The Measure
by David Christie
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: What happened to Shylock after he left the stage in The Merchant of Venice? It was one man's mission to find out – the elderly Marcello Gussoni, adviser to the Duke. Read his account here.
_____________________________________________________________________
SHYLOCK
I pray you, give me leave to go from hence.
I am not well. Send the deed after me,
And I will sign it.
DUKE
Get thee gone, but do it.
Shakespeare: The Merchant of Venice. IV.1, ll 391-3
______________________________________________________________
Swearwords: None.
Description: What happened to Shylock after he left the stage in The Merchant of Venice? It was one man's mission to find out – the elderly Marcello Gussoni, adviser to the Duke. Read his account here.
_____________________________________________________________________
SHYLOCK
I pray you, give me leave to go from hence.
I am not well. Send the deed after me,
And I will sign it.
DUKE
Get thee gone, but do it.
Shakespeare: The Merchant of Venice. IV.1, ll 391-3
______________________________________________________________
Your Grace,
I will always be indebted to you for the kind sympathy and understanding which you have unfailingly extended towards me, your ever-loyal consigliere, in my advancing years. I have perforce endured the most arduous few months. They have been replete with challenges both physical and mental, challenges relentless enough to bring a man more robust than I am to his very knees.
It is long past my customary hour for retiring. The fire in the grate is almost dead, and the damp air from the canal outside my windows so aggravates the rheumatics in my hands as to make writing a wearisome and painful business. My eyes are hurting because of the acrid smoke from my lamp (on my salary I can afford only the cheapest of oils) and my bowels are suffering frequent cramps, I suspect from my supper of the strange-tasting fish which your kitchen sent over for me. My initial hopes that they had prepared something nutritious and readily digestible were utterly in vain. Moreover, I am painfully aware that no chair has yet been made that is soft enough to offer me the relief that I crave from the ravages of my piles. I would be less than honest with you if I did not admit that I long for my bed; and yet I know that even in my weakened state I could not find true rest until I had completed my report for you into the present circumstances of the Jew Shylock.
As your consigliere I am ever mindful of the trust that you have placed in me to ensure full compliance with the judgments of your court. And because from past experience I am only too well aware that you have the capacity to attend to only a limited number of matters at a time, as a token of my unfailing loyalty towards you (and trusting that you will not take offence at my apparent presumptuousness, for I can assure you that none is intended) I might remind you of the measure that you finally imposed in this case. Much of the esteem in which Your Grace’s judgments are held arises from your deep attachment to the qualities of mercy and forgiveness, and this is a matter on which I need not dwell; let me simply state, then, that in recompense for his offences, the Jew Shylock became obliged to remit one half of his goods to the state of Venice. He was also required, your judgment stated, to sign a deed bequeathing all of the property remaining in his ownership on his death to his estranged daughter Jessica and her husband Lorenzo, and to submit to abandoning his Jewish religion in favour of becoming a Christian. All of this, of course, was a more humane alternative to the sentence of death which, on a stricter interpretation of the law, his offences would surely have merited.
With the benefit of hindsight, however, your Lordship may come to agree that it was an oversight to allow – nay, encourage − Shylock to take his leave so swiftly after you handed down your judgment. No doubt you had your own reasons for being so impatient to bring matters to a speedy conclusion; for my part I am in no doubt that my own fatigue is largely attributable to my subsequent painstaking search for Shylock across the length and breadth of the city. According to his neighbours – who, you may be assured, have been subject to rigorous and persistent questioning − his house has been deserted for some time, and grows more dilapidated by the day. No merchant on the Rialto would admit to having set eyes on him since the day of the trial, so having deliberated on the matter at some length I concluded that I had no choice but to continue my search within the confines of the Ghetto itself.
Your Grace may not realise how fearful a place it is, a confusing maze of streets and squares and alleyways, full of noisome smells and the dark, threatening shadows cast by the high tenements even in the middle of the day. I decided to visit first the Italian scuola where I had once met with a Rabbi to discuss a dispute over custody of the Ghetto keys – a dispute which, Your Grace may recall, seriously threatened to damage relationships between our two communities. On that occasion the Rabbi had shown himself to be a reasonable and humane man, and I surmised that he would be willing to assist me if it were within his powers. With his help I might even be able to make a timeous departure from the Ghetto.
To my great disappointment, however, he shook his head sadly when I told him my mission. Shylock’s present whereabouts were as much a mystery to him as they were to me; neither he nor the other Rabbis in the Ghetto had seen Shylock at Shabbat prayers for the last few weeks, an absence which they all agreed was completely out of character. He did, however, direct me to a small neighbourhood osteria where at dinner-time I might well find Tubal, another Jewish moneylender who, the Rabbi assured me, was probably the closest acquaintance that Shylock possessed. I did not expect Tubal to be such a gentle, considerate man. Prompted by my pallor and obvious fatigue, he pressed me to sit down with him for a bowl of lokshen soup which, in spite of its unappetising appearance, I found to be truly restorative of both body and spirit. I unhesitatingly commend it to you.
Tubal told me that, like the Rabbi, he had not set eyes on Shylock for some time. He had even thought it possible that he had fled abroad in disguise until he recalled Shylock’s deep attachment to the city of his birth. Further reflection had led him to the view that Shylock’s sudden leave-taking might indeed have been occasioned by sickness – a sickness for which, given his personal pride and solitary disposition, he had been unwilling to seek the advice of a physician. His business had not been prospering, and his initial rage at his daughter Jessica’s elopement had soon given way to a deep sadness akin to that following a loved one’s sudden death. Tubal had no doubt that Shylock was suffering gravely from stress, in both body and mind, and that his spirits were severely depressed. On more than one occasion, while walking in his company, Shylock had complained of severe shortness of breath and pains in the chest and had had to pause for a while to lean against a wall with his eyes closed. On hearing of my fruitless search, his great fear was that Shylock had collapsed in the street and, being recognised as a Jew by his distinctive garb, had simply been rolled into the nearest canal by some passer-by. He had heard of such cases before − as indeed have I, though it shames me to say so. He assured me that in spite of their occasional differences of opinion he did sincerely care for Shylock’s well-being, and he promised to report to me any information that came his way.
Should it ever have occurred to you, Your Grace, to wonder why it has taken me so long to conclude my enquiries into the circumstances of the missing Shylock, I need only remind you of the many other tasks which you assign to me on a daily basis, and also in this case of the necessity to interrogate each and every one of the city’s watchmen in the hope of finding even one who could remember encountering an elderly Jew who had been taken ill in a public place around the time in question.
God be praised, my diligence was rewarded when I received a credible report that an elderly Jewish man had been discovered some time ago lying in the gutter, scarcely breathing, in a seldom-frequented alleyway not far from the Rialto. He had been carried off to the infirmary attached to the Oratorio di Crociferi because it had never been known to turn anyone away whatever his condition and circumstances. Might this be Shylock? And could he still be there? Or had he succumbed to whatever illness had afflicted him? I made as much haste as I was able, and did well to arrive at the Oratorio within the hour. Having identified myself and explained my business to the elderly gatekeeper, I was asked to wait while the mother prioress was consulted. It is gratifying to report that I did not have to wait for very long.
The mother prioress was reading at a desk adorned only by a small crucifix. After a moment she turned round and gestured politely towards the plain wooden chair by her side.
“We are truly honoured to receive such an important guest,” she began. “You can be assured that your journey is over. Yes, Shylock is here.” She smiled gently, but rather reproachfully as though to question the need for my obvious anxiety.
I doubt if Your Grace can imagine my relief when I heard her words. And yet my hopes that my task was finally accomplished were to be swiftly brought to nought. I would indeed be allowed to see Shylock, but not immediately; there were certain important matters that I had to be made aware of first. Her rather sad grey eyes gazing steadily into mine, she quickly sensed both my deep sorrow and my fatigue. Summoning a lay sister, she asked her to bring me a cup of warm broth and a biscuit which I found rather plain but nonetheless wholesome; and when I had recovered somewhat she told me that Shylock had come close to death several times after he had been brought to the infirmary. Yet with simple nourishing food, good care, and the prayers of the community he had gradually regained his strength; only when he had explained his circumstances, and had asked for help in becoming a Christian, did relations between Shylock and the community become anything less than entirely cordial.
A note of sternness entered the mother prioress’s voice when she explained that Shylock’s wish to become a Christian had had to be measured against his past sins which were both numerous and grave. She dismissed out of hand my counter-assertion that your measures always took precedence over the rules of the Church; if Shylock sincerely wished to be a Christian he first had to do penance, make a full confession, and undergo a course of instruction – all measures which, with the support of a neighbouring Benedictine monastery, had with Shylock’s consent been put in hand without delay.
His penance had begun, explained the mother prioress, with a thorough cleaning of the infirmary’s lavatories and treatment areas (“not the most congenial of tasks”, she admitted), and had then turned to reorganising the convent’s accounts, a task at which he had proved particularly adept. The convent’s orphanage, however, soon became his favourite place of work. The young children – all living there because they had, sadly, been abandoned by their parents − had initially been cautious in welcoming their new cleaner, but this had swiftly turned to a warm acceptance followed by trusting friendship and love. Before long there was general agreement among both the sisters and the Benedictine brothers that Shylock had been blessed with the necessary conversion of spirit; he had only last week been baptised and confirmed as a Christian in the monastery chapel, and had received Holy Communion for the first time. She herself had witnessed the simple yet moving ceremony.
“So now,” she invited me with a warm smile, “I invite you to come with me to meet the new Shylock.” And she led me out across a peaceful sunlit courtyard into the orphanage where, in a bright playroom, I beheld an elderly gentleman, obviously Jewish in appearance, crawling across the bare wooden floor on his hands and knees carrying two small children on his back who were laughing and crying out in sheer delight. Even the occasional kick in his side to encourage him to make more speed seemed to do nothing to lessen his enjoyment; his eyes radiated a look of unalloyed joy. The remaining children (some twenty or thereabouts) were gathered round clamouring to be allowed their turn. I was truly astounded. When Shylock saw me he gently requested the children to play quietly amongst themselves at the far end of the room so that he could speak privately to his visitor; he rose stiffly to his feet, bowed deeply, and stood before me holding out his clasped hands almost as if he were inviting me to bind his wrists together as a captive. For Your Grace’s benefit I took very careful note of what he said:
“I knew that, in time, someone would come searching for me. Have me carried in chains to your master the Duke if you wish. But before you do, I beg you to remember that I have obeyed the Duke’s measure to the letter. Justice has been done. I am now a Christian, and I have here” (and he reached under his gown for a document which he solemnly handed to me) “a deed bequeathing all my property on my death to my daughter Jessica and her husband Lorenzo. It is, of course, entirely worthless; as a Christian I cannot conduct my former business as a moneylender or return to my old faith – even if I had any desire to. I have already gifted all my remaining property to the community here where I am more contented than I have ever been in my entire life. With mother prioress’s agreement,” (and here out of the corner of my eye I saw her smile and nod), “I will remain here as the community’s servant for however many more years the good Lord allows me. Thus, when the time comes for me to depart this life, whenever that may be, I will not even be worth the clothes I stand up in – but my life will, please God, have had some lasting value.” And he bowed deeply again, his eyes fixed on the floor in front of him.
Your Grace, I am entirely clear in my mind that you have no cause for complaint that Shylock has failed to abide by the measure that your court imposed on him. He has become a Christian in both interior conviction and daily practice, and the signed deed in favour of Jessica and Lorenzo is in my secure possession for onward transmission to your Chancery. Yet I venture to offer the opinion that the outcome may not be what you had intended or anticipated. Shylock, you may feel, has somehow contrived to escape the unremitting personal humiliation which both you and others had undoubtedly hoped for. If my judgment in this regard is correct, then I contend that any right-minded person would consider me, your consigliere, beyond any reproach. I have fulfilled my task in its entirety, albeit at no small cost to myself.
Your Grace, I have but one further matter to address before I draw my report to its conclusion and retire, at long last, to my bedchamber. I do so with a measure of apprehension lest my good faith and loyalty be thrown into doubt. In my considerable experience of matters of this kind, it is as well to remember that since human ingenuity has few bounds, it has always the potential to subvert a measure’s original intention. I therefore venture to suggest that, in any future cases of this kind, you would do well to request me to stand by your side. To do so would, I am in no doubt, help to avoid the unexpected outcomes and fruitless labour for which I will always remember this case. Be assured that in this, as in all other matters, you could rely on my willing compliance with your instructions.
I remain, therefore, ever your most obedient and humble servant,
[Sgd] “Marcello Gussoni”
Counsellor to the Duke of Venice
I will always be indebted to you for the kind sympathy and understanding which you have unfailingly extended towards me, your ever-loyal consigliere, in my advancing years. I have perforce endured the most arduous few months. They have been replete with challenges both physical and mental, challenges relentless enough to bring a man more robust than I am to his very knees.
It is long past my customary hour for retiring. The fire in the grate is almost dead, and the damp air from the canal outside my windows so aggravates the rheumatics in my hands as to make writing a wearisome and painful business. My eyes are hurting because of the acrid smoke from my lamp (on my salary I can afford only the cheapest of oils) and my bowels are suffering frequent cramps, I suspect from my supper of the strange-tasting fish which your kitchen sent over for me. My initial hopes that they had prepared something nutritious and readily digestible were utterly in vain. Moreover, I am painfully aware that no chair has yet been made that is soft enough to offer me the relief that I crave from the ravages of my piles. I would be less than honest with you if I did not admit that I long for my bed; and yet I know that even in my weakened state I could not find true rest until I had completed my report for you into the present circumstances of the Jew Shylock.
As your consigliere I am ever mindful of the trust that you have placed in me to ensure full compliance with the judgments of your court. And because from past experience I am only too well aware that you have the capacity to attend to only a limited number of matters at a time, as a token of my unfailing loyalty towards you (and trusting that you will not take offence at my apparent presumptuousness, for I can assure you that none is intended) I might remind you of the measure that you finally imposed in this case. Much of the esteem in which Your Grace’s judgments are held arises from your deep attachment to the qualities of mercy and forgiveness, and this is a matter on which I need not dwell; let me simply state, then, that in recompense for his offences, the Jew Shylock became obliged to remit one half of his goods to the state of Venice. He was also required, your judgment stated, to sign a deed bequeathing all of the property remaining in his ownership on his death to his estranged daughter Jessica and her husband Lorenzo, and to submit to abandoning his Jewish religion in favour of becoming a Christian. All of this, of course, was a more humane alternative to the sentence of death which, on a stricter interpretation of the law, his offences would surely have merited.
With the benefit of hindsight, however, your Lordship may come to agree that it was an oversight to allow – nay, encourage − Shylock to take his leave so swiftly after you handed down your judgment. No doubt you had your own reasons for being so impatient to bring matters to a speedy conclusion; for my part I am in no doubt that my own fatigue is largely attributable to my subsequent painstaking search for Shylock across the length and breadth of the city. According to his neighbours – who, you may be assured, have been subject to rigorous and persistent questioning − his house has been deserted for some time, and grows more dilapidated by the day. No merchant on the Rialto would admit to having set eyes on him since the day of the trial, so having deliberated on the matter at some length I concluded that I had no choice but to continue my search within the confines of the Ghetto itself.
Your Grace may not realise how fearful a place it is, a confusing maze of streets and squares and alleyways, full of noisome smells and the dark, threatening shadows cast by the high tenements even in the middle of the day. I decided to visit first the Italian scuola where I had once met with a Rabbi to discuss a dispute over custody of the Ghetto keys – a dispute which, Your Grace may recall, seriously threatened to damage relationships between our two communities. On that occasion the Rabbi had shown himself to be a reasonable and humane man, and I surmised that he would be willing to assist me if it were within his powers. With his help I might even be able to make a timeous departure from the Ghetto.
To my great disappointment, however, he shook his head sadly when I told him my mission. Shylock’s present whereabouts were as much a mystery to him as they were to me; neither he nor the other Rabbis in the Ghetto had seen Shylock at Shabbat prayers for the last few weeks, an absence which they all agreed was completely out of character. He did, however, direct me to a small neighbourhood osteria where at dinner-time I might well find Tubal, another Jewish moneylender who, the Rabbi assured me, was probably the closest acquaintance that Shylock possessed. I did not expect Tubal to be such a gentle, considerate man. Prompted by my pallor and obvious fatigue, he pressed me to sit down with him for a bowl of lokshen soup which, in spite of its unappetising appearance, I found to be truly restorative of both body and spirit. I unhesitatingly commend it to you.
Tubal told me that, like the Rabbi, he had not set eyes on Shylock for some time. He had even thought it possible that he had fled abroad in disguise until he recalled Shylock’s deep attachment to the city of his birth. Further reflection had led him to the view that Shylock’s sudden leave-taking might indeed have been occasioned by sickness – a sickness for which, given his personal pride and solitary disposition, he had been unwilling to seek the advice of a physician. His business had not been prospering, and his initial rage at his daughter Jessica’s elopement had soon given way to a deep sadness akin to that following a loved one’s sudden death. Tubal had no doubt that Shylock was suffering gravely from stress, in both body and mind, and that his spirits were severely depressed. On more than one occasion, while walking in his company, Shylock had complained of severe shortness of breath and pains in the chest and had had to pause for a while to lean against a wall with his eyes closed. On hearing of my fruitless search, his great fear was that Shylock had collapsed in the street and, being recognised as a Jew by his distinctive garb, had simply been rolled into the nearest canal by some passer-by. He had heard of such cases before − as indeed have I, though it shames me to say so. He assured me that in spite of their occasional differences of opinion he did sincerely care for Shylock’s well-being, and he promised to report to me any information that came his way.
Should it ever have occurred to you, Your Grace, to wonder why it has taken me so long to conclude my enquiries into the circumstances of the missing Shylock, I need only remind you of the many other tasks which you assign to me on a daily basis, and also in this case of the necessity to interrogate each and every one of the city’s watchmen in the hope of finding even one who could remember encountering an elderly Jew who had been taken ill in a public place around the time in question.
God be praised, my diligence was rewarded when I received a credible report that an elderly Jewish man had been discovered some time ago lying in the gutter, scarcely breathing, in a seldom-frequented alleyway not far from the Rialto. He had been carried off to the infirmary attached to the Oratorio di Crociferi because it had never been known to turn anyone away whatever his condition and circumstances. Might this be Shylock? And could he still be there? Or had he succumbed to whatever illness had afflicted him? I made as much haste as I was able, and did well to arrive at the Oratorio within the hour. Having identified myself and explained my business to the elderly gatekeeper, I was asked to wait while the mother prioress was consulted. It is gratifying to report that I did not have to wait for very long.
The mother prioress was reading at a desk adorned only by a small crucifix. After a moment she turned round and gestured politely towards the plain wooden chair by her side.
“We are truly honoured to receive such an important guest,” she began. “You can be assured that your journey is over. Yes, Shylock is here.” She smiled gently, but rather reproachfully as though to question the need for my obvious anxiety.
I doubt if Your Grace can imagine my relief when I heard her words. And yet my hopes that my task was finally accomplished were to be swiftly brought to nought. I would indeed be allowed to see Shylock, but not immediately; there were certain important matters that I had to be made aware of first. Her rather sad grey eyes gazing steadily into mine, she quickly sensed both my deep sorrow and my fatigue. Summoning a lay sister, she asked her to bring me a cup of warm broth and a biscuit which I found rather plain but nonetheless wholesome; and when I had recovered somewhat she told me that Shylock had come close to death several times after he had been brought to the infirmary. Yet with simple nourishing food, good care, and the prayers of the community he had gradually regained his strength; only when he had explained his circumstances, and had asked for help in becoming a Christian, did relations between Shylock and the community become anything less than entirely cordial.
A note of sternness entered the mother prioress’s voice when she explained that Shylock’s wish to become a Christian had had to be measured against his past sins which were both numerous and grave. She dismissed out of hand my counter-assertion that your measures always took precedence over the rules of the Church; if Shylock sincerely wished to be a Christian he first had to do penance, make a full confession, and undergo a course of instruction – all measures which, with the support of a neighbouring Benedictine monastery, had with Shylock’s consent been put in hand without delay.
His penance had begun, explained the mother prioress, with a thorough cleaning of the infirmary’s lavatories and treatment areas (“not the most congenial of tasks”, she admitted), and had then turned to reorganising the convent’s accounts, a task at which he had proved particularly adept. The convent’s orphanage, however, soon became his favourite place of work. The young children – all living there because they had, sadly, been abandoned by their parents − had initially been cautious in welcoming their new cleaner, but this had swiftly turned to a warm acceptance followed by trusting friendship and love. Before long there was general agreement among both the sisters and the Benedictine brothers that Shylock had been blessed with the necessary conversion of spirit; he had only last week been baptised and confirmed as a Christian in the monastery chapel, and had received Holy Communion for the first time. She herself had witnessed the simple yet moving ceremony.
“So now,” she invited me with a warm smile, “I invite you to come with me to meet the new Shylock.” And she led me out across a peaceful sunlit courtyard into the orphanage where, in a bright playroom, I beheld an elderly gentleman, obviously Jewish in appearance, crawling across the bare wooden floor on his hands and knees carrying two small children on his back who were laughing and crying out in sheer delight. Even the occasional kick in his side to encourage him to make more speed seemed to do nothing to lessen his enjoyment; his eyes radiated a look of unalloyed joy. The remaining children (some twenty or thereabouts) were gathered round clamouring to be allowed their turn. I was truly astounded. When Shylock saw me he gently requested the children to play quietly amongst themselves at the far end of the room so that he could speak privately to his visitor; he rose stiffly to his feet, bowed deeply, and stood before me holding out his clasped hands almost as if he were inviting me to bind his wrists together as a captive. For Your Grace’s benefit I took very careful note of what he said:
“I knew that, in time, someone would come searching for me. Have me carried in chains to your master the Duke if you wish. But before you do, I beg you to remember that I have obeyed the Duke’s measure to the letter. Justice has been done. I am now a Christian, and I have here” (and he reached under his gown for a document which he solemnly handed to me) “a deed bequeathing all my property on my death to my daughter Jessica and her husband Lorenzo. It is, of course, entirely worthless; as a Christian I cannot conduct my former business as a moneylender or return to my old faith – even if I had any desire to. I have already gifted all my remaining property to the community here where I am more contented than I have ever been in my entire life. With mother prioress’s agreement,” (and here out of the corner of my eye I saw her smile and nod), “I will remain here as the community’s servant for however many more years the good Lord allows me. Thus, when the time comes for me to depart this life, whenever that may be, I will not even be worth the clothes I stand up in – but my life will, please God, have had some lasting value.” And he bowed deeply again, his eyes fixed on the floor in front of him.
Your Grace, I am entirely clear in my mind that you have no cause for complaint that Shylock has failed to abide by the measure that your court imposed on him. He has become a Christian in both interior conviction and daily practice, and the signed deed in favour of Jessica and Lorenzo is in my secure possession for onward transmission to your Chancery. Yet I venture to offer the opinion that the outcome may not be what you had intended or anticipated. Shylock, you may feel, has somehow contrived to escape the unremitting personal humiliation which both you and others had undoubtedly hoped for. If my judgment in this regard is correct, then I contend that any right-minded person would consider me, your consigliere, beyond any reproach. I have fulfilled my task in its entirety, albeit at no small cost to myself.
Your Grace, I have but one further matter to address before I draw my report to its conclusion and retire, at long last, to my bedchamber. I do so with a measure of apprehension lest my good faith and loyalty be thrown into doubt. In my considerable experience of matters of this kind, it is as well to remember that since human ingenuity has few bounds, it has always the potential to subvert a measure’s original intention. I therefore venture to suggest that, in any future cases of this kind, you would do well to request me to stand by your side. To do so would, I am in no doubt, help to avoid the unexpected outcomes and fruitless labour for which I will always remember this case. Be assured that in this, as in all other matters, you could rely on my willing compliance with your instructions.
I remain, therefore, ever your most obedient and humble servant,
[Sgd] “Marcello Gussoni”
Counsellor to the Duke of Venice
About the Author
Born in Huddersfield of Scottish parents, David Christie has lived in Scotland since the 1970’s. He is now in Edinburgh, retired from paid work and quite new to writing. He says an Arvon Foundation course at Moniack Mhor a few years ago (led by Alan Spence) has a great deal to answer for…