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 too 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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