Florian (22 page)

They set off at a pace appropriate to the occasion. In concert, their leg action reminiscent of the Spanish stride, the two white horses took the chalk-white ground under them. The vociferations of the throng, the waving of hats and kerchiefs bothered them not at all. Their measured gait, the gleaming, gold-spangled white of their bodies, the liveried coachman on his perch, the flowing white plume of the
chasseur's
hat, the close phalanxes accompanying the carriage and partly hiding it from the public's gaze, lent a very distinct, a very Austrian, a musical impression which, completely summed up, spelled Franz Joseph.

The mountain air of Ischl refreshed Florian. Like a man who has been drinking champagne and by it been lifted into an ever airier frame of mind, so were Florian's flagging spirits revivified by the odor of pine, of resinous damp wood, of lush earth, mixed with the snowy breath from the mountains. He had never run through woods, never trotted along the bank of a trout stream. Now there were excursions along the smooth road to Ebensee, with the River Traun murmuring just below. There were drives through the leafy Weissenbacher forest whenever Franz Joseph went hunting.

To Florian it was of course immaterial that at such times the Emperor wore a short Styrian coat and Styrian hat, that Konrad Gruber was less pretentiously garbed than usual, and that the
chasseur
and the gun-loader wore the simple green hunter's costume. But that the carriage he and Capitano drew was lighter, that he could feel. Also that the man who sat in the carriage, this man who meant so little to Florian, was alone most of the time.

Florian drank deeply of the scented air of the Weissenbacher forest. The grassy clearing before the hunting lodge enchanted him. He had never seen such a meadow . . . encircled by towering old firs, and overgrown with sweet grass and strong-smelling herbs. The many mixed scents stimulated him pleasantly and made him curious. He did not know that the forest abounded in stags, hinds, foxes, hares, martens, fitchets and weasels. Wild animals were as alien to his ken as true freedom. And so, coming across their spoors for the first time, he was not able to explain them.

As his soul interpreted and loved music—instinctively—in much the same fashion, only by no means as definitely, did he sense the benign and happy abandon that pervaded the forest. Rushing with Capitano along the Ebensee road, and turning left in Mitter-Weissenbach to climb the steep curves of the path always meant the meadow before the hunting lodge, and Florian always felt sure this had been arranged for his special benefit. He took the sharp incline, took the long steep climb to the Kapellenberg, with incomparable vim, carrying Capitano along at the spirited pace as if they had been on an even grade all the way.

Once when they trotted back to Ischl from an evening's hunt they came, in the deep dusk of the forest, directly upon a stag. The light from the carriage lanterns flickered over his ruddy skin and crown of antlers. Then he bounded into the thicket and disappeared.

With a quickened play of their ears and surprised eyes the two horses had spied the shadowy figure. Florian wanted to ask Capitano: “Do you know who that is?” But Capitano asked the very question first. Before they could puzzle out an answer the whole intermezzo was over.

Whether they drove to the Hotel Elisabeth, over to the villa of the Emperor's daughter, Gisela, or elsewhere, Florian enjoyed this furlough from the strained going between high stone walls on paved streets. He enjoyed the quaint abiding charm of this village set like a jewel in the midst of forests and mountains. His enjoyment, of course, was not the product of his brain; he simply showed his gratitude for the freer form of existence in the more intense exhilaration of his being.

It was in front of the Weissenbach hunting lodge that Franz Joseph, as he climbed from the carriage, commended Gruber: “The horses are better than ever.”

“At your service, your Majesty.”

“I think Florian particularly is in excellent shape. Don't you think so?”

“At your service, your Majesty.”

The Emperor smiled. He approached Florian and stroked his neck. Florian bent his head and sniffed at the old man's pockets.

“What do you want of me? Sugar? Do you have any sugar, Gruber?”

“At your service, your Majesty.”

They were by themselves. The Emperor, Gruber and the horses. Far to one side, a councilor, the game warden and the hunting retinue were waiting.

Gruber gave his master a few lumps of sugar.

“The other one is splendid, too,” said the Emperor, “but this Florian is simply marvelous. Absolutely marvelous!”

Konrad Gruber remained silent; after all, he hadn't been asked.

In the stable Florian invariably looked for Bosco. He and the dog had agreed that this stable was the best and the most comfortable they knew.

Anton was a happy man. He found himself in a landscape that reminded him of his Styrian home. High wooded mountains, topped by stately crags at which the snow still licked with its white tongue. In the distance the glacier of the Dachstein was visible. If Anton wandered along the Salzburg road he saw farmhouses in the deep broad valleys. It was years since he had seen a farmhouse. At the suggestion of a few colleagues and under Gruber's brief order he had fared forth on his first walk; it was climaxed by his coming across a peasant's abode. After that he frequently took the road toward Pfandl, went even beyond it when the Emperor was hunting. He made sure always to ask Gruber's permission beforehand, and he always took Bosco along. The dog enjoyed the long uninterrupted walks, the explorations he could make, the many amusing and critical adventures that befell him.

The two companions did not bother about each other on these walks. Each was certain of the other; they were linked together even when one disappeared for a short while.

Bosco experienced all kinds of gallant episodes.

And for Anton suddenly there was Kati.

Her name was Kati Pinchelberger and she was the daughter of a small farmer; almost thirty and a widow; a big-boned, full-bosomed woman with broad hips, thin hair and freckles all over her coarse healthy face.

Anton spoke to her of his homeplace.

Why hadn't he stayed at home on the farm? she wanted to know.

So he told her about his military service, about Lipizza, about Siebele, about Florian and about the Emperor's stables.

“Well, then you have a good job,” Kati stated prosaically.

He had never questioned the security of his position, never troubled his head about that. He talked and talked about Florian, and since he now had found the chance to pour out his heart and Kati listened to him, he liked her.

He had never had the desire to talk or to open his heart to any human being. Now, though, he felt that it did him good. Once he summoned up all his courage and asked Kati to come to the stable to see Florian.

She replied matter-of-factly that she could do so only on a Sunday. And so she came next Sunday after mass. Anton was overcome at sight of Kati in the festive raiment of the Ischl peasants. In his estimation she looked ravishing. They sat together in the stable and looked at Florian.

“A horse like that,” Kati opined, “is no good for work in the fields.”

“Florian isn't made for that,” Anton replied. “But he is beautiful, Florian is.”

Kati couldn't deny that. “Yes, he is,” she said.

“And so good,” Anton appended.

In that, too, Kati agreed with him. “Sure. Sure.” But she argued: “Why shouldn't he be good when he is treated so well?” And after a longish pause, she decided: “Only the Emperor can have a horse like that.” She changed the subject. “Does the Emperor talk to you much?”

Anton was shocked and informed her that the Emperor had never talked to him.

Sitting next to Kati in this fashion it occurred to him that it might be rather pleasant to have her for a wife. He mulled this over for a long time without being able to express it. In the end Kati came to his assistance and said without beating about the bush:

“Two people like us would make a nice pair, wouldn't we?”

“Maybe,” he murmured, and grew pale.

“Then I'll stay with you to-night,” she informed him.

And he answered timidly: “As you please.”

Next morning, after Kati had gone home, Anton fell to thinking. His habit of being with Florian, of caring for nothing else in the world except Florian and Bosco—no—that habit he couldn't give up. Would a wife stand for that? Would Kati who was so blunt and so definite let him remain with Florian? He did not know the answer. He couldn't see his way clear. He was afraid. He would have liked Gruber's opinion. He regarded Gruber as the pinnacle of wisdom, the well of all experience. But he did not dare address him or seek his advice. Anton considered his own affairs and his own person not worthy of mention.

He met Kati again, twice, without touching on marriage. He felt easier both times when the meetings passed off so smoothly. Finally he had to quit Ischl and didn't even have the chance to say good-bye.

Franz Joseph journeyed to the Imperial maneuvers in Moravia. Florian and Capitano were dispatched there a few days ahead. The Imperial headquarters were in a medieval castle that looked romantically like a robber baron's roost. Everything there was weirdly beautiful. The deep moat encircling the castle, the thick walls, the portcullis, the century-old ivy which clothed the facade in a tenuous green garb, the inner courtyards, the stables that looked like deep caves and yet contained red marble mangers. These stables smelled of rats and mice, which threw Bosco into a state of feverish anticipation.

Of the maneuvers Anton had as much idea as any common soldier has; that is, none at all. But he recognized the different regiments from the patch of color on the soldiers' collars. And it was jolly to witness the military scene, which did not concern him, while he sat in front of the stable door in the courtyard.

On the other side of the fosse Franz Joseph's host, the manorial lord, had erected a long low wooden shed for the guardsmen who came the morning of the Emperor's arrival. Gruber went to fetch his master from the distant station. An hour later the automobile of the Heir Apparent rolled into the courtyard.

At length the Emperor arrived. The Guard presented arms.

Thereafter there was little for Florian and Capitano to do. The reason was that the new Chief of Staff, Conrad von Hötzendorff, a favorite of Franz Ferdinand, no longer made the maneuvers a mere spectacle for the monarch. Fierce and warlike, with surprises that came hourly, the operations of the troops stretched over a vast terrain. And the Emperor, if he wished to see something, if he wanted to be present at decisive moments, must needs use the hated automobile.

A magnificent motorcar waited for Franz Joseph in the castle. He owned it but had never made use of it. Two chauffeurs went with it. Konrad Gruber shunned any contact with them. Here conceit met conceit. Here the stubbornness of yesterday was pitted against the superciliousness of a new epoch. Gruber despised the machine drivers who in turn looked down at a mere coachman.

For three days Franz Joseph sat in the automobile. But when Franz Ferdinand proposed that he return to Vienna by car, he didn't deign to answer, merely shrugged his shoulders. To his adjutant he said: “The ideas this Franz has . . . incredible!”

The Heir Apparent laughed. “Emperor Ferdinand refused to travel by rail and the present Emperor can't get accustomed to automobiles. Well, when I am emperor everybody will use cars—or fly!”

I
N THE FALL FLORIAN MADE his first public appearance with Capitano at the head of a team of six.

Czar Nicholas II of Russia came for a visit. He threatened to cancel everything if he were not driven in a closed automobile from the station to Schönbrunn. Under no circumstances would he risk an exposed ride through the streets to the Imperial Palace. Schönbrunn was immediately made ready for the Russian “Little Father” who lived in constant fear of assassination. As for the closed automobile, that Franz Joseph adamantly refused. He held absolutely to the tradition of transporting visiting sovereigns through the capital by carriage
à la Doumont.
He had neither cause nor intention to show his people distrust; and the closed automobile would assuredly be so construed. Neither Franz Joseph nor the Czar of all the Russians had any ground for disquietude; Nicholas need fear nothing in an open carriage.

Nicholas conceded this point only after the ambassador earnestly made clear to him that Franz Joseph shared the same danger, if any, as he, and was in this fashion giving guarantees at the risk of his own person. But he made further difficulties by demanding a double
spalier:
artillery, in the first row, the horses and men facing the sidewalks; then infantry, their guns primed and ready for action and pointed at the houses and the people along the way. There should be little room for the populace to move about. Furthermore, plainclothes policemen were to be distributed among the spectators.