Three short works | Page 7

moat below.
He sprang after it, unmindful of the brambles, and ferreted around the
bushes with the litheness of a young dog.
The pigeon hung with broken wings in the branches of a privet hedge.
The persistence of its life irritated the boy. He began to strangle it, and
its convulsions made his heart beat quicker, and filled him with a wild,
tumultuous voluptuousness, the last throb of its heart making him feel
like fainting.
At supper that night, his father declared that at his age a boy should
begin to hunt; and he arose and brought forth an old writing-book
which contained, in questions and answers, everything pertaining to the
pastime. In it, a master showed a supposed pupil how to train dogs and
falcons, lay traps, recognise a stag by its fumets, and a fox or a wolf by
footprints. He also taught the best way of discovering their tracks, how
to start them, where their refuges are usually to be found, what winds
are the most favourable, and further enumerated the various cries, and
the rules of the quarry.
When Julian was able to recite all these things by heart, his father made
up a pack of hounds for him. There were twenty-four greyhounds of
Barbary, speedier than gazelles, but liable to get out of temper;

seventeen couples of Breton dogs, great barkers, with broad chests and
russet coats flecked with white. For wild-boar hunting and perilous
doublings, there were forty boarhounds as hairy as bears.
The red mastiffs of Tartary, almost as large as donkeys, with broad
backs and straight legs, were destined for the pursuit of the wild bull.
The black coats of the spaniels shone like satin; the barking of the
setters equalled that of the beagles. In a special enclosure were eight
growling bloodhounds that tugged at their chains and rolled their eyes,
and these dogs leaped at men's throats and were not afraid even of
lions.
All ate wheat bread, drank from marble troughs, and had high-sounding
names.
Perhaps the falconry surpassed the pack; for the master of the castle, by
paying great sums of money, had secured Caucasian hawks,
Babylonian sakers, German gerfalcons, and pilgrim falcons captured on
the cliffs edging the cold seas, in distant lands. They were housed in a
thatched shed and were chained to the perch in the order of size. In
front of them was a little grass-plot where, from time to time, they were
allowed to disport themselves.
Bag-nets, baits, traps and all sorts of snares were manufactured.
Often they would take out pointers who would set almost immediately;
then the whippers-in, advancing step by step, would cautiously spread a
huge net over their motionless bodies. At the command, the dogs would
bark and arouse the quails; and the ladies of the neighbourhood, with
their husbands, children and hand-maids, would fall upon them and
capture them with ease.
At other times they used a drum to start hares; and frequently foxes fell
into the ditches prepared for them, while wolves caught their paws in
the traps.
But Julian scorned these convenient contrivances; he preferred to hunt
away from the crowd, alone with his steed and his falcon. It was almost

always a large, snow-white, Scythian bird. His leather hood was
ornamented with a plume, and on his blue feet were bells; and he
perched firmly on his master's arm while they galloped across the
plains. Then Julian would suddenly untie his tether and let him fly, and
the bold bird would dart through the air like an arrow, One might
perceive two spots circle around, unite, and then disappear in the blue
heights. Presently the falcon would return with a mutilated bird, and
perch again on his master's gauntlet with trembling wings.
Julian loved to sound his trumpet and follow his dogs over hills and
streams, into the woods; and when the stag began to moan under their
teeth, he would kill it deftly, and delight in the fury of the brutes, which
would devour the pieces spread out on the warm hide.
On foggy days, he would hide in the marshes to watch for wild geese,
otters and wild ducks.
At daybreak, three equerries waited for him at the foot of the steps; and
though the old monk leaned out of the dormer-window and made signs
to him to return, Julian would not look around.
He heeded neither the broiling sun, the rain nor the storm; he drank
spring water and ate wild berries, and when he was tired, he lay down
under a tree; and he would come home at night covered with earth and
blood, with thistles in his hair and smelling of wild beasts. He grew to
be like them. And when his mother kissed him, he responded coldly to
her caress and