It was not yet five o'clock, but the party was already under way.
The track was steep and rough, for few shepherds or travellers ever
came to these remote and savage parts. In single file, they pushed
up the hill, the horses stumbling through the stunted vegetation.
The company was silent, each member deep in thought, each suspecting
but unwilling to give words to the suspicion--although the baron and
his wife had exchanged a word or two before breaking camp. Upwards
in zigzags went the path leading to the temple, and only at the
top-most bend would they have their first, amazing view of the object
of their pilgrimage.
Kopp was the one to break the spell. His seaman's eye, accustomed to
read the signs on vast expanses of water, was quick to detect a
moving particle in the plain they had left behind. The speck halted,
went this way and that, resumed its onward course, stopped again--it
must be an animal.
"Can that be a wild beast?" he asked at length.
"Where?"
"Over there," he said pointing to the speck in the distance.
They reined in, and all eyes travelled in the direction of his finger.
"What the dickens can it be?"
"It's following the trail we made yesterday."
"Yes, look, now it's reached our camping place."
"It's a dog!"
"Impossible! That's not a dog's shape."
"But it is! A Great Dane."
"Extraordinary creature! One would think it was on our scent."
"Whose in particular do you think?"
"Who can tell!"
Diana it was who had exclaimed: "It's a dog!" On the instant she had
recognized Othello, and knew whom he was in search of.
On came the dog, faster and ever faster, following the curves of the
narrow path. All the party awaited his coming with ill-concealed
excitement. Now he had passed the grooms and the pack horses. He
was sobbing for breath as he loped by. At last he came to a
standstill at Diana's side, and looked up at her, whining gently.
She stooped in the saddle to pat his head while he, his front paws
resting on the horse's flank, endeavoured to reach her. The horse
was already in a fidgety mood, and as the dog's paws touched him, he
sprang aside. Diana saw the danger. The precipitous descent yawned
beneath her. In a trice she had leapt out of the saddle and had
landed safely on the path, with Othello upon her.
But Abdul, misunderstanding the gesture, and already indignant at the
big fellow's intrusion, broke away from his master and, barking and
growling, hurled himself upon Othello, attacking the great beast from
the rear. Pandemonium broke loose. In and out among the legs of the
unhappy horses the two dogs went, the mountain rising sheer above and
the precipice falling away beneath. The greyhound barked and yapped
its fury; the Great Dane, dignified even in combat, protested with
deep bass growls. The greyhound swift and dexterous in his
movements, the other heavy and strong in his defence. Abdul had been
knocked out by a tap from Othello's great paw, but the plucky little
fellow was up and attacking again in a trice. Then the big dog
gripped his assailant by the leg with his teeth and with one smack
with his front paw sent the little beast rolling in the dust.
Diana had till now watched the fight in speechless amazement and
fear, for she knew Othello's strength and could only hope Gregor's
greyhound would be spared the full taste of the Great Dane's muscles.
As Othello hurled his assailant from him, Diana seized the
opportunity to call him to her side. He responded immediately, and
with docile obedience went towards her while the count secured his
own little beast. Othello placed his two front paws on Diana's
shoulders, his head towering over her. Then he nestled his head in
her neck while she patted him and spoke to him soothing endearments.
The rest of the company could only gape in foolish amazement, for
none knew who this huge beast could be, and his size alarmed the
natives who had never before seen a dog of such large proportions.
Baroness Linnartz was the first to recover her composure. She
giggled shrilly and said:
"How touching!" Then turning to her husband she whispered:
"Enigmatical creature! Fancy travelling about with a dog of that
size and not even to keep it properly locked up and under control.
Had you any idea she possessed such an animal?"
"I wonder how he tracked her down? We've been on horseback all the
time," muttered the baron perplexedly.
"Quite within the realm of possibility. I had something much the
same happen to me once," said Gregor.
All were now speaking at once, each telling of their own or other
people's experience; even the natives by their gestures made it plain
that they, too, had seen such a thing before. At last the caravan
set forward again, the prince observing reflectively:
"It's enough to put us to the blush, an animal like that, running ten
or at least eight hours on end and then, at the last, when he reaches
his master, rejoicing as if he had found a saviour."
Kopp, who had been more deeply impressed than the others, said rather
sententiously:
"What a beautiful picture we had when the dog put his paws on the
young woman's shoulders!"
The prince had thought the same, but felt that if he expressed it in
words he would be guilty of sentimentality, so he turned the
conversation from this dangerous ground, and cried:
"Invasion of northern imperialism into the peninsula in the person of
a Bismarckian dog!"
Abdul was put on the lead and taken to the rear, but no one ventured
to take Othello's liberty from him. Gregor had dismounted, and had
handed the bridles of his and Diana's horses to one of the grooms.
Diana, preceded by Gregor and with Othello at her heels, silently
continued up the hill on foot. After his first demonstration, the
dog had not shown any further sign of affection save when from time
to time he rubbed his great head against her thigh. The count felt
instinctively that Othello was a rival, or at least a creature who
had robbed him of a part of her affection. He felt vexed, for his
whole mind was absorbed in the endeavour to win her completely for
himself. After a while he asked:
"Have you been hiding that superb animal from me all this time?
Where was he that day I called on you at your hotel?"
"He does not belong to me."
"Not yours?" questioned Gregor tentatively.
"He lived with me some months ago. Now he's found out where I am and
has followed me."
"It's all so perplexing. Diana, do tell me..."
"To me, life is a game, Gregor. On the deck of the ship in which I
am voyaging the reflection of lights will fall from time to time,
lights from the lands or the islands I have visited in times gone
past. They turn and twist about as they cross my path. Then the
ship sails once more into the shadows. Othello is a messenger from
one of those isles. Can you understand?"
Gregor loved her to speak like this, although he knew quite well that
she chose her words deliberately so as not to betray her secrets. He
was too used to the intrigues inseparable from political life to
allow himself to be beguiled by her smile, but he felt it wiser to
subdue his feeling of jealousy, and therefore said loud enough for
all to hear:
"Yes, a capital dog. But we'll have to keep him and Abdul apart.
They're likely to be sworn enemies."
Diana, who, according to her wont, had read an omen into the
encounter between the two dogs, was disquieted by these words, though
Gregor himself had no ulterior meaning in his mind. For him they
were nothing more than a plain statement of fact. But Diana looked
at him searchingly, trying to plumb his strength, his vital energy.
As she looked, another figure took shape beside Gregor, that of
Othello's master. She contemplated them as two rivals, just as the
dogs were, antagonists, and in a flash it was borne in upon her that
these two men symbolized the everlasting clash between youth and age,
age and youth.
Gregor, wholly unconscious of her searching observation, pursued his
way up the mountain, deep in thought as to who could be the link
between this animal and Diana. Who, he asked himself, was there in
their mutual circle of acquaintances who took an interest in dogs?
He tried to recall which among the many callers at the embassy had
ever bent towards the ground in order to pat Abdul and to speak to
him like a friend. Suddenly the young poet came into his mind. Yes,
Andreas had noticed Abdul every time he had come to the house. Other
recollections crowded upon him. Olivia's intention to ask young
Seeland to dine with her yesterday evening! A multitude of
possibilities jigged and capered before his eyes. He began to look
upon his escapade of this night with the eyes of an ordinary member
of society, became conscious of infidelity, a reproach he had never
felt before in all his other love episodes. Without turning round he
asked with as casual a tone as he could muster:
"Young Seeland seems to be a very interesting fellow, don't you
think?"
Diana had been so engrossed in her own thoughts, vaguely musing on
Andreas and the island, Andreas and Olivia, that she was taken aback
by the suddenness of the question. Her hand which had been stroking
Othello's head as she walked, stopped abruptly, and her left eyelid
twitched ever so slightly--the only sign she ever gave of being
surprised. Controlling her emotion, however, she said very quietly:
"Yes, you are right."
"The countess speaks favourably of his poems. Do you happen to know
them?"
"Fairly well."
"What do you think of them?"
"They're beautiful."
"I'll have to read them, then."
Diana was grateful that he did not pursue the conversation further.
The sun had not yet risen above the hill whose flank they had now
been scaling for two hours. They were eager for the reward of their
trouble and fatigue. Silence had fallen upon them again as they
grappled with the steepest part of the ascent. The baroness, filled
with curiosity and with ambition to be the first on the spot, had
pushed forward so as to ride immediately behind the guide, who was a
good way in advance of the main caravan. She was in the sunshine
already, so the pass they were making for must be near at hand.
Suddenly the quietude of this unpeopled mountain fastness was broken
by a shrill cry. Baroness Linnartz, preening herself upon her
victory, was hallooing down to them:
"Lovely! Better than Girgenti! Hurry up, do!"
She disappeared over the rise, followed by her husband.
Kopp, on arriving at the top, found nothing to say but:
"Donnerwetter!"
The prince, coming up close behind him, whistled a fourth through his
teeth in order to cover up his amazement.
Gregor and Diana continued to climb in the prince's wake. The count
had twice been here before. He knew the little dip in the path
whence the first view could be had, and as he was about to reach it
he drew aside to allow Diana to pass. This charming little gesture,
a mere nothing in itself, the delicacy of feeling that lay behind his
desire that she should glimpse the temple first, touched Diana and
warmed her heart towards the man. She threw him a loving glance as
she passed in front. Her nature was as sensitive as it was strong,
as intuitive and refined as it was steeled and simple. Such kindly
little attentions were greatly appreciated by her. She would give
her all for a tender motion of the hand, for a wooing glance, for an
unobtrusive and affectionate piece of courtesy such as Gregor had
just displayed in letting her go forward to get the first view of the
temple. Perhaps this little demonstration of delicate consideration
was necessary to restore her balance, so that she might be in a fit
state to enjoy the mighty picture she was about to contemplate.
A landscape conjured together on a heroic scale spread itself before
her, mile upon mile of mountain and hollow stretching far away
towards the sea which was sparkling in the rays of the early sun. In
a clearing of the evergreen wood, just below the crest of the hills,
grey in the orange light, stood the temple, its Doric columns
unimpaired, though roof there was none. The great arms of the
mountains compassed it about; but through a gap in their ranks, the
sea was visible, while away to the west the mighty river-spread of
inland waters glowed darkly, still shadowed by the mountains on its
banks. As she gazed, the sun swung high above the hilltops, catching
the grey columns in a beam of light.
All had dismounted, and, as their temperaments prompted, had stood
still, or walked round, or approached the temple. The baron was
especially delighted with the precision of its structure, praising
the way in which each section of the columns "fitted like a glove."
His wife had spread the ground plans and sketches out on the steps,
and had forced the captain to examine every detail so as to see
whether everything had been duly recorded on the sheets. The prince
had wandered farther afield and had found a fig tree. He stretched
his long arms up till he could pluck the fruit, then seated himself
beneath the tree with two or three of the grey-green figs in his
hands, and, while he sucked the red heart out of them, his eyes took
in the scene of which the columns formed the centre. Silently he
contemplated them, comparing, balancing, enjoying, criticizing; and
his mind vacillated between thoughts of the men who had built the
temple, and a peculiarly succulent strawberry jam they made at home
whose savour had been called up by the taste of the rosy pulp of the
fruit he now had in his hand.
Gregor strode up to where Diana had dismounted. For him, the
landscape held nothing but her picture. She stood in her boyish
attire by the side of her horse, with the reins loosely hanging over
her arm, while with the other hand she shaded her eyes from the sun.
A pine tree formed a background for her as, bathed in the glowing
light--the little horse to one side of her, and the huge dog to the
other--she gazed transfixed at the scene before her, aloof, forgetful
of the why and wherefore of the journey. And Gregor knew from her
expression and her aspect that up here in this mountain quietude, in
despite of the long ride and of all that the night had held, nothing
existed for her but the vision of the flawless morning as it rose
towards her from the distant sea.
Gregor's whole being was flooded with the solemnity of the hour; now
more than ever he became aware of the essential unity of youth and
maturity, of knowledge and physical energy, with which he had been
struck at his first glimpse of her. He fancied he could detect in
her face at this moment, yes at this very moment, that look he had
rarely seen in women, and then only at the instant of love's
surrender. Loath to disturb her, he nevertheless drew near to her,
and, speaking softly, with the tremor of desire in his tone, he spoke
her name:
"Diana!"
She did not stir, but murmured:
"Look! The sea!"
He stood slightly to the back of her, and in spirit swept her to him
in a wide embrace, while he vowed never, never again to let her out
of his hands.
From where he sat under his fig tree, the prince had been watching
them as they vowed themselves, one to youth, the other to sunshine
and the sea. He whistled softly through his teeth.