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Chapter Eleven. A Shakespeare Reading.
Esther was preparing for the Cambridge Local Examination at Christmas, and making a special study of The Merchant of Venice, as the play chosen for the year.

Fr?ulein explained the notes, and expatiated on the Venice of the past and the manners and customs of its inhabitants; but it was Mr Asplin who had the brilliant idea of holding a Shakespeare reading which should make the play live in the imagination of the young people, as no amount of study could do. The suggestion was made one day at dinner, and was received with acclamation by everyone present.

“Oh, how lovely, father! It will help me ever so much!” said Esther. “And Peggy must be Portia.”

“I’d like to be that funny little man Launcelot—what do you call it?—only I know I couldn’t do it,” said Mellicent humbly. “I’ll be the servants and people who come in and give messages. But, of course, Peggy must be Portia.”

“Peggy shall be Portia, and I’ll be the Jew, and snarl at her across the court,” said Rob, with an assurance which was not at all appreciated by his companions.

“I’ve rather a fancy to try Shylock myself,” Max declared. “Oswald would make a capital Bassanio, and you could manage Antonio all right if you tried, for he has not so much to do. Let me see: Peggy—Portia; Esther—Nerissa; Mellicent—Jessica (she’s so like a Jewess, you see!); you and Oswald—Bassanio and Antonio; Shylock—my noble self. Father and mother to help out with the smaller characters. There you are! A capital cast, and everyone satisfied. I’m game to be Shylock, but I can’t do the sentimental business. You two fellows will have to take them, and we’ll divide the smaller fry among us.”

“Indeed we will do nothing of the kind. I’m not going to take Bassanio; I couldn’t do it, and I won’t try. I’ll have a shot at Shylock if you like, but I can’t do anything else. The cast is all wrong, except so far as Peggy is concerned. Of course she is Portia.”

“Proposed, seconded, and carried unanimously that Peggy is Portia!” said Mr Asplin, smiling across the table at that young lady, who tried to look modest and unconcerned, but was plainly aglow with satisfaction. “For Shylock, as the character seems so much in demand, we had better draw lots. I will write the names on slips of paper, and you must all agree to take what comes, and make the best of it. I will fill in the gaps, and I am sure mother will help all she can—”

“Lemonade in the intervals, and coffee for those who prefer it, with some of my very best company cake,” said Mrs Asplin briskly. “It will be quite an excitement. I should rather like to be Shylock myself, and defy Peggy and her decree; but I’ll give it up to the boys, and make myself generally useful. Why couldn’t we begin to-night?”

“Oh, Mrs Asplin, no! It will take me days to get up my part! And the costumes—consider the costumes!” cried Peggy anxiously. And her hostess raised her hands in surprise.

“The costumes! Are you going to dress up? I never thought of that!”

“Surely that is unnecessary, Peggy! You can read the play without changing your clothes!” echoed the vicar; but, from the chorus of disclaimer which greeted his words, it appeared that the young people could do nothing of the sort.

Max wanted to know how a fellow could possibly “talk Shylock” in a white tie and an evening jacket. Oswald thought it equally ridiculous to pose as an Italian lover in English clothing; and Peggy turned up her eyes and said she could not really abandon herself to her part if her costume were inappropriate. Even Esther, the sober-minded, sided with the rest, so the vicar laughed and gave way, only too pleased to sanction anything which helped the object which he had at heart.

“Dress up by all means, if it pleases you. It will be interesting to see the result. But, of course, I must be absolved from any experiments of the kind.”

“Oh, of course! And mother, too, if she likes, though I should love to see her made-up as Shylock! You must not see or ask about our dresses until the night arrives. They must be a secret. You will lend us all your fineries, mother—won’t you?”

“Bless your heart, yes! But I haven’t got any!” said Mrs Asplin, in her funny Irish way. “They were all worn out long, long ago.” She gave a little sigh for the memory of the days when she had a wardrobe full of pretty things and a dozen shimmery silk dresses hanging on the pegs, and then flashed a loving smile at her husband, in case he might think that she regretted their loss. “If there is anything about the rooms that would do, you are welcome to use it,” she added, glancing vaguely at the sideboard and dumb waiter, while the boys laughed loudly at the idea of finding any “properties” in the shabby old dining-room.

Peggy, however, returned thanks in the most gracious manner, and sat wrapt in thought for the rest of the evening, gazing darkly around from time to time, and scribbling notes on sheets of note-paper.

Short of playing Shylock, which in the end fell to Maxwell’s share, it seemed as if all the responsibility of the performance fell on Peggy’s shoulders. She was stage manager, selecting appropriate pieces of furniture from the different rooms and piling them together behind the screen in the study, whence they could be produced at a moment’s notice, to give some idea of the different scenes. She coached Esther and Mellicent in their parts, designed and superintended the making of the costumes, and gave the finishing touches to each actor in turn when the night of the “Dramatic Reading” arrived.

“Taking one consideration with another,” as Max remarked, “the costumes were really masterpieces of art.”

To attire two young gentlemen as Italian cavaliers, and a third as a bearded Jew, with no materials at hand beyond the ordinary furnishings of a house, is a task which calls for no small amount of ingenuity, yet this is exactly what Peggy had done.

Antonio and Bassanio looked really uncommonly fine specimens, with cycling knickerbockers, opera cloaks slung over their shoulders, and flannel shirts pouched loosely over silk sashes, and ornamented with frills of lace at wrists and neck. Darkened eyebrows gave them a handsome and distinguished air, and old straw hats and feathers sat jauntily on their tow wigs.

The vicar sat in the arm-chair by the fire, Shakespeare in hand, waiting to fill in the odd parts with his wife’s help, and simultaneous cries of astonishment and admiration greeted the appearance of the two actors at the beginning of the first scene.

“It’s wonderful! Did I ever see such children? What in the world have they got on their heads? Milly’s old leghorn, I declare, and my pink feathers. My old pink feathers! Deary me! I’d forgotten all about them. I’ve never worn them since the year that—”

“‘In sooth, I know not why I am so sad,’” quoth the wearer of the feathers, scowling darkly at the frivolous prattler, who straightway hid her head behind her book, and read Salanio’s first speech in a tone of meek apology.

There was a great deal of confusion about the first scene, for four people had to read the parts of six, and one of the number was so much occupied with gazing at the costumes of the actors that she invariably lost her place, and had to be called to order by significant coughs and glances. By this time it generally happened that the vicar had made up his mind to come to the rescue, and both husband and wife would begin to read at the same moment, to their own amusement, and to the disgust of the two lads, who felt uncomfortable in their borrowed plumes, and keenly sensitive about their precious dignity. Antonio mumbled his last speech in undignified haste, and followed Bassanio out of the room, prepared to echo his statement that this sort of thing was “tomfoolery,” and that he wasn’t going to make an idiot of himself any longer to please Peggy Saville, or any other girl in the world. But the words died on his lips, for outside, in the hall, stood Peggy herself, or rather Portia, and such a Portia as made him fairly blink with amazement! Amidst the bustle of the last few days Portia’s own costume had been kept a secret, so that the details came as a surprise to the other members of the party. Nerissa stood by her side, clad in a flowing costume, the component parts of which included a dressing-gown, an antimacassar, and a flowered chintz curtain; but, despite the nature of the materials, the colouring was charming, and frizzled hair, flushed cheeks, and sparkling eyes, transformed the sober Esther into a very personable attendant on the lady of Belmont. There was nothing of the dressing-gown character about Portia’s own attire, however. Its magnificence took away the breath of the beholders. The little witch had combed her hair to the top of her head, and arranged it in a coil, which gave height and dignity to her figure. A string of pearls was twisted in and out among the dark tresses; her white silk frock was mysteriously lengthened and ornamented by two large diamond-shaped pieces of satin encrusted with gold, one placed at the bottom of the skirt, and the other hanging loosely from the square-cut neck of the bodice. Long yellow silk sleeves fell over the bare arms and reached the ground; and from the shoulders hung a train of golden-hued plush, lined with a paler shade of yellow. Bassanio and Gratiano stood aghast, and Portia simpered at them sweetly in the intervals between dispensing stage directions to the boot boy, who was clad in his best suit for the occasion, and sent to and fro to change the arrangement of the scenery. He wheeled the sofa into the centre of the room, piled it up with blue cushions, and retired to make way for the two ladies, who were already edging in at the door.

A gasp of astonishment greeted their appearance, but when Peggy dragged her heavy train across the room, threw herself against the cushions in an attitude calculated to show off all the splendour of her attire, when she leant her pearl-decked head upon her hand, turned her eyes to the ceiling, and said, with a sigh as natural and easy as if they were her own words which she was using, and not those of the immortal Shakespeare himself, “‘By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a-weary of this great world!’”—then the vicar broke into a loud “Hear! hear!” of delight, and Mrs Asplin seized the poker and banged uproarious applause upon the fender. For the first few minutes amazement and admiration held her dumb; but as the girls moved to and fro, and the details of their costumes became more apparent, she began to utter spasmodic cries of recognition, somewhat trying to the composure of the actors.

Portia’s description of her lovers was interrupted by a cry of, “My table centres! The Turkish squares............
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