“He is a fine man—there is no doubt about that—a handsome man; but he ought to travel, where he can get some instruction.”
This naturally meant Turin. Luigi, the sailor, though a Neapolitan, was more laconic. Being asked what he had remarked in the Sultan, he thought a moment and answered, smiling, “I remarked that in this country even the kings do not wear stockings.”
The most comical of all was Ranni. “How did the Sultan strike you?” asked the commandant.
“It struck me,” he answered, frankly and with perfect gravity, “that he was afraid.”
“Afraid!” exclaimed the commandant. “Of whom?”
“Of us. Did you not see how pale he grew, and he spoke as if he had lost his breath?”
“You are crazy! Do you think that he, in the midst of his army, and surrounded by his guard, could be afraid of us?”
“It seemed so to me,” said Ranni, imperturbably.
The commandant looked fixedly at him, and then took his head in both hands, like a profoundly discouraged man.
That same evening there came to the palace, conducted by Selim, two Moors, who, having heard marvels of our gibus, desired to see them. I went and got mine and opened it under their noses. Both of them looked into it with great curiosity, and appeared much astonished. They probably expected to find some complicated mechanism of wheels and springs, and seeing nothing were confirmed in the belief that exists among the Moorish vulgar, that in all Christian objects there is something diabolical.