one hand on the palm of the other, and cringingly produces a paper-knife—­whereupon the transaction is complete, and the parties, becoming aware that a Grand Triumphal Procession is waiting to come in, and that they are likely to be in the way, tactfully suggest to one another the propriety of retiring.  After the Procession, Valentina, “the lovely daughter of the proud Visconti” embarks on a barge with her maidens to meet her betrothed.

(In the Stalls, a Lady with a Catalogue, who hasn’t been here before, mistakes this proceeding for “The Launch of the Adriatica,” but is set right by a friend who has, and is consequently able to inform her that Valentina is Portia on her way to plead against Shylock.)

[Illustration:  “Signals to Portia that it is not such an amusing game as he thought.”]

A mimic battle takes place on a bridge—­i.e., rival factions shake their fists with prudent defiance over one another’s shoulders. (An Old Lady in the Balcony, who has been watching this desperate encounter, finds that she has missed a very important Scene between Shylock and Jessica at the other end of the stage, and remorsefully resolves to be more observant in future, as the Scene changes to “Portia’s Palatial Home.") Portia enters (the Lady in the Stalls, who has been here before, tells her companion that Portia’s dress was “lovely when it was clean"), and greets her guests by extending both arms and inviting them to inspect the palms of her hands, thereby intimating that the abundance of canopied recesses, and the absence of any furniture to sit down upon, is due to the fact that the apartment has been recently cleared for a parlour game.  The company express a well-bred gratification by bowing.  Enter the Prince of Morocco (who is of course identified by various Spectators in the Stalls without Catalogues as “Othello,” or “the Duke of Thingumbob—­you know the chap I mean"), followed by his retinue; he kisses Portia’s hand, as she explains to him, the Prince of Arragon, and Bassanio, the rules of the game in three simple gestures.  They reply, by flourishes, that they have frequently played it at home, and promise faithfully not to cheat.  The three caskets are brought in and placed on a table; the Prince of Morocco is the first player, and walks towards them very slowly, stopping at every ten paces and signalling to Portia that he is all right so far, and that she is not to be at all uneasy on his account.  On coming in sight of the caskets, he pauses and turns to the audience, as if it had only just occurred to him that the odds were two to one against him, and he must be careful.  Presently he jerks his right arm above his head and strikes his forehead, to indicate a happy thought, rushes at the golden casket, opens it, and slams the lid disgustedly.  After which he signals to Portia