Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice is not
often performed. There is simply no way to get away from the
strident anti-Semitism expressed by the characters. As in this
production, some of the lines can be cut, reducing the impact of
repetition, but the anti-Semitic remarks cannot be entirely
avoided. We can explain to ourselves that in Shakespeare’s day,
such sentiments towards Jews were typical. Really, the dramatic
point of the Jew in Merchant of Venice is more about his
otherness than about his Jewishness. It’s just hard to see this
through the anti-Semitic haze of the work. The play relies on a
few bits of knowledge (Jews don’t eat pork; Jews lend money at
interest) and a few stereotypes (Jews are cheap, Jews are stuck
in their ways). Any Jews in England were conversos.
However, throughout Europe the conversos were often under
suspicion as not having really converted. Launcelot
expresses this view to Jessica near the end of the play. Despite
this looming issue for modern audiences, Merchant of Venice
is not a play about anti-Semitism. It is a play about
difference, about exchange, and about the power of women. It is
not a play about love and not much about religion, despite its
appearances.
This play, like many works of Shakespeare’s, is
about the play of appearances. In Portia we have one of the
great (and lengthy) female roles of Shakespeare. On the
Elizabethan stage, Portia was played by a boy. The length and
complexity of her role, especially at the court, indicate that
the boy was probably nearing his puberty. Thus, he had a few
years of experience performing and he was mature enough to
handle a demanding role. The cross-dressing within the
play is a practical convenience for those performing the
play. Portia delivers the majority of her lines while dressed as
a young man. The performer was, in fact, a young man, and so he
could deliver these lines more comfortably (without the added
worries of voice changes). The cross-dressing as well as the
attention drawn to it are typical conventions of the play. No
one was fooled by the costumes, yet everyone went along with it
(to a point). The dramatic irony is thick in the court scene,
when the men, even the Duke, are all duped by Portia’s and
Nerissa’s disguises. There is a similar light-hearted moment
when Jessica emerges and laments, “Cupid himself would blush /
To see me thus transformed to a boy” (2.6.38-9). The ability to
deceive. The power to transform. The wit to use this method for
their own good or the greater good. These skills all belong to
the women of the play.
The men, however, have gotten themselves into
their own mess. Shylock’s seeming greediness and stubborn
insistence on the rule of law obviously contribute to the
horrific court scene. But Antonio is no less guilty. He may be
willing to lend freely to his friends, but it is to the point of
prodigality, and he is a betting man. He wagers his life for
speculative wealth. Of three ships, at least one is likely to
return successfully, but it’s still a risk. Shylock’s great
fault at the court is to insist on the letter of the law, and it
is his undoing. But the law is all that Shylock has in his
favor. We hear of his abuses, not only in his recounting, but in
Antonio’s gloating response. Shylock’s great tragic speech
appeals to our humanity by noticing his humanity. This is a
moral argument, and as touching as it is, it doesn’t affect the
treatment of “the Jew.” Thus Shylock is forced to rely on an
absolute ethical rigidity. This is somewhat related to the
Hebrew adherence to the biblical Law, but in Venice, it is the
only recourse available to an outsider like Shylock. Like the
casket game for Portia’s hand, Venice may be an “open city” with
a lot of diversity, but the odds are stacked in favor of the
Christian house.
Antonio represents the moral law of
Christianity, but he too takes the law too literally, and
without sufficient thought. He is willing to lay down his life
for his friend, but for his friend’s pursuit of wealth and
fancy. Bassanio seeks out Portia because he’s broke. In order to
make a good show (even though the caskets take all comers),
Bassanio borrows in order to invest in his appearance. And he is
not in love with Portia. It’s a business exchange with the
appearance of love. “’Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, / How
much I have disabled mine estate . . . my chief care / Is to
come fairly off from the great debts” (1.1.122f). The “wooing”
of Portia is nothing more than a scheme, and she’s pretty to
boot. Bassanio already owes Antonio money, but he is asking once
again for more, and he will share his “plots and purposes.” The
first thing we learn about Portia is that she is rich, and then
fair, and then that she has sent “fair speechless messages” from
her eyes. We hear nothing about Bassanio’s feelings for her –
beyond a yen for her fortune. So much for the love that is
central to Christianity and its holy union of marriage.
For her part, Portia does some swooning over
Bassanio, but what are her motives. She resists the
non-Christian suitors with a telepathic will. She sighs with
relief when the Moor fails, “Let all of his complexion choose me
so” (2.8.79). All through this game of the caskets, Portia knows
that she is the one with the power. And she relishes it once she
lays hold of Bassanio, who has no clue about the price he has
paid for her fortune. On the surface, Portia swoops in to save
the day, to save Antonio from death and her dear beloved husband
from guilt. But think of the power that this gives her. In
arguing Shylock’s case against him, Portia exerts the power over
life and death. She forcibly converts Shylock to Christianity.
She takes on a godlike role. Nor is that enough power. She then
insists upon the ring, testing Bassanio’s commitment to her
love. That commitment is as deep as she knew it was: the ring is
valuable as a point of exchange, not as a symbol of undying
devotion. In his rationale, once discovered, Bassanio argues
that the worth of the ring is worth the life of his friend, and
befitting for the “worthy doctor.”
There is a similar confusion, judged more
harshly, when Shylock confuses his daughter and his “stones.”
Shylock most loudly laments the loss of a turquoise, given him
by his deceased wife. The stone is of little monetary value but
great sentimental value. Shylock is entirely consistent in his
value system – he is absolutely ethical (although not at all
morally compassionate). At the court, he refuses all offers of
money, but insists on receiving his due. He is not greedy for
money. His insistence on the pound of flesh is motivated by
revenge, not greed, a revenge based on a capitalist exchange
sanctioned as the law of the land. The laws of Venice cater to
the needs of mercantile exchange. We are reminded before the
court scene and during it, that the Duke is impotent, powerless
to override Shylock’s demand. It is entirely legal. The court
and the community need a woman to sort it out.
At this point, the comedy starts to return as
Portia navigates a complex legal argument in an exceedingly
clever manner. Light-hearted in appearance, when the parties
return to Belmont, Portia establishes her power once and for
all. Bassanio may never have to borrow money from Antonio again,
but he will have to live under the rule of a woman with the
power over life and death, the power of sex. This is the stick
with which Bassanio, and Gratiano are beaten into line. “I will
ne’er come in your bed / Until I see the ring” (5.1.190-1).
Eventually this all seems in good fun, and yet, there is a
bitter irony in Gratiano’s closing pun. “Well, while I live I’ll
fear no other thing / So sore as keeping safe Nerissa’s ring”
(5.1.306-7). The ring is a sexual metaphor here, and these last
lines reveal where the power will lie in these marriages. There
is a lot more to the Merchant of Venice than meets the
politically correct eye. The play is worthy of more performance
and more study, beyond the Jewish question. Like many comedies,
in all the fun there is embedded critique of the status quo. The
power of comedy is to make us think without realizing that we
have.