Merchant of Venice: Antonio's thoughts
Venice; May anno domini 1596
The court opens tomorrow – the court that will no doubt sentence me to death by the means that Shylock, the old devil, hath devised. In this rude cell, through the window of which I can see the deepening of the dusk, I can sense the hour drawing near, as though Almighty God himself decides to mock me, and all that I have achieved – all my gains, all my good credit – by speeding the hour after which I shall breathe no more.
I know that many a man would be distraught at this; that many a man would weep and rage; rail against his fate, but I do not. The jailers watch me through the peephole in my cells' door, and they wonder at how composed I am, how, even now, as the hour of my supposed death approaches, I remain calm and dignified against all odds. I do not blame them. No doubt I would do the same, were I in their place, but I am not. I am a lawyer as well as a merchant, and I know well how the system of justice works here in Venice.
The court could easily find me innocent tomorrow, and deem Shylock unworthy of reclaiming his bond, that is, if they so wished, but then folk would say it was because I was a Christian, and he a Jew, and what's more, they would be right. I do not want that. I do not want to win the right to live in a city whose system of the Courts is no longer impeccable. I have already beseeched Shylock to have mercy upon me, and if he will not listen and take pity upon me, why, then I would rather die, and die with honour, upholding the very letter of the law, than live and let the Justice which reigns supreme in Venice be impeached with rumours of unfairness and prejudice.
Exactly this statement have I vowed to myself a dozen times over, and now I am resigned. Resigned to the eventuality of my death. My only wish is to see Bassanio one final time; to ask him how it doth go between him and the fair Portia. If he hath won her, using the money that I did claim to back his suit, then I will die a man contented. Please God that it is so. Please God he hath won her, and her fortunes, for his own. And, please God that he uses her and her fortunes wisely; that he uses it only to come out of his debts and nothing else; that he loves and honours the good gentlewoman as any man should love his wife, and perhaps even sires a lusty son or two on her. That much, at least, does the honourable Bassanio deserve to have go in his favour.
There. It is done. I have written my last desire upon this scroll of parchment, and now I must only pray to Our Almighty Father that it finds its way into the right hands – that someday, somebody who cares will know read this and know what it was I wished for when I had only one more night left to me in which to think, and in which to wish for things.
I must also pray to Him for courage and dignity; that I might die in a manner which befits a high-born citizen of splendid Venice, for that, aside from the desire which I have already inscribed above, is all that I ask for – that I do not disgrace myself tomorrow. I hope He will have mercy upon me and upon my soul, in granting me, his most loyal servant, this one last request.
It grows late; my candle short. I must send for an altar, and a Holy Bible.
Antonio