The Hound of Florence (15 page)

The Archduke reined in his horse and sprang from the saddle. Count Waltersburg came up smiling inanely as usual, and looking as though he were congratulating himself on a phenomenal success. Master Pointner, summoning a groom to help him down from the saddle, dropped heavily to the ground.

“Where?” inquired Torricella in bored tones, turning indolently to Ugolino Corsini.

Young Corsini, a boy of eighteen, fat-cheeked and ruddy, with an expression of constant stupefaction on his face, stretched out a hand. “Along the bank,” he replied.

The Archduke went in the direction indicated. The gentlemen followed at a respectful distance on either side.

“I don't know whether she will be alone,” Count Waltersburg began anxiously. “That fellow Peretti may be with her.”

“He can be kicked out,” replied Torricella coolly.

The Archduke was silent.

The dog, who had run on ahead, suddenly stopped, raised his head, pricked up his ears.

“There she comes!” cried Ugolino Corsini, looking about him with a bewildered air.

A group of people could be seen emerging from the woods. They dispersed as they reached the field and came toward the Archduke's party.

“That fellow Peretti is with her,” observed Count Waltersburg, turning to the Archduke. “I thought as much!”

The Archduke raised his gaunt face, thrust forward his underlip disdainfully and looked to one side. Then he stopped and waited.

Claudia came toward him. Her tight-fitting silk dress was dazzling white in the sunlight.

“Look, Your Highness, what Cambyses is doing!” cried Waltersburg with a laugh. “Strange what a fuss the brute is making over Claudia. . . .”

“What a beautiful dog!” cried Claudia, as she came up, “and so friendly.” She tried to catch him as he gamboled round in an attitude of devoted homage, giving little barks of delight.

“He is behaving as though he knew you,” remarked the Archduke suspiciously.

“He is indeed!” rejoined Claudia with a laugh.

“Perhaps he does know you?” the Archduke enquired more sharply.

“How could he possibly know me?” she exclaimed in amusement.

“Well,” continued the Archduke dubiously, “the brute disappears every other moment and no one knows where he goes.”

Peretti had now come up and made a stiff bow to the company. Captain Ercole da Moreno followed slowly behind, while Peppina stood glancing with laughing eyes from one to the other, her pretty face seeming to say: “I know a thing or two!” A little further off stood Caligula, the mulatto.

Niccolo Torricella pointed carelessly to Peretti, without even looking at him. “This gentleman here, Your Imperial Highness,” his apathetic voice was heard to say, “is Count Alessandro Peretti.”

Peretti again bowed stiffly and was on the point of saying something. But the Archduke, not deigning to look at him, turned to the Captain.

“Were you not dining with us the other day?” he asked. “I seem to have met you before, in Madrid. Am I not right? At the Infanta's. I was only a child in those days.”

Ercole da Moreno nodded, a smile, as usual, playing about his handsome ruddy face and dark eyes. He gave a military salute, holding out his hat at arm's length, but as he did so, he staggered and almost fell, as the dog, overjoyed at seeing him, ran between his legs.

“Cambyses!” cried the Archduke. The dog immediately dashed back, and stood quivering with excitement. Boisterously wagging his tail from side to side, he stood in front of Claudia and the Captain, looking affectionately up at them.

“How do you come to know Cambyses?” the Archduke enquired suspiciously of the Captain.

“Your Grace,” exclaimed Claudia, coming forward and interrupting, “I think I understand the dog. Cambyses, isn't he?—a lovely name.” She was standing close to the Archduke, looking into his eyes as she spoke, as though they were alone. “I think I understand Cambyses. He is exceptionally intelligent, more intelligent than any dog I have ever known. Of course he does not know either the Captain or me, but he does know who is welcome to his master . . .” and she cast a quick disdainful glance at Count Peretti.

A faint flush slowly spread over the Archduke's gaunt cheeks. He was breathing through his mouth, with his face close to Claudia's, while a film seemed to spread over his watery blue eyes. “You are indeed very welcome to me,” he said in a hoarse voice.

Although surrounded by their retinue the two were now to all intents and purposes alone. For the others held aloof so as not to overhear what the Archduke was whispering in Claudia's ear.

“What a magnificent dog!” exclaimed Peretti at the top of his voice to each of the gentlemen in turn. “What a perfectly wonderful dog! I have never seen such a dog in my life. I don't believe such a dog has ever been seen in Italy before!”

Niccolo Torricella was gazing beneath his bored half-closed lids toward the Arno while Ugolino glanced in stupefaction from Peretti to the dog and from the dog to Peretti. But the latter had no intention of holding his tongue. It was all too plain that he was trying to divert the attention of the party from the Archduke and Claudia and was doing his best to conceal the humiliation of his own presence among them.

“Where are such dogs to be found?” he enquired, turning to Count Waltersburg. “I should be extremely interested to know where your master got this beautiful dog.”

“Cambyses comes from Russia,” replied Waltersburg with a polite and condescending smile at Peretti. “Possibly from Persia—I am not quite sure.”

“Do call him, please. I should like to have a closer look at him.”

“Cambyses!” cried Waltersburg. But the dog did not seem to have heard.

“Apparently he does not think much of you!” exclaimed Peretti with an ill-natured laugh.

Waltersburg lost patience. “Pointner!” he cried, turning toward the place where the horses were standing, “make the dog come here.”

Pointner whistled, without approaching the Archduke, and brought the dog forward as soon as he had timidly obeyed his summons.

Clumsily Peretti began patting the dog's back. But with a snarl the animal raised his lip, making wrinkles in his nose, and showed his teeth in such a savage manner that Peretti stepped back terrified. Seeing the others smiling, he gave an embarrassed laugh. “Will he go into the water?” he asked, suddenly picking up a stick he found lying on the bank.

Waltersburg glanced at Pointner.

“I don't know,” replied Pointner.

“Do make him fetch this stick out of the water!” begged Peretti.

Pointner took the stick and went down the side of the bank, calling the dog. But the animal refused to follow him.

“Fetch it, Cambyses! Fetch it!” cried Pointner, waving the stick. But the dog stood still, refusing to take any interest, while Pointner held the stick to his nose, spat on it and continued to wave it about.

“Well, throw it!” insisted Peretti.

And Pointner flung it far into the water. It flashed through the air, splashed down into the water, and floated slowly away with the current. The dog had craned his neck to watch the stick as it flew through the air, and then stood still on the edge of the bank, looking anxiously at it floating away. Pointner pushed him along, catching hold of his hind quarters and shoving him forward to drive him into the water; but the dog, stiffening his forepaws, resolutely refused to budge.

Casting dignity to the winds, Peretti lost his temper. “You let the dog make fools of you all!” he exclaimed, slapping his thigh.

“Fetch it, Cambyses!” cried Pointner angrily.

“Such a huge dog and frightened of going into an inch of water!” cried Peretti scornfully. “It's ridiculous!”

“You damned rascal, go in, will you!” growled Pointner.

“Seize him by the scruff of the neck and fling him in!” roared Peretti.

Waltersburg waved toward the place where the horses were standing and two grooms hurried up.

The dog was lying flat on the ground. Pulling him up roughly, they swung him like a sack and flung him far into the river. He turned a somersault, saw the world about him—the river, the bank, the people on it, and everything—turn round and round, and was suddenly swallowed up as he fell in a dark, gurgling abyss. He struck out with his paws, rose to the surface, and swam, but was carried away by the current. Nevertheless, dazed though he was, terrified out of his wits, and struggling for breath, he managed to reach the bank. He clambered exhausted up the slope, shook himself, sending a cloud of spray flying all round him, and dropped shivering on the grass.

“Again!” shouted Peretti, “do it again! He didn't bring the stick back!”

The grooms were just going to fetch the dog, who was lying a little way off, at the spot where he had come ashore, when Ercole da Moreno called out, “No, that will do!”

Everybody looked round at him, but Peretti went on shouting and blustering: “Quick, over there! What are you staring at? Quick, run . . . ! Throw him in again!”

“No, that will do!” repeated the Captain calmly.

“He shall bring back that stick! I insist!” spluttered Peretti, his thick neck bulging with indignation.

The Captain glanced at him without turning his head.

“Quick! That stick! I insist!” cried Peretti, his voice growing louder as his anger rose.

“Go and fetch it yourself!” The words were calm enough, but the tone in which they were uttered was low and fierce.

“What did you say, Moreno?” exclaimed Peretti, whisking round sharply and making a dash at the Captain. What little serenity he had left had vanished. He was purple in the face.

Count Waltersburg watched the two men with polite interest. Niccolo Torricella turned apathetically away, while an expression of stupefaction spread over young Ugolino Corsini's fat face.

“What did you say, Moreno?”

The Captain looked down at Peretti. There was an angry flash in the eyes beneath the bushy white eyebrows.

“I say that will do! . . . for the last time!” Suddenly turning pale to the lips, Peretti gave a short laugh and left the spot without wishing anyone farewell.

• • •

Brother Serafio stopped painting. In front of him, on the platform, stood the cherubic boy who was posing as a model for the youthful John the Baptist. But the monk was looking at Lucas, who was sitting beside him, lost in thought. After he had looked at him for a few minutes in silence, Brother Serafio went on painting. Then he stopped again. “All right, Giuseppe,” he said to his model, “I'll call you again later on.” The boy sprang down from the platform and immediately busied himself about the studio. Lucas had noticed nothing.

“You're in trouble, aren't you?”

Lucas made a faint movement as though he were waking out of sleep. There was something in the ring of the monk's voice that brought comfort to his soul. He had not grasped what he said; the tone of voice alone had caught his ear, and his heart opened out to him.

“You're in trouble, aren't you?” Serafio repeated.

Lucas nodded.

“Can I help you?”

Lucas shook his head.

“Is life such a burden to you, Lucas?” the gentle voice continued.

“I am not living a life,” whispered Lucas with a break in his voice.

“What's the matter with you?”

“I am waiting . . .” replied Lucas as though he were talking to himself.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Waiting to be allowed to be a man again.” As the words left his lips Lucas felt overcome with despair.

“But what are you now?”

“An animal!” he burst out, but immediately shrank back in terror, pressing his hand nervously to his mouth.

Serafio gazed long and anxiously at him. “Listen, Lucas,” he said at last. As the young man did not answer, he added: “Will you listen to what I have to say?”

Lucas was still holding his hand to his mouth, as though to dam a flood of confidences.

“Don't you wish me to speak to you?”

“Yes, go on!” groaned the other in anguish.

“Well then, Lucas,” continued the monk, “if your trouble should ever become greater than you can bear, come to me. And come to me too if your heart feels lighter. You are alone. Treat me as a brother and come to me.”

The soft note of tenderness in the monk's voice soothed Lucas. “Reverend brother . . .” he stammered.

“No, not reverend,” interrupted Serafio, “just brother . . . and come whenever you like.”

He began to paint again.

The silence that ensued was suddenly interrupted by the sound of Cesare Bandini's voice. “Rossellino! What happened at Claudia's last night?”

Lucas pricked up his ears. The monk buried himself in his work. Rossellino went on modelling with wild violent movements. “Have you heard already?”

“Filippo was talking about it a moment ago in the garden,” replied Bandini carelessly. “I happened to catch something as I passed.”

“Apparently they fell out only yesterday afternoon,” said Rossellino with a gruff laugh, “out there along the Arno. The Archduke was there and Claudia too. They say they came to blows over the Archduke's dog. I don't know. I wasn't there.”

“But you were there in the evening, weren't you?” enquired Bandini.

Rossellino flung on the wet clay with a resounding smack. “Yes, by God! It was gorgeous! Peretti was more self-assertive than ever—you know what he is! Ercole sat as still as a statue. We were waiting for his song. But he did not sing. Then all of a sudden he called out, ‘That'll do!' in a tone of command. Everybody looked at him. Peretti, who was just going to kiss Claudia, shrunk back as if he had been stung. Ercole nodded in his direction. He sat there quite calmly and nodded at him. ‘Yes, I mean you, Peretti. . . . We've had enough of you. Clear out!' He spoke quite calmly. But everybody could see that he was boiling over. We were all terrified out of our wits and Claudia went pale as death.”