an irregular sky-line of ruined castles and cathedral towers; nearer still, the city resolved itself into huge boulders and cleft rocks, with no sign of habitation or life. Suddenly our boat turned into a little cove; there was a sandy strip of beach, while zigzagging up from the water's edge was a line of low huts. And, more than this, on a long promontory extending into the water stood a white marble tombstone inscribed to Paul I., Il Re di Tavolara. Morte trentesimo Marzo, 1887.
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The Expedition arrives on the Island
All great men in all great moments are remembered for the simplicity of their remarks. "Let us have luncheon," said I, mindful of this, and walked in a week-kneed fashion to the grave. So it was true, after all! A newspaper squib was of more value than the chronicles in the Astor Library; the Italian authority and the Minister of Agriculture knew less of their native land than the American farmer who reads the Daily Granger; and I myself, who came as an iconoclast, would leave with a little altar in my heart, a rocky one, for the worship of Paul I.
"Mio padre, signore."
I turned, and beheld a well-built Italian, plainly of the peasant class, with a fragment of a lobster-pot over his left shoulder, and his right hand thrust into the bosom of his ragged shirt, after the manner of the old-time tragedian. Behind him stood my valet de place with an appreciative sense for the dramatic climax—we were back on the stage again, with every requirement for the situation save a chord of music. After a pause, occasioned by low bows, my valet announced that a collation of cold fried fish which we had brought from the hotel was served in the house of Carlo Bertoleoni, this illustrious son, who, with his family, deigned to share our meal. The manners of the Shah of Persia are probably no better, and the heir to the throne waxed voluble as the big chianti-bottle went its rounds.
"Yes, signore, it was in 1836 that King Charles Albert of Sardinia granted the sovereignty of this island to my father. We are of one kin in Tavolara, and my father was the head. The news of his kingdom spread all over the world, and it became the custom for the war-ships of other countries to salute him as they passed—the royal salute, signore. King Louis wrote, congratulating the new sovereign; distinguished gentlemen sought positions in his army and navy; and a company of famous bandits from Spain offered themselves as his household guard. Yes, he was greatly honored,
