gentleman of Padua. She was a lady of such an ungovernable spirit and
fiery temper, such a loud-tongued scold, that she was known in Padua by
no other name than Katharine the Shrew. It seemed very unlikely, indeed
impossible, that any gentleman would ever be found who would venture to
marry this lady, and therefore Baptista was much blamed for deferring
his consent to many excellent offers that were made to her gentle sister
Bianca, putting off all Bianca's suitors with this excuse, that when the
eldest sister was fairly off his hands, they should have free leave to
address young Bianca.
[Illustration: PETRUCHIO, PRETENDING TO FIND FAULT WITH EVERY DISH,
THREW THE MEAT ABOUT THE FLOOR]
It happened, however, that a gentleman, named Petruchio, came to Padua,
purposely to look out for a wife, who, nothing discouraged by these
reports of Katharine's temper, and hearing she was rich and handsome,
resolved upon marrying this famous termagant, and taming her into a meek
and manageable wife. And truly none was so fit to set about this
herculean labour as Petruchio, whose spirit was as high as Katharine's,
and he was a witty and most happy-tempered humourist, and withal so
wise, and of such a true judgment, that he well knew how to feign a
passionate and furious deportment, when his spirits were so calm that
himself could have laughed merrily at his own angry feigning, for his
natural temper was careless and easy; the boisterous airs he assumed
when he became the husband of Katharine being but in sport, or more
properly speaking, affected by his excellent discernment, as the only
means to overcome, in her own way, the passionate ways of the furious
Katharine.
A courting then Petruchio went to Katharine the Shrew; and first of all
he applied to Baptista her father, for leave to woo his _gentle
daughter_ Katharine, as Petruchio called her, saying archly, that having
heard of her bashful modesty and mild behaviour, he had come from Verona
to solicit her love. Her father, though he wished her married, was
forced to confess Katharine would ill answer this character, it being
soon apparent of what manner of gentleness she was composed, for her
music-master rushed into the room to complain that the gentle Katharine,
his pupil, had broken his head with her lute, for presuming to find
fault with her performance; which, when Petruchio heard, he said, "It is
a brave wench; I love her more than ever, and long to have some chat
with her;" and hurrying the old gentleman for a positive answer, he
said, "My business is in haste, Signior Baptista, I cannot come every
day to woo. You knew my father: he is dead, and has left me heir to all
his lands and goods. Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love, what
dowry you will give with her." Baptista thought his manner was somewhat
blunt for a lover; but being glad to get Katharine married, he answered
that he would give her twenty thousand crowns for her dowry, and half
his estate at his death: so this odd match was quickly agreed on, and
Baptista went to apprise his shrewish daughter of her lover's addresses,
and sent her in to Petruchio to listen to his suit.
In the meantime Petruchio was settling with himself the mode of
courtship he should pursue; and he said, "I will woo her with some
spirit when she comes. If she rails at me, why then I will tell her she
sings as sweetly as a nightingale; and if she frowns, I will say she
looks as clear as roses newly washed with dew. If she will not speak a
word, I will praise the eloquence of her language; and if she bids me
leave her, I will give her thanks as if she bid me stay with her a
week." Now the stately Katharine entered, and Petruchio first addressed
her with "Good morrow, Kate, for that is your name, I hear." Katharine,
not liking this plain salutation, said disdainfully, "They call me
Katharine who do speak to me." "You lie," replied the lover; "for you
are called plain Kate, and bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the Shrew:
but, Kate, you are the prettiest Kate in Christendom, and therefore,
Kate, hearing your mildness praised in every town, I am come to woo you
for my wife."
A strange courtship they made of it. She in loud and angry terms showing
him how justly she had gained the name of Shrew, while he still praised
her sweet and courteous words, till at length, hearing her father
coming, he said (intending to make as quick a wooing as possible),
"Sweet Katharine, let us set this idle chat aside, for your father has
consented that you shall be my wife, your dowry is agreed on, and
whether you will or no, I will marry you."
And now Baptista entering, Petruchio told him his daughter had received
him kindly, and that she had promised to be married the next Sunday.
This Katharine denied, saying she would rather see him hanged on Sunday,
and reproached her father for wishing to wed her to such a mad-cap
ruffian as Petruchio. Petruchio desired her father not to regard her
angry words, for they had agreed she should seem reluctant before him,
but that when they were alone he had found her very fond and loving; and
he said to her, "Give me your hand, Kate; I will go to Venice to buy you
fine apparel against our wedding day. Provide the feast, father, and
bid the wedding guests. I will be sure to bring rings, fine array, and
rich clothes, that my Katharine may be fine; and kiss me, Kate, for we
will be married on Sunday."
On the Sunday all the wedding guests were assembled, but they waited
long before Petruchio came, and Katharine wept for vexation to think
that Petruchio had only been making a jest of her. At last, however, he
appeared; but he brought none of the bridal finery he had promised
Katharine, nor was he dressed himself like a bridegroom, but in strange
disordered attire, as if he meant to make a sport of the serious
business he came about; and his servant and the very horses on which
they rode were in like manner in mean and fantastic fashion habited.
Petruchio could not be persuaded to change his dress; he said Katharine
was to be married to him, and not to his clothes; and finding it was in
vain to argue with him, to the church they went, he still behaving in
the same mad way, for when the priest asked Petruchio if Katharine
should be his wife, he swore so loud that she should, that, all amazed,
the priest let fall his book, and as he stooped to take it up, this
mad-brained bridegroom gave him such a cuff, that down fell the priest
and his book again. And all the while they were being married he stamped
and swore so, that the high-spirited Katharine trembled and shook with
fear. After the ceremony was over, while they were yet in the church, he
called for wine, and drank a loud health to the company, and threw a sop
which was at the bottom of the glass full in the sexton's face, giving
no other reason for this strange act, than that the sexton's beard grew
thin and hungerly, and seemed to ask the sop as he was drinking. Never
sure was there such a mad marriage; but Petruchio did but put this
wildness on, the better to succeed in the plot he had formed to tame his
shrewish wife.
Baptista had provided a sumptuous marriage feast, but when they returned
from church, Petruchio, taking hold of Katharine, declared his
intention of carrying his wife home instantly: and no remonstrance of
his father-in-law, or angry words of the enraged Katharine, could make
him change his purpose. He claimed a husband's right to dispose of his
wife as he pleased, and away he hurried Katharine off: he seeming so
daring and resolute that no one dared attempt to stop him.
Petruchio mounted his wife upon a miserable horse, lean and lank, which
he had picked out for the purpose, and himself and his servant no better
mounted; they journeyed on through rough and miry ways, and ever when
this horse of Katharine's stumbled, he would storm and swear at the poor
jaded beast, who could scarce crawl under his burthen, as if he had been
the most passionate man alive.
At length, after a weary journey, during which Katharine had heard
nothing but the wild ravings of Petruchio at the servant and the horses,
they arrived at his house. Petruchio welcomed her kindly to her home,
but he resolved she should have neither rest nor food that night. The
tables were spread, and supper soon served; but Petruchio, pretending to
find fault with every dish, threw the meat about the floor, and ordered
the servants to remove it away; and all this he did, as he said, in love
for his Katharine, that she might not eat meat that was not well
dressed. And when Katharine, weary and supperless, retired to rest, he
found the same fault with the bed, throwing the pillows and bed-clothes
about the room, so that she was forced to sit down in a chair, where if
she chanced to drop asleep, she was presently awakened by the loud voice
of her husband, storming at the servants for the ill-making of his
wife's bridal-bed.
The next day Petruchio pursued the same course, still speaking kind
words to Katharine, but when she attempted to eat, finding fault with
everything that was set before her, throwing the breakfast on the floor
as he had done the supper; and Katharine, the haughty Katharine, was
fain to beg the servants would bring her secretly a morsel of food; but
they being instructed by Petruchio, replied, they dared not give her
anything unknown to their master. "Ah," said she, "did he marry me to
famish me? Beggars that come to my father's door have food given them.
But I, who never knew what it was to entreat for anything, am starved
for want of food, giddy for want of sleep, with oaths kept waking, and
with brawling fed; and that which vexes me more than all, he does it
under the name of perfect love, pretending that if I sleep or eat, it
were present death to me." Here the soliloquy was interrupted by the
entrance of Petruchio: he, not meaning she should be quite starved, had
brought her a small portion of meat, and he said to her, "How fares my
sweet Kate? Here, love, you see how diligent I am, I have dressed your
meat myself. I am sure this kindness merits thanks. What, not a word?
Nay, then you love not the meat, and all the pains I have taken is to no
purpose." He then ordered the servant to take the dish away. Extreme
hunger, which had abated the pride of Katharine, made her say, though
angered to the heart, "I pray you let it stand." But this was not all
Petruchio intended to bring her to, and he replied, "The poorest service
is repaid with thanks, and so shall mine before you touch the meat." On
this Katharine brought out a reluctant "I thank you, sir." And now he
suffered her to make a slender meal, saying, "Much good may it do your
gentle heart, Kate; eat apace! And now, my honey love, we will return to
your father's house, and revel it as bravely as the best, with silken
coats and caps and golden rings, with ruffs and scarfs and fans and
double change of finery;" and to make her believe he really intended to
give her these gay things, he called in a tailor and a haberdasher, who
brought some new clothes he had ordered for her, and then giving her
plate to the servant to take away, before she had half satisfied her
hunger, he said, "What, have you dined?" The haberdasher presented a
cap, saying, "Here is the cap your worship bespoke;" on which Petruchio
began to storm afresh, saying the cap was moulded in a porringer, and
that it was no bigger than a cockle or walnut shell, desiring the
haberdasher to take it away and make it bigger. Katharine said, "I will
have this; all gentlewomen wear such caps as these."--"When you are
gentle," replied Petruchio, "you shall have one too, and not till then."
The meat Katharine had eaten had a little revived her fallen spirits,
and she said, "Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak, and speak I
will: I am no child, no babe; your betters have endured to hear me say
my mind; and if you cannot, you had better stop your ears." Petruchio
would not hear these angry words, for he had happily discovered a better
way of managing his wife than keeping up a jangling argument with her;
therefore his answer was, "Why, you say true; it is a paltry cap, and I
love you for not liking it."--"Love me, or love me not," said Katharine,
"I like the cap, and I will have this cap or none."--"You say you wish
to see the gown," said Petruchio, still affecting to misunderstand her.
The tailor then came forward and showed her a fine gown he had made for
her. Petruchio, whose intent was that she should have neither cap nor
gown, found as much fault with that. "O mercy, Heaven!" said he, "what
stuff is here! What, do you call this a sleeve? it is like a
demi-cannon, carved up and down like an apple tart." The tailor said,
"You bid me make it according to the fashion of the times;" and
Katharine said, she never saw a better fashioned gown. This was enough
for Petruchio, and privately desiring these people might be paid for
their goods, and excuses made to them for the seemingly strange
treatment he bestowed upon them, he with fierce words and furious
gestures drove the tailor and the haberdasher out of the room; and then,
turning to Katharine, he said, "Well, come, my Kate, we will go to your
father's even in these mean garments we now wear." And then he ordered
his horses, affirming they should reach Baptista's house by dinner-time,
for that it was but seven o'clock. Now it was not early morning, but the
very middle of the day, when he spoke this; therefore Katharine ventured
to say, though modestly, being almost overcome by the vehemence of his
manner, "I dare assure you, sir, it is two o'clock, and will be
supper-time before we get there." But Petruchio meant that she should be
so completely subdued, that she should assent to everything he said,
before he carried her to her father; and therefore, as if he were lord
even of the sun, and could command the hours, he said it should be what
time he pleased to have it, before he set forward; "For," he said,
"whatever I say or do, you still are crossing it. I will not go to-day,
and when I go, it shall be what o'clock I say it is." Another day
Katharine was forced to practise her newly-found obedience, and not till
he had brought her proud spirit to such a perfect subjection, that she
dared not remember there was such a word as contradiction, would
Petruchio allow her to go to her father's house; and even while they
were upon their journey thither, she was in danger of being turned back
again, only because she happened to hint it was the sun, when he
affirmed the moon shone brightly at noonday. "Now, by my mother's son,"
said he, "and that is myself, it shall be the moon, or stars, or what I
list, before I journey to your father's house." He then made as if he
were going back again; but Katharine, no longer Katharine the Shrew, but
the obedient wife, said, "Let us go forward, I pray, now we have come so
far, and it shall be the sun, or moon, or what you please, and if you
please to call it a rush candle henceforth, I vow it shall be so for
me." This he was resolved to prove, therefore he said again, "I say, it
is the moon."--"I know it is the moon," replied Katharine. "You lie, it
is the blessed sun," said Petruchio. "Then it is the blessed sun,"
replied Katharine; "but sun it is not, when you say it is not. What you
will have it named, even so it is, and so it ever shall be for
Katharine." Now then he suffered her to proceed on her journey; but
further to try if this yielding humour would last, he addressed an old
gentleman they met on the road as if he had been a young woman, saying
to him, "Good morrow, gentle mistress;" and asked Katharine if she had
ever beheld a fairer gentlewoman, praising the red and white of the old
man's cheeks, and comparing his eyes to two bright stars; and again he
addressed him, saying, "Fair lovely maid, once more good day to you!"
and said to his wife, "Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake."
The now completely vanquished Katharine quickly adopted her husband's
opinion, and made her speech in like sort to the old gentleman, saying
to him, "Young budding virgin, you are fair, and fresh, and sweet:
whither are you going, and where is your dwelling? Happy are the parents
of so fair a child."--"Why, how now, Kate," said Petruchio; "I hope you
are not mad. This is a man, old and wrinkled, faded and withered, and
not a maiden, as you say he is." On this Katharine said, "Pardon me, old
gentleman; the sun has so dazzled my eyes, that everything I look on
seemeth green. Now I perceive you are a reverend father: I hope you will
pardon me for my sad mistake."--"Do, good old grandsire," said Petruchio,
"and tell us which way you are travelling. We shall be glad of your good
company, if you are going our way." The old gentleman replied, "Fair
sir, and you, my merry mistress, your strange encounter has much amazed
me. My name is Vincentio, and I am going to visit a son of mine who
lives at Padua." Then Petruchio knew the old gentleman to be the father
of Lucentio, a young gentleman who was to be married to Baptista's
younger daughter, Bianca, and he made Vincentio very happy, by telling
him the rich marriage his son was about to make: and they all journeyed
on pleasantly together till they came to Baptista's house, where there
was a large company assembled to celebrate the wedding of Bianca and
Lucentio, Baptista having willingly consented to the marriage of Bianca
when he had got Katharine off his hands.
When they entered, Baptista welcomed them to the wedding feast, and
there was present also another newly married pair.
Lucentio, Bianca's husband, and Hortensio, the other new married man,
could not forbear sly jests, which seemed to hint at the shrewish
disposition of Petruchio's wife, and these fond bridegrooms seemed
highly pleased with the mild tempers of the ladies they had chosen,
laughing at Petruchio for his less fortunate choice. Petruchio took
little notice of their jokes till the ladies were retired after dinner,
and then he perceived Baptista himself joined in the laugh against him:
for when Petruchio affirmed that his wife would prove more obedient than
theirs, the father of Katharine said, "Now, in good sadness, son
Petruchio, I fear you have got the veriest shrew of all." "Well," said
Petruchio, "I say no, and therefore for assurance that I speak the
truth, let us each one send for his wife, and he whose wife is most
obedient to come at first when she is sent for, shall win a wager which
we will propose." To this the other two husbands willingly consented,
for they were quite confident that their gentle wives would prove more
obedient than the headstrong Katharine; and they proposed a wager of
twenty crowns, but Petruchio merrily said, he would lay as much as that
upon his hawk or hound, but twenty times as much upon his wife. Lucentio
and Hortensio raised the wager to a hundred crowns, and Lucentio first
sent his servant to desire Bianca would come to him. But the servant
returned, and said, "Sir, my mistress sends you word she is busy and
cannot come."--"How," said Petruchio, "does she say she is busy and
cannot come? Is that an answer for a wife?" Then they laughed at him,
and said, it would be well if Katharine did not send him a worse answer.
And now it was Hortensio's turn to send for his wife; and he said to his
servant, "Go, and entreat my wife to come to me." "Oh ho! entreat her!"
said Petruchio. "Nay, then, she needs must come."--"I am afraid, sir,"
said Hortensio, "your wife will not be entreated." But presently this
civil husband looked a little blank, when the servant returned without
his mistress; and he said to him, "How now! Where is my wife?"--"Sir,"
said the servant, "my mistress says, you have some goodly jest in hand,
and therefore she will not come. She bids you come to her."--"Worse and
worse!" said Petruchio; and then he sent his servant, saying, "Sirrah,
go to your mistress, and tell her I command her to come to me." The
company had scarcely time to think she would not obey this summons, when
Baptista, all in amaze, exclaimed, "Now, by my _holidame_, here comes
Katharine!" and she entered, saying meekly to Petruchio, "What is your
will, sir, that you send for me?"--"Where is your sister and Hortensio's
wife?" said he. Katharine replied, "They sit conferring by the parlour
fire."--"Go, fetch them hither!" said Petruchio. Away went Katharine
without reply to perform her husband's command. "Here is a wonder," said
Lucentio, "if you talk of a wonder."--"And so it is," said Hortensio; "I
marvel what it bodes."--"Marry, peace it bodes," said Petruchio, "and
love, and quiet life, and right supremacy; and, to be short, everything
that is sweet and happy." Katharine's father, overjoyed to see this
reformation in his daughter, said, "Now, fair befall thee, son
Petruchio! you have won the wager, and I will add another twenty
thousand crowns to her dowry, as if she were another daughter, for she
is changed as if she had never been."--"Nay," said Petruchio, "I will
win the wager better yet, and show more signs of her new-built virtue
and obedience." Katharine now entering with the two ladies, he
continued, "See where she comes, and brings your froward wives as
prisoners to her womanly persuasion. Katharine, that cap of yours does
not become you; off with that bauble, and throw it under foot."
Katharine instantly took off her cap, and threw it down. "Lord!" said
Hortensio's wife, "may I never have a cause to sigh till I am brought to
such a silly pass!" And Bianca, she too said, "Fie, what foolish duty
call you this?" On this Bianca's husband said to her, "I wish your duty
were as foolish too! The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, has cost me a
hundred crowns since dinner-time."--"The more fool you," said Bianca,
"for laying on my duty."--"Katharine," said Petruchio, "I charge you
tell these headstrong women what duty they owe their lords and
husbands." And to the wonder of all present, the reformed shrewish lady
spoke as eloquently in praise of the wife-like duty of obedience, as she
had practised it implicitly in a ready submission to Petruchio's will.
And Katharine once more became famous in Padua, not as heretofore, as
Katharine the Shrew, but as Katharine the most obedient and duteous wife
in Padua.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS
The states of Syracuse and Ephesus being at variance, there was a cruel
law made at Ephesus, ordaining that if any merchant of Syracuse was seen
in the city of Ephesus, he was to be put to death, unless he could pay a
thousand marks for the ransom of his life.
Ægeon, an old merchant of Syracuse, was discovered in the streets of
Ephesus, and brought before the duke, either to pay this heavy fine, or
to receive sentence of death.
Ægeon had no money to pay the fine, and the duke, before he pronounced
the sentence of death upon him, desired him to relate the history of his
life, and to tell for what cause he had ventured to come to the city of
Ephesus, which it was death for any Syracusan merchant to enter.
Ægeon said, that he did not fear to die, for sorrow had made him weary
of his life, but that a heavier task could not have been imposed upon
him than to relate the events of his unfortunate life. He then began his
own history, in the following words:
"I was born at Syracuse, and brought up to the profession of a merchant.
I married a lady, with whom I lived very happily, but being obliged to
go to Epidamnum, I was detained there by my business six months, and
then, finding I should be obliged to stay some time longer, I sent for
my wife, who, as soon as she arrived, was brought to bed of two sons,
and what was very strange, they were both so exactly alike, that it was
impossible to distinguish the one from the other. At the same time that
my wife was brought to bed of these twin boys, a poor woman in the inn
where my wife lodged was brought to bed of two sons, and these twins
were as much like each other as my two sons were. The parents of these
children being exceeding poor, I bought the two boys, and brought them
up to attend upon my sons.
"My sons were very fine children, and my wife was not a little proud of
two such boys: and she daily wishing to return home, I unwillingly
agreed, and in an evil hour we got on ship-board; for we had not sailed
above a league from Epidamnum before a dreadful storm arose, which
continued with such violence, that the sailors seeing no chance of
saving the ship, crowded into the boat to save their own lives, leaving
us alone in the ship, which we every moment expected would be destroyed
by the fury of the storm.