Florian by Felix Salten Read Free Book Online Page A

handle like a flag, and shake his mane of spun ivory. Bosco would be already waiting, his snout raised in a mute query. After this slight pause—the equivalent of consideration for Anton—Florian would lope decorously across the meadow with Bosco playfully pacing him.
    Florian danced when he walked, glided when he galloped. He seemed molded out of power, fire, grace and softness; was temperament and measured force.
    This summer Captain von Neustift once again visited Lipizza. He was accompanied by his wife, Elizabeth, in appearance as much a girl as ever. They strolled across the rolling meadows in and out of clusters of horses.
    Anton smiled when he saw them, stood at attention and saluted.
    â€œAh, Pointner!” Neustift stopped and glanced around. “The Florian can’t be very far away. Am I right? Where is he?”
    â€œBy your leave, Herr Rittmeister .” Anton saluted again. “I am sure you can find him yourself.”
    Neustift’s eyes roved. “I am to find him . . . it isn’t as easy as all that.”
    â€œOh, yes: it is,” Anton assured him, “very easy.”
    â€œThere!” Elizabeth cried, and with her outstretched arm she pointed at the white stallion. “There he is! It must be!”
    â€œYour Grace is right,” Anton nodded, “that’s him . . . that’s Florian.” He turned around, waved, whistled and hallooed: “Florian . . . Bosco . . . Here, Florian!” And, again to the visitors: “Just a moment . . . he’ll be right here.”
    They did not have to wait long. Florian sauntered near. The two visitors paid no attention to the terrier who ran ahead of him; they fell silent in sheer admiration as if a prince were approaching.
    Like a creature of light Florian stood before them, almost majestically innocent, bewitching in his beauty and in his serene confidence.
    Neustift whispered: “Have you a piece of sugar?”
    â€œYes!” replied Elizabeth with bated breath. As if awakened from a dream, she rummaged through her pocketbook and then proffered the lump on her palm. Florian took it with careful lips.
    Elizabeth smiled: “He kisses it away.” She, too, spoke in a whisper: “You really can’t describe it as anything else . . . he kisses it right out of my palm.”
    They were both a little embarrassed in the presence of this innocent young animal.
    â€œDo you remember, child . . . ?” Neustift asked.
    Elizabeth countered with another question: “Could anyone forget?”
    â€œThat was the day of our betrothal,” Neustift said, and stroked Florian.
    â€œHow strange,” Elizabeth mused, “that we have not been here once since then. . . . It seems ungrateful.”
    â€œUngrateful!” her husband protested. “Oh, no. There was our marriage . . . our honeymoon . . . the garrison in Galicia . . . You can’t always do just as you wish. . . . This has really been our first chance.”
    In the meantime Florian had come a step closer and sniffed at Elizabeth’s hands and then at her pocketbook. His breath was warm mist.
    â€œHe wants more. Just look at the beggar,” she exclaimed. She was pleased, and her pleasure rose out of a subconscious feeling of youth and health.
    Hastily she found another lump and offered it, and while Florian accepted it with gentle courtliness, she said to Neustift: “How big he has grown! . . . and how handsome. . . .” she added.
    Florian stared into her face expectantly, pleadingly, and yet with a certain proud air; a mien so expressive, so spiritual, so noble, that it was impossible to withstand.
    â€œHe’s coming along, Pointer,” Neustift said approvingly. “He’s coming along . . . He will be the pride of the Spanish Riding School.”
    Anton agreed