The Jew of Malta

Christopher Marlowe

• Verlag: Dover Publications
• Jahr: 2014
• ISBN:
  9780486153742
• Thema: Literatur
• Thema: Britisches Drama

The spirit of Machiavelli presides over The Jew of Malta, in which the title character relentlessly plots to maintain and extend his political influence and wealth. A paragon of remorseless evil, Barabas befriends and betrays the Turkish invaders and native Maltese alike, incites a duel between the suitors for his daughter's hand, and takes lethal revenge upon a convent of nuns.
Both tragedy and farce, this masterpiece of Elizabethan theater reflects the social and political complexities of its age. Christopher Marlowe's dramatic hybrid resonates with racial tension, religious conflict, and political intrigue — all of which abounded in 16th-century England. The playwright, who infused each one of his plays with cynical humor and a dark world view, draws upon stereotypes of Muslim and Christian as well as Jewish characters to cast an ironic perspective on all religious beliefs.
The immediate success of The Jew of Malta on the Elizabethan stage is presumed to have influenced Marlowe's colleague, William Shakespeare, to draw upon the same source material for The Merchant of Venice. The character of Barabas is the prototype for the well-known Shylock, and this drama of his villainy remains a satirical gem in its own right.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

BARABAS discovered in his counting-house, with heaps of gold before him.

BAR. So that of thus much that return was made:

And of the third part of the Persian ships,

There was the venture summed and satisfied.

As for those Sabans, and the men of Uz,

That bought my Spanish oils and wines of Greece

Here have I purst their paltry silverlings.

Fie; what a trouble ’tis to count this trash

Well fare the Arabians, who so richly pay

The things they traffic for with wedge of gold,

Whereof a man may easily in a day 10

Tell that which may maintain him all his life.

The needy groom that never fingered groat,

Would make a miracle of thus much coin:

But he whose steel-barred coffers are crammed full,

And all his lifetime hath been tired,

Wearying his fingers’ ends with telling it,

Would in his age be loth to labour so,

And for a pound to sweat himself to death.

Give me the merchants of the Indian mines,

That trade in metal of the purest mould; 20

The wealthy Moor, that in the eastern rocks

Without control can pick his riches up,

And in his house heap pearls like pebble-stones,

Receive them free, and sell them by the weight;

Bags of fiery opals, sapphires, amethysts,

Jacinths, hard topaz, grass-green emeralds,

Beauteous rubies, sparkling diamonds,

And seld-seen costly stones of so great price,

As one of them indifferently rated,

And of a carat of this quantity, 30

May serve in peril of calamity

To ransom great kings from captivity.

This is the ware wherein consists my wealth;

And thus methinks should men of judgment frame

Their means of traffic from the vulgar trade,

And as their wealth increaseth, so inclose

Infinite riches in a little room.

But now how stands the wind?

Into what corner peers my halcyon’s bill?

Ha! to the east? yes: see, how stand the vanes? 40

East and by south: why then I hope my ships

I sent for Egypt and the bordering isles

Are gotten up by Nilus’ winding banks:

Mine argosy from Alexandria,

Loaden with spice and silks, now under sail,

Are smoothly gliding down by Candy shore

To Malta, through our Mediterranean sea.

But who comes here?

Enter a Merchant.

How now?

MERCH. Barabas, thy ships are safe, 50

Riding in Malta-road: and all the merchants

With other merchandise are safe arrived,

And have sent me to know whether yourself

Will come and custom them.

BAR. The ships are safe thou say’st, and richly fraught.

MERCH. They are.

BAR. Why then go bid them come ashore,

And bring with them their bills of entry:

I hope our credit in the custom-house

Will serve as well as I were present there. 60

Go send ’em threescore camels, thirty mules,

And twenty waggons to bring up the ware.

But art thou master in a ship of mine,

And is thy credit not enough for that?

MERCH. The very custom barely comes to more

Than many...