In the Court of Justice at Venice a great trial was to take place.
Shylock the Jew claimed the forfeit of his bond. Antonio had signed
the agreement that, if he failed to repay the loan of three thousand
ducats by a certain date, the penalty was to be a pound of his own
flesh, cut off from whatever part of his body the Jew pleased.
Antonio had failed to repay the money, and Shylock insisted on the
terms of the bond being carried out to the very letter.
Terrible as this alternative was, there was no evading it. The Duke
of Venice himself had to admit that, if Shylock chose to exact the
penalty, there was no law of Venice that could prevent him. In this
extremity the Duke sent for the learned doctor, Bellario, at Padua,
to come and help them with his counsel, but when the Court opened
Bellario had not yet arrived.
The Duke entered and took his seat. He looked round at the assembled
people.
“What! is Antonio here?”
“Ready, so please your grace,” came back the quiet answer, and Antonio
stepped forward from the place where he stood surrounded by a little
band of friends. Bassanio was there, and Gratiano, and many others,
who had come to show their sympathy with the merchant, though they
could not help him in his dire extremity.
The Duke spoke a few words to Antonio, saying how sorry he was to
find him in the power of such a terrible adversary, to which Antonio
replied, with quiet dignity, that since Shylock was relentless,
and that no lawful means could save him, he was prepared to suffer
patiently.
Then Shylock was called into court, and the Duke began the trial by
making an appeal to him for mercy. All the world, he said, thought
that Shylock only intended to carry his apparent malice up to the
hour of execution, and that then, at the last moment, he would show
his mercy and remorse, and not only forego the forfeiture, but also
forgive a portion of the loan, because of the enormous losses which
had lately fallen on Antonio.
“We all expect a gentle answer, Jew,” concluded the Duke.
Grim, stony, immovable, Shylock had listened to the Duke’s appeal.
The time for passionate frenzy was past; his venomed rage had settled
down into a cold, calm hatred. One determination possessed him, and
there was no power in the tongue of man to alter it--he would have his
bond. He answered the Duke quietly, but with absolute decision. He was
offered twice the amount of his loan.
“If every ducat in six thousand ducats were in six parts, and every
part a ducat, I would not draw them; I would have my bond,” was his
answer to this offer.
The Duke asked him how he could hope for mercy, since he rendered none.
“What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?” was Shylock’s retort.
“The pound of flesh which I demand of the merchant is dearly bought;
it’s mine, and I will have it. I stand here for justice. Answer: shall
I have it?”
As far as the decrees of Venice were concerned, Shylock had the law
on his side, and the Duke dared not go against them. He had power,
however, to defer the trial, and he was thinking of doing this, when
he was told that a messenger had arrived from Padua, with letters
from Bellario. The Duke bade that the messenger should be called into
court, and Nerissa entered, dressed like a lawyer’s clerk.
The letter from Bellario stated that he was too ill to come himself,
but that he had sent in his place a very wise and learned young
doctor, whom he had thoroughly instructed in the case, and whose
wonderful skill and judgment could be thoroughly relied on. The letter
ended by saying that the Duke must not mistrust the new-comer because
of his lack of years, for Bellario “never knew so young a body with so
old a head.”
It was well Bellario had given this warning, for surely no
younger-looking Doctor of Laws had ever entered the Court of Justice.
Portia’s locks of sunny gold were hidden away beneath the doctor’s
cap, but nothing could conceal the youth and beauty of her face. No
token of hesitation or inexperience, however, was visible in her
handling of the case. She plunged at once into the heart of the matter.
Her first step was to appeal to Shylock on the score of mercy, and in
words of the most moving eloquence she tried to soften the Jew’s hard
heart, and to show him that higher even than the _Justice_ which he
claimed was the quality of _Mercy_. But Shylock stood there rigid; he
might have been cut in granite for any effect that Portia’s words had
on him.
“I crave the law, the penalty and forfeit of my bond,” came the usual
stubborn response.
Then Portia asked if Antonio had not money to discharge the debt. Yes,
replied Bassanio, it was there ready in the court--yea, twice the sum.
If that would not suffice, he would bind himself to pay it ten times
over. If this did not satisfy the Jew, it was quite evident that he
was acting through sheer malice; and Bassanio besought the learned
young doctor to wrest the law just a little on this occasion, and, in
order to do a great right, do a little wrong.
“It must not be,” replied Portia. Nothing could alter an established
decree, for many an error by the same example might creep into the
State. The law must be kept; the bond must be fulfilled to the very
letter.
“A Daniel come to judgment!” cried the triumphant Shylock. “O wise
young judge, how I do honour thee!”
The friends of Antonio stood silent in dismay. Even Gratiano, who had
been loud in denunciation of the Jew’s savage cruelty, had no words
now.
The bond was forfeit, Portia continued, and the Jew had the right to
exact the penalty if he chose. But her winning voice still pleaded:
“Be merciful! Take thrice thy money, bid me tear the bond.”
“When it is paid according to the tenor,” was the grim reply.
Antonio saw that all hope was over; there was no use in prolonging the
discussion.
“Most heartily I do beseech the court to give the judgment,” he said
earnestly.
But even when acknowledging that the sentence must be carried out,
Portia fought every inch of the way to secure some small concession
for the unhappy merchant. Shylock had brought a knife into the court
to cut the pound of flesh, and scales to weigh it, but he had provided
no surgeon to dress the wound afterwards. Portia begged that he would
provide one, if only out of charity. Was it so nominated in the bond?
No. Therefore Shylock declined. Not the smallest point would he
concede. The bond should be kept to the very letter.
Ah, if Shylock had only known what a pitfall he was digging for
himself by insisting on this point!
In a clear, firm voice Portia began to pronounce sentence. A pound of
the merchant’s flesh was Shylock’s; the court awarded it, and the law
gave it. The flesh was to be cut off from his breast--(“nearest his
heart,” as Shylock had savagely stipulated)--the law allowed it, and
the court awarded it.
“Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare!” cried Shylock; and,
rattling his scales, he darted forward, knife in hand, upon the
merchant.
But Portia’s voice rang through the court,--“Tarry a little: there is
something else!”
Shylock stood still, aghast; Antonio’s friends looked up with sudden
hope. It was Portia’s turn now to keep to the letter of the law. The
bond gave no mention of the word “blood”; the words expressly were “a
pound of flesh.” Let Shylock, then, take his bond, his pound of flesh;
but if in the cutting it he shed one drop of Christian blood, his
lands and goods were, by the laws of Venice, confiscate to the State
of Venice.
“Is that the law?” gasped Shylock; and Portia answered that he should
see the act for himself. As he had urged “justice,” let him be assured
he should have justice, more than he desired.
“O learned judge!” cried Gratiano, mocking Shylock’s former words of
praise. “Mark, Jew, a _learned_ judge!”
“Pay the bond thrice and let the Christian go,” said Shylock.
“Here is the money,” said Bassanio eagerly; but Portia held up her
hand.
“Soft! The Jew shall have all justice. Soft, no haste! He shall have
nothing but the penalty.”
[Illustration: “Tarry a little: there is something else!”]
Shylock was to cut off his pound of flesh, but he was to shed no
blood. Nor was he to cut more or less than just one pound. If he cut
more or less than a just pound--“If the scale turns even by the weight
of a hair, thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate,” pronounced
Portia.
“Give me my principal, and let me go,” said Shylock.
“I have it ready for thee; here it is,” said Bassanio, again holding
out the bags of gold; and again Portia stayed him.
“He has refused it in the open court; he shall have merely justice and
his bond.”
“Shall I not have barely my principal?” demanded the cowed Shylock.
“Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, to be so taken at thy
peril, Jew.”
“Why, then, the devil give him good of it! I’ll stay no further
question,” cried Shylock, turning to leave the Court in a fury of
baffled rage and spite.
But he was not to get off so easily. The law had still another hold on
him. He, being an alien, had offended against the laws of Venice by
seeking the life of a citizen. The penalty for this was that half his
goods went to the citizen, the other half to the coffers of the State,
and the offender’s life lay at the mercy of the Duke.
Stunned and crushed by this sudden calamitous turn of affairs, Shylock
listened. All through the trial he had claimed nothing but “justice”;
he had insisted that the very letter of the law should be fulfilled.
The measure he had meted out to Antonio was now to be measured out
for himself. But the Duke of Venice was merciful enough to pardon
Shylock’s life before he asked it. As for his wealth, half of it would
go to Antonio, the other half to the State, but humbleness might remit
the latter into a fine.
“Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that,” said Shylock, half
dazed. “You take my house when you take the prop that sustains it; you
take my life when you take the means whereby I live.”
Antonio said he would resign half the money due to him, provided
Shylock would let him keep the other half in use, to render it at
Shylock’s death to the husband of his daughter Jessica. Further, for
this favour Shylock was to do two things: he was to give up his Jewish
religion, and he was to make a will, leaving all his possessions to
Lorenzo and his daughter.
“He shall do this,” said the Duke, “or else I will recant the pardon
which I lately granted.”
“Art thou contented, Jew? What dost thou say?” asked Portia.
And what was left for Shylock to answer? Baffled of his revenge,
stripped of his wealth, forced to disown his faith, his very life
forfeited--a hated, despised, miserable old man--he stood alone amidst
the hostile throng. Not one face looked at him kindly, not one voice
was raised in his behalf. Twice he strove to speak, and twice he
failed. Then, in a hoarse whisper through the parched lips, came the
faltering words:
“I--am--content.”