Shylock
Although critics tend to agree that
Shylock is The Merchant of Venice’s most noteworthy figure, no consensus
has been reached on whether to read him as a bloodthirsty bogeyman, a clownish
Jewish stereotype, or a tragic figure whose sense of decency has been fractured
by the persecution he endures. Certainly, Shylock is the play’s antagonist, and
he is menacing enough to seriously imperil the happiness of Venice’s
businessmen and young lovers alike. Shylock is also, however, a creation of circumstance;
even in his single-minded pursuit of a pound of flesh, his frequent mentions of
the cruelty he has endured at Christian hands make it hard for us to label him
a natural born monster. In one of Shakespeare’s most famous monologues, for
example, Shylock argues that Jews are humans and calls his quest for vengeance
the product of lessons taught to him by the cruelty of Venetian citizens. On
the other hand, Shylock’s coldly calculated attempt to revenge the wrongs done
to him by murdering his persecutor, Antonio, prevents us from viewing him in a
primarily positive light. Shakespeare gives us unmistakably human moments, but
he often steers us against Shylock as well, painting him as a miserly, cruel,
and prosaic figure.
Quick-witted, wealthy, and
beautiful, Portia embodies the virtues that are typical of Shakespeare’s
heroines—it is no surprise that she emerges as the antidote to Shylock’s
malice. At the beginning of the play, however, we do not see Portia’s potential
for initiative and resourcefulness, as she is a near prisoner, feeling herself
absolutely bound to follow her father’s dying wishes. This opening appearance,
however, proves to be a revealing introduction to Portia, who emerges as that
rarest of combinations—a free spirit who abides rigidly by rules. Rather than
ignoring the stipulations of her father’s will, she watches a stream of suitors
pass her by, happy to see these particular suitors go, but sad that she has no
choice in the matter. When Bassanio arrives, however, Portia proves herself to
be highly resourceful, begging the man she loves to stay a while before picking
a chest, and finding loopholes in the will’s provision that we never thought
possible. Also, in her defeat of Shylock Portia prevails by applying a more
rigid standard than Shylock himself, agreeing that his contract very much
entitles him to his pound of flesh, but adding that it does not allow for any
loss of blood. Anybody can break the rules, but Portia’s effectiveness comes
from her ability to make the law work for her.
Portia rejects the stuffiness that
rigid adherence to the law might otherwise suggest. In her courtroom
appearance, she vigorously applies the law, but still flouts convention by
appearing disguised as a man. After depriving Bassanio of his ring, she stops
the prank before it goes to far, but still takes it far enough to berate
Bassanio and Gratiano for their callousness, and she even insinuates that she
has been unfaithful.
Although the play’s title refers to
him, Antonio is a rather lackluster character. He emerges in Act I, scene i as
a hopeless depressive, someone who cannot name the source of his melancholy and
who, throughout the course of the play, devolves into a self-pitying lump,
unable to muster the energy required to defend himself against execution.
Antonio never names the cause of his melancholy, but the evidence seems to
point to his being in love, despite his denial of this idea in Act I, scene i.
The most likely object of his affection is Bassanio, who takes full advantage of
the merchant’s boundless feelings for him. Antonio has risked the entirety of
his fortune on overseas trading ventures, yet he agrees to guarantee the
potentially lethal loan Bassanio secures from Shylock. In the context of his
unrequited and presumably unconsummated relationship with Bassanio, Antonio’s
willingness to offer up a pound of his own flesh seems particularly important,
signifying a union that grotesquely alludes to the rites of marriage, where two
partners become “one flesh.”
Further evidence of the nature of
Antonio’s feelings for Bassanio appears later in the play, when Antonio’s
proclamations resonate with the hyperbole and self-satisfaction of a doomed
lover’s declaration: “Pray God Bassanio come / To see me pay his debt, and then
I care not” (III.iii.35–36). Antonio ends the play as happily as he can,
restored to wealth even if not delivered into love. Without a mate, he is
indeed the “tainted wether”—or castrated ram—of the flock, and he will likely
return to his favorite pastime of moping about the streets of Venice
(IV.i.113). After all, he has effectively disabled himself from pursuing his
other hobby—abusing Shylock—by insisting that the Jew convert to Christianity.
Although a sixteenth-century audience might have seen this demand as merciful,
as Shylock is saving himself from eternal damnation by converting, we are less
likely to be convinced. Not only does Antonio’s reputation as an anti-Semite
precede him, but the only instance in the play when he breaks out of his
doldrums is his “storm” against Shylock (I.iii.132). In this context, Antonio
proves that the dominant threads of his character are melancholy and cruelty.
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