There was once a merchant of Syracuse called Ægeon, who had two baby
sons, the one so like the other that it was impossible to tell them
apart. At the time these children were born Ægeon was travelling, for
his business often compelled him to make long journeys. It happened
that on the same day, and in the self-same inn, a poor woman had also
twin sons. The parents being extremely poor, and those being the days
of slavery, Ægeon bought and brought up these children to attend on
his own sons. When they were still quite young, Ægeon and his wife
started to return home. On the voyage back a dreadful storm arose; the
sailors saved themselves in a boat, but left the merchant, his wife,
and the children on the doomed vessel. The wife, seeing the fate that
threatened them, bound one of her children and one of the twin slaves
to a small mast; the merchant was equally heedful of the other two
boys, and the children being thus disposed of, the father and mother
also bound themselves one to each mast.
Presently the storm abated; the sun again shone forth, and by his
light the merchant saw two ships in the distance, making towards them,
one of which seemed to be from Corinth, the other from Epidaurus. But
before they could reach them, their own ship was driven violently
against a huge rock and split in two. Parents and children were tossed
into the sea; the mother and the two elder boys were picked up by the
fishermen of Corinth, and at length the merchant and the other boys
were rescued by the other ship. The latter would have pursued the
fishermen and reft them of their prey, but that their ship was too
slow of sail, so that they had to pursue their way homeward.
At eighteen years of age the youngest boy became inquisitive after his
brother, and begged his father to let him go in quest of him, taking
with him his attendant, who was in the like plight as himself. Ægeon,
himself longing to behold once more the wife and son whom he had lost,
at last gave a reluctant consent. So Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio
of Syracuse departed on their voyage of discovery; but time passed,
and they did not return. At last Ægeon determined to go himself in
search of them. Five years he spent in furthest Greece, roaming
through the bounds of Asia, till at last, coasting homeward, he came
to Ephesus, hopeless of finding the lost boys, yet loath to leave
unsought either that or any place which harboured men.
It happened at that time, owing to the enmity and discord between the
towns of Ephesus and Syracuse, that it had been agreed in solemn synod
by the citizens of both to admit no traffic with the adverse town.
If any native of Ephesus were seen at Syracuse, or if any native of
Syracuse came to the Bay of Ephesus, he was to die, and his goods were
to be confiscated at the disposal of the Duke, unless he could levy a
thousand marks to pay the penalty and ransom himself.
Ægeon, being a native of Syracuse, on arriving at Ephesus was arrested
under this law, and brought before the Duke. His possessions not
amounting to the value of even a hundred marks, he was condemned to
die. The Duke of Ephesus, on hearing the pitiful tale which Ægeon
related, would gladly, out of compassion, have released him, but
it was not possible to recall the sentence of death which had been
passed, unless the fine were paid. The Duke granted what favour lay
in his power, and gave the merchant a day’s grace, bidding him seek
all the friends he had in Ephesus, and try to beg or borrow the sum
required in order to save his life.
Unknown to Ægeon, it happened that not only the son of whom he was
in search, but also the other son whom he had lost years before, was
at that time in Ephesus. The latter had been settled there for many
years, and was married to a wife called Adriana. Both sons of the
merchant were known by the same name--“Antipholus,” and both their
slave attendants were called “Dromio.” The resemblance which had been
so strong in the infancy of the two sets of twins still continued, and
after the arrival in Ephesus of Antipholus and Dromio from Syracuse
this resemblance was to lead to endless confusion.
The news that a merchant of Syracuse had been arrested soon spread
through the city. Antipholus, who had just arrived after a long
journey, was warned by a friendly merchant, who, paying him a
large sum of money which he had in keeping for him, counselled
Antipholus not to let it be known he came from Syracuse. Antipholus
despatched his servant Dromio with the money back to the inn--the
“Centaur”--where they were lodging, saying he would return there in an
hour to dinner. In the meantime he intended to walk about and view the
city, lamenting the while that he had not yet found the lost mother
and brother of whom he was in search.
Much to the surprise of Antipholus, he presently saw a man approaching
whom he took to be his servant Dromio. As a matter of fact, it was his
servant’s twin brother, who, for his part, mistook Antipholus for his
own master.
“What now? How chances it you are returned so soon?” demanded
Antipholus of Syracuse.
“Returned so soon? Rather approached too late,” retorted Dromio of
Ephesus. “The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit, the clock hath
struck twelve----” And he went on to say that his mistress was very
angry because the dinner was getting cold, and his master had not
returned.
“Stop, sir!” said Antipholus, checking his rapid flow of words. “Tell
me this, I pray: where have you left the money I gave you?”
“O--sixpence that I had on Wednesday last to pay the saddler for my
mistress’s crupper? The saddler had it, sir; I did not keep it.”
“I am not in a sportive humour now,” said Antipholus sternly, for he
knew that Dromio was a merry fellow, who loved a jest. “Tell me, and
dally not, where is the money? We being strangers here, how dare you
trust so great a charge out of your own custody?”
But Dromio persisted that Antipholus had given him no money, and kept
on begging him to come home to his wife, who was waiting dinner for
him at the Phœnix. Antipholus, at last quite losing his temper at what
he imagined was his servant’s impertinence, fell on him and began to
beat him, whereupon Dromio took to his heels and disappeared.
“Upon my life,” thought Antipholus, “the villain has been over-reached
of all my money. They say this town is full of trickery--such as
simple jugglers who deceive the eye, sorcerers and witches, disguised
cheaters, prating mountebanks, and many such-like sinners. If it prove
so, I will the sooner be gone. I’ll go to the Centaur to seek this
slave. I greatly fear my money is not safe.”
Adriana, meanwhile, was greatly annoyed with her husband for not
returning, and it was useless for her sister Luciana to counsel
patience. When Dromio came back, and instead of bringing his master
reported his strange behaviour, Adriana became more incensed than
ever.
“Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home,” she commanded angrily.
“Go back again, and be new beaten home?” said poor Dromio. “For
heaven’s sake, send some other messenger.”
“Hence, prating peasant, fetch thy master home,” cried the irate lady,
threatening to strike him.
Dromio thought it discreet to obey, but he went off grumbling.
“You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither; if I continue in
this service, you must case me in leather.”
When the man had gone Luciana rebuked her sister for her impatience,
saying that probably her husband was kept by business. But Adriana
would not be soothed. She was full of jealous anger, declaring that
she stayed at home neglected, while her husband amused himself abroad
with merry companions; he was certainly tired of her, and had found
some one he liked better.
“Self-harming jealousy! Fie, beat it hence!” said Luciana; but Adriana
paid no heed to her wise counsels, preferring to make herself unhappy
with groundless jealousy.
Antipholus of Syracuse, on reaching the Centaur Inn, found that his
gold was perfectly safe, but he was still extremely annoyed with
Dromio for his ill-timed jesting, and when the slave appeared, he
asked him what he meant by behaving in such a fashion. Was he mad that
he had answered him so madly?
Dromio, of course, replied that he had never seen his master since he
parted from him until that moment; and he further asked, what did his
master mean by such a jest? Enraged by this apparent fresh impudence
on the part of his slave, Antipholus began to beat him soundly.
But both master and man were to be still further bewildered, for at
this moment up came two ladies, one of whom addressed Antipholus as
if he were her husband, and began to reproach him for his unkind
behaviour.
“Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown!” she said. “Some other
lady has your sweet expression; I am not Adriana nor your wife. The
time was once when you would vow that never words were music to your
ear, that never object was pleasing to your eye, that never touch
was welcome to your hand, that never meat was savoury to your taste,
unless I spake, or looked, or touched, or carved it to you. How comes
it now, my husband, O, how comes it, that you are thus estranged from
yourself? Ah, do not tear yourself away from me!”
[Illustration: “How comes it that you are thus estranged?”]
“Plead you to me, fair dame? I do not know you,” answered the
bewildered Antipholus. “I have only been in Ephesus two hours; I am as
strange to your town as to your talk; I cannot understand one word of
what you say.”
“Fie, brother, how the world is changed with you!” said Luciana. “When
were you wont to treat my sister thus? She sent a message by Dromio to
tell you to come home to dinner.”
“By Dromio?” said Antipholus.
“By me?” echoed Dromio, who, of course, was not the one she had sent.
“By thee,” retorted Adriana; and she repeated the answer her own
servant had brought back.
Antipholus began to think he must be dreaming, and had been married to
Adriana in his sleep; but when both the ladies insisted on his going
back with them to dinner, he allowed himself to be persuaded, and
determined to see what would be the end of this strange adventure.
As for Dromio, he was told to act porter at the gate, and to let no
one enter unless he wanted another beating.