Shakespeare's The merchant of Venice

Contents

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Dramatis Personae . . . . . 12

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Introduction

CHIEF FACTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S LIFE.

The date of Shakespeare's birth is not known, but, according to tradition, he was born April 23, 1564, in the town of Stratford-on-Avon, Warwickshire, England. Very little is known with certainty concerning his life, and he tells us less about himself in his work than almost any other writer.

His father was a well-to-do tradesman and his mother was Mary Arden, who had a small estate in land. Their son William was sent to the grammar school of Stratford, where he received a fair education, although hardly of such a kind as his plays would lead us to suppose. He may have learned a little law from his uncle, who was a lawyer in the town, but we know next to nothing about his youthful days.

Shortly after his marriage to Anne Hathaway he is said to have been reprimanded for poaching on the estate of Sir Thomas Lucy, an episode which he afterward immortalized, and this fact, with his father's loss of fortune, induced him to set out for London to make his own way in life.

Possibly he may have seen some of the plays and pageants given at Kenilworth Castle during his boyhood, and cherished a secret liking for the stage. At all events, he soon found friends among the London actors and before long became an actor himself and the proprietor of a theatre in Biackfriars.

His fame as a playwright soon eclipsed his reputation as an actor, and he seemed equally great in tragedy, comedy, or historical drama. During his life in London he produced about thirty-six plays, of which the following are the chief:

Comedies: Tempest, Merchant of Venice, Midsummer Night's Dream, Twelfth Night, As You Like It, Much Ado About Nothing, The Winter's Tale, Cymbeline.

Historical: Henry VI., Richard II., Richard III., Henry IV., Henry V., Henry VIII. , Coriolanus, Julius Caesar, Antony and Cleopatra.

He also wrote two long poems and some of the most beautiful sonnets in the language.

In 1610 he returned to his native town, where he lived until his death six years later. His grave is in Trinity Church, Stratford-on-Avon.

The Merchant of Venice was first printed in 1600,. when it appeared by itself in two quarto editions, one, called the First Quarto, published by James Roberts, the other, the Second Quarto, by Thomas Heyes.

It is quite certain that the play was not written later than the end of the year 1597, for in July, 1598, it was entered in the Stationers' Register, under the name of "a booke of the Marchaunt of Venyce or otherwise called the Jewe of Venice."

Shakespeare seldom invented his plots. He usually took some story which he had heard or read, or which he had seen represented on the stage, and made that the foundation of his wonderful work as we know it. Students of Shakespeare have found that the two stories, that of the pound of flesh, and the story of the caskets, were widely popular, and that they occur again and again in slightly different forms in European and in Oriental literature. The sources from which Shakespeare is believed to have obtained the stories of The Merchant of Venice are as follows:

An old play called The lew and Ptolome, in which two stories showing "the greediness of worldly chusers and bloody mindes of usurers" are combined.

The Adventures of Giannetto, from a collection of tales called // Pecorone, by Giovanni Fiorentino, published at Milan in 1558. This gave Shakespeare the story of the bond, the name of Portia's house, the plan which Portia invented for freeing the merchant, and the incident of the ring in the fifth act.

A translation of the Gesta Romanorum, which gave the story of the caskets.

The Ballad of Gernutus, an old poem from which Shakespeare perhaps got the incident of Shylock's whetting the knife.

Silvayn's Orator, in which is an argument about a Jew "who would for his debt have a pound of the flesh of a Christian."

CRITICAL COMMENTS

The Merchant of Venice is remarkable for the ingenuity with which the different stories are combined to form a natural and harmonious plot. The story of the bond, which is so serious and almost tragic, is lightened by Portia's love story, and by the subordinate stories of Gratiana and Nerissa, and Lorenzo and Jessica. All the incidents bear directly and naturally on the denouement or "winding-up" of the play, and on the development of the principal characters, with the exception of the merely comic business, and of the scenes in which the Princes of Morocco and Arragon make their choice of the caskets. These scenes — which introduce two characters as it seems unnecessarily, but which clear the way for Bassanio's successful choice — are always omitted when the play is performed, but they are the occasion of some fine poetry.

The question has been raised whether Shakespeare had any particular purpose in writing this delightful play. If he had, it was probably to protest against the uncharitableness with which the Jews were still treated in his day. In England they were despised and looked on as inferior beings, in foreign countries they were bitterly persecuted. The play teaches, therefore, lessons of charity which may be summed up in the beautiful speech of Portia in the trial scene. Another lesson that has been suggested as running right through the play is the sacredness of promises, which underlies the mock reproaches and the pretty teasing of the last act.

Though the play takes its name from Antonio, Shylock is the central character, and on him Shakespeare spent his whole strength. At the opening of the play we see in him a grasping money-lender, who bitterly hates the Christian merchant, on many grounds: First, because he has gentle and conciliating manners ("How like a fawning publican he looks!" Act I., Scene III., 35); second, because he is a Christian; third, because he lends out money gratis, and has done his best to injure the Jew's business; fourth, because he shows such bitter and persistent contempt for the Jewish nation. It is this last reason most of all which explains the Jew's cruel device for obtaining his revenge. He has a pride in his race which gives dignity to his character, and his powerful and eloquent pleas on behalf of his despised race produce a feeling of sympathy for him in spite of his detestable cruelty. And he is not a monster entirely without human feelings. He loves his daughter, though perhaps not so much as his ducats; and when he hears that she has given his rare turquoise ring in exchange for a monkey, he shows that he valued it chiefly because it was a present from bis wife before their marriage. In the trial scene, when his cruel scheme has recoiled on his own head, and he is a broken-hearted, ruined man, we see that his punishment is no greater than he deserved, but even now we feel some pity for him.

After Shylock, Portia is the most important character. Full of spirit, of happy innocent playfulness, and of every personal ami mental attraction, she has a bold and fearless mind that does not shrink from actions which might be regarded by some people as scarcely "proper." As soon as she knows that her husband's friend is in danger, she promptly and unselfishly makes up her mind to save him (although she might plead that he is nothing to her), and to part with her husband for a time, though she is only just married to him. Though she dresses as a man her conduct is in no way unwomanly. On the contrary 7 , when she appears as a lawyer in court, she endeavors to dissuade Shylock from his revenge by appealing, as a woman would, to his feelings, to his reason, to his better nature. It is only when the milder course has failed that she becomes seemingly hard and relentless, and makes use of a legal quibble with which Bellario has primed her in order to effect her purpose. Her woman's nature is clearly shown by her exclamation when the duke exempts Shylock from the fine of half his goods to the state. "Not for Antonio," she says; that is, the other half must come to Antonio. She is not there confessedly as Antonio's advocate, but as an impartial judge; but she is evidently keenly looking after the interests of her husband's friend.

Antonio takes little active part in the play. He has only some 180 lines to speak, and yet we seem to know a good deal of his character. We learn much from what is said about him by his friends and by Shylock. Bassanio says he is

" The kindest man,

The best condition'd and unwearied spirit

In doing courtesies."

Salerino says — " A kinder gentleman treads not the earth."

io INTRODUCTION

Shylock tells us that in guilelessness of heart he lends money gratis. He is a generous, unselfish man, ready to do anything for his friend, into whose love story he enters quite sympathetically. He is unsuspicious of Shylock's designs against himself, but when the blow falls, he is patient in suffering, and when he sees nothing but death before him, he resigns himself courageously to his fate, only desiring that his last moments may be cheered by the presence of his friend. Even against Shylock, to whom in his prosperity he was, to say the least, ungenerous, he seems to feel no malice when in his power. But Antonio has his great fault, that of uncharitableness towards the Jewish race, in which, however, he is only like the actual men of Shakespeare s time. "To everyone else he is a model of a true gentleman and a perfect Christian; but to Shylock he is rude, contemptuous, morally cruel, and sometimes even mean."

The other characters are of less importance, though all are admirably portrayed. Bassanio is a frank, rash, thoughtless, extravagant man; warm-hearted and loyal to his friends; quick-witted enough to suspect Shylock's good intentions, but not strong enough to refuse outright his consent to the bond; what people would call a thoroughly good fellow, but with no great distinction of character. To use a familiar expression, Portia is certainly the better half. Gratiano is a chatterer, always laughing and jesting, and yet contriving to say some very sensible things. His taunts against Shylock when things are turning against him at the trial seem like hitting a man when he is down, but Gratiano was one of those people who cannot help joking, and who do not mean all they say. The parts of Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, Salarino, and Salanio, are very slight, but Shakespeare's genius is admirably shown in them, and in the small character of Tubal, the Jew who knows so well Shylock's weak points and so amusingly plays on them. The purely comic element is well provided by Launcelot Gobbo and his father, the former of whom persistently

INTRODUCTION n

misuses words and wilfully misunderstands the words of others.

The serious action of the play closes with the trial scene, but by the incident of the rings Shakespeare ingeniously contrives to carry on the spectator's interest to the end. " Throughout the whole conduct of the play, what may be called its tragic portion has been relieved by the romance which belongs to the personal fate of Portia. But after the great business of the drama is wound up, we fall back upon a repose which is truly refreshing and harmonious. From the lips of Lorenzo and Jessica, as they sit in the 'paler day' of an Italian moon, are breathed the lighter strains of the most playful poetry, mingled with the highest flights of the most elevated. Music and the odors of sweet flowers are around them. Happiness is in their heart. Their thoughts are lifted by the beauties of the earth above the earth . . . And then come the affectionate welcomes, the pretty pouting contests, and the happy explanations of Portia and Nerissa with Bassanio and Gratiano. We are removed into a sphere where the calamities of fortune, and the injustice of man warring against man, may be forgotten. The poor merchant is once more happy." — Charles Knight.

DRAMATIS PERSONS

The Duke of Venice.

The Prince of Morocco, ) ^ (0 Porda

The Prince of Arragon, j

Antonio, a Merchant of Venice.

Bassanio, his kinsman, suitor likewise to Portia.

Salanio, *)

Salarino, [ ffiends Antonio and Bassanio.

Gratiano, I

Salerio, J

Lorenzo, in love with Jessica.

Shylock, a rich Jew.

Tubal, a Jew, his friend.

Launcelot Gobbo, the Clown, servant to Shylock.

Old Gobbo, father to Launcelot.

Leonardo, servant to Bassanio.

Balthasar, ) servants por(ia]

Stephano, j

Portia, a rich heiress.

Nerissa, her waiting-maid.

Jessica, daughter to Shylock.

Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Gaoler, Servants to Portia, and other Attendants.

Scene: Partly at Venice and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia, on the Continent.

Scene I. Venice. A Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio

Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad: It wearies me; you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn; 5

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me That I have much ado to know myself.

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean: There, where your argosies with portly sail, Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, ftj Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, Do overpeer the petty traffickers, That curtsy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings.

Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth^ The better part of my affections would 16

Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind, Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads; And every object that might make me fear 20

Misfortune to my ventures out of doubt 13

Would make me sad.

Solar. My wind cooling my broth

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought What harm a wind too great at sea might do. I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, 25

But I should think of shallows and of flats, And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs To kiss her burial. Should I go to church And see the holy edifice of stone, 30

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, Which touching but my gentle vessel's side, Would scatter all her spices on the stream, Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks, And, in a word, but even now worth this, 35

And now worth nothing ? Shall I have the thought To think on this, and shall I lack the thought That such a thing bechanced would make me sad? But tell not me; I know, Antonio Is sad to think upon his merchandise. 40

Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune of this present year: Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad. 45

Salar. Why, then you are in love.

Ant. Fie, fie!

Salar. Not in love neither ? Then let us say you are sad, Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry, Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, 50

Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time: Some that will evermore peep through their eyes

And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper,

And other of such vinegar aspect

That they '11 not show their teeth in way of smile, 5 5

Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano.

Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well: We leave you now with better company.

Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry, 60

If worthier friends had not prevented me.

Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. I take it, your own business calls on you And you embrace the occasion to depart.

Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. 65

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?

You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?

Salar. We '11 make our leisures to attend on yours. [Exeunt Salarino and Salanio.

Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, We two will leave you: but at dinner-time, 70

I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.

Bass. I will not fail you.

Gra. You look not well, Signior Antonio; You have too much respect upon the world: They lose it that do buy it with much care: 75

Believe me, you are marvellously changed.

Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; A stage where every man must play his part, And mine a sad one.

Gra. Let me play the fool:

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come, So And let my liver rather heat with wine Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundice 85 By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio — I love thee, and it is my love that speaks — There are a sort of men whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond. And do a wilful stillness entertain, 90

With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit, As who should say "I am Sir Oracle, And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!"

my Antonio, I do know of these 95 That therefore only are reputed wise

For saying nothing, when, I am very sure,

If they should speak, would almost damn those ears

Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.

I'll tell thee more of this another time: 100

But fish not, with this melancholy bait,

For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.

Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:

1 '11 end my exhortation after dinner.

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time : I must be one of these same dumb wise men, 106 For Gratiano never lets me speak.

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years moe, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.

Gra. Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable 1 1 1 In a neat's tongue dried.

[Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo.

Ant. Is that any thing now ?

Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth the search.

Ant. Well, tell me now what lady is the same To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 120

That you to-day promised to tell me of?

Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, How much I have disabled mine estate, By something showing a more swelling port Then my faint means would grant continuance : 125 Nor do I now make moan to be abridged From such a noble rate; but my chief care Is to come fairly off from the great debts Wherein my time something too prodigal Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio, 130

I owe the most, in money and in love, And from your love I have a warranty To unburden all my plots and purposes How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; And if it stand, as you yourself still do, 136

Within the eye of honor, be assured, My purse, my person, my extremest means. Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft 140

I shot his fellow of the self-same flight The self-same way, with more advised watch, To find the other forth, and by adventuring both I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof, Because what follows is pure innocence. 145

I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth,

That which I owe is lost; but if you please

To shoot another arrow that self way

Which you did shoot the first, J do not doubt,

As I will watch the aim, or to find both 150

Or bring your latter hazard back again

And thankfully rest debtor for the first.

Ant. You know me well, and herein spend but time To wind about my love with circumstance; And out of doubt you do me now more wrong 155 In making question of my uttermost Than if you had made waste of all I have: Then do but say to me what I should do That in your knowledge may by me be done, And I am prest unto it: therefore speak. 160

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left; And she is fair and, fairer than that word, Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages: Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued 165

To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia: Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth, For the four winds blow in from every coast Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks Hang on her temples like a golden fleece; 170

Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand, And many Jasons come in quest of her.

my Antonio, had I but the means To hold a rival place with one of them,

1 have a mind presages me such thrift, 175 That I should questionless be fortunate!

Ant. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea ; Neither have I money nor commodity To raise a present sum: therefore go forth; Try what my credit can in Venice do: 180

That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. Go, presently inquire, and so will I, Where money is, and I no question make To have it of my trust or for my sake. 185

[Exeunt.

Scene II. Belmont. A room in Portia's house. Enter Portia and Nerissa

Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world.

Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: and yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much as they that starve with nothing. It is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the mean: superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.

Por. Good sentences and well pronounced. 10

Ner. They would be better, if well followed.

Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree: such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband. O me, the word "choose"! I may neither choose whom I would nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one nor refuse none? 26

Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men at their death have good inspirations: therefore the lottery, that he hath devised in these three chests of gold, silver and lead, whereof who chooses his meaning chooses you, will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly but one who you shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come ?

Por. I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namest them, I will describe them; and, according to my description, level at my affection. 37

Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince.

Por. Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself.

Ner. Then there is the County Palatine. as

Por. He doth nothing but frown, as who should say "If you will not have me, choose:" he hears merry tales and smiles not: I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death's head with a bone in his mouth than to either of these. God defend me from these two! 51

Ner. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon ?

Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker: but, he! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan's, a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine; he is every man in no man; if a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering: he will fence with his own shadow: if I should marry him, I should marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive him, for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him.

Ner. What say you then to Falconbridge, the young baron of England? 65

Par. You know I say nothing to Mm, for he understands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian; and you will come into the court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a proper man's picture, but, alas, who can converse with a dumbshow? How oddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany and his behavior everywhere.

Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbor? 76

Par 1 That he hath a neighborly charity in him, for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman and swore he would pay him again when he was able : I think the Frenchman became his surety and sealed under for another. • 81

Ner. How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony's nephew ?

Par. Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober, and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk : when he is best, he is a little worse than a man, and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast: an the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him. 89

Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, you should refuse to perform your father's will, if you should refuse to accept him.

Par. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket, for if the devil be within and that temptation without, I know he will choose it. I will do any thing, Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge. 97

Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords: they have acquainted me with their determinations; which is indeed to return to their home and to trouble you with no more suit, unless you may be won by some other sort than your father's imposition, depending on the caskets. 103

Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my father's will. I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable, for there is not one among them but I dote on his very absence, and I pray God grant them a fair departure. 109

Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hither in company of the Marquis of Montferrat ?

Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, he was so called. 114

Ner. True, madam: he, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.

Por. I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praise.

Enter a Serving- man.

How now! what news? 120

Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave: and there is a forerunner come from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings word the prince his master will be here to-night. 1 2 4 Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his approach: if he have the condition of a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me than wive me. Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. 130

Whiles we shut the gates upon one wooer, another knocks at the door. [Exeunt.

Scene III. Venice. A public place. Enter Bassanio and Shylock

Shy. Three thousand ducats; well.

Bass. Ay, sir, for three months.

Shy. For three months; well.

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. 5

Shy. Antonio shall become bound; well.

Bass. May you stead me ? will you pleasure me ? shall I know your answer?