It was a very short one, but it made every one laugh greatly, thanks to Shylock's excellent acting, and the chorus of boys, who greatly enjoyed chasing him across the stage, crying, "The law, his ducats, and his daughter!"
Then, after a short interval, appeared Portia, a silver arrow in her hair, almost lovely enough for the real Portia; though the alarmed expression in her glowing face was little accordant with the calm dignified self-possession of the noble Venetian heiress. Nerissa, a handkerchief folded squarely over her head, short petticoats, scarlet lambswool worked into her stockings, and a black apron trimmed with bright ribbon, made a complete little Italian waiting-maid; her quick, pert reply to her lady's first faltering speech, seemed wonderfully to restore Portia to herself, and they got on well and with spirit through the description of the suitors, and the choice of the two first caskets. Portia looked excessively dignified, and Nerissa's by-play was capital. Whether it was owing to Bassanio's awkwardness or her own shyness, she did not prosper quite so well when the leaden casket was chosen; Bassanio seemed more afraid of her than rejoiced, and looked much more at Nerissa than at her, whilst she moved as slowly, and spoke in as cold and measured a way, as if it had been the Prince of Morocco who had unfortunately hit upon the right casket.
In the grand concluding scene she was, however, all that could be wished. She really made a very pretty picture in the dark robes, the glowing carnation of her cheek contrasting with the grey wig, beneath which a few bright ringlets still peeped out; one little white hand raised, and the other holding the parchment, and her eyes fixed on the Jew, as if she either imagined herself Portia, or saw her brother in Antonio's case, for they glistened with tears, and her voice had a tremulous pleading tone, which fairly made her grandfather and mother both cry heartily.
"Take, then, thy bond; take thou thy pound of flesh!"
The Duke (little Willy) was in an agony, and was forcibly withheld by Bassanio from crying "No, he shan't!" Nerissa was so absorbed as even to have forgotten herself; Shylock could hardly keep his countenance up to the necessary expression of malice and obduracy; even Johnny and Dick were hanging with breathless attention on the "but," when suddenly there was a general start throughout the party; the door opened; Atkins, with a voice and face full of delight, announced "Master Roger," and there entered a young man, in a pea jacket and worsted comforter.
Such confusion, such rapture as ensued! The tumultuous welcomes and handshakings before the sailor had time to distinguish one from another, the actors assuming their own characters, grandmamma and Mrs. Roger Langford asking dozens of questions in a breath, and Mr. Roger Langford fast asleep in his great arm-chair, till roused by Dick tugging at his arm, and Willy hammering on his knee, he slowly arose, saying, "What, Roger, my boy, is it you? I thought it was all their acting!"
"Ah! Miss Jessie," exclaimed Roger; "that is right: I have not seen such a crop of shining curls since I have been gone. So you have not lost your pink cheeks with pining for me. How are they all at home?"
"Here, Roger, your Aunt Mary," said his mother; and instantly there was a subduing of the young sailor's boisterous mirth, as he turned to answer her gentle welcome. The laugh arose the next moment at the appearance of the still half-disguised actors: Alex without Bassanio's short black cloak and slouched hat and feather, but still retaining his burnt cork eyebrows and moustache, and wondering that Roger did not know him; Uncle Geoffrey still in Shylock's yellow cap, and Fred somewhat grim with the Prince of Morocco's complexion.
"How d'ye do, Phil?" said Roger, returning his cousinly shake of the hand with interest. "What! are not you Philip Carey?"
"O, Roger, Roger!" cried a small figure, in whom the Italian maiden predominated.
"What, Aunt Geoffrey masquerading too? How d'ye do, aunt?"
"Well done, Roger! That's right! Go on!" cried his father, laughing heartily.
"Is it not my aunt? No? Is it the little Bee, then? Why you are grown as like her! But where is Aunt Geoffrey then? Not here? That is a bore. I thought you would have all been in port here at Christmas. And is not this Philip? Come tell me, some of you, instead of laughing there. Are you Fred Langford, then?"
"Right this time," said Fred, "so now you must shake hands with me in my own name."
"Very glad to do so, and see you here at last," said Roger, cordially. "And now tell me, what is all this about? One would think you were crossing the Line?"
"You shall hear what it is all about, and see too," said Mr. Langford. "We must have that wicked old Jew disappointed, must not we, Willy? But where is my little Portia? What is become of her?"
"Fled, I suspect," said her mother, "gone to turn into herself before her introduction."
"O, Roger, it was so jolly," Carey was now heard to say above the confusion of voices. "Uncle Geoffrey was an old Jew, going to cut a pound of flesh out of Fred, and Henrietta was making a speech in a lawyer's wig, and had just found such a dodge!"
"Ha! like the masks in the carnival at Rio! Ferrars and I went ashore there, and-"
"Have you been at Sutton Leigh, Roger?" "Have you dined?" "Cold turkey-excellent Christmas pie, only too much pepper-a cup of tea-no, but we will have the beef in-"
Further conversation was suspended by these propositions, with the answers and thanks resulting therefrom, but in the midst grandpapa exclaimed, "Ah! here she is! Here is the counsellor! Here is a new cousin for you, Roger; here is the advocate for you when you have a tough law-suit! Lucky for you, Master Geoffrey, that she is not a man, or your nose would soon be put out of joint. You little rogue! How dared you make your mother and grandfather cry their hearts out?"
"I was very glad to see you as bad as myself, sir," said Mrs. Frederick Langford. "I was very much ashamed of being so foolish, but then, you know, I could hardly ever read through that scene without crying."
"Ah! you are a prudent mamma, and will not let her be conceited. But to see Geoffrey, with his lips quivering, and yet frowning and looking savage with all his might and main! Well, you are a capital set of actors, all of you, and we must see the end of it."
This was the great desire of Beatrice, and she was annoyed with Henrietta for having thrown aside her borrowed garments, but the Fates decreed otherwise. The Christmas pie came in, grandpapa proceeded to carve it, and soon lost the remembrance of the charade in talking to his eldest grandson about his travels. A sailor just returned from four years on the South American coast, who had doubled Cape Horn, shot condors on the Andes, caught goats at Juan Fernandez, fished for sharks in the Atlantic, and heard parrots chatter in the Brazilian woods, could not fail to be very entertaining, even though he cared not for the Incas of Peru, and could tell little about the beauties of an iceberg; and accordingly everyone was greatly entertained, except the Queen Bee, who sat in a corner of the sofa, playing with her watch-chain, wondering how long Roger would go on eating pie, looking at the time-piece, and strangling the yawns induced by her inability to attract the notice of either of her squires, whose eyes and ears were all for the new comer. She was not even missed; if she had been, it would have been some consolation; but on they went, listening and laughing, as if the course of the Euphrosyne, her quick sailing, and the adventures of her crew, were the only subjects of interest in the world. He was only at home for a week, but so much the worse, that would be till the end of Beatrice's own visit, and she supposed it would be nothing but Euphrosyne the whole time.