heir wealth, the one to ransom her husband's
friend from death, the other to redeem her own lover from captivity, the
manner of the gift is strikingly characteristic of the two natures. When
Portia, radiant with the joy of relieving Bassanio's anguish, speaks of
Antonio's heavy ransom as the "petty debt," we feel sure that if it had
been half her fortune it would have seemed to her an insignificant price
to pay for her husband's peace of mind. Camiola reads the price set upon
her lover's head, and with grave deliberation says, "Half my estate,
Adorni," before she bids him begone and purchase at that cost the
prince's release from captivity. Moreover, in claiming her right of
purchase over him, at the very moment of his union with another woman,
she gives a character of barter or sale to the whole transaction, and
appeals for justice as a defrauded creditor, insisting upon her "money's
worth," like Shylock himself, as if the love with which her heart is
breaking had been a mere question of traffic between the heir of Sicily
and the merchant's daughter. In spite of all which she is a very fine
creature, immeasurably superior to the despicable man who accepts her
favors and betrays her love. It is worthy of note that Bassanio, who is
clearly nothing else remarkable, is every inch a gentleman, and in that
respect no unfit mate for Portia; while the Sicilian prince is a
blackguard utterly, beneath Camiola in every particular but that of his
birth.

I remember two things connected with my performance of Camiola which
amused me a good deal at the time. In the last scene, when she proclaims
her intention of taking the vail, Camiola makes tardy acknowledgment to
Adorni for his life-long constancy and love by leaving him a third of
her estate, with the simple words, "To thee, Adorni, for thy true and
faithful service" (a characteristic proceeding on the part of the
merchant's daughter. Portia would have given him the ring from her
finger, or the flower from her bosom, besides the fortune). I used to
pause upon the last words, endeavoring to convey, if one look and tone
might do it, all the regretful gratitude which ought to have filled her
heart, while uttering with her farewell that first, last, and only
recognition of his infinite devotion to her. One evening, when the
audience were perfectly silent and one might have "heard a pin drop," as
the saying is, as I spoke these words, a loud and enthusiastic
exclamation of, "Beautifu