The Hound of Florence (8 page)

Presently one of the latter rose and tried to get behind the other chairs to toast a friend who was sitting close to the Archduke. He was already slightly the worse for drink, and stumbled over the dog, who sprang to his feet in terror and tried quickly to get out of the way. But as he moved the young nobleman gave him such a vicious kick that the wretched animal, howling with pain, collapsed on the floor. Whereupon the young man set about venting his fury on the dog in good earnest.

“Just you wait, you confounded brute,” he roared, “I'll teach you to trip me up!”

The dog's howl of pain and distress suddenly changed to a fierce growl of rage. Still smarting from the kick, he sprang furiously at the man, and with his forepaws on his shoulders, with one bound forced him against the wall. In a trice, the hubbub in the banqueting hall was silenced. Two or three of the revellers had jumped to their feet, and the only sound that broke the stillness was the low savage growl of the dog and the angry groan of the astonished and terrified man who, with the dog's jaws at his throat, was standing, white as death, with his back to the wall as though he were being crucified.

The dog was barking loudly in his victim's face. It sounded like a howl of hatred and reproach, and Pointner, behind his master's chair, quickly whispered to him what had happened. The young nobleman had just succeeded in drawing his dagger from its sheath when the Archduke brought his fist down heavily on the table.

“You dare touch a hair of my dog's coat!” he roared. “How dare you kick my dog, you drunken sot! Put up your dagger, I say!”

Immediately the dog released his enemy, dropped on all fours, and stood perfectly still. The tongue hanging out of his mouth alone betrayed his state of exhaustion. He was still growling with indignation.

The young nobleman, ashamed and sobered, his clothes all disarranged, came away from the wall.

“'Pon my soul, Messer Giovanni,” came the Cardinal's calm voice, addressing him from the other end of the room, “you are certainly drunk, and you are an ill-­mannered lout! Leave the hall at once, sir!”

Messer Giovanni crept noiselessly from the hall and the dog followed him as far as the door.

• • •

The dark woodland through which they had been laboriously climbing hour after hour had depressed the Archduke's spirits. But, sitting inside the slowly advancing coach he had suddenly become aware that the road was growing flat again, that it was beginning to grow lighter, that a vast expanse of bright blue sky was gradually becoming visible, and that the screen of boughs and twigs through which the sun was shining was steadily growing thinner. And as the cavalcade suddenly emerged from the trees into open fields, he began to breathe more freely. Suddenly he leaned out and called a halt.

The cuirassiers, eager to follow the gently sloping road into the valley, had already started off at a trot, but drawing rein, they turned the horses on to the grass by the side of the road and leaped down from their ­saddles. The column scattered right and left, and the rest of the carriages, with the pack-mules and the Archduke's baggage-­wagons, which had yet to come up, began to pour higgledy-piggledy out of the woods.

The fields stretched in radiant softness down the slope toward the valley. In a moment a throng of gaily dressed folk had spread over them. The sound of voices filled the air, to the accompaniment of the clank of chains and arms, the rattle of wheels, the creaking of saddles and harness, the stamping and neighing of horses, and the hubbub set up by the servants, busily taking hampers from the wagons in order to prepare a meal and arrange for the comfort of the company.

A little way off the Archduke was walking up and down a piece of open ground with Count Waltersburg. He seemed in good spirits. Pointner followed them while the dog frolicked about.

Far below in the distance, glowing in the rays of the sun, Tuscany beckoned invitingly to them. Its bright green fields extended as far as eye could see to the shimmering sapphire of the hills beyond, while dotted far and wide over the carpet of turf the white marble houses of town and village flashed their light up to the heights, and cupolas and turrets shone like precious stones.

“Is that Florence over there?” asked the Archduke, pointing.

Count Waltersburg peered into the distance with the air of an expert. “'Pon my soul, I do not know,” he replied at last.

Pointner began to laugh, and Waltersburg turned round in a huff.

“Just look, Your Grace, how that dog is standing!” cried Pointner. “He looks exactly as though he too were wondering whether it is Florence or not. . . .”

They all turned to look at the dog who was standing with his neck stretched out and his ears pricked, looking down into the valley.

“Well, Cambyses,” said the Archduke, smiling and bending down to pat him, “perhaps you know whether that is Florence?”

The dog cringed with fear at his touch, but quickly raised his head to his master, ran forward a few steps, and then stopped still again, as though to examine the landscape once more.

They took no further notice of him.

Presently when the Archduke had sat down to table with Count Waltersburg, Pointner, who was waiting on them, suddenly exclaimed: “Whom is Cambyses making such a fuss about over there?”

Turning they saw an old man with a gray beard emerging from the undergrowth, bowing to all sides, and talking, laughing and calling the dog, who was gamboling round him in a mad dance of joy, yelping with delight.

The Archduke frowned and sprang to his feet. “Strange,” he murmured, and obviously put out, advanced toward the couple. The others followed.

Neither the old man nor the dog noticed their approach. The dog seemed to be completely beside himself, and ran breathless round and round the man, now jumping violently up at him, as though he wanted to knock him down or embrace him, now scampering away as though daring the man to catch him. The man bent round and twisted about, until his little knapsack slid from his back up his neck, and laughed in bewildered delight.

“Yes, well, what do you want?” he repeated softly. “What's the matter with you? . . . Yes . . . Good dog! . . . Are we such friends then, for you to make such a fuss over me? . . . Yes. . . . Ha! . . . I never did. . . . Have you gone mad? . . . Yes, good dog! . . . But I tell you I don't know you. . . .”

“I say, you fellow!”

At the sudden sound of the Archduke's voice the old man started with fear, and his flustered movement forced the former, who had come close up to him, to step back a pace or two. The old man gazed in astonishment at the young Prince and his companions.

“A crazy dog!” he exclaimed with a smile. But the stern expression in the Archduke's eyes covered him with confusion. “A . . . crazy . . . dog!” he stammered under his breath.

“What's all this about the dog? What do you want with him?” demanded the Archduke with cold severity.

But the old man had already regained his self-­possession and was laughing quite innocently.

“Well that's funny. What do I want with him? What I would like to know is what the dog wants with me? Don't you see? God in heaven!” he exclaimed turning round angrily to Pointner, who had knocked his hat off his head. And looking furiously from one to the other, he was on the point of flinging himself without further ado on the Groom-of-the-Chamber. “I say, look here, you! . . .”

“You must not keep your hat on in the presence of His Imperial Highness,” said Pointner calmly, seizing his wrist.

The old man gave a little start of surprise. His arm dropped limply to his side, and calming down, he subjected the Archduke to a silent though kindly scrutiny. Then he gave a short whistle.

“Oh indeed!” he drawled. He looked at the dog, who was standing watching and wagging his tail. “Oh indeed!” he repeated about half an octave higher as if he were just beginning to understand.

“Who are you?” demanded the Archduke.

“Oh, it's easy enough to see what the fellow is,” Count Waltersburg interposed haughtily. “A tramp! Take a whip, Pointner, and drive the ragamuffin away.”

“Now, now,” exclaimed the old man, drawing himself up. He stood proudly and stiffly before them, his vivacious little eyes sparkling, and his second “Now!” ringing out loud and defiant. “I am not a tramp! I cannot allow that!”

“What the devil . . . !” ejaculated Waltersburg.

But the old man shouted him down.

“Nothing to do with the devil, my Lord Count Waltersburg. . . . Yes, don't you see? Yes, his lordship may well stare! But I have seen you often enough, when you were only so high . . . yes, indeed . . . with your noble father . . . of course . . . and I won't stand being thrashed!” He laughed again and glanced from one to the other with his merry flashing eyes.

“Who are you?” the Archduke enquired in low, contemptuous tones.

The old man gave him a friendly nod as though he quite agreed with him. “That's how it is,” he said, wagging his head. “His Imperial Highness has already asked me that question, and if my Lord Count will allow me to reply, I will give you all the information you require. . . .” And he winked merrily at the Count.

“Quick!” commanded the Archduke.

“At your service!” replied the old man with ­unruffled serenity. “I am Master-Tailor Wendelin Knapps of Prague. . . .” And he laughed. “Yes, indeed, of Prague, my Lord Count. And your noble father often used to come to my shop, and bring you with him; but in those days you were only a little chap.”

“Then what are you doing here, out all alone in the wide, wide world?” exclaimed Count Waltersburg in surprise.

The old man proceeded to explain, as though what he was saying were all a matter of course. “Well, just having a look round . . . taking a look at the wide, wide world . . . strolling about in fact. I heard of a country where it was always spring, and tales of the sea . . .” he was almost chanting now, “the sea. . . .”

“What do you want with that dog?” the Archduke repeated impatiently.

“Yes, of course . . . the dog. . . .” The old man hesitated. His face became a blank. “I don't know the dog,” he answered at last.

The Archduke, conscious of the opposition in the old man's attitude, became embarrassed. “You lie . . .” he stammered.

Shrugging his shoulders, the old man turned away. “Well, for all I care, it may be a lie,” he muttered softly to himself.

Pointner, noticing the embarrassment in his master's face, came up to him. “It is quite possible the old man is speaking the truth,” he said. “In fact, I feel pretty certain he is. How could the fellow possibly know Cambyses? Dogs like this often have crazy whims. . . . Some peculiar smell about a man, or something of the sort, is quite enough . . . isn't that so? We humans may notice nothing, but a fellow comes along with something peculiar about him and the dogs go straight up to him and lick his hands. And another time they'll bark at a man, and be nearer tearing him to bits than playing with him. How can we tell what goes on in a dog's mind?”

The Archduke had resumed his cold and haughty expression. “How can we tell what goes on in a dog's mind?” he repeated slowly, and looked across at Cambyses lying on the ground, intently watching every one of the old man's movements, and beating the grass madly with his tail.

“I'll have the brute shot!” he said sternly, turning round and going back to his place. “Either today or tomorrow.”

Pointner followed him. “Oh, Your Imperial Highness, pray don't do that!” he begged. “That would be a great pity! Perhaps you might give him away. After all, he does run away every other minute, and there's no holding him. A strange brute, but such a beautiful dog! Shoot him? . . . Surely there's no need for that! It would be such a pity! It would be no use—such a fine beast too!”

The Archduke did not seem to be listening.

The old man pretended to be busy with his knapsack, but he kept a sharp eye on all that was taking place around him, and when the gentlemen had sat down to table again, he strolled carelessly on step by step along the edge of the wood, skirted a coppice that abutted into the field, and, concealed from the Archduke's party, descended the grassy slope.

The dog came creeping up behind him, with a short, low, impatient whine.

“I know . . . yes, I know . . .” said the old man in kind soothing tones. “I know. . . . I know all about it. Even if you could speak, I could not understand you better. Yes, yes . . . just be quiet . . . I understand all about you . . . I understand everything.”

The dog lashed his hindquarters with his tail, yawned impatiently, sighed and gazed into the old man's face.

They were both silent for a moment. Presently the old man laughed light-heartedly. “Nice of you, old doggie, to have been so pleased to see me,” he said. “Nice of you that was! I am pleased to see you too. . . .” Then with a jerk of his head to the rear, he added: “They would have given their ears to know what was up between us two.” And he laughed merrily again, his little eyes sparkling. “But what do they know about friends like us—eh?”

The dog sat quite still, with his ears pricked up.

“Down there lies your beloved Florence,” he went on almost reverently, stretching out his hand and pointing to the glowing plain below.

The dog made a short sharp sound like a sob.

“But . . . let it be!” And the old man made a quick defensive movement with his arm. “Let it be! You can do nothing to make things different now. . . . It would be no use at all.” He shook his head and added softly. “I don't know how this happened to you . . . and you say you don't know either. Well then. . . . But I fancy things won't be very different for you from what they are for anybody else who has nothing in the world. Who knows what you may have wished for yourself . . . who knows how you wished yourself into your present plight. . . . Yes, that's probably how it came about. . . . You did not dare to ask for too much . . . eh? Yes, yes . . . people like us always imagine one has to pay forevery bit of luck . . . and so we always pay much more than we need . . . no courage . . . no daring . . . one is only a poor wretch of a dog, you see!”