Anonymous SHAKE-SPEARE. Kurt Kreiler
of the Englishman” also remains faceless. Our peripatetic joke once again sets course for Germany.
NERISSA. How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony’s nephew?
PORTIA. Very vilely in the morning when he is sober; and most vilely in the afternoon when he is drunk... Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket; for if the devil be within and that temptation without, I know he will choose it.
We may identify “the Duke of Saxony’s nephew” with John Casimir - Count Palatine of Pfalz-Simmern, son in law of Augustus I, Elector of Saxony, and brother in law of Duke Johann Frederick II of Saxony.
This presumption evolves to certitude when we consider that John Casimir (1543-1592) had also asked for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage. -Blinded by his own high opinion of himself, the young Palatine commissioned Sir James Melville to take portraits of himself and his parents to Queen Elizabeth in the spring of 1564. She received Melville in Hampton Court, where he gave her the two portraits. On the following day Elizabeth gave the portraits back to Melville conveying her gratitude for the pictures, but nonetheless, declining to keep them. “She would have none of them,” Melville said, and wrote to the duke and his father dissuading them “to meddle any more in that marriage.” (Memoirs of Sir James Melville of Halhill [1603], ed. A.F. Steuart, London 1929).
Johann Casimir, Count Palatine
Casimir enjoyed his wine. After he assumed the rule of the Palatinate (following the death of his brother, Louis VI), one of the first things that he did was to have make the biggest wine barrel in the world. The palatine high society drank the entire contents of the barrel (127.000 litres) in two months flat. When he visited London in February 1579, Elizabeth held a two day tournament in his honour. He showed his gratitude with dispatches of wine to Sir Walsingham and Lord Leicester.
Although we know that they don’t have the shadow of a hope, two more sorry candidates must hazard a hopeless guess. The first is the black prince of Morocco; he comes across as a “Miles gloriosus”, a braggart who boasts that no lesser personages than the Shah of Persia and the Sultan of Turkey perished under his mighty sword. The Prince of Morocco could have been one of many black emirs were it not for the fact that the contents of the golden casket, which he chose so proudly and greedily, prophesied the fate of one man and one man alone. Therein lies a death’s-head. Two Maghrebian princes (one ebony and the other nut-brown, in complexion) met their deaths in the fatal battle of Alcazar of 1578 (Alcazar, or Alcazarquivir, lies between Fez and Tanger). The darker of the two victims was a certain Prince Mulay Mohammed otherwise known as Abu Abdallah Mohammed II, who, in alliance with Don Juan d’Austria, ruled over Morocco for a short time. Mulay Mohammed fought and died at the side of the young “Crusader-King” Sebastian of Portugal (1554-1578) who marched on Morocco with an army of 18,000. The majority of Portugal’s aristocracy were among the 8,000 casualties. Two years later Portugal lost her independence and was taken over by Spain. (George Peele in his play “The Battle of Alcazar” praises the Negro “Muly Mahamet” with the words: “this brave Barbarian Lord Muly Molocco”.)
The casket that springs open to finish our sorry line-up shows the last aspirant a jester’s head-a mirror. The mirror gazer, “Prince of Arragon” by name, had chosen the silver casket, that very metal that his ships speed to him from the new continent. The man behind the name “Arragon” was actually the first suitor whom Elizabeth sent packing, in no uncertain terms. No lesser person than: Philip II, King of Spain (PHILIPPVS·REX·ARAGONVM).
Philip II of Spain
Shakespeare hated the man’s guts and he made no secret of the matter.
The identification of these six men must lead to a re-appraisal of Shakespearian philology.
It will be interesting to see how Messrs Stanley Wells (“Shakespeare for All Time”), Peter Ackroyd (“The Biography”), Stephen Greenblatt (“Will in the World”), Bill Bryson (“The World as Stage”) and James Shapiro (“Contested Will”) try to waffle these new discoveries under the carpet.
First of all the casket game scene is obviously a play on Elizabeth’s “French Wedding” (A sixteenth century version of “Waiting for Godot”) which received enthusiastic acclaim both from critics and theatre goers in the whole of Europe. The main work on the preparation of the marriage contract took place in the time between 1578 and 1583 after which, Elizabeth bought herself out of her promise.
Queen Elizabeth (1533-1603)
Secondly, the noblemen, parodied here, can be allocated to a specific period in time. Don Juan d’Austria and Prince Mulay Mohammed both died in 1578. The melancholy Elector Palatine departed for a better world in 1583. One year later the bustling Hercule-François Duc d’ Alençon followed him to the grave. If the author had waited until the late eighties, or the early nineties of the sixteenth century, his parodies would have been out of date on the opening night. I can say with certitude that the comedy was written in the late seventies or the early eighties of the sixteenth century.
Thirdly, the historical references must have been addressed to the Queen’s courtiers and a small circle of aristocrats. The parodies in the play would have been gone over the heads of the audiences in the Swan and the Globe, just as they went over the heads of following generations.
The author’s political, historical and poetic competences prove -fourthly- that he was a member of the academic aristocratic elite.
The name of the author of “The Merchant of Venice” is not- fifthly - William Shaksper.
In this comedy, Shakespeare, once again demonstrates his extensive knowledge of Italy. He knows that it is a tradition to give a friend a “dish of doves”. He knows about the Venetian “gondola” and he names Shylock’s servant “Gobbo”- thereby making a humorous reference to the “Gobbo di Rialto” a statue on the Campo San Giacometto, erected in 1541.
Il gobbo di Rialto
“Gobbo” bears the weight of a stone staircase, with infinite patience, on his shoulders. It was under the arcades of this square that the merchants and traders gathered (Shylock: „There I have another bad match: a bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto; a beggar that was us’d to come so smug upon the mart“.)
With the following words from Portia Shakespeare finally gives a specific name to a place in Italy that he must have seen with his own eyes.
PORTIA. Now, Balthasar,
As I have ever found thee honest-true,
So let me find thee still. Take this same letter,
And use thou all th’ endeavour of a man
In speed to Padua; see thou render this
Into my cousin’s hands, Doctor Bellario;
And look what notes and garments he doth give thee,
Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin’d speed
Unto the Tranect, to the common ferry
Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,
But get thee gone; I shall be there before thee. (III/4)
Portia, the heiress of Belmont, asks Balthasar to ride to Padua with the greatest of haste, there to procure men’s clothes and the dossier on the case: Shylock versus Antonio. As soon as Balthasar has “notes and garments” he is to hasten to the “Tranect” the landing stage of the common ferry to Venice. Portia and Nerissa travel with the