Then I know the baby is coming: there never yet was a French prologue without a baby,—it seems a French unity; sometimes there are two babies, who always get mixed up. But to our business.
Out comes the baby, (they never scream,) and—alas that for effect he should thus commit himself!—Arnheim rips Sarah up, and down she goes as dead as the Queen of Sheba.
Then comes a really fine scene. Shylock enters, learns all; in come soldiers for Shylock, and, of course, accuse him of the murder; whereupon Shylock shows on the blade a cross. "Doth a Jew wear a knife with a cross on it?" says he. "Go to!—'tis a Christian murder."
To this the soldier-head has nothing to say; so he hurries Shylock off to prison, and down comes the curtain.
"Hum!" says the Greek Chorus,—"it might be worse."
ACT I.
It is clear there must be lady characters, or I am quite sure the Greek Chorus would find fault wofully,—and the only one we have had, Sarah, to wit, can't decently appear again, except in the spiritual form. Well, there is the original Portia,—alas for that clever, virtuous, and noble lady!—how is she fallen in the French!—she is noble-looking and clever,—but the third quality, oh, dear me! This disreputable is named Imperia, and the real Bassanio becomes one Honorius, who is, as he should be, the bosom friend of one Andronic, which is Antonio, I would have you know. I have thought over it two minutes, and have come to the conclusion that the less I say about Imperia the better, and I know the Anglo-Saxon would not agree with Imperia,—but, as the Frenchman does, I offer you one, or part of one of Imperia's songs, as bought by me for two disgraceful sous.
"Déjà l'aube rayonne et luit,
La nuit
Finit;
Maîtresse,
L'heure enchanteresse
Passe et fuit…
A ton arrêt je dois me rendre.
Sort jaloux! (bis.)
Hâtons-nous,
Il faut descendre
Sans réveiller son vieil époux!…"
Well,—what do you think of it? Now I will not mention her again,—I will refer to her, when I shall have vexatious occasion, as "that woman." And, indeed, "that woman" and Honorius set us up in comprehension of matters progressing. It seems that quite twenty years have passed since Sarah's soul slid through a knife-gash; that Honorius and Andronic, who have come from Smyrna, (why?) are almost brothers; that Honorius is good in this fact only, that he knows he is really bad; and that Andronic is the richest and most moral man in Venice,—though why, under those circumstances, he should be friendly with such a rip as Honorius, Honorius does not inform us.
I shall pass over the next scenes, and come to that in which all the creditors of all the lords are brought on to the stage in a state which calls for the interference of the Doge: they are all drunk,—except Shylock. This scene really is a startler. Shylock, now dashed with gray, and nearly double, comes up to "that woman" and calls her sister; whereupon she demanding that explanation which I and the Greek Chorus simultaneously want, Shylock states that he is Usury and she Luxury, "and they have one father."