! Close beside him the magnifi­cent white horse at whose feet he had been sleeping began to stir, and then he saw all the six great white horses that had drawn the Archduke's coach on the previous day. There they stood side by side, separated only by low partitions. He recognized them at once, their white backs gleaming brightly above the dark boards at their sides. Their gorgeous harness was hanging on pegs high up on the wall.

Utterly dumbfounded, Lucas staggered forward, rubbing his eyes and trying to remember what had happened. But his mind was a blank and, overcome by terror that increased every moment, he let his hand drop to his side, and stared about him, wondering whether he could not possibly escape from his strange surroundings. His anxious eyes suddenly caught sight of the stable door. Trembling all over, he crept breathless, step by step, toward it. Gently he raised the latch and paused for a moment, in case one of the grooms who might be sleeping in the stables should wake up. Then, cautiously opening the heavy door which creaked discordantly on its hinges, he slipped like lightning through the opening. He was free.

Not until he felt the cold night wind on his face did he really wake up. Then fear clutched at his heart with redoubled intensity, and he trembled so violently that he could hardly breathe. Pulling himself together, he began to run. His terror seemed to hang like a weight about his limbs, his feet felt like lead, and yet his fear lashed him on. In the dim light of the waning moon he could see the straggling houses of a small town. His footsteps rang like iron on the dry ground. Now and again a dog made a dash at him from behind a fence, a gate or a garden wall, and at the first sound of a bark, Lucas jumped as though shot. The bark echoed deep down into his heart, tearing away the veil which sleep had drawn across his memory, suddenly revealing ghostlike pictures of experiences which, at once confused yet terribly distinct, merged into one another.

On gaining the open highway, he ran without heeding his direction and continued until his strength gave out. He rested a moment, then walked on as fast as he could, on and on, until he was able to run again; and not until his knees felt like giving way beneath him did he stop. Walking and running alternately he reached at early dawn a slight elevation, on which was a stone monument called the Spinnerin am Kreuz. From this he knew that he was on the Wienerberg, and had not mistaken the way home. Here he took a short rest in order to recover his breath. He could see the walls of the city in the distance, the church towers below emerging from the darkness of the night; while beyond were the mountains looming through the morning mist. Overcome with emotion, he pondered over the power that had conducted him thus far afield.

Presently he started to walk slowly down the road. He was worn out by his long run and a prey to the fears that surged afresh in his breast every moment, and dazed by the mystery which he could not explain. When at last he reached the house on the bastion, it was broad daylight and the streets were already full of life. Creeping up the stairs to the attic, he flung himself on the bed to rest. But, as he could not sleep, he soon got up again, hurried downstairs, and timidly strolled about. The sing-song of the street-hawkers, the hurrying crowd, and the rattle of the traffic helped him to forget his state of painful wonder and to feel at one with everyday life. It comforted him to feel his fellow-­creatures all about him; he had a sensation of security when he heard them talking or saw them laughing.

Quite unconsciously he turned down the road leading to the Imperial Palace, and, taking up his stand on the square in front of St. Michael's Church, waited, as though he expected the pageant of yesterday to be re-enacted. But nothing of the sort happened. The square wore its usual aspect, people crossed and re-crossed in all directions, no fence of halberds barred their path, and the Palace, with its old gray walls, stood out calm and massive as a lonely promontory. In his bewilderment Lucas had cherished a confused hope that in this square, where all his adventures of the previous day had started, he would find a solution, or at least the suggestion of an answer to the riddle of what had happened. But with a sudden feeling of profound disappointment, he walked crestfallen away. It then chanced to occur to him that some of his father's friends were at work nearby on the Palace which the Papal Nuncio was having built for himself. Overcome by an overpowering longing for company, he hastened on in the hope of finding them.

Passing through the courtyard, he entered the new structure through a door made of rough boards, and immediately found himself surrounded by a din of hammering, blow after blow raining down on the stones, the shriek of saws, the screech of files, and the songs with which the workmen beguiled their labors. They were all Italians—sculptors, stonemasons, and iron-workers—they sang Italian songs, which Lucas had often enough heard his father sing. Amid the cheerful buzz of work, swelled and lightened by the singing which perforce banished superfluous care and unprofit­able thought, all Lucas's fears and dark forebodings melted away.

He immediately felt at home in this environment. As a little boy, he had played by his father's side in just such building-yards as this, mixing with the other men, all of whom knew him. Maestro Andrea Chini, who was working with his assistants, understood without being told that poverty alone was forcing young Lucas Grassi to descend to work that was beneath him, and he proceeded to find what light jobs he could for him. That day Lucas accepted the work eagerly, with none of the feelings of reluctance he had experienced before, and performed his duties cheerfully. As for all the hopes and longings he had so ardently cherished only the day before, he refused to give them another thought, and put them out of his mind as over-ambitious. After all the mysterious events that had occurred, he felt that he should do penance for his arrogant aspirations. By the time he had received friendly greetings from all and sundry, and had unwittingly taken his share in their conversation and even joined in snatches of their songs, he had ceased to brood over what had happened. He even began to doubt whether it were true. Tired out, but with his mind at rest, he returned home in the evening with the comforting feeling that he had escaped from some danger, or from the meshes of a strange delusion. He fell asleep immediately.

• • •

Suddenly he was awakened by a kick which seemed to go right through his body, and found himself lying on the ground. Above him was the broad red face of a fat footman in livery, who was on the point of kicking him again.

“Hullo, here's Cambyses back again!” shouted the man. “Get up, you rascal. Where the devil have you been all day?”

Lucas sprang to his feet in horror. Yes, he was back in a stable again, the doors stood wide open, the morning light was pouring in, and the men were leading the fine white horses out one by one, already harnessed. As Lucas tried to escape another kick, the fat man caught hold of him by the scruff of the neck, just behind his ears.

“Hi, you lout!” he called out, “just hand me a bit of rope, so that I sha'n't lose the brute again!”

The grooms and stable-boys all laughed.

“You don't want a bit of rope, Master Pointner,” said one of them. “Cambyses won't run away. If he had wanted to run away, he wouldn't have come back at all.”

“Really!” retorted the fat man angrily. “And what about yesterday? Where was the rascal all day yesterday, I'd like to know?”

“With one of his sweethearts, I expect,” replied another of the grooms, and all the stable-hands roared with laughter. Meanwhile a young groom called Caspar had come up, a gentle, handsome boy with an amiable face.

“Please don't be so hard on Cambyses, Master Pointner,” he begged, “or one of these fine days he'll go off for good. I assure you, sir, it would be much better to stroke him and make a fuss of him. Believe me, I understand dogs, as you know. Just think how clever it was of him to find us. How he must have run to catch up with us, and how nicely he has taken to his proper place again. You may take my word for it, Master Pointner, that dog's run the deuce of a long way just to get back to us. . . . Good old Cambyses, good dog! . . . Let him go, Master Pointner. . . .”

Pointner withdrew his hand, and the young groom smiled again. “Just look at him,” he said. “That dog understands every blessed word! Look how he's turning from me to you and you to me. . . . Yes, good old Cambyses, good dog, come along! . . .” And leaning forward, he stroked the dog's back and patted him kindly on the breast, between his forelegs, as men fondle horses.

“There, just see how pleased he is,” he observed with a laugh, as he drew himself up. “There's no need for a rope. Just call him kindly to you, and he'll follow, and our gracious lord will be overjoyed that the dog is back again.”

“Come along!” cried the fat man sullenly and left the stable. “Come along, you sly rascal . . . !” And Lucas followed to heel.

The Archduke was sitting at breakfast with various gentlemen of his suite, when his Groom-of-the-Chamber entered. The dog behind him sprang into the room.

“Your Grace, the dog has come back!” said Pointner.

“Oh ho!” cried the Prince with a laugh. “Cambyses, come here! Where did you find him, Dietrich?”

“Lying in the stable as usual,” Pointner replied sullenly. “The rascal was sleeping as if nothing had happened.”

The Archduke shrugged his shoulders. “Oh well, so long as he's back! Don't you ever run away from me again, you vagabond!” he added, leaning forward and addressing the dog under the table. All the courtiers laughed.

But on the following day the dog disappeared again.