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Her father's cousin Tubal surprises her with a visit the day after her shloshim has ended. He looks grim and determined, and she thinks she detects a little wariness as well, as she invites him to sit at their dining table. His businesslike voice is a balm against the oppressive silence that has afflicted her home since the shiva ended and her aunts departed.
"We have business to discuss, of a somewhat delicate nature. I have been deferring discussion of it until your aveilut was over, but it can be avoided no longer. It is the terms of your father's will. They are unusual, but I have spoken to several lawyers and they appear quite ironclad."
She had wondered. The household money had been quite enough to sustain her for the past month, particularly with the gifts her neighbors had showered her with during the shiva, but the time would come soon when she would need to draw upon her father's accounts to maintain the household, or find some other source of income. Tubal had promised to manage her father's financial affairs while she mourned, and she had found him distressingly evasive about the details.
"Then am I not to inherit my father?" she asks, anxiously.
"No, that is not it at all, my dear," he says, smiling slightly. "All of your father's money goes to you, unquestioned. And his outstanding loans are all in your possession, though I would be happy to continue to manage the details of their collection on your behalf if you desire, or recommend a different agent if you prefer."
"I trust you, as my father did, to be wise and prudential."
"Thank you, dear. I'm afraid the peculiar part of your father's will is his solution to the problem of your status. A woman in your place, young, beautiful, wealthy, and all alone. Your father wished to make certain that you are not allowed to make an imprudent matrimonial choice."
She sighs, trying to hold in her fury, thinking of Lorenzo. "Even from beyond, my father thinks of my happiness. How thoughtful of him. Then who am I to be married to?"
"It is a most interesting arrangement. Shylock prescribes that I procure three caskets, formed of gold, silver, and lead. In one of the caskets, your portrait is to be hidden. Your suitors- and now that your aveilut is concluded, they will be numerous- may choose between the three caskets. If they select incorrectly, they must abandon their suit forever. If, however, they correctly choose the casket with your portrait, then you must marry them, or forfeit your entire estate. It is drafted as an unbreakable contract."
She considers the terms for a long moment. It is an astonishingly cruel game to play with her heart, to allow her betrothal to depend on the vagaries of a random guess. But in a way, that is the beauty of it. Everyone, knowing her father, will think it the typical cruelty of that vicious and vengeance-minded Jew. But with a little coaching, there is no reason why her darling Lorenzo cannot be led to choose the right casket, and what then? The contract is undeniably unbreakable. It would be unthinkable for the Jews of Venice to demand that she refuse to marry the man who faithfully executed the terms of her father's will, even though he be a gentile. They will pity her, and only she and Shylock will know different.
She breaks into tears, thinking of the magnificence of her father's final gift. Tubal mistakes it for tears of sadness and frustration, and offers her a handkerchief.