Shakespeare's Characters: Shylock (The Merchant of Venice)
From The Works of William Shakespeare. Vol. 8. Ed. Evangeline Maria O'Connor. J.D. Morris and Co.
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The central figure of [The Merchant of Venice], in the
eyes of modern readers and spectators, is of course Shylock, though there can be no doubt that he appeared to Shakespeare's contemporaries a comic personage, and, since he makes his final exit before the last act, by no means the protagonist. In the humaner view of a later age, Shylock appears as a half-pathetic creation, a scapegoat, a victim; to the Elizabethan public, with
his rapacity and his miserliness, his usury, and his eagerness to dig for another the pit into which he himself falls, he seemed, not terrible, but ludicrous.
They did not even take him seriously enough to feel any real uneasiness as to Antonio's fate, since they all knew beforehand the issue of the adventure. They laughed when he went to Bassanio's feast "in hate, to feed upon the
prodigal Christian"; they laughed when, in the scene with Tubal, he suffered himself to be bandied about between exultation over Antonio's misfortunes and rage over the prodigality of his runaway daughter; and they found him odious when he exclaimed, "I would my
daughter were dead at my foot and the jewels in her ear!" He was, simply as a Jew, a despised creature; he belonged to the race which had crucified God himself; and he was doubly despised as an extortionate usurer.
For the rest, the English public — like the Norwegian
public so lately as the first half of this century — had no
acquaintance with Jews except in books and on the
stage. From 1290 until the middle of the seventeenth
century the Jews were entirely excluded from England,
livery prejudice against them was free to flourish unchecked.
Did Shakespeare in a certain measure share these religious prejudices, as he seems to have shared the patriotic prejudices against the Maid of Orleans, if, indeed, he is responsible for the part she plays in Henry VI?
We may be sure that he was very slightly affected by
them, if at all. Had he made a more undisguised effort
to place himself at Shylock's standpoint, the censorship, on the one hand, would have intervened, while, on
the other hand, the public would have been bewildered
and alienated. It is quite in the spirit of the age that
Shylock should suffer the punishment which befalls him.
To pay him out for his stiff-necked vengefulness, he is
mulcted not only of the sum he lent Antonio, but of half
his fortune, and is finally, like Marlowe's Jew of Malta,
compelled to change his religion.
The latter detail gives
something of a shock to the modern reader. But the
respect for personal conviction, when it conflicted with
orthodoxy, did not exist in Shakespeare's time....It is strange to
reflect, too, that just at the time when, on the English
stage, one Mediterranean Jew was poisoning his daughter, and another whetting his knife to cut his debtor's
flesh, thousands of heroic and enthusiastic Hebrews in
Spain and Portugal, who, after the expulsion of the
300,000 at the beginning of the century, had secretly
remained faithful to Judaism, were suffering themselves
to be tortured, flayed, and burnt alive by the Inquisition,
rather than forswear the religion of their race.
But what is most surprising, doubtless, is the instinct
of genius with which Shakespeare has seized upon and
reproduced racial characteristics, and emphasized what
is peculiarly Jewish in Shylock's culture. While Marlowe, according to his custom, made his Barabas revel in mythological similes, Shakespeare indicates that Shylock's culture is founded entirely upon the Old Testament, and makes commerce his only point of contact with the civilisation of later times. All his parallels are drawn from the Patriarchs and the Prophets. With what unction he speaks when he justifies himself by the example of Jacob! His own race is always "our sacred nation," and he feels that "the curse has never fallen
upon it" until his daughter fled with his treasures.
Jewish, too, is Shylock's respect for, and obstinate insistence
on, the letter of the law, his reliance upon statutory
rights, which are, indeed, the only rights society allows
him, and the partly instinctive, partly defiant restriction
of his moral ideas to the principle of retribution. He
is no wild animal; he is no heathen who simply gives
the rein to his natural instincts; his hatred is not ungoverned; he restrains it within its legal rights, like a tiger in its cage. He is entirely lacking, indeed, in the freedom and serenity, the easy-going, light-hearted carelessness which characterises a ruling caste in its virtues
and its vices, in its charities as in its prodigalities; but he
has not a single twinge of conscience about anything
that he does; his actions are in perfect harmony with his
Sundered from the regions, the social forms, the language, in which his spirit is at home, he has yet retained
his Oriental character. Passion is the kernel of his nature. It is his passion that has enriched him; he is passionate in action, in calculation, in sensation, in
hatred, in revenge, in everything. His vengefulness is many times greater than his rapacity.
though he be, money is nothing to him in comparison
with revenge. It is not until he is exasperated by his
daughter's robbery and flight that he takes such hard
measures against Antonio, and refuses to accept three
times the amount of the loan. His conception of honour
may be unchivalrous enough, but, such as it is, his
honour is not to be bought for money. His hatred of
Antonio is far more intense than his love for his jewels;
and it is this passionate hatred, not avarice, that makes
him the monster he becomes.
From this Hebrew passionateness, which can be traced even in details of diction, arises, among other things,
his loathing of sloth and idleness. To realise how essentially Jewish is this trait, we need only refer to the so-called Proverbs of Solomon. Shylock dismisses Launcelot with the words, "Drones hive not with me." Oriental, rather than specially Jewish, are the images in which he gives his passion utterance, approaching, as
they so often do, to the parable form. (See, for example, his appeal to Jacob's cunning, or the speech in vindication of his claim, which begins, "You have among you
many a purchased slave.") Especially Jewish, on the other hand, is the way in which this ardent passion
throughout employs its images and parables in the
service of a curiously sober rationalism, so that a sharp
and biting logic, which retorts every accusation with
interest, is always the controlling force.
logic, moreover, never lacks dramatic impetus. Shylock's course of thought perpetually takes the form of
question and answer, a subordinate but characteristic
trait which appears in the style of the Old Testament,
and reappears to this day in representations of primitive
Jews. One can feel through his words that there is a
chanting quality in his voice; his movements are rapid,
his gestures large. Externally and internally, to the
inmost fibre of his being, he is a type of his race in its
Shylock disappears with the end of the fourth act in
order that no discord may mar the harmony of the concluding scenes. By means of his fifth act, Shakespeare dissipates any preponderance of pain and gloom in the general impression of the play.
Brandes: William Shakespeare.
From The Merchant of Venice. Ed. Felix Emmanuel Schelling. New York: American book company.
"Shylock enters with slow, shuffling gait; restless, half-closed
eyes, and the fingers of his disengaged hand (one holds a staff)
ever moving, as if from the constant habit of feeling and caressing
the ducats that are passing through them" (Booth). The Jews of
Venice were distinguished by orange-tawny and scarlet and black
hats, as they were Levantine or Italian Jews.
day Shylock was probably represented in the costume of the English Jews and money-lenders of that time, a more or less sombre gown or gaberdine, furred in winter, covering the customary doublet
and hose, and perhaps distinguished by some such cap as that just mentioned. The addition of earrings, which were commonly worn by men in Shakespeare's day, and of finger and thumb rings would
be quite in keeping. Shylock leans on a staff not because he is
infirm, but because of a premature stoop, the result of much leaning
over his desk and money-bags.
In [1.3] the bargain is struck between Shylock and Antonio, and the exposition, as it is called, — that part of a play that makes clear the circumstances on which the story is founded and the relations of the characters, — is complete. Shylock's hatred of Antonio
is fully set forth, but not without Antonio's plain avowal, on the
other hand, of the contempt and insult with which he had always
treated the Jew.
It is Antonio that is made to suggest the loan as
made not to a friend, but to an enemy; but it is Shylock who
after all has guided the whole transaction and who suggests the
"merry sport," a forfeit of a pound "of your fair flesh." In Bassanio's words: "You shall not seal," and "I like not fair terms and a villain's mind," we have the foreboding and dramatic foreshadowing of Shylock's terrible claim to come.