by Dino Buzzati
The audience had heard that morning that the bears had returned to the attack on the city – and to tell the truth they were a little uneasy. But the arrival at the theatre of the Grand Duke with the Grand Duchess banished their fears: if their Highnesses deigned to be present at the performance, then – thank Heaven – it meant that things were going well. And the orchestra played, the ballet girls danced as lightly as butterflies and the ventriloquist produced from the depths of his innards, to the incredulity of the country bumpkins, who were convinced it must be a trick – a voice such as was never heard, not even from the sepulchre.
Now and then the Grand Duke made a sign, and an official rushed to his side to receive orders.
“What news?” asked the Grand Duke.
“All is well, Your Serene Highness,” replied the official, lacking the courage to tell the truth, which was anything but cheerful. And the orchestra continued playing, the ballerinas danced, the conjurors produced live rabbits out of top hats and the ventriloquist made his stomach speak about all manner of things – and even made it sing a little song which was much applauded. Was not everything going perfectly?
In reality, everything was going to rack and ruin: the bears had conquered the fortress and were already overrunning the streets of the capital.
Finally the catastrophe arrived in the most dramatic manner, in the theatre itself. Amidst the frenzied applause of the crowd, the bear cub Bobadil had already begun his astonishing feats, walking on a tightrope sixty feet up from the floor of the stage and twirling a Chinese parasol, when there was a sound of strange voices, a curtain was drawn back and King Leander in person, followed by a band of armed bears, appeared in the pit.
“Oh Heavens, the bears!” shrieked the wife of the Landgraf from a box in the third tier – and, with a sigh, she sank down in a swoon.
“Hands up!” said the bears to the elegant assembly. And all of them, frozen with terror, raised their hands (except the ballerinas, who were so overcome with fear that they turned into statues with one leg raised in the air – and were later collected just as they were and put up on the façade of the theatre, where they can be admired to this day in perpetual memorial of this historical event).
But what is Leander doing? Why, instead of aiming his rifle at his mortal enemy, the Grand Duke, does he stare at the bear- cub on the tightrope? Why does he stretch out his paws to the stage, staggering almost as if he were drunk?
But now that our story is right in the middle,
What do you say to solving a riddle?
Who can you recognize walking the tight-
Rope? Who knows the acrobat bear cub by sight?
Surely you met him and knew him before he
Came here, and your hair stood on end at his story.
Think a bit, think a bit, though he has grown, he
Can surely be none but our little bear…
“Tony!” cried Leander at last in an indescribable voice, as he recognized his kidnapped son.
And the bear cub, too, recognized the voice of his father, though years had gone by. In fact, in his astonishment he stumbled and nearly fell – but, skilful as he was, he at once regained his balance and continued the perilous journey, not forgetting to twirl the parasol.
“Papa, papa!” he stammered as he stood suspended among the thousand lights of the theatre – that good little bear whom, from motives of propaganda, they had christened with the ridiculous name of Bobadil.
But suddenly, BANG! Everybody jumped. The Grand Duke had understood all and, in order to avenge himself, had aimed at Tony with his infallible pistol with its handle of onyx adorned with precious stones! He could have aimed at Leander, his immediate enemy. But no, he was a great deal more wicked than was generally supposed, and he preferred to kill the son.
Horror of horrors! To save time we will refrain from describing the tumult which followed. Everyone shouted, swore and wept. Naturally, the bears in the pit had immediately opened fire, riddling with bullets the Grand Duke, who collapsed. Through the theatre spread an acrid odour of gunpowder, which the old soldiers sniffed with satisfaction, but which made the ladies and their maids cough.
And what of Tony? Alas, Tony was wounded and fell headlong to the stage, right in the midst of the ballerinas who had just been turned to stone. He lay there unconscious, while his father hastened to his aid.
Close in his arms Leander holds his son,
While down his royal face the teardrops run.
“Speak to me, dearest Tony, look around you,
“How can you leave me just when I have found you?”
With all his loving strength he holds him fast,
The bear cub lifts his heavy lids at last
And answers, “Dearest father, I must die,
And all that I can do is say Goodbye.”
All hearts can break, even the hearts of kings.
“No, dearest Tony, do not say such things,
For soon you will forget your grief and pain,
And soon a happy time will come again.
Swift as a flash will pass these doleful hours,
And nothing will be left but joy and flowers.”
Joy and flowers! But nobody believes it. With glistening eyes, high dignitaries and important personages bare their heads in silence. Look, even Professor Ambrose’s beard is quivering. Is there no hope for the young bear? Has all his father’s labour been in vain? Will this tragedy mar the great victory? Can destiny be so cruel?
One
Two
Three
Four
These
Black
Thoughts
Soar:
Fear
Sorrow
Doubt
Despair
Hover
In the
Theatre’s
Silent Air.
Chapter 7
And while the cub lay in a pool of blood, while King Leander burst into desperate sobbing, while the spectators of this terrible scene remained motionless in their places, overcome with pity and amazement, while a tragic silence reigned in the great theatre, accustomed to singing, music and applause, a white dove flew in through a window which had been left open and began to flutter joyously about the building.
It was the dove of peace and goodwill, and as many things had come to her knowledge she thought she had arrived just at the right moment to help celebrate the finding of the kidnapped bear cub. But on glancing about her, she saw at once from the faces of all around that something very wrong was happening instead. An instant later she noticed King Leander clasping his wounded son in his arms.
The dove hesitated. Her joyful flutterings were inopportune, then. The audience looked at her with evident disapproval. Should she go away again? Or hide in a dark corner? But a happy inspiration led her to alight on the top hat of Professor Ambrose, who was looking on uneasily at the tearful scene.
All eyes turned then to the old astrologer. King Leander, too, looked at Ambrose. And Ambrose looked at King Leander. One thought dominated the whole theatre. Only the wizard, with a stroke of his magic wand, could save the young bear: what made him hesitate?
He hesitated because after the episode of Count Molfetta’s wild boars he had only one spell left, and if he used this one too, then farewell, wizardry! He would become a poor, ordinary old man again, wretched and ugly into the bargain – and if he fell ill, he would have to send for the doctor and take disgusting medicines like any other invalid, instead of becoming bushy-tailed and bright-eyed at a stroke. How could such a sacrifice be expected of him? Even King Leander, who had many scores to settle with the wizard, good-natured beast that he was, had not the courage to demand such a gift, but limited himself to gazing at Ambrose in silence.
But now a little sound is heard above
The silence like a heart beat, and the dove
Pecks at the Wizard’s hat,
Pit, pat, pit, pat,
>
As if to say: “Why is your heart so stony?
How can you miss this wonderful occasion
To save poor Tony?
If selfishness would yield to our persuasion
You could
Do so much good.”
And now of course you will not believe it, and you will say that this is just a fairy tale and that such things only happen in books, and so on. And yet, at the sight of the little bear dying, the astrologer felt a sudden pang of regret for all the wicked things he had done out of hatred for King Leander and his bears (like the episodes of the ghosts and Marmoset the Cat!). He felt something burning in his breast and, perhaps a little out of a desire to make a good effect and become a sort of hero, he drew his famous magic wand from under his great coat – oh, how reluctantly! – and began to weave a spell for the last time in his life. He could have wished for mountains of gold, for castles – he could have become a king and emperor, he could have destroyed whole armies and battle fleets, he could have married Indian princesses, he could have had everything in the world had it not been for this sacrifice. Instead:
“Fingo,” he said slowly, emphasizing each syllable,
“Fingo finkity finxit fy,
Fabula tabula domine dry,
Briccus braccus purly prit
Fory glory fifferit.”
Then the cub opened both his eyes and rose straight to his feet without a trace of the hole the bullet had made (only he felt a little weak from losing so much blood), while King Leander, mad with joy, began to dance all by himself on the stage. The dove, satisfied at last, began to flutter hither and thither again more joyfully than ever. A great shout went up: “Long live Professor Ambrose!”
But the astrologer had already vanished. Slipping out through the stage door, he ran home clutching the now worthless magic wand – and he himself could not have said whether he was sad or strangely happy.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is time to celebrate. Some wanted a grand military review, some wanted a midnight ball. After long discussions, they ended by deciding on a military review in the morning and a ball with illuminations in the evening. At the review, the cub Tony, still a little weak, was present, seated on an easy chair and wrapped in soft coverlets: he was able to take part in the ball, however, and, holding his father’s hand, opened the grand cotillion to the strains of a polka. This was possible, as during the day he had built up his strength with puddings and beefsteaks.
We first repair
To the market square.
With bugle, fife and kettledrum,
Banneret and pennon, here they come,
The trumpets blare, the martial sound
Wakens the echoes all around.
A banquet next, to assuage our pangs
With sugar, chocolate, meringues,
Marzipan, sugarplums, jam puffs, éclairs
(with cream plain or whipped to taste),
Turkish delight, candy and flowers of paradise
(A special tropical plant which the natives find exceedingly nice).
Tarts, macaroons, buns, brandy-snaps, all show forth,
And so on and so forth.
And tra-la-la and tra-la-lay,
So it goes on the livelong day,
While just as soon as it is dark
Lanterns are lighted in the park.
The orchestra to left and right
Keep it up the livelong night,
While the ancient necromancer
Watches – he is not a dancer.
Here is the dawn
And with a yawn
We sadly discover
It’s all over.
Chapter 8
Life is like that, alas! when we are growing
We think that we have time enough to spare,
And dawdle. All at once we are aware
That thirteen years have passed without our knowing.
We meet again, as if nothing had happened, thirteen years after the last time we saw one another, and King Leander is still reigning undisturbed in Sicily, because no one has ever had the courage to challenge him. Men and bears live in perfect harmony and the days go quietly by: one would think that peace reigned in everybody’s heart and that it would last for ever. Moreover, thanks to work and study, they have made much progress: many new and beautiful palaces have arisen in the capital, and they have built more and more complex machines and magnificent carriages and extraordinary flying kites of many colours. They even say that Professor Ambrose, though as old as the bells of the cathedral, has taken up his studies again and (imagine it, at his age!) made himself a new magic wand, less powerful than the one used up for the bears, but quite good enough for general purposes. The astrologer hopes at least to be able to extract a small spell from it to cure himself if he ever falls ill – that is, not seriously ill, with just a middling kind of illness.
And yet, if you look into the King’s eyes, you will see that he is not happy. Too often through the great windows of his palace his gaze returns to the distant mountains rising above the topmost towers of the city. “Were the days spent up there not happier ones,” he thinks to himself in secret, “among the solemn solitude of the crags?”
Then, in those far-off days upon the mountain
We fed on berries, slept on beds of pine –
We quenched our thirst at some untrodden fountain.
Now in Venetian glass we drink our wine.
“Pâté de foie gras” is our staple diet,
At night we sleep beneath an eiderdown.
How badly off we used to be! How quiet
And easy life is now! How rich my crown!
How happy we should be! Why, why regret
The half-forgotten things we left behind?
Rocks, torrents, tempests, ice and snow, and yet a tranquil mind!
Moreover it displeased Leander to see the bears changing under his very eyes. Once modest, simple, patient and easygoing, they were now proud, ambitious, full of envy and capricious whims. Not for nothing had they lived thirteen years among men.
It displeased Leander especially to see that instead of contenting themselves, as formerly, with their own beautiful fur, the majority of his bears now wore clothes, uniforms and coats copied from men, thinking they looked elegant: it never occurred to them that they were making themselves look ridiculous. At the risk of heat-stroke, some of them were even seen walking about wearing thick fur coats, just to show the world that they were not short of money.
But that was not the worst! They went to law on the slightest pretext, used bad language, they got up late in the morning, they smoked cigars and pipes, they grew fat and, day by day, they became uglier. Nevertheless, the King kept his patience, restricted himself to a kindly scolding every now and then and preferred on the whole to turn a blind eye.
After all, they weren’t criminals. But how long could things go on in this way? Where would it lead? King Leander was uneasy: he had a vague feeling that some evil was impending.
And sure enough, some strange things began to happen.
The first mysterious occurrence was
The Theft of Professor Ambrose’s
New Magic Wand.
The wizard had already finished preparing it with all the necessary spells, and was just giving it the finishing touches when it was suddenly stolen from him. He looked high and low for it, but it was nowhere to be found. The police were called in: no result. So then the wizard went to King Leander to tell him what had happened.
Leander could not get over it. Such a serious theft had never occurred during his reign.
He took counsel with his Grand Chamberlain, Saltpetre (a very intelligent bear whose weakness it was, however, to think himself very handsome and to wear a long feather on his hat), and they decided to convene the whole human population. From the balcony of his palace, the King addressed the following speech to them:
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he sa
id, “some evilly disposed person has robbed our worthy Professor Ambrose of a magic wand which he has recently made.
“Citizens,” he continued, “this is a disgrace! Will the person who stole it please raise his hand?”
But no hand was raised.
“Very well,” said Leander. “It is possible that the culprit is not present. But I will say one thing: if within ten days the thief is not discovered in one way or another, I shall hold you all responsible and you will each pay the astrologer a thousand ducats.”
“Ooooh!” murmured the crowd, alarmed. One person even jeered openly at the King.
“So that’s how you feel, is it?” replied the King, feeling his rage mounting. “Very well then, two thousand ducats each. And mind you behave!”
This said, he returned to his apartments, while the men and women dispersed, muttering the most varied comments.
Then the astrologer came to the palace and said:
“Your Majesty, you have convened the humans, and I thank you for it. But why did you not speak to the bears too?”
“To the bears? What do you mean?”
“I mean that though my wand may have been stolen by a man, it may also have been stolen by a bear.”
“By a bear?” exclaimed Leander, thunderstruck. Since when had his bears been guilty of such things?
“Yes, Sire, by a bear,” repeated the astrologer, nettled. “Do you think bears so much better than men?”
“I should hope so! Why, bears do not even know the meaning of the word ‘theft’.”
“Ha, ha!” sneered the wizard.
“Did you sneer, Professor?”
“Yes, Sire, I sneered,” replied Ambrose. “I could tell you some fine stories, if I liked, about your sweet, innocent animals.”
Compose yourselves, children, and hark
To the mystery of Artichoke Park.
Chapter 9
The second mystery, in fact, was
