The Merchant of Venice

Three thousand ducats, hmmm.

Yes, for three months.

For three months, hmmm.

As I said before, Antonio will guarantee the loan. If I default, he’ll pay you.

Antonio will guarantee it, hmmm.

Can you help me? What’s your answer?

Three thousand ducats for three months, and Antonio will guarantee it.

Your answer?

Antonio’s a good man.

Have you heard anything to the contrary?

What? No, no, no, no. What I meant in saying he’s a good man is that he has enough money to guarantee the loan. But his investments are uncertain right now. He has one ship bound for Tripoli, another heading for the Indies. What’s more, people at the Rialto tell me he has a third ship in Mexico, and a fourth in England, as well as other business ventures throughout the world. But ships are just fragile boards, and sailors are just men. There are rats and thieves and pirates—not to mention storms, winds, and rocks. Anything could happen. But in spite of all this, the man is still wealthy enough. Three thousand ducats—I think I can let him guarantee your loan.

I assure you he can.

I will be sure he can, before I make the loan. And I’ll think of a way to be sure. Can I speak with Antonio?

If you like, you can dine with us.

Oh yes—to smell pork ? I don’t think so!. Your prophet Jesus sent the devil into a herd of pigs. I’m not going to eat that. I’ll buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so on, but I won’t eat with you, drink with you, or pray with you. Any news on the Rialto? Who’s that?

This is Signor Antonio.

(to himself) He looks just like a guy who’s robbed me but now comes to beg me for a favor! I hate him because he’s a Christian. But more than that, I hate him because he stupidly lends money without interest, which lowers the interest rates here in Venice. If I can just get the upper hand of him once, I’ll satisfy my old grudge against him. He hates Jews. Even at the Rialto he’s always complaining about me and my negotiating and my hard-earned profits, which he calls “interest.” It would an insult to Jews everywhere to forgive that man!

Shylock, are you listening?

I’m thinking about how much cash I have on hand. If I remember correctly, I can’t raise the entire three thousand ducats immediately. But so what? Tubal, a wealthy Jew I know, will supply me with the cash. But wait a minute! How many months do you want? (to ANTONIO) Oh, hello, how are you, signor? We were just talking about you.

Shylock, although I never lend or borrow with interest, I’m willing to break that habit to help a friend in need. (to BASSANIO) Does he know how much you need?

Oh yes, three thousand ducats.

For three months.

Yes, I forgot—three months. (to BASSANIO) You told me that. (to ANTONIO) Now then, about your guarantee. Let me see—but listen, Antonio, I thought you said you don’t lend or borrow with interest.

That’s right. That’s not how I do business.

When Jacob took care of his uncle Laban’s sheep—Jacob was the heir to his grandfather Abraham’s birthright, because his mother cleverly arranged for her husband Isaac to make Jacob his heir—

What’s your point? Did he charge interest?

No, he didn’t charge interest—not in your sense of the word. But listen to what Jacob did. When he and Laban agreed that all the spotted lambs would be Jacob’s pay, it was the end of autumn, when the sheep were starting to mate. Because newborns look like whatever their mother sees during mating, he stuck some spotted branches into the ground right in front of the sheep, who saw them while they mated. The mothers later gave birth to spotted lambs, all of which went to Jacob. That was his way of expanding his business, and it worked. My point is that profit is a blessing, as long as you don’t steal to get it.

That business venture you’re referring to happened because God made it happen like that. Jacob didn’t have any control over what happened. Are you saying this story proves that charging interest makes sense? That your interest payments are like Jacob’s sheep?

I can hardly tell the difference; I make my money multiply as fast as those sheep. But listen to me, signor—

Watch out, Bassanio. The devil can quote Scripture for his own use. An evil soul using a holy story is like a criminal who smiles at you. He looks like a good apple but he’s rotten at the core. Oh, liars can look so honest!

Three thousand ducats. That’s a nice even sum. Three months from twelve months of the year. Let me see. The interest rate will be—

Well, Shylock? Are you going to loan us the money?

Signor Antonio, you’ve often insulted my money and my business practices in the Rialto. I have always just shrugged and put up with it because Jews are good at suffering. You called me a heathen, a dirty dog, and you spit on my Jewish clothes. And all because I use my own money to make a profit. And now it looks like you need my help. All right then. You come to me saying, “Shylock, we need money.” You say that!—even though you spat on my beard and kicked me like you’d kick a stray mutt out your front door. And now you’re asking for money. What can I tell you? Shouldn’t I say, “Does a dog have money? Is it possible for a mutt to lend three thousand ducats?” Or should I bend down low, and in a humble and submissive voice say: “Sir, last Wednesday you spit on me. You insulted me on this day, and another time you called me a dog. And out of gratitude for these favors, I’ll be happy to lend you the money?”

I’ll probably call you those names again and spit on you, and reject you again too. If you’re going to lend us this money, don’t lend it to us as if we were your friends. When did friends charge interest? Instead, lend it to me as your enemy. If your enemy goes bankrupt, it’s easier for you to take your penalty from him.

Look at you getting all riled up! I want to be friends with you, and forget all the times you’ve embarrassed and humiliated me. I want to give you what you need, and not charge a penny of interest—but you won’t listen to me! I’m making a kind offer—zero percent financing.

That really would be kind.

I’ll show you how kind I am. Come with me to a notary and we’ll make it official. And let’s add a little clause just for a joke. If you don’t repay me on the day we agree on, in the place we name, for the sum of money fixed in our contract, your penalty will be a pound of your pretty flesh, to be cut off and taken out of whatever part of your body I like.

It’s a deal. I’ll agree to those terms and even say that Jews are nice.

No, you can’t sign a contract like that for me! I’d rather go without the money.

Don’t worry about it, man, I won’t have to pay any penalty. In two months—a month before this loan is due—I expect to earn more than three times that much from my investments.

Oh father Abraham, what kind of people are these Christians? Their own meanness teaches them to suspect other people!—Please tell me this. If he fails to repay me by the deadline, what would I get out of such a penalty? A pound of human flesh taken isn’t even as valuable as a pound of mutton or beef. I’m just offering this as a favor to a friend. If he agrees, great. If not, goodbye. And I hope you won’t think badly of me.

Yes, Shylock, I’ll sign the contract and agree to its terms.

Then meet me right away at the notary’s. Give him the instructions for our amusing little contract, and I’ll go get the money for you right away. I need to check in at home first, because one of my careless servants is in charge right now. I’ll see you soon.

Hurry up, my Jewish friend.

He’s so kind you’d think the Jew is turning Christian.

I don’t like it when a villain acts nice.

Come on, there’s no reason to worry. My ships will come home a month before the money is due.