Shylock was not the conventional Hebrew usurer with patriarchal beard and flowing robe, dirty and hook-nosed, but a picturesque and refined Italianized Jew, genteelly dressed: a dealer in money, in the country of Lorenzo de’ Medici, where there is an aristocracy of merchants. His eyes are dark and piercing, his face is sallow, his hair spare and turning gray; he wears a black cap, a brown gaberdine faced with black, and a short robe underneath. The “Trial scene,” with its shifting passions, would have stamped Irving as a fine actor. See him as he enters, having laid aside his gaberdine and stick, and arrayed in his short-skirted gown, not with flowing but tightened sleeves, so that this spareness seems to lend a general gauntness to his appearance. There he stands, with eyes half furtively, half distrustfully following the Judge as he speaks. When called upon to answer the appeal made to him “from the bench,” how different from the expected conventional declaration of violent hatred! Instead, his explanation is given with an artful adroitness as if _drawn_ from him. Thus, “If you deny it” is a reminder given with true and respectful dignity, not a threat; and when he further declares that it “is his humour,” there is a candour which might commend his case, though he cannot restrain a gloating look at his prey. But as he dwells on the point, and gives instances of other men’s loathing, this malignity seems to carry him away, and, complacent in the logic of his illustration of the “gaping pig” and “harmless necessary cat,” he bows low with a Voltairean smile, and asks, “_Are you answered?_” How significant, too, his tapping the bag of gold several times with his knife, in rejection of the double sum offered, meant as a calm business-like refusal; and the “I would have my bond!” emphasized with a meaning clutch. Then the conclusion, “Fie upon your law,” delivered with folded arms and a haughty dignity; indeed, a barrister might find profit here, and study the art of putting a case with adroitness and weight. But when Antonio arrives his eyes follow him with a certain uneasy distrust, and on Bellario’s letter being read out he listens with a quiet interest, plucking his beard a little nervously. As, however, he sees the tone the young lawyer takes, he puts on a most deferential and confidential manner, which colours his various compliments: “O wise young Judge,” “A Daniel,” etc., becoming almost wheedling. And when he pleads his oath— “Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? No, not for Venice!”