Well, that seemed a somewhat prejudiced portrayal of Shylock—if I were one of the foreign merchants watching this for a taste of Venetian jurisprudence, I would think, “Well, you don’t want to wear a yellow hat to trial, or these fucks will most certainly throw you to the dogs.” The puppet Jones twitched under my costume, begging to be allowed to shout it out.

“I have heard, Your Grace, he is resolved to his course, and I have no lawful means to carry me.”

“Call the Jew Shylock,” commanded the doge.

“Shylock,” called the bailiff, and Shylock trudged through the door in his normal dark gabardine and yellow hat, his appearance differing today only in that by his purse, at his belt, hung a long carving knife in a leather sheath.

“Let him stand before me,” said the doge.

Shylock passed one of the many bronze braziers lit around the room to warm it on this bitter day, to a spot before the dais.

“Shylock, the world thinks, as do I, that you pretend this cruel malice, and in the last moment, you will relent and show mercy. All believe, despite your protestations, that you will be touched with human gentleness and love, and forgive not only a pound of this merchant’s flesh, but a portion of the principal, taking pity on his recent losses, which would ruin even the most royal merchant, and would spur mercy from even the rough hearts of the most stubborn Turks and Tartars. We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.”

Shylock cleared his throat and stood straight for only the second time I had seen him such. “Your Grace, I have stated my intent, and by your holy Sabbath I have sworn to have the forfeit of my bond. If you deny it, let danger light upon your city’s charter, for the law is your foundation—your only surety of value to offer these merchants from all nations who trade with you. If you ask me why I would have a pound of carrion flesh, I will not answer, but instead ask you, why do some men lose their urine at the sound of bagpipes?”

“Cracking non sequitur,” I said to Jessica. “That should send the doge to scratching his knobbish hat.”

“That’s a bollocks reason!” shouted Bassanio.

“I am not bound to please you with my answers,” said Shylock.

“Do all men kill the things they do not love?” asked Bassanio.

“What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?” said Shylock.

At this last answer, it was not Bassanio, nor even Antonio who reacted, but Iago, who had seemed bored with the proceedings until now, who suddenly whipped his gaze around to Shylock, his features locked in disgust, as if they’d been frozen in place by a Gorgon.