56. CHAPTER LVI.
A SCENE IN THE LAND OF WARWICKS, OR KING-MAKERS.
Wending our way from the temple, we were accompanied
by a fluent, obstreporous wight, one Znobbi, a runaway native
of Porpheero, but now an enthusiastic inhabitant of Vivenza.
“Here comes our great chief!” he cried. “Behold him!
It was I that had a hand in making him what he is!”
And so saying, he pointed out a personage, no way distinguished,
except by the tattooing on his forehead—stars,
thirty in number; and an uncommonly long spear in his
hand. Freely he mingled with the crowd.
“Behold, how familiar I am with him!” cried Znobbi,
approaching, and pitcher-wise taking him by the handle of
his face.
“Friend,” said the dignitary, “thy salute is peculiar, but
welcome. I reverence the enlightened people of this land.”
“Mean-spirited hound!” muttered Media, “were I him,
I had impaled that audacious plebeian.”
“There's a Head-Chief for you, now, my fine fellow!”
cried Znobbi. Hurrah! Three cheers! Ay, ay! All
kings here—all equal. Every thing's in common.”
Here, a bystander, feeling something grazing his side,
looked down; and perceived Znobbi's hand in clandestine
vicinity to the pouch at his girdle-end.
Whereupon the crowd shouted, “A thief! a thief!” And
with a loud voice the starred chief cried—“Seize him,
people, and tie him to yonder tree.”
And they seized, and tied him on the spot.
“Ah,” said Media, “this chief has something to say, after
all; he pinions a king at a word, though a plebeian takes
him by the nose. Beshrew me, I doubt not, that spear of
his, though without a tassel, is longer and sharper than mine.”
“There's not so much freedom here as these freemen
think,” said Babbalanja, turning; “I laugh and admire.”
