by Felix Salten
And they went on talking, the dog lying at their feet, his head raised, listening.
Later on when they left the table and withdrew to the bedroom, the dog slipped in with them. They noticed that he had done so only when he suddenly pushed himself between them.
“Oh Cambyses!” cried the Archduke. “He must clear out. He can’t stop here, can he?” And retreating a step, he looked enquiringly at Claudia.
“Certainly not.” She shook her head. “His eyes are like a man’s. One is not alone when he is there.”
The Archduke went to the door and opened it a little. “Here, Cambyses!” He exclaimed, “Out with you!
The dog did not stir.
With a laugh Claudia went to the garden door and opened it. “Come along, Cambyses, there’s a good dog!”
Still the dog did not stir.
“A stick!” exclaimed the Archduke, looking round. “Or a whip!”
The dog gave a short bark. It sounded like a contradiction.
“No, don’t beat him!” Claudia was touched by his bark. “He’ll go all right. Perhaps Caligula will be able to take him out.”
The Archduke thrust out his underlip. “I refuse to be provoked just now,” he said, and stretching out his arms he went toward Claudia.
The dog flew at him, baring his fangs.
The Archduke started back. “What’s the matter now?” he exclaimed, trying to hide his fright under a laugh and making an attempt to get past the dog. But once more the animal barred his way and his snarl became a deep growl.
The Archduke tried to kick out at him. “Just you wait . . . !” he cried. But the dog became frantic with rage and snapped at him and the Archduke felt the brute’s sharp teeth through his stocking. Beside himself with rage, he bent forward meaning to give the dog a blow with his fist, but Cambyses reared up on his hind legs and with his forepaws pressing on the Archduke’s shoulders, forced him to straighten himself and then kept fast hold of him, snarling, snapping, and opening his huge jaws in mad fury.
Claudia screamed.
The Archduke reeled backward with the dog’s forepaws still on him, twisting his blanched, livid face this way and that, in an effort to escape from the foaming mouth and gleaming teeth of the dog whose breath steamed into his nostrils. Suddenly he was seized with panic. He groped clumsily round the dog’s neck, trying to seize it, but quick as lightning the animal snapped at him and bit him. Blood poured from the burning wound. Like one possessed the dog hung round his neck, barking, yapping, howling in his face, pressing him toward the door with such terrific force that he was obliged to yield step by step.
In a paroxysm of fear the Archduke suddenly began to grasp that it was a matter of life and death, and he groped madly about his girdle. At last he gripped the dagger he was looking for. Drawing it stealthily from its sheath, he summoned up all his strength and plunged the blade deep into the dog’s body at the point where the neck leaves the breast and the shoulder.
Only a stifled cry was heard as the dog collapsed, dropping so heavily at the Archduke’s feet that he wrenched the handle of the dagger from his grasp as he fell and lay quivering on the floor.
Again Claudia uttered a piercing shriek.
And they stood facing each other, pale as death, panting and beside themselves with fear.
The Archduke looked down at the dog who lay stretched out on the floor, quivering slightly. “Brute!” He was foaming with rage. “Ravening brute!” And he shuddered with horror.
“Oh, put him out of sight! Put him out of sight!” cried Claudia, quite beside herself, holding her hands to her eyes and sobbing aloud.
“Well call someone, for heaven’s sake . . . the bell is there . . .” said the Archduke, speaking again with some effort.
“No, no! I don’t want to call anyone. No!” Her voice became a wail. “I don’t want anyone to come! For Heaven’s sake put him out of sight at once!” She seemed to have taken leave of her senses.
The Archduke pushed the dog along in front of him with his foot. The blood was pouring in a thick stream from his neck, leaving a broad red streak across the carpet. The door leading to the garden stood open and the Archduke pushed the limp heavy body out on to the terrace. “Scoundrel!” he muttered, angrily closing the door.
“The curtain!” begged Claudia. “Now the curtain! There’s the cord. . . . Yes . . . that one!” The Archduke tugged mechanically at the tassel, the gay figured tapestry slid forward and closed and all that met the eye was a woven wall-hanging of many colors, depicting an Arcadian scene in which blissful deities were condescending to consort with the beautiful lovelorn daughters of men.
• • •
When Caligula, the mulatto, stole across the terrace at dawn, to spy around, he found the young stranger stretched out close to Claudia’s door.
He gazed down on the wretched man who had twice pushed his way violently into the house and nodded with a broad silent grin on his face. Suddenly his dull eyes gleamed with joy as he saw the dagger with its glittering bejewelled handle sticking out between the young man’s neck and shoulder. The first tender rays of the rising sun sparkled in the diamonds, rubies and pearls with which the handle was studded, making it look more like a precious bauble than a deadly weapon.
Caligula bent down. He wanted to extricate the weapon from the wound and secure the tempting treasure for himself. But with a low cry he suddenly shrank back.
Lucas was still breathing!
Terrified out of his wits the mulatto stood for a moment rooted to the spot and gazed round. Then forming a sudden resolve, he darted toward the door and began to drum on the window-panes with his soft fingers. He also kicked the wooden panels with his slippered feet and called Claudia’s name in a shrill terrified falsetto.
After a while the curtain inside the room was drawn aside.
Caligula pressed his fat mulatto face against the window-pane, and tried to see inside the room.
The Archduke had gone and Claudia was alone.
With strange convulsive warning gestures and signs, Caligula began to perform a dance which was bloodcurdling in its silence.
When Claudia appeared on the threshold he could only point down at the wounded man. “There! . . . there! . . . there!” was all he could stammer out.
Claudia gazed down horror-stricken. At once she saw the connection between the dog and the man. She did not understand the secret of their identity, nor did she waste time trying to think it out. Nevertheless, long after the event she at last understood the dog’s mad fury and knew what the young man imprisoned in the form of the dog must have gone through that night.
“Carry him to my bed!” she commanded. “Take great care . . . do you hear, Caligula . . . take great care!”
The mulatto lifted the unconscious youth in his arms, as easily as though he were a child, and, after carefully undressing him, put him to bed. Claudia was convulsed by passionate sobs. At last, pulling herself together, she went up to Caligula.
“Listen,” she whispered, “listen! You must save him. Do you understand? You must!”
She caught hold of his wrists, and he could feel her whole body quivering as she implored him.
“If I can,” he muttered, releasing himself from her grasp.
But she caught hold of him again. “You can . . . I know you can heal wounds. . . . You must save him! I know you are a past master at healing. . . . You can ask anything you like of me!” And she sank almost unconscious on his breast.
Releasing himself from her once more, he went over to the wounded man. A moment later he left the room, but returned soon afterward with all manner of vials, bottles and instruments. His broad back concealed from Claudia what he was doing to Lucas Grassi.
After a while he took the dagger to Claudia, who was sitting huddled up on the floor by the window. She sprang to her feet, wrapped the weapon in a white silk
cloth, locked it in a cabinet and turning quickly to Caligula, whispered, “Silence! No one must suspect anything of this!”
The mulatto folded his arms. “No one . . .” he repeated in a whisper.
Claudia staggered quickly toward him. “Tell me . . . will he die?” she whispered when she was close beside him.
“Perhaps!” replied Caligula softly.
She either did not or would not hear, but pressed him further. “Tell me . . . will he live?”
“Perhaps!” replied Caligula as before.
Toward midday the wounded man grew restless. He had not yet recovered consciousness, but was throwing his arms and legs about.
At that very hour the Archduke left the city of Florence.
Whereupon Lucas Grassi lay still and quiet, breathing heavily with his eyes closed.
Claudia sat on the bed watching him. “Oh my beloved . . . !” she sighed from time to time.
Now and again Caligula would come in and give the invalid all manner of strange treatments.
When it had been dark for some time, Lucas woke up. Glancing about him in confusion, he recognized Claudia in the flickering light of the candle. He closed his eyes and was lost in thought. Had he been dreaming? Had he really experienced that terrible scene?
His hand groped for the wound which gave a twinge as he touched it. His fingers felt the bandage.
“Claudia!” he said very softly.
“Beloved!” Eagerly she bent over him and tried to kiss him.
“No, not yet!” he implored. And as she drew back, he added, “Is it nearly midnight?”
“Why?”
“Is it nearly midnight?” she could hear the terror in his sick, feeble voice.
“Yes, beloved,” she replied in tender comforting tones. “Yes . . . nearly.” Whereupon, overcome with emotion, repentance and longing for forgiveness, she added, “What you have suffered . . . for my sake . . . but explain to me, I do not understand at all . . . you must have faith in me . . . and tell me.”
“Wait!” he implored, and she could tell from his voice that his terror had increased.
She said no more and Lucas too lay silent, but his breath seemed to come faster and faster.
The hour crawled by painfully on leaden feet.
At last the soft metallic chimes of the cathedral campanile echoed through the room. . . . Midnight!
At the first stroke Lucas started. The other church bells chimed in and he counted twelve strokes.
Nothing stirred within him. No metamorphosis tore him away.
A great outburst of joy flooded his being. “I am free! I am free!” he cried, laughing and sobbing at once. And when he could say no more his smiling lips continued to whisper. . . . “Free . . . free . . . free!”
“May I kiss you now?” asked Claudia.
He gazed into her face, which was close above his own. “Kiss me!” he begged. And as her lips met his, he seemed to gain fresh strength. “Ah . . .” he murmured, “how it all happened . . . I do not even know myself . . . nor can I explain it. . . . I was very poor . . . very poor. . . . I longed terribly for things, and was very unhappy . . . very. . . . Yes, I was a dog in my misery, and in my poverty . . . a dog. . . .” He stopped, overcome by weakness. “A dog . . .” he whispered presently, “Perhaps every poor man . . . a dog. . . .” Once more he opened his eyes and gazed at his beloved. “But now . . . I am free . . . free . . . free and happy.”
And he sank into a deep sleep.
Claudia turned to the mulatto, who had hastened to the room and stood gazing on the sleeping man shaking his head.
“Will he die?” she enquired anxiously.
Caligula gave a faint shrug of his shoulders. “Perhaps . . .” he said almost inaudibly.
“Will he live?” implored Claudia, gliding swiftly up to him.
The mulatto gazed over his shoulder into the distance and whispered, “Perhaps.”
About the Author
Felix Salten (1869–1945) was an Austrian author and critic in Vienna. His most famous work is Bambi.
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Also by Felix Salten
Bambi
Bambi’s Children
Renni the Rescuer
A Forest World
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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Text copyright © 1923 by Wien-Leipzig, Herz-Verlag ag.
English language translation copyright 1930 by Simon & Schuster, Inc., copyright renewed © 1958 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Originally published in German in 1923 by Herz Verlag as Der Hund von Florenz
Cover illustration and interior spot illustration copyright © 2014 by Richard Cowdrey
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Cover design by Karin Paprocki
Interior design by Hilary Zarycky
The text of this book was set in Yana.
Library of Congress Control Number 2013956891
ISBN 978-1-4424-8749-9 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4424-8748-2 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4424-8750-5 (eBook)
