by Felix Salten
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 voi
ce 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.
“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 s
tairs 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.
