Simon Hawke: The Merchant of Vengeance

“A man who has been wronged?” said Smythe.

“Aye, perhaps,” said Shakespeare, “but then where is he?” Smythe frowned. “What do you mean, where is he?”

“Surely, not upon the stage,” said Shakespeare, with a shrug. “Aside from the fact that he is bent upon revenge, and that in this quest no evil seems to be beyond him, what else do we truly know of him?”

“Why… that he is a Jew, I suppose.”

“But then how do we know that Barabas is a Jew?”

Smythe frowned again. “Why, we know he is a Jew because we are told he is a Jew. I am not certain what you mean, Will.”

“Well, then, let us ask ourselves, what is a Jew?”

“One who is not a Christian, I suppose,” said Smythe. “One who has rejected Jesus.” He shrugged. “I cannot say much more than that for certain, for methinks that I have never met a Jew.”

“And you are not alone, for neither have most Englishmen,” said Shakespeare. “The Jews were expelled from England some three hundred years ago, in the time of King Edward I. What few Jews remained behind had all converted, though whether such conversion was a matter of faith or of expediency is another matter altogether. I, for one, know little more of Jews than you do. One hears the sorts of things that people say, but then in truth, these sorts of things are little different from the manner of speech they bruit about the Spaniard.. or the Flemish or the French, which is to say that most of it is likely arrant nonsense. We English seem to dislike foreigners, simply because they happen to be foreign. They mayor may not be dislikable in and of themselves, but that is quite beside the point. The fact that they are foreign is enough for us. Hence, we dislike them.”

“Whether we truly know anything of them or not, you mean.”

“Just so,” said Shakespeare. “Marlowe wished to present the audience with something evil on the stage, a character whom they could loathe and despise and fear all at the same time. Thus, he gave them a Jew, someone who was foreign, thus engaging the English predilection to despise the foreigner; someone who was not a Christian, thus invoking the one thing Catholic and Protestant alike could both agree to despise; someone who already has the reputation of being so undesirable and disagreeable that nearly all his kind have long since been driven out of England. Ergo, they must be evil. And, to add the crowning touch, he bestowed upon his Jew the name of Barabas, a name fraught with hatred of literally biblical proportions. And lo, there he stands before you now upon the stage,” said Shakespeare, gesturing dramatically toward the street in front of them, as if he had just conjured Marlowe’s character up out of his imagination. “All that is left for us to do is clothe him in a black robe and skullcap, add a nose like a promontory, and give him a wig of black tresses falling down about the ears in ringlets. Hola ! Barabas, the dreaded, evil Jew of Malta! Boo! Hiss!”

Smythe laughed.

“But that is not a man, you see,” said Shakespeare. “That is a masque, a Morris dancer, something all done up in bells and ribbons, nothing but a caricature. That is Marlowe’s Tamburlaine, but merely in another costume. And yet, who is he? Who is this Jew?” he asked rhetorically, waving his anus in the air. “What does he think? What does he feel? Has he a wife at home, a child? Does he love them? Does he worry about them? Does he have fears of his own that keep him up at night? And if he is, indeed, as evil as Kit Marlowe paints him, then what has made him so?”

“All very good questions,” Smythe replied, nodding. “But ‘twould be somewhat tiresome to answer all those questions for the audience in the prologue of a play, would it not?”

“Not if they were shown the answers,” Shakespeare replied. “ Shown the answers? How?”

“As a part of the unfolding of the action of the play,” said

Shakespeare. “‘The more I think about it, Tuck, the more I become convinced that ’tis in this direction that my true path lies! Forget Marlowe’s Jew. I will show you a Jew, by God! I will show you one who has a reason to be evil! A reason that any man can readily understand!”

“But Will, you have just admitted that you know no more of Jews than I do,” Smythe replied. “And I, for one, know nothing of them. Why, I do not think I could tell a Jew if I chanced upon one on this very street.”

“Well, that is a minor problem,” Shakespeare said.

“A minor problem? How can you write a Jew when you have never even met a Jew?”

“Marlowe clearly never met a Jew, and yet he wrote one.”

“Aye, and you have just finished telling me that his Jew was nothing more than a caricature. If you are determined to outdo him, then you shall have to create a character that is more man than masque, more flesh than bells and ribbons, as you put it.”

“Well, a Jew is a man at heart, like any other, surely,” Shakespeare said. “Like any other man, he feels sadness, he feels anger, he feels pain…”

“But as you said yourself, Will, where is he?” Smythe replied. “What makes him who he is and what he is? After all, if you are going to outdo Marlowe’s Jew of Malta, then do you not think that you should at least learn something of your subject?”

Shakespeare pursed his lips. “Indeed, you are quite right, Tuck.. I suppose I should. The question is… where will we find a Jew in a country that drove them out three hundred years ago?”

Smythe grunted. “I must admit, you have me there. But you did say that some remained behind, did you not?”

“Apparently, a small number who converted.”

Smythe shrugged. “Well then, can we not find one of them?”

“I would not have the faintest idea where to look” said Shakespeare with a shrug.

“Well, we know a lot of people. Surely, somebody must know.”

“Surely, someone must. We shall ask around, then.”

“What about your play about King Henry?” Smythe asked.

“‘Twas an ambitious effort, as I recall. Do you not think. you should complete that first, before beginning something new?”

“I have very nearly finished it. And I have already begun work upon another.”

“What, this one about the Jew, you mean?”

“Nay, that is still merely an idea, an inspiration, if you will.

Still, I think it may be a worthy one. ‘Twould be tempting to beat Marlowe at his own game and have everyone in London know I did it.“

“Tempting, perhaps,” said Smythe. “But whether it be worthy is another matter. For my part, I am not convinced that this is the best idea you have ever had.”

“Great plays can spring from inferior ideas,” Shakespeare said. “Look at Marlowe.”

“Aye, look at him,” Smythe said wryly. “Marlowe dances on the edge of the abyss. His reputation is becoming infamous, and he seems to infuriate as many patrons as he pleases. Are you quite certain that you want to emulate him?”

“Not in all things, perhaps,” replied Shakespeare with a grin. “But I could do with emulating his success. And our company could certainly do with some new plays. One takes one’s ideas where one finds them, eh?”

“If you say so. Either way, you humoured me in my idea to go and search out Robert Greene, much to your regret now, I am quite sure, so I suppose the very least that I can do is humour you in your desire to out-Marlowe, Marlowe. Let us only hope that you do not wind up suffering by comparison.”

“I can assure you, Tuck, that when I am done, I will have penned a Jew that shall prove much more memorable than Marlowe’s Jew of Malta.”

“Famous last words?” said Smythe, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“We shall see, my friend,” said Shakespeare.