The Merchant of Venice

Oh Nerissa, my poor little body is tired of this great big world.

You’d be tired, madam, if you had bad luck rather than wealth and good luck. But as far as I can tell, people with too much suffer as much as people with nothing. The best way to be happy is to be in between. When you have too much you get old sooner, but having just enough helps you live longer.

Good point, and well said.

It would be better if you actually applied it to your life.

You think it’s that easy? If doing good deeds were as easy as knowing how to do them, then everyone would be better off. Small chapels would be big churches, and poor men’s cottages would be princes’ palaces. It takes a good priest to practice what he preaches. For me, it’s easier to lecture twenty people on how to be good than to be the one person out of twenty who actually does good things. The brain can tell the heart what to do, but what does it matter? Cold rules don’t matter when you’ve got a hot temper. Young people are like frisky young rabbits, and good advice is like a crippled old man trying to catch them. But thinking like this won’t help me choose a husband. Oh, the word “choose” is strange! I can’t choose who I like, or refuse who I dislike. I’m a living daughter still controlled by the wishes of her dead father. Isn’t it a pain that I can’t choose or refuse anyone, Nerissa?

Your father was an extremely moral man, and religious people get odd ideas on their deathbeds. Your father’s idea was to have a game with three boxes. The suitor who can figure out whether to pick the gold, silver, or lead box will solve your father’s riddle—and that suitor’s the man for you. No one will ever choose the right box who doesn’t deserve your love. But tell me. Do you like any of the princely suitors who’ve come?

Run through the list. As you name them I’ll describe them for you, and from my descriptions you can guess how I feel toward them.

Well, first there was the prince from Naples.

Ah, yes, that stallion. All he talks about is his horse. He thinks it’s a great credit to his character that he can shoe a horse all by himself. I’m afraid his mother may have had an affair with a blacksmith.

Then there’s the Count Palatine.

He does nothing but frown, as if he wants to say, “If you don’t want me, I don’t care.” He doesn’t even smile when he hears funny stories. If he’s so sad and solemn when he’s young, I can only imagine how much he’ll cry as an old man. No, I’d rather be married to a skull with a bone in its mouth than to either of those men. God protect me from these two!

What did you think about that French lord, Monsieur le Bon?

We might as well call him a man, since God created him. No, I know it’s bad to make fun of people, but still! His horse is better than the Neapolitan’s and he frowns more than the Count Palatine. He was trying to outdo everyone so much that you couldn’t tell who he was. He started dancing every time a bird sang, and he was so eager to show off his fencing that he’d fight with his own shadow. If I married him, I might as well as marry twenty husbands, because he’s like twenty men all rolled into one! I’d understand it if he hated me, since even if he loved me desperately, I’d never be able to love him back.

What about Falconbridge, that young English baron?

I have no opinion about him. We don’t talk because we don’t understand each other. He doesn’t speak Latin, French, or Italian, and you know how little English I speak. He’s great-looking, but how can you talk to someone who doesn’t speak your language? He was dressed so oddly too! I think he got his jacket in Italy, his tights in France, his hat in Germany, and his behavior everywhere.

What do you think of his neighbor, the Scottish lord?

I think he’s very forgiving, since he let the Englishman slap him on the ear without hitting him back. Rather than defend himself, he just threatened to pay the Englishman back later. Then the Frenchman promised to help the Scot pay the Englishman back, and added a slap of his own.

How did you like the young German, the duke of Saxony’s nephew?

He’s pretty awful in the morning when he’s sobering up, and even worse in the afternoon when he’s drunk. At his best he’s a little less than a man, and at his worst he’s little more than an animal. If we got married and he tragically met his demise, I’m sure I could find a way to go on without him.

If he offers to play the game and chooses the right box, but then you reject him, you’ll be disobeying your father’s last wishes.

I know. So please put a nice big glass of white wine on the wrong box. I know he’ll get tempted and choose that one. I’ll do anything rather than marry a drunk, Nerissa.

You don’t have to worry about any of these lords, my lady. They’ve all told me what they want, which is to go back home and give up on you—unless there was some other way to win you than your father’s pick-the-box test.

I’ll die an old maid unless I can be won according to the rules set by my father’s will. I’m glad these suitors are sensible enough to stay away. The only thing I like about them is that they’re not there. I wish them all safe trips home.

Do you remember a Venetian scholar and soldier who accompanied the marquess of Montferrat here once when your father was still alive?

Yes, yes, that was Bassanio. I think that was his name.

Yes, madam, that’s the one. He deserves a beautiful wife more than all the other men I’ve ever seen.

I remember him well, and my memory tells me that he deserves your praise.

Hello, do you have any news?

The four suitors are looking for you so they can say goodbye, madam. And there’s a messenger representing a fifth one, the prince of Morocco, who says the prince will be here tonight.

If I could say hello to the fifth one as happily as I’ll say goodbye to the first four, I’d be very happy he’s coming. If he’s as good as a saint but is black like a devil, I’d rather he hear my confession than marry me. Let’s go, Nerissa.—(to the SERVANT) Go ahead. As soon as we shut the door on one suitor, another one starts knocking.