"We must pay. But if only somebody could teach the dear creatures to
breed a little more reasonably!"
"I cannot but think, Sire, that the peasants are abusing Your
Majesty's - - "
"May We never live to hear anything against Our faithful and
well-beloved Abruzzi folk!"
Nearly a month elapsed before the Minister again presented himself. This
time he looked really haggard and careworn, and was bowed down under an
enormous bundle of papers. The King glanced up from that writing-desk
where, like all other sovereigns, he had been working steadily since
4.30 a.m., and at once remarked, with that sympathetic intuition for
which he is famous among crowned heads:
"We think We know. The bears."
Your Majesty is never wrong. They have devoured 126 cows and calves and
bullocks, 418 sheep and goats, 62 mules, 37 horses, and 96 donkeys. Also
55 shepherd dogs and 827 chickens. Here are the claims."
"Dear, dear, dear. This will never do. If it is a question of going to
ruin, We prefer that it should be the bears rather than Ourselves. We
must withdraw Our Royal protection, after settling up these last items.
What say you, my good Minister?"
"Your Majesty is always right. A private individual may indulge in the
pastime of breeding bears to the verge of personal bankruptcy. Ruling
sovereigns will be guided by juster and more complex considerations."
And from that moment, added our gentlemanly informant, there began a
wonderful shrinkage in the numbers of the bears. Within a day or two,
they were again reduced to a single couple.
Gladly would I have listened to more of these tales but, having by far
the worst of the day's walk still before us, we left the stricken
regions about midday and soon began an interminable ascent, all through
woods, to the shrine of Madonna di Tranquillo. Hereabouts is the
watershed, whence you may see, far below, the tower of Campoli Apennino.
That village was passed in due course, and Sora lay before us, after a
thirteen hours' march....
That same night in Sora - it may have been 2 a.m. - some demon drew nigh
to my bedside and whispered in my ear: "What are you doing here, at
Sora? Why not revisit Alatri? (I had been there already in June.) Just
another little promenade! Up, sluggard, while the night-air is cool!"
I obeyed the summons and turned to rouse my slumbering companion, to
whom I announced my inspiration. His remarks, on that occasion, were
well worth listening to.
Next evening found us at Alatri.
Now whoever, after walking from Scanno over Pescasseroli to Sora in one
day, and on the next, in the blazing heat of early autumn, from Sora
over Isola Liri and Veroli to Alatri - touching in two days the soil of
three Italian provinces: Aquila, Caserta, and Rome - whoever, after doing
this, and inspecting the convent of Casamari en route, feels inclined
for a similar promenade on the third day:
