Chapter 5

"How like a fawning publican he looks!"

Shylock.

The change of the juggler's scene of action left the party in the stern of
the barge, in quiet possession of their portion of the vessel. Baptiste
and his boatmen still slept among the boxes; Maso continued to pace his
elevated platform above their heads; and the meek-looking stranger, whose
entrance into the barge had drawn so many witticisms from Pippo, sate a
little apart, silent, furtively observant, and retiring, in the identical
spot he had occupied throughout the day. With these exceptions, the whole
of the rest of the travellers were crowding around the person of the
mountebank. Perhaps we have not done well, however, in classing either of
the two just named with the more common herd, for there were strong points
of difference to distinguish both from most of their companions.

The exterior and the personal appointments of the unknown traveller, who
had shrunk so sensitively before the hits of the Neapolitan, was greatly
superior to those of any other in the bark beneath the degree of the
gentle, not even excepting those of the warm peasant Nicklaus Wagner, the
owner of so large a portion of the freight. There was a decency of air
that commanded more respect than it was then usual to yield to the
nameless, a quietness of demeanor that denoted reflection and the habit of
self-study and self-correction, together with a deference to others that
was well adapted to gain friends. In the midst of the noisy, clamorous
merriment of all around him, his restrained and rebuked manner had won
upon the favor of the more privileged, who had unavoidably noticed the
difference, and had prepared the way to a more frank communication between
the party of the noble, and one who, if not their equal in the usual
points of worldly distinction, was greatly superior to those among whom he
had been accidentally cast by the chances of his journey. Not so with
Maso; he, apparently, had little in common with the unobtruding and silent
being that sat so near his path, in the short turns he was making to and
fro across the pile of freight. The mariner was thirty, while the head of
the unknown traveller was already beginning to be sprinkled with gray. The
walk, attitudes, and gestures, of the former, were also those of a man
confident of himself, a little addicted to be indifferent to others, and
far more disposed to lead than to follow. These are qualities that it may
be thought his present situation was scarcely suited to discover, but they
had been made sufficiently apparent, by the cool, calculating looks he
threw, from time to time, at the manoeuvres commanded by Baptiste, the
expressive sneer with which he criticised his decisions, and a few biting
remarks