# Stories from Old English Poetry/The Witty Portia

THE WITTY PORTIA; OR, THE THREE CASKETS.
(FROM SHAKESPEARE.)
SEVERAL hundred years ago, when the kingdom of Italy contained many proud and prosperous commercial states, only a few days’ sail from the city of Venice there lived a very famous and wealthy heiress. She dwelt in a magnificent palace, built on a strongly fortified island, and kept there the state and grandeur of a queen. This heiress, who was named Portia, was very beautiful, and one of the most intellectual women of the age. She was not only skilled in the working of tapestry and all sorts of exquisite embroidery, with which women ordinarily filled up their time, but she was a rare musician, an accomplished scholar, learned in the arts and sciences, and well read in Venetian laws and history.
Portia was of that rare type of Venetian beauty which Titian has made famous in his pictures. Fair as the fairest of Northern wonen, her fleecy golden hair fell in wavy masses ​about her lovely neck and shoulders. Tall and elegant in figure, she bore herself like a princess who owed her birth to a race of kings. Her origin was indeed almost royal, for her father was the last of a long line of Venetian merchants, who ruled the commerce of the world, and whose countless ships furled their sails in every civilized port upon the globe.
Not long before this story opens, her father had died, leaving his only daughter heiress to such vast possessions on sea and land, of palaces and ships, treasures of gold, silver, and precious stones,— storehouses of rich stuffs, silks and velvets, perfumes and spicery, that her wealth challenged belief, and was almost beyond account. Yet Portia, already in the full bloom of beauty, rich, and princely in her virtues, was still unwedded and kept her state in maiden loneliness. For such a strange fact there is a strange explanation, which forms the subject of this tale.
Portia’s father was a virtuous man, of excellent wisdom and judgment. He was very fond of his only child, and he chiefly feared lest, on his death, she might be wooed for her great wealth, and marry some one who would not love her for her goodness and beauty, but for her riches alone. Therefore he devised, shortly before his death, a scheme to get her a worthy husband ​He caused to be made three caskets, after the Venetian style of treasure-caskets; the first of these was of gold, the second of silver,—both richly chased and ornamented; and the third was a plain, unadorned box of that meagre and uncostly metal,—lead.
The golden casket bore this inscription, “Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.” The second had for its motto, “Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves;” while the leaden box said threateningly, “Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”
Then in his will the old merchant left his wealth to Portia with these conditions: First, that whoever sought her hand in marriage should choose one of these three caskets; and if, on opening it, he found the answer it contained unfavorable to his suit, he should instantly quit the palace, first taking a solemn oath never to reveal which casket he had chosen, and never after to seek any woman in marriage, but to remain single all his life. Secondly, that Portia should never, even to a favored lover, give any hint of the contents of the caskets, but should abide by their decree, and remain unmarried till the right casket was chosen. It is easy then to see why Portia remained unmarried. Suitors thronged her gates from year to year, and the piers of her harbor were crowded with the ships of gallant ​gentlemen who came to see this wonderful heiress. But many, nay, a greater part, turned back before risking the hard conditions of the choice. Others when they saw her did not desire to marry a woman so superior to themselve in intellect, for she sent the keen arrows of her shrewd wit right and left; and some of the weak minded cavaliers, who came prepared to venture much to gain such wealth, retired quickly from the presence of a woman who saw their defects with eyes so quick. Portia used her wit often in self-protection, and with no want of womanly delicacy, for in her heart she wished defeat to every wooer who had approached her. In the depths of her heart, unconfessed even to her dearest confidante, her companion and waiting-woman Nerissa, she held the memory of one gentleman, before whom all others seemed but poor creatures, unworthy a woman’s regard. This gentleman, whose name she scarcely breathed even to her own most secret thoughts, was Bassanio, a native of Venice, most courteous in his manners, and in acquirements a very pattern of the time. He had once before her father’s death visited their palace at Belmont, in company with a young nobleman of Italy, and although no word of love had ever passed between them, their eyes had delivered fair speechless messages to each other, whose import still lingered in her memory.
​Nerissa, indeed, who loved Portia dearly, and was the partner of her plans and wishes, suspected, with the cunning of her sex, that Bassanio’s image lay nearest her mistress’s heart; but even she dared not hint this, and rarely mentioned his name to Portia when they were most alone.
In the mean time Bassanio lived in the city of Venice. Although of good birth, he was impoverished in his fortunes, and had been from early youth an orphan. He was from childhood much endeared to a wealthy merchant named Antonio, many years his senior, who seemed to him to unite the double relations of friend and parent. To Bassanio, Antonio’s purse was always open, and with such lavish generosity had he given to him that his means had been somewhat shaken by his young friend’s extravagance.
Bassanio did not realize this, and truly loved Antonio with no less love than he was worthy of, but he accepted all his friend’s favors with the graceful carelessness of a son, who finds the same joy in receiving that the indulgent parent finds in giving. Latterly, however, Bassanio had begun to brood a little over his obligations. He saw that Antonio wore a clouded brow which betokened business troubles, and he heard it whispered on the Rialto, which was the business exchange of Venice, that Antonio’s fortunes ​would fail if they were not propped up by some unexpected prosperity.
In the midst of these rumors, the memory of the heiress of Belmont returned to Bassanio’s mind. He recollected well the Lady Portia; and he recalled her beauty and charms of conversation as far above those of any woman he had ever known. Then he thought of her fortune, which, united to the rare qualities she possessed, seemed to make her a prize beyond any man’s deserts. Thinking of these things, he heard of the strange manner in which her father had decreed her hand should be won, and the news inspired a strong hope in his breast.
He thought if he could but go to Belmont and make choice of the caskets, he might perchance win Portia for a wife. He wished he might go thither as a guest, recall himself to her remembrance, and if by any token he could discover that she might like him for a husband, he would risk the fatal choice. But he resolved if he saw no sign of preference, to come away without tempting the verdict of the caskets, since even at their bidding he would not accept a wife who took him on compulsion.
Here his dreams stopped, and he commenced to think on what means he had to visit Belmont. He could not go without a handsome ship, rich clothes, and a train of attendants; for though ​Portia’s father, very wisely, had not stipulated that her suitors should be wealthy, yet Bassanio’s pride forbade he should appear before her like a beggar. How should he get the money to furnish him for Belmont? His credit was exhausted in Venice. He was indeed much in debt there. To no one could he apply but to his dear Antonio, that friend who had already periled his fortunes for him. Bassanio went to him straightway. He told him of the latent love he had borne Portia ever since he had first looked on her; of her accomplishments, beauty, and her great riches. He assured Antonio that if fortune should be favorable and give her to him, his first use of wealth should be to build up his friend’s fortunes, till he was once more the most prosperous merchant in Venice.
Antonio heard him through, and without a word of hesitation commenced to devise means to raise the money, never questioning the success of Bassanio’s plans, or hinting at the many suitors who had already failed at Belmont. His ships were all at sea, engaged in different ventures, and he had no ready money to advance to his friend. At length he bethought himself of a Jew in Venice, very rich, who loaned money out for a considerable usury,—a practice thought dishonorable by the Christian merchants, who were accustomed to lend their money freely and without interest.
​The Jews were then, as ever since in Europe, a most despised and oppressed race. In all countries they were strangers and foreigners. All Christian nations united in persecuting them, and most cruel laws were passed against them everywhere. Their only protection against such social injustice was in making themselves as powerful as possible to resist it; and their means had been in all countries to heap up vast wealth, so that in their homes and synagogues they could feel themselves partly secure from their oppressors, or sometimes even purchase by the power of their money those rights which society otherwise denied them.
One of these Jews Antonio thought of, a man of clear, subtle intellect, born to have been a statesman if the state had not refused to father him, and now, although an outlaw, a man of influence and power among the scattered remnant of his tribe. Feeling his own power and his superiority over the Christians who spit upon and spurned him, his whole soul was filled with bitterest hatred of his persecutors. Those qualities, which in him would have been great and noble if it had not been for his unfortunate birth, were turned to craft to outwit the Christians, and to form schemes of revenge upon his enemies. Too cunning to let them read his nature or his designs, he carried smiles on his lips to conceal ​the mockery he felt, and hid under a bland, almost servile, demeanor, the gnawing hate which he bore within his breast. Of all the merchants of Venice he hated Antonio most, for by his learning and courtesy Antonio held a rank among his brethren similar to that which Shylock held among his tribe; and the Jew felt that if he could gain advantage over this one man, he dealt the Christians a blow, and revenged himself upon his equal.
To Shylock, then, Antonio repaired for money with his friend Bassanio. The Jew received them with much suavity, and although he disclaimed to have in his possession so large a sum as three thousand ducats, which was the amount they asked, he agreed to obtain it from some of his friends, and professing great kindness for Antonio, who he declared had wronged him in thinking he was unfriendly to him, he proffered Antonio the money without interest, according to the Christian manner.
When Antonio refused this offer, and wished to comply with the Jewish custom, Shylock said since this was to cement a new friendship between them who had been enemies, Antonio should, in jest merely, sign a bond by which no interest should be paid for the three thousand ducats; but if they were not paid at the end of three months, the Jew should receive instead a ​pound of flesh, cut from whatever part of his body Shylock chose.
Bassanio, with the jealous eye of friendship, half detected the Jew’s treachery under the mask of generosity he wore, and endeavored to dissuade his friend; but Antonio caught at the offer, assured Bassanio he was sure to be able to raise the money long before three months, by the prosperous return of some of his ships, and they went all together to a notary, where this merry bond of Shylock’s was drawn up and signed.
Immediately Bassanio made his preparations to depart. He took with him for company one of his friends named Gratiano, a gentleman of Venice, a fellow full of wit and sprightliness, handsome and brave, but a most prodigious talker. With this friend, a fine ship, rich attire, and a train of attendants, Bassanio set sail for Belmont.
Just as they reached Portia’s dominions, two suitors of importance had made their choice and been dismissed. The first of these was a prince of Morocco, a Moor, whose dark complexion formed a strong contrast to the dazzling fairness of Portia. He had been admitted to the room where the caskets lay, and after reading the inscriptions, had chosen the golden casket, declaring that no less costly metal was worthy to ​hold enshrined the image of his love. He opened and found a skull whose empty eye-socket contained a paper with these verses:—
“All that glistens is not gold;
Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms infold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscrolled:
Fare you well; your suit is cold.”
The second suitor was a prince of Arragon, a pompous Spaniard. He read aloud the inscription, “Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves;” and vainly imagining that his deserts were no less than the hand of Portia, he had chosen the silver casket. Within he found the picture of a blinking idiot, and these lines:—
“The fire seven times tried this:
Seven times tried that judgment is,
That did never choose amiss.
Some there be that shadows kiss;
Such have but a shadow’s bliss:
There be fools alive, I wis,
Silvered o’er, and so was this.
Take what wife you will to bed,
I will ever be your head;
So begone, sir you are sped.”
These disappointed suitors, with their retinues, Bassanio met issuing from the palace gates as he applied for entrance. He gained fair
​We can imagine the happiness of such a choice to the lovers who were but a moment before on the rack of doubt as to their fate.
Meanwhile in Venice, Antonio’s affairs looked dark and uncertain. His ships had as yet failed to come to port, and there were rumors of their shipwreck and loss. The Jew began openly to boast of his power over the merchant, and was more than ever inflamed against the Christians by a new sorrow which one of their hated race had brought on him.
Shylock had an only daughter, young Jessica, on whom all the affection of his suppressed nature was lavished. She was handsome and coquettish, and in her the Jew saw the image of his dead wife, her mother, whom he had in his youth ardently loved. Jessica was frivolous and unfeeling. Her dark eyes had long noted a handsome young cavalier, who played love-ditties under her lattice on summer eves, when her father was abroad, and to this gallant, Lorenzo by name, she had given the whole of her shallow little heart. He wooed her to elope with him, and one night when Shylock had gone to sup with some of the Christians, Jessica left her home, in the disguise of a page, to follow her lover.
Shylock had trusted her with the keys which locked his treasures, and the careless dark-eyed ​beauty, not content with the stab her marriage with an enemy would give her poor old father’s heart, broke her filial trust, rifled him of his rarest treasures, some of her dead mother’s jewels, all the gold she could find, and loaded her lover with the booty. They set out hastily from Venice to escape her father’s wrath, and were next heard from at Genoa. This event had terribly embittered the Jew, and made him more than ever long to wreak his vengeance on the Christian race. Therefore, the instant the three months expired, he caused Antonio to be arrested, and demanded from the court a pound of his flesh as the bond had specified.
The Venetians, who were more proud of the unchangeableness than of the justice of their laws, were much moved by this claim of Shylock. By an ancient decree, no Venetian law could ever be repealed, and as Shylock’s demand seemed legal to the court, they knew not how to deny it. The Duke of Venice, however, put off the judgment until word could be sent to Belmont of Antonio’s danger.
Salario, a friend and boon-companion, set out hastily from Venice with letters to Bassanio from the Duke and Antonio. On his way he met the runaway pair, Lorenzo and Jessica, who, at his request, accompanied him to Belmont. The party arrived there in the midst of the rejoicing ​which followed Bassanio’s choice, and much chilled the ardor of his happiness by the sad tidings they brought him of his friend.
As soon as Portia heard the story of Antonio’s devotion to her lover, and of the danger he was in from the Jew’s vengeance, she begged Bassanio only to tarry long enough for a hasty marriage ceremony, and then to set off for Venice without delay. They went to church, and there Portia and Bassanio were married, and after them, Gratiano and Nerissa (who had agreed to make a match if Bassanio’s choice proved favorable) were also made man and wife. Immediately Portia loaded her husband with ducats to pay Antonio’s debt several times over, and the newly married gentlemen set sail for Venice.
As soon as they were fairly off, Portia called Lorenzo and Jessica, who had remained as her guests during Bassanio’s absence, and giving them the keys of her household, and the control of her palace, she asked them to act as master and mistress there, while she and Nerissa went to a convent near by to offer prayers for the safe and speedy return of their husbands, The pretty Jessica accepted the trust, and Portia and her maid left the palace of Belmont.
But instead of setting out for the convent, she went directly to the chief port of her island, and there awaited the return of a messenger whom ​she had sent post-haste to Padua. She had in Padua a kinsman, Bellario by name, who was a very learned Doctor of Laws, and from him Portia had in her youth received instructions in the Venetian law. Assisted by the knowledge thus gained from Bellario, Portia’s ready wit had, on the instant she heard Antonio’s case, given her a hope of his safety. She had therefore sent to Bellario her opinion, asking him to confirm it, if it were correct, and asking him also to send her two disguises for herself and Nerissa. Her messenger travelled quickly to Padua, and returned to the port where she awaited him, with most hopeful letters from Bellario, and the garments for which she had sent, and the enterprising ladies with all imaginable speed set out in Bassanio’s wake for Venice. As soon as her ship arrived there, Portia dressed herself as a Doctor of Laws, and with Nerissa attired as her clerk, went straight to the Duke’s council hall, where the court was at that moment convened.
Bellario had furnished her with letters to the Duke, in which he spoke of her as a talented young doctor, wise beyond his years, and these letters she sent in to the Duke by the faithful Nerissa, who looked to perfection the part of a youthful student of the law. The Duke received the letters with great joy, and the disguised lady was ushered immediately into his presence. A ​principal seat was given her near the Duke, who sat upon his throne in great state in the midst of the assembly. On one hand stood Antonio, calm and unmoved at the near approach of death, and endeavoring to comfort, by his gentle persuasions. his afflicted friend Bassanio, who was much more deeply plunged in grief than the noble victim of the Jew’s hate. On the other side was Shylock, his cloak of civility and blandness thrown boldly aside, his eager eyes thirsting for the sight of his victim’s blood, and in his hand the sharp, glittering knife with which to exact the penalty.
Portia looked at him for one moment as she rose to examine the case, and then in a voice of tenderest compassion she urged on him the Christian law of mercy. But the Jew was deaf to her appeal. His religion had taught him that to exact eye for eye and tooth for tooth was the proper rule of dealing with his fellow-man, and he would have no better teaching than that of his own synagogues. When Portia found his heart thus obdurate, she made no further appeal, but asked if he had been offered more than the sum which Antonio had owed him. Upon this Bassanio again offered the Jew several times the amount of the debt, which Shylock scornfully refused, declaring that for countless ducats he would not exchange his right to the pound of his enemy’s flesh.
​When he had answered thus, Portia plainly told the court that since the laws of Venice were immutable, and Antonio had given the bond freely, the forfeit of a pound of flesh was lawfully to be exacted, and must be awarded by the court.
At this a shudder ran through the listening court, which had sat breathless while Portia spoke. Antonio pressed to his heart his weeping friend Bassanio, who was utterly overwhelmed at the terrible calamity of which he had been the cause. The impetuous Gratiano could no longer keep silent, but vented curses and reproaches upon the triumphant Shylock. The Jew’s figure seemed to dilate with the near approach of his vengeance, and he advanced eagerly to Antonio with his bared steel uplifted. Just as he clutched the merchant’s breast, Portia bade him stay his hand a moment. Shylock turned, impatient at this new interruption, but quailed before the majesty of the gesture with which she waved him from the merchant’s side.
She bade him cut the flesh, since by law it belonged to him, but to mark that in cutting it he shed no drop of Christian blood. That the words of the bond were simply a pound of flesh and if one drop of blood were wrongly shed, the Jew’s lands and goods were confiscated. Shylock stood quivering with disappointment and ​baffled rage, and Portia went on to say that if in cutting from Antonio’s breast he took more or less than one just pound, if the scale should turn but a hair’s weight more than the just due of flesh, Shylock’s own life was forfeit. No words can describe the joy of Antonio’s friends, or paint the rage of the baffled Shylock. He cried out that he would take then his three thousand ducats, and Bassanio was about to restore them when Portia interposed. She declared since they had been already refused, the Jew should not have the money,—he should have nothing but the bond. She then read the court an ancient law of Venice, which decreed that an alien, who directly or indirectly sought the life of a citizen, should as a punishment lose all his goods and estate, half of which should be given to the person against whom he had conspired, and the rest go to the coffers of the state. This would have been enforced on Shylock, had not Antonio begged the Duke’s mercy for the Jew, on condition that Shylock would sign a paper, giving to Lorenzo and Jessica all the wealth of which he might die possessed, and also that he would promise to receive baptism, and become a Christian. Both these things Shylock was forced to promise, but it was easy to see as he tottered from the council-hall that the broken-spirited old man would never outlive his baptism.
​ The court broke up with great rejoicing over Antonio, and in the midst of it Bassanio advanced to thank the young Doctor of Laws for the great service he had rendered him in this judgment of the case. He pressed upon him money for his legal aid, but the doctor graciously refused all reward. Bassanio then urged him to accept some remembrance in token of his great gratitude, on which the doctor fixed upon a certain ring Bassanio wore upon his hand. Now this ring was one which Portia had herself placed on Bassanio’s finger, on the day he had chosen the leaden casket, adjuring him never to part with it, and telling him if he lost or gave it away she should accept it as a presage of misfortune to their love. Bassanio, in much confusion, denied him this ring, and was grieved to see the doctor depart, much offended at being refused such a trifle. When he and the young clerk were fairly out of sight, therefore, Bassanio felt unable to appear so ungrateful in the eyes of the doctor, and sent Gratiano after them with the ring, preferring rather to test his wife’s faith in him, than to offend the savior of Antonio’s life. Gratiano overtook the pretended doctor and delivered up the ring, whereupon the lawyer’s clerk contrived to tease from him a ring which Nerissa, who copied well all her mistress’s doings, had placed upon her husband’s hand with similar injunctions
​ This done, they set sail for Belmont; Bassanio and Gratiano in one ship, and Portia and Nerissa in another. The latter pair managed, however, to reach Belmont first, and arrived shortly after nightfall, some hours before their husbands. They found Lorenzo and Jessica awaiting them in the moonlit gardens at Belmont, where they sat listening to the music from the palace which floated in softened strains in and out among the trees and fountains in the court-yard.
A few hours later the travel-worn husbands arrived, accompanied by Antonio, and were tenderly welcomed by their ladies and fully questioned as to the results of the trial. In the midst of the conversation the mischievous Nerissa discerned the loss of the ring from Gratiano’s finger, and commenced to accuse him of some inconstancy in parting with it. Portia overheard them disputing on the matter, and when Gratiano commenced to make confession, she blamed him much for parting with his wife’s keepsake, and declared that Bassanio would not so lightly have parted with her love-token. At this Bassanio, unable to conceal his embarrassment, commenced to explain, as eloquently as he could, how both Gratiano and himself had been induced to part so with these rings which had been so stuck with oaths upon their fingers. Portia pretended to be deaf to his excuses, and joining with ​Nerissa, both the roguish ladies rated their husbands unmercifully, pretending to believe that they had parted with their rings to some women as love-tokens.
Amid the protestations of the husbands, and the pretended anger of the wives, Portia and Nerissa suddenly produced the rings, and while Bassanio and Gratiano were struck dumb with wonder at seeing the jewels which they supposed graced the fingers of the doctor and his clerk in Padua, Portia related to the puzzled gentlemen and the astonished Antonio how his cause had been gained by a woman’s wit.
So the troubles of Antonio ended merrily. His ships, which were supposed lost, came safe to port with a rich burden, and all was happiness at Belmont. Bassanio and Portia lived to the end of their days in such complete peace and happiness, as proved the wisdom of the old Merchant of Venice in trusting to the inspiration of true love to find out its idol, even though hidden closely in a leaden casket.