Chapter XLVI: Act V: SCENE 1. Page 523

LOR. Stood Dido with a willow in her hand.

On this passage Mr. Steevens founds an argument that Shakspeare _was no reader of the classics_. It is true that no classical authority for the above circumstance relating to Dido can be found, and that other instances of our poet's errors in classical matters might be adduced; but this will not prove his ignorance of Greek and Roman writers. On the contrary, do not the numerous quotations from them in the notes of his commentators afford sufficient testimony that he had read many ancient authors through the medium of English translations? If this had not been the case, to what end has the useful and interesting list of such translations been drawn up and published by the above learned critic? Wherever Shakspeare met with the image in question, it has reference to the popular superstitions relating to the willow, which will be more fully illustrated in some remarks on a passage in Othello.

SCENE 1. Page 529.

LOR. You shall perceive them make a mutual _stand_,
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest _gaze_.

This is spoken of young _colts_, but the speech is only a poetical amplification of a phrase that seems more properly to belong to _deer_. In the _Noble arte of venerie or hunting_, ascribed to Turbervile, the author or translator, speaking of the hart, says, "when he stayeth to looke at any thing, then he _standeth at gaze_;" and again, "he loveth to hear instruments and assureth himselfe when he heareth a flute or any other sweete noyse. He marvelleth at all things, and taketh pleasure to _gaze_ at them." See likewise Holland's translation of _Pliny_, tom. i. p. 213.

SCENE 1. Page 530.

LOR. The man that hath no musick in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit, &c.

Had the sentiments in the note on this passage been expressed by Dr. Johnson, disorganized as he was for the enjoyment of music, it would not have been matter to wonder at: but that such a man as Mr. Steevens, whose ordinary speech was melody, and whose correct and elegant ear for poetical concord is so frequently manifested in the course of his Shakspearean labours, should have shown himself a very Timon in music, can only be accounted for by supposing that he regarded the speech in question as a libel on his great colleague's organization. He has here assumed a task, which Dr. Johnson would for obvious reasons have declined; and with the feeble aid of an illiberal passage from Lord Chesterfield's _Letters_, has most disingenuously endeavoured to cast an odium on a science which from its intimate and natural connexion with poetry and painting, deserves the highest attention and respect. He that is happily qualified to appreciate the _better parts_ of music, will never seek them in the society so emphatically reprobated by the noble lord, nor altogether in the way he recommends. He will not lend an ear to the vulgarity and tumultuous roar of the tavern catch, or the delusive sounds of martial clangour; but he will enjoy this heavenly gift, this exquisite and soul-delighting sensation, in the temples of his God, or in the peaceful circles of domestic happiness: he will pursue the blessings and advantages of it with ardour, and turn aside from its abuses.

The quotation which Mr. Steevens has given from Peacham, is in reality an _encomium_ on music as practised in the time of Shakspeare. It indicates that gentlemen then associated with their equals only in the pursuit of this innocent recreation; and the same writer would have furnished many other observations that tend to place the science of music in an amiable, or at least in a harmless point of view. Mr. Steevens might have also recollected that Cicero has called it "Stabilem thesaurum, qui _mores_ instituit, componitque, ac mollit irarum ardores." It will be readily conceded that Shakspeare has overcharged the speech before us, and that it by no means follows that a man who is unmusical must be a traitor, a Machiavel, a robber; or that he is deserving of no confidence. This, however, is all that should have occupied the commentator's notice; and herein his castigation would have been really meritorious. The Italians too have a proverb that is equally reprehensible: "Whom God loves not, that man loves not music." Let such extravagancies be consigned to the censure they deserve!

SCENE 1. Page 542.

GRA. ... The first _intergatory_
That my Nerissa shall besworn on----

This word being nothing more than a contraction of _interrogatory_, should be elliptically printed, _inter'gatory_.

THE CLOWN.

There is not a single circumstance through the whole of this play which constitutes Lancelot an _allowed fool or jester_; and yet there is some reason for supposing that Shakspeare intended him as such, from his being called _a patch_, a _fool_ of Hagar's offspring, and in one place _the_ fool. It is not reasonable, however, to conclude that a person like Shylock would entertain a domestic of this description; and it is possible that the foregoing terms may be merely designed as synonymous with the appellation of _clown_, as in _Love's labour's lost_. On the whole, we have here a proof that Shakspeare has not observed that nice discrimination of character in his clowns for which some have given him credit.

ON THE SOURCES FROM WHICH THE STORY OF THIS PLAY HAS BEEN DERIVED.

The present subject, notwithstanding it has been already discussed with considerable labour and ingenuity, may still be said to rest in much obscurity. This has partly arisen from some confusion in the mode of stating the information conveyed in the several notes wherein it has been discussed. To render this position the more intelligible, it will be necessary to say a few words on each commentator's opinion: and first on that of Dr. Farmer. He states that the _story_ was taken from an old translation of the _Gesta Romanorum, first printed_ by Wynkyn de Worde; and that Shakspeare has closely copied some of the language. The Doctor's use of the word _story_ is not consistent with his usual accuracy, because, in what follows, he speaks only of the incident of the caskets, which forms in reality but _a part of the story_. It is much to be wished, for reasons which will hereafter appear, that Dr. Farmer had been more particular in his account of the edition of the _Gesta Romanorum_ which he says was printed by Wynkyn de Worde, none such having, after much inquiry, been discovered; and it is to be feared that he had trusted to a previous statement of his friend the accomplished and elegant historian of English poetry, whose accuracy is unhappily known to have been by no means commensurate with his taste. The Doctor's assertion, that Shakspeare "closely copied some of the language," cannot be maintained until it be first ascertained if any use had been made of the _Gesta Romanorum_ by the author of the old play of the _Jew_, mentioned by Gosson, and also in what particulars Shakspeare followed him. It is proper to take notice in this place of the mistake that has been committed by those who speak of Shakspeare's _imitations_ of the sources of this play, and who forget that one on the same subject had already appeared, and which might have furnished him with the _whole_ of the plot. It is however probable that he improved it by means of other novels, as will be seen hereafter.

The next critic to be noticed is the truly learned and judicious Mr. Tyrwhitt. He informs us that the _two principal incidents_ of this play occur in the _Gesta Romanorum_, and produces some extracts from a _Latin manuscript_ of that work in the British museum. Admitting that the incident of the _caskets_ might have been taken from the _English Gesta Romanorum_, as mentioned by Dr. Farmer, he cautiously gives it as his opinion that both the stories in the _Gesta Romanorum_ quoted by himself are the remote originals of Shakspeare's play; for he had also forgotten the elder drama mentioned by Gosson. He thinks, however, that the bond story might have come to Shakspeare from the _Pecorone_, but suspects on the whole that he followed some hitherto unknown novelist, who had saved him the trouble of working up the two stories into one. Aware also that Shakspeare's small acquaintance with the Latin language would scarcely enable him to consult the manuscript _Gesta Romanorum_, he has very properly used the expression _remote originals_; and the rather, because he had probably examined the printed English editions without finding the story of the bond, which would hardly have escaped the diligent researches of Dr. Farmer, had it really been there. The fact however is, that the bond story did exist in English long before Shakspeare's time, and it is extremely probable that the original author of the _Jew_ used some English _Gesta Romanorum_ for the _whole_ of his plot. There is more stress to be laid on this opinion so far as it regards the original dramatist, because it seems most probable that Shakspeare, on account of the closer resemblance of the story in the _Pecorone_ to _his_ incident of the bond, had, with great advantage, made use of some translation of it now irrecoverably lost. For this reason, with all due respect for Mr. Tyrwhitt's opinion, it is improbable that Shakspeare followed some unknown novelist _who had saved him the trouble of working up the two stories into one_; unless it be conceded that such person was the author of the elder play.

The last opinion to be noticed is that of Dr. Johnson; and he remarks that the modern translator of the _Pecorone_ thought the incident of the caskets was borrowed from Boccaccio. This shall be examined presently. The Doctor thinks, however, that Shakspeare had some other novel in view, a conjecture which Mr. Malone very properly supports by a reference to Dr. Farmer's note.

In offering some additional observations on the stories that are connected with the _Merchant of Venice_, it will be necessary, for the purpose of avoiding confusion, to speak separately of the two main incidents on which that play is constructed.

STORY OF THE CASKETS.

The novel of Boccaccio that has been cited on this occasion, together with some other tales that resemble it, have, it is conceived, no manner of connexion with the play. The curious reader will find one of these stories, and perhaps the most ancient of them, in the lives of Barlaam and Josaphat, as related in the Golden legend, though compiled at a period much anterior to that amusing work. Another is in Gower's _Confessio amantis_, fo. 96, edit. 1532; and a third in the same work, fo. 96, verso. The latter has been related in a more ample and ingenious manner in the _Cento novelle antiche_, nov. 65.

In chap. 109 of _the Latin printed copy_ of the _Gesta Romanorum_, a very different work from that referred to by Dr. Farmer and Mr. Tyrwhitt, there is the following story: A smith had lost a chest of money, which being carried by the sea to the shores of a distant country, was taken up by an inn-keeper, who, not suspecting that it contained any thing, threw it carelessly aside. Having occasion one day for some fuel to warm his guests, he broke up the chest, and finding the money, laid it by safely, till some one should arrive to claim it. The smith soon afterwards appeared; and having publicly declared his loss, the inn-keeper resolved to ascertain if it were the will of Providence that he should make restitution. He therefore caused three pasties to be made; the first he filled with earth, the second with dead men's bones, and the third with money. He then invited the smith to dinner, and gave him the choice of the pasties. The smith fixed on those with the earth and bones, and relinquished the other. The host now concluded that it was not the will of Heaven that he should restore the money; he therefore called in the blind and the lame, opened the other pasty in their presence, and divided the treasure between them.

But the work to which the play stands immediately indebted, is a _Gesta Romanorum_ in English, _never printed in Latin_, and of which the earliest edition that could be procured on the present occasion was printed by Thomas Est, in 1595, 12mo, and several times afterwards. The latter part only of the 32nd history has been used. This has already been given in English by Dr. Farmer, and in Latin by Mr. Tyrwhitt. It has undoubtedly furnished the author of the play with the incident of the caskets; but he has transposed the mottoes of the gold and silver ones, and substituted another for that of lead.

THE BOND STORY.

The character of Leti as an historian warrants an opinion that _his_ story is a mere fabrication, grafted on one of those that he had met with on the same subject. The tale itself is most probably of Eastern origin. Besides that given by Mr. Malone from Ensign Munro's manuscript, a similar one is related in Gladwin's _Persian Moonshee_, story 13; and another likewise from an oriental source, in the _British magazine_ for 1800, page 159.

In Tyron, _Recueil de plusieures plaisantes nouvelles_, &c., Anvers, 1590, 18mo, a Christian borrows 500 ducats of a Jew at Constantinople, on condition of paying two ounces of flesh for usury. At the expiration of the term the Christian refuses to pay more than the principal. The matter is brought before the Emperor Solyman, who orders a razor to be brought, and admonishes the Jew not to cut off more or less than the two ounces on pain of death. The Jew gives up the point. The same story occurs in _Roger Bontemps en belle humeur_; in the _Tresor des recreations_, Douay, 1625, 18mo, p. 27; in _Doctæ nugæ Gaudensij Jocosi_, 1713, 12mo, p. 23; in the _Courier facetieux_, Lyon, 1650, 8vo, p. 109; in the _Chasse ennuy_, Paris, 1645, 18mo, p. 49; in Corrozet _Divers propos memorables_, &c., 1557, 12mo, p. 77, of which work there is an English translation under the title of _Memorable conceits of divers noble and famous personages of Christendome_, &c., 1602, 24mo; in _Apophthegmes, ou La recreation de la jeunesse_, p. 155. It agrees also with the story related by Gracian in his _Hero_. See Steevens's _Shakspeare_, V. 515.

It has been imitated by Antony Munday in his _Astræpho, being the third part of Zelauto, or The fountaine of fame_, 1580, 4to. This writer had found it in Silvayn's _Orator_, which, as we have already seen, he translated. Instead of the cutting off a pound of flesh, it is agreed that one of the party's eyes shall be pulled out. Besides the ballad of _Gernutus the Jew of Venice_, printed in Dr. Percy's Reliques, there is another less ancient, under the title of _The cruel Jew's garland_, in which the story is varied, and with some ingenuity.

A part of the novel in the _Pecorone_ is most likely of Oriental origin, and might have been transmitted to Ser Giovanni from the same source that supplied Boccaccio and many of the French minstrels with their stories, viz. the crusades.

As the Bond Story in the _Gesta Romanorum_ is not known to exist at present in any printed edition, though it might in Shakspeare's time, and as the Latin original mentioned by Mr. Tyrwhitt _has never been printed_, it is therefore offered to the reader's notice, and will afford besides an interesting specimen of ancient English. It occurs in a manuscript preserved in the Harleian collection, No. 7333, written in the reign of Henry the Sixth. The language is of the same period.

"Selestinus reignid a wyse emperoure in Rome, and he had a faire dowter; and in his tyme ther was a knyᵹte that lovid this dowter, but he thowte in himselfe that he dud al in veyne, for he thouᵹt as forsothe that the emperoure wolde not late him to have hir, for he was unworthi therto; nevertheles he thought yf he myght be any wey have love of the damiselle it were inowe to me. He yede ofte tyme to the damisell and aspied hir wille; and she said to him ayene that he travaylid al in veyne, for trowist thow, quod she, with thi deseyvable of faire wordes to begile me? Nay sir, be my soule, hit shal not be so. Thenne saide the kniᵹte, What shal I yeve to the and late me lye by the a nyght? Not thowh thou woldest yeve me an C marke of florens, quod she, thou shalt not lye by me a nyght. Then hit shal be as thou wilte, quod he. What dude he but purveyde him of so muche mony, s. an C. marke of floreyns, and yaf hir. Whenne nyght come the kniᵹte enterid into the bed of the mayde, and anoon he was aslepe, and she dude of hir harnes, and come and laye downe by him. So the kniᵹte laye slepynge al the nyght. On the morow she ros, and did on hir clothis, and wishe hir hondes. And the kniᵹte awoke of his slepe, and thenne he said, Come hedir to me that I may do my wille with the. Nay, by the helth of my fadir, that wolle I not, quod she; for frende, I do the no wronge. Thow accordiste with me that I shulde lye with the al nyght, and so it is idon; for I lay by the al nyght, and thou sleptest and preferdest me no solace, and therrfore blame thi selfe, and not me. And the kniᵹte was hevy, and seide, What shal I yeve to the and lete me lygge by the another nyght? As much, quod she, as thou did afor, and no lesse. I assente, seide he. And the kniᵹte yede and solde alle his movable goodes, and made redy an C. marke of floreynse. But se now a marvelouse case; for right as hit was the furste nyght, so hit was in the secounde. Thenne the kniᵹte mervaylid mor thanne man may suppose, and hevy he was, and saide, Allas, for now have I spend al my godes withoute spede; and therfore thow I shulle dye therefor I woll make another ende, how moch shall I yeve the, and late us be togeder the thirde nyght, quod the kniᵹte to the damisell. Sothely, she saide, yf thou have me, as thou paide afore, _fiat voluntas tua_. I assent, quod he, thou shalte have thin askynge and thi wille. The kniᵹte yede into fer contree, til he come to a grete citee, in the whiche wer many marchaunts and many philesophers, amonge the wiche was master Virgile the philesopher. Then the kniᵹte yede to a grete marchaunt, and saide, I have [nede] of monye, and yf thou wolt lende me an C marke unto a certeyne day, I wolle ley to the al my londes undir this conducion that if I holde not my day thow shalt have my londes for evere. Thenne seyde the marchaunt, Der frend, I sette not so muche be thi londes, but yf thow wolt make this covenaunt, that I shal sey to the, I wolle fulfill thi wille. This saide he I am redy to do thi wille, yf thou wolt do my petucion. Thenne, seide he, when this covenaunt is made that I shalle seye unto the, thenne I shalle fulfille thyne askynge; and the covenaunt shalle be this, that thou make to me a charter of thine owne blood, in conducion that yf thowe kepe not thi day of payment, hit shalle be lefulle to me for to draw awey alle the flesh of thi body froo the bone with a sharp swerde, and yf thow wolt assent herto, I shalle fulfille thi wille. The kniᵹte lovid the damisell so moch that he grauntid al this, and made a charter of his owne bloode, and selid it, and after the selyng this marchaunt toke him the money that he askid. When he had the moneye, he thoute to him selfe, yf I gete my wylle by this moneye, I am but dede; nay, nay, it may not be so. When he harde tell of the grete name of maister Virgile, he yede to him, and seide, Gode sir, I have previ counseill to speke a twene us too, and I beseche yow of your wise counseill in this cas. Sey on, quod Virgile, and I shalle telle the aftir my discrecion. Sir, I love the dowter of the emperoure more than ye wolle trowe, and I accordid with her for a certen sum of money. I have be disceyvid two nyghts in swiche maner; and tolde alle the cas as welle as he coude, and sir nowe I have borowed of a marchaunt so much moneye for the same cas to be fulfillid, and undir this conducion, that yf I holde not my day of payment, hit shalle thenne be lefulle to him to helde of alle the skynne of my body with his swerde, and then I am but dede, and therfor sir, I am com to you to have counsaill and wyt how I may bothe have helpe ayenste swiche a parill, and also to have the love of that lovely lady. Thou hast made a lewde covenaunt, seide Virgile, for as a man bindithe him with his owne wille, right so he shall be servid be lawe of the emperoure; and therefore thou shalt do wysely for to kepe the day of thi payment alle things lefte. And towchinge the damesell I shall yeve the a tale of truthe. Bitwene her shete and her coverlyte of hir bed is a letter of swiche vertu, that whoso ever gothe with hir to bed, he shall anon falle into a dede slepe; and he shalle not wake til time that hit be put awey: and therfor when thou comest to hir bed, seche a twene the shete and the coverlyte, and thow shalt fynde the letter; and when thow hast founde hit caste hit fer from the bedde, and then entre into the bed, for thou shalte not slepe til tyme that thow haste doon thi wille with the damiselle, and that shalle torne to the gret honour and joye. The kniᵹte toke his leve at Virgile, and thonkid him moche of his hie counseill and yede to the damysell, and yafe hir the monye. When nyᵹt come the kniᵹt enterid the chaumber, and preveli putte his honde bitwene the coverlite and the shete, and there he fonde the letter; and whenne he hadde hit he caste hit fer fro the bedde, and lay downe and feynid as he hadde islepte, and thenne the damiselle knowing that he had yslepte as he dude afor, she caste of hir clothis, and went to bedde. Anon the kniᵹte sette hande to hir as is the maner of bed, and she perceyved that, and prayd him of grace, and to save hir maydinhede, and I shall dobble al the monye that thow hast yevin to me and yeve it to the.... And aftur he lovid hir so muche that he drow so moche to hir compane that he forᵹate the marchaunt and the day of payment was passid by the space of xiiii dayes. And as he lay in a certen nyght in his bed, hit come to his mynde the day that he made to the marchaunt, and alle his bowells wer storid therewithe, and thenne said to her, Alas woman that ever I saw the, for I am but dede. I borowed for thi love swiche a some of mony for to pay at a certeyne day bi this conducion, that yf I pay not at my day he shall have full power for to hilde of the fleshe of my body without contradiccion; and now my day is passid fourtenyte ago, so hih I sette myn hert in the. Then seide she, Sorowithe not so moche, gothe to him, and debbelithe the mony to him, and yf he wolle not, aske howe moche he wolle have, and I shalle paye it. Tho was the kniᵹte comfortid. He yede to the citee, and there he mette with the marchaunt in the stret, and lowly he saluid him. Tho saide the marchaunt, So sey I not to the. Thenne seyde the kniᵹte, Sir, for the trespas that I have made ayenste youre convencion I wolle dowble the payment. Naye seide the marchaunt, that spake we not of, I wolle have right as thou dudest bynde the to me. Aske of me, quod the knight, as much mony as thou wolte, and thowe shalt be paide for my trespas. It is veyne that thow spekist, quod the marchaunt, for thowhe thou geve to me al the gode of thi citee, I wolle have the covenaunt I holde, and non othere wolle I have of the than as the charter asselid makith mencioun of; and anon he made the kniᵹt to be itake and lad to the castell, and sette him in a safe ward, abyding the justice. When the juge was come and satte in the dome, the kniᵹt come to barr among other prisoners, and the marchaunt shewid his lettire afor the juge. Anoon as the juge sawe there his owne dede, he said to alle that stode aboute, Sirs, ye know welle it is the law of the emperour that yf enye man bynde him by his owne freewille he shal resseyve as he servithe, and therefore this marchaunt shalle have covenaunt as lawe wolle. Now in al this tyme the damysell his love had sent kniᵹts for to aspie and enquer how the law was pursued ayenst him, and whenne she harde telle that the lawe passid ayenst him, she kytte of al the longe her of hir hede, and cladde hir in precious clothing like to a man, and yede to the palys there as hir lemon was to be demyd, and saluyd the justice, and all they trowid that she had be a kniᵹte; and the juge enquerid of what contree she was, and what she had to do ther. She said, I am a kniᵹte, and come of fer contree, and her tithings that there is a kniᵹte amonge yowe that shuld be demid to dethe for an obligacion that he made to a marchaunt, and therefor I am come to deliver him. Thenne the juge said, It is lawe of the emperoure that who so ever byndethe him with his owne propre wille and consent withoute enye constraynynge he shulde be servid so ayene. When the damisell harde this she turnid to the marchaunt and saide, Der frende, what profite is it to the that this kniᵹte that stondithe her redy to the dome be slayne? it wer [better] to the to have monye than to have him slayne. Thou spekest al in veyne, quod the marchaunt, for withoute doute I wolle have the lawe sithe he bonde him so frely, and therefor he shalle have noon other grace than lawe wolle, for he come to me, and I not to him. I desirid him not thereto ayenste his wille. Thenne saide she, I praye the howe moche shall I yeve to have my petucion? I shalle yeve the thi monye double, and yf that be not plesynge to the, aske of me what thou wolte, and Thou shalt have. Then saide he, thow harde me never seye but that I wolde have my covenaunte kept. Sothely, seyde she, and thou shalt trowe me afor your [you] sir juge, and afor yowe alle, I sey now sir juge ywithe a right wisdome of that that I shal seye to yowe; ye have ihard howe moche I have proferid this marchaunt for the lyf of this kniᵹte, and he forsakithe all, and askithe the lawe, and that likith me moche; and therfore lordinges that beye her, herithe me what I shalle seye. Ye knowithe welle that the kniᵹt bonde him never by letter but that the marchaunt shulde have power to kutte his fleshe fro the boons, but there was no covenaunt made of sheding of blode, thereof was nothing ispoke, and therefor late him set hond on him anoon, and yf he shede ony bloode with his shavinge of the fleshe forsothe then shalle the kynge have goode lawe upon him. And when the marchaunt harde this he said, Yef me my monye, and I foryeve my accion. Fforsothe, quod she, thou shalt not have oo penye, for afor al this companye I proferid to the al that I myght, and thou forsoke hit, and saydist with a lowde wyse, I shalle have my covenaunte; and therfor do thi beste with him, but loke that thow shede no blode I charge the; for it is not thin, ne no covenaunt was thereof. Thenne the marchaunt seynge this yede away confus. And so was the Kniᵹt's lyf savid, and no penye ipayde. And she yede home ayene, and dude of that clothinge, and clothid hit as she was afor like to a woman. And the kniᵹte yede home ayene, and the damisell turnid and met him, and askid howe he had ispedde, as thowhe she had not knowen therof. A, lady, quod he, this day was I in poynt to be dede for thy love, but as I was in point to be dampned, there come in sodeynlye a knite, a fair and well ishape, the whiche I saw never afor, and he delivirid me by his exellent wisdom bothe from dethe and eke from payment of moneye. Thenne were thowhe, quod she, unkynde that woldest nat bidde that kniᵹte to mete, that so faire had savid the. He aunswerde therto, and saide that he come sodeinly and sodenly yede. Thenne seide she, Knowiste thow him if thou seye him? Yee, quod he, right wele. She yede up and cladde hir as she dide afore, and then she yede forthe. And the kniᵹte knew her thenne wele, and for joye fel doune upon hire, and said, Blessid be thow, and the houre in the whiche I fyrste knew the. And he wepte, and aftir he weddid hir and livid and deyde in the service of God, and yelde to God goode sowlis."

On the whole, then, it is conceived that the outline of the _bond story_ is of Oriental origin;[13] that the author of the old play of _The Jew_, and Shakspeare in his Merchant of Venice, have not confined themselves to one source only in the construction of their plot; but that the _Pecorone_, the _Gesta Romanorum_, and perhaps the old _Ballad of Gernutus_, have been respectively resorted to. It is however most probable that the original play was indebted chiefly, if not altogether, to the _Gesta Romanorum_, which contained both the main incidents; and that Shakspeare expanded and improved them, partly from his own genius, and partly, as to the bond, from the _Pecorone_, where the coincidences are too manifest to leave any doubt. Thus, the scene being laid at Venice; the residence of the lady at Belmont; the introduction of a person bound for the principal; the double infraction of the bond, viz., the taking more or less than a pound of flesh and the shedding of blood, together with the after-incident of the ring, are common to the novel and the play. The whetting of the knife might perhaps have been taken from the _Ballad of Gernutus_. Shakspeare was likewise indebted to an authority that could not have occurred to the original author of the play in an English form; this was, Silvayn's _Orator_, as translated by Munday. From that work Shylock's reasoning before the senate is evidently borrowed; but at the same time it has been most skilfully improved.

The frequent allusions to the _different Gesta Romanorum_ may have excited a wish to be more familiarly acquainted with that singular and interesting work; but as the discussion of the subject in this place would have augmented the tediousness of the note, it has been thought better to make the attempt in a separate dissertation, where it is hoped that any obscurity in the preceding remarks will be removed.

It is much to be lamented that this exquisitely beautiful drama can neither be read nor performed, without exciting in every humane and liberal mind an abhorrence of its professed design to vilify an ancient and respectable, but persecuted, nation. It should be remembered that contempt and intolerance must naturally excite hatred; that to provoke revenge is, in fact, to become responsible for the crimes it may occasion; that to those who would degrade and oppress us, it is but justice to oppose craft; and that nature has supplied even the brute creation with the means of resisting persecution. It will be readily conceded that there happily exist in the present moment but few remains of the illiberal prejudices complained of, the asperity of which has been greatly mitigated by the laudable and successful exertions of a modern dramatic writer, to whom the Jewish people are under the highest obligations.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] It may be worth remarking that the historian Stowe has made great use of this curious and valuable Life of Wolsey, without naming the author. It has been several times printed, but the manuscript copies have greatly the advantage in fullness and accuracy.

[13] If the horrible incident of the cutting off the flesh had not occurred in the several Oriental stories that have been mentioned, one should have supposed that it had been suggested by that atrocious decemviral law of the Twelve Tables, which empowered a creditor to mangle the living body of his debtor without fear of punishment for cutting more or less than the magistrate allowed. For the honour of the Roman law, it is not recorded that the above inhuman decree was ever enforced.

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