The Hound of Florence (2 page)

In his excitement Lucas had been striding along at a tremendous pace, but as his wretchedness and despair gained the upper hand, his step slackened. Oh, well, he sighed, how can a poor devil like me hope to hear of anything? I never see anybody, never dare talk to anybody! If only I had known the Archduke was going to Florence, I should have offered myself as a servant, a stable-boy, anything, no matter what! If only they had taken me with them! I could even envy the dog who is allowed to go along, and get his regular food, and a bed at night, and who will see Florence. . . .

Snow was beginning to fall in small flakes. As Lucas looked up at the narrow ribbon of sky between the houses, he could feel its gentle touch on his cheeks. Suddenly he pulled himself together. As soon as the winter was over, he would find his way to Florence; he was determined on that. As soon as it was warm enough to sleep out in the open again and walk barefoot, he would go out by the city-gate and take the road leading south. He would even beg—what of it? He would walk on until his feet were sore, and at night bury himself in the woods. And if he fell ill on the way, he would lie out in the open until the warm rays of the sun had healed him; and at last he
must
reach his goal!

In his abstraction he had all unconsciously been walking faster and faster, and he now found himself on the bastion before the house in which he was to live.

From the narrow arch of the porch a woman came out to him. Lucas had seen her before, and knew that she was the porter's wife. He felt grateful to her because she had received him so kindly and had assured him with a smile that he need not worry about the rent for the attic. And as she caught sight of him now, she smiled again, just as she had done the first time they had met. She was still young, and her exuberant youth and health seemed to be bursting the very seams of her dress.

“Well, here I am . . .” said Lucas.

She nodded, took rapid stock of him and pointed discreetly to the portfolio he was carrying.

“Is that all?”

Lucas did not answer. He had put a few of his father's best drawings in the portfolio, together with one or two of his own attempts. That was really all he possessed in the world.

The woman looked kindly at him, as though she did not expect any answer and regarded his poverty as of no moment. It was a gentle, understanding and reassuring look.

“Go right in,” she said, jerking her head over her shoulder toward the house. “You know where it is.”

Lucas stepped past her and vanished up the passage. The woman stood looking after him as though he were caught in a trap.

Slowly he climbed the steep, winding stairs. They were so dark that at first, until his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light and he could discern the shadowy forms of the stone steps, he groped his way inch by inch. He had not seen the glance the woman sent after him as he entered the house, nor had he any idea why they had been so ready to rent him the top attic without making any stipulation about payment. True, it was squalid enough, but it had a bed, a table and a chair, so that at any rate he would have a roof over his head and a place of refuge at a moment when he had been afraid he would have to sleep in the street. The woman's friendly smile had made him feel, as on the first occasion, that these people had seen how poor he was and wanted to do him a kindness.

He had taken this almost as a matter of course and thought no more about it. He had not the faintest idea that he was being used merely to dispel, by means of his harmless presence, the attic's evil reputation. He did not know that a week previously, in this same bare room which he had just entered, a mysterious old man had died a mysterious death. For many years this old man had lived there alone, feared by his neighbours, regarded by everybody with silent dread, understood by none. He was very tall and pale, and so thin that in his long, loose robes, he looked more like a spirit than a creature of flesh and blood. So colorless was his face that it might have belonged to a corpse, and his every movement and step were so feeble that it seemed as though a breath would blow him away. But through the snow-white hair of his mustache and beard there gleamed the fine cupid's bow of his red lips, eternally closed, like a symbol of imperishable youth; and the clear, commanding expression of his gray eyes was that of a man of great power and vitality.

The porter's wife could remember him from the time when she was a child and used to play with other children on the bastion. Everybody, young and old alike, shrank from him. No one had ever been known to hear him speak. Silent and solitary, he walked amid his fellows, inaccessible and heedless of all about him. Often for weeks at a time he would disappear, and then as suddenly return. Everyone thought him a magician. One or two brave spirits, imagining he was versed in the occult sciences, and perhaps possessed the power of healing or exorcising serious afflictions, had, from time to time, sought his help; but to all their questions he had answered never a word, until at last, cowed by the power of his eyes, they had fled in terror from his presence. It was a long time ago that all this had happened and no one had been able to pluck up courage to address him since. Then suddenly, about a week previously, he had been found up in the attic a disfigured corpse. Thus the room came to be regarded as a place of horror, where in all probability it was neither safe nor wise to live. It was hoped that the young lodger would be a means of testing whether the old man's spirit still haunted the place.

But of all this Lucas, as he entered the tiny room, knew nothing. Laying his portfolio on the table, he cast a rapid glance round without seeing anything and then gave himself up to his thoughts. They were the thoughts of a man for whom all the world's treasures lie out of reach, a man without a calling, sitting with empty hands and staring desperately into vacancy with the one question ringing in his heart—What shall I do? What shall I do? If a definite answer is forthcoming, all anxiety vanishes instantly, the barren hours that before had stretched like a desert to the horizon, are barren no more, but full of duties, plans, hopes and even confidence, and the fingers, itching to set to work on the task that lies ready to hand, forget how idle they have been hitherto. But the thoughts of a despairing man reply with nothing but a medley of ideas, which he cannot disentangle; a hundred and one voices seem to answer, each stammering at first and then suddenly breaking off altogether, till all are silenced, and only the old question remains—

“What shall I do?”

For a long while Lucas sat thus in the attic, the tormenting query ringing in his ears. At last he shook himself, and thrusting his thoughts impatiently from him, took refuge in the last stronghold of those who can see no escape from their distress. He began to dream. One day a rich man would come to him and say: “Would you like to go to Italy to learn some noble craft? Good, my son, here are ten ducats. They will enable you to travel free from care. There is enough there to take you to Florence and even further. Take the money and think no more about it; it is nothing to me. Often I stake ten ducats on a card and lose as much five or ten times over in an evening without feeling it. How many times have I given a girl ten ducats for a smile? Look at the buckle on my shoe; it is worth thirty ducats, and yet I was not put out for a moment when one of them was stolen.”

Surely, mused Lucas, as he continued to weave daydreams, there must be many good men in the world. Father often used to say there were, and I think he was right. But how strange it is that one should have to go down on one's knees to good men before they will do anything! If they are good, surely they must know that others are dying of hunger and thirst! And they must know that for a trifle, for the price of a shoebuckle, a man can often be saved. Is it kindness to give alms to the beggar at the church door? Even with the money in his hand, he still remains a beggar. There must be hundreds and hundreds of good men in the world, and if the beggar is to earn his daily bread, many of them must pass by and put a copper in his hand. Yet they do not save him from having to beg! But he would never have become a beggar if he had been helped. Perhaps the most terrible thing on earth is that men do not hold out a helping hand to one another.

Attracted by the broad expanse of sky which seemed to stretch above it, he walked to the window. It was a small attic window, and to reach it he had to climb up two rough wooden steps. He leaned on the broad sill and gazed happily at the glorious view stretching beneath him far away to the horizon. At his feet he could see the dark foliage of the trees on the bastion; in front of the walls lay the broad green expanse of the glacis, intersected by streets and paths that looked like streaks of chalk. Beyond came the houses, roofs and church-towers of the suburbs, and yet further away, the hills rose gently to the diaphanous mist of the mountains.

With one swift, all-embracing glance Lucas took in the view. Along the broad highway which crossed the glacis in the direction of the suburbs, a long procession was advancing at a fair pace, looking like some giant caterpillar with arching back crawling along on its myriad feet. At first Lucas watched it quite unmoved, but suddenly he saw that it was the same procession he had met a little while back in the square in front of St. Michael's Church. He grew wildly excited. Although it was a long way off, he could plainly discern the cuirassiers riding ahead. As the light played about the cavalcade and sudden gleams flashed on bright points on their helmets, they were clearly distinguishable. Yes, there were the traveling coaches, like crawling black beetles. Behind them came another troop of horsemen.

Lucas kept his eyes fixed on the procession. It formed a whole community making its exodus. Advancing in close array, it constituted a single whole that had cut itself adrift from the town and left behind it all those who must remain rooted to the place. Far away in the distance, further than eye could see, in a foreign land, lay the goal that lured it on. Night and day it would march forward until at last it reached that goal and was swallowed up in its wide embrace. Lucas gazed into the distance. His eyes felt an irresistible impulse to follow the procession. He could visualize the whole journey. His heart began to beat furiously. “Oh how lucky they are!” he sighed. “How lucky they are!”

Then, remembering the beautiful dog he had seen running by the side of the Archduke's carriage, he banged his fist down on the window-sill. “Oh God!” he raged, “I envy even that dog!” At each word, he thumped the window-sill. “If only I could go with them—with them!” Then, seized by a sudden inspiration, he added: “If I were allowed to be myself every other day, only every other day, I wouldn't mind a bit. . . . I shouldn't mind being that dog if I could go with them on their journey. . . .”

Whereupon in the twinkling of an eye he found he was a dog running along by the side of the Archduke's coach.

• • •

When he struck the window-sill with his fist, Lucas had not noticed that there was a ruddy-looking metal ring sunk into the dirty old wood-work. Indeed, in his excitement, he was quite unconscious of the violent movements of his hand. How was he to know that the thin yellow hoop which cut a circle in the wood, was of pure gold? How was he to guess that the spot where it was imbedded possessed the virtue of fulfilling for anyone a wish expressed while his hand lay on the magic circle? Lucas had spoken and, without knowing it, he had brought down his fist inside the magic circle with every word he uttered. And thus the miracle had taken place! All he had felt was a sort of giddiness seizing him as he uttered the last words; everything had reeled before his eyes, as if he were falling into a deep swoon. A violent blow had struck him and taken away his breath. Everything had happened in a flash.

I must be dreaming, he thought, as he bounded along beside the Archduke's coach. He was conscious that the dog's body was his own, and though he could hardly believe it, he was pleasantly surprised. He marveled that he could run along on four legs, and thought it a great joke. Yet he was amazed to find it quite natural and comfortable. Numberless scents, of which he had never before been aware, filled the air on every side, and he felt an irresistible longing to sniff them out and find whither they led. He was conscious of the rattling of wheels all around him, a confusion of voices, and the clatter of a hundred horses' hooves, like the beating of hailstones in a storm. His thoughts were turbid, yet entirely alert and wakeful.

I'm dreaming, he thought. I'm dreaming a wonderful dream.

Then for a moment he was overcome with a feeling of unnameable horror. He tried to cry out, but all he heard was a bark. Whereupon his terror turned to such wonderful good cheer, that he was forced to laugh. But his laugh too sounded like a rather shrill, quivering bark, and in uttering it he could not resist the impulse to throw his head up. At the same moment, he saw above him the Archduke's pale face leaning forward and looking down at him through the crystal window of the coach. He felt rather frightened, and quickly dropped his head again.

What a mad dream.

His limbs were filled with a desire to spring and jump about, and he bounded forward lightly at a pace that delighted him. In a moment he had raced ahead of the coach-horses.

What a dream! he thought again.

I wonder whether I could run off into the fields?

“Cambyses!”

He stopped short. At once he knew that the call was meant for him. He knew it was his name and felt an irresistible impulse, an overpowering readiness to obey. Turning round he ran back to the coach.

“Cambyses!”

It was the voice of one of the lackeys standing on the tailboard. Lucas looked back at the man, and heard him add: “That's right. . . . Good dog! . . . Stay here!”

And then they went on.

He felt he would like to obtain a closer view of the Archduke. And raising his head again and again, he looked up at the window of the coach. His efforts must have attracted attention, for a few words caught his pricked-up ears. In his anxiety to understand what was being said, he forgot to observe that even in his efforts to listen, his body responded to his will exactly like that of a dog, and that all unconsciously he felt impeled to prick up or drop his ears. He now heard words of command issuing from the interior; one of the lackeys raised his hand to warn the procession in the rear, and the coach suddenly halted. The door was opened and the Archduke leaned forward slightly toward the dog.