witches, and Dromio did not at all relieve his master from his
bewildered thoughts, by asking him how he got free from the officer
who was carrying him to prison, and giving him the purse of gold which
Adriana had sent to pay the debt with. This talk of Dromio's of the
arrest and of a prison, and of the money he had brought from Adriana,
perfectly confounded Antipholus, and he said, "This fellow Dromio is
certainly distracted, and we wander here in illusions;" and quite
terrified at his own confused thoughts, he cried out, "Some blessed
power deliver us from this strange place!"
And now another stranger came up to him, and she was a lady, and she
too called him Antipholus, and told him he had dined with her that
day, and asked him for a gold chain which she said he had promised to
give her. Antipholus now lost all patience, and calling her a
sorceress, he denied that he had ever promised her a chain, or dined
with her, or had even seen her face before that moment. The lady
persisted in affirming he had dined with her, and had promised her a
chain, which Antipholus still denying, she further said that she had
given him a valuable ring, and if he would not give her the gold
chain, she insisted upon having her own ring again. On this Antipholus
became quite frantic, and again calling her sorceress and witch, and
denying all knowledge of her or her ring, ran away from her, leaving
her astonished at his words and his wild looks, for nothing to her
appeared more certain than that he had dined with her, and that she
had given him a ring, in consequence of his promising to make her a
present of a gold chain. But this lady had fallen into the same
mistake the others had done, for she had taken him for his brother:
the married Antipholus had done all the things she taxed this
Antipholus with.
When the married Antipholus was denied entrance into his own house
(those within supposing him to be already there), he had gone away
very angry, believing it to be one of his wife's jealous freaks, to
which she was very subject, and remembering that she had often falsely
accused him of visiting other ladies, he, to be revenged on her for
shutting him out of his own house, determined to go and dine with this
lady, and she receiving him with great civility, and his wife having
so highly offended him, Antipholus promised to give her a gold chain,
which he had intended as a present for his wife; it was the same chain
which the goldsmith by mistake had given to his brother. The lady
liked so well the thoughts of having a fine gold chain, that she gave
the married Antipholus a ring; which when, as she supposed (taking his
brother for him), he denied, and said he did not know her, and left
her in such a wild passion, she began to think he was certainly out of
his senses; and presently she resolved to go and tell Adriana that her
husband was mad. And while she was telling it to Adriana, he came,
attended by the jailer (who allowed him to come home to get the money
to pay the debt), for the purse of money, which Adriana had sent by
Dromio, and he had delivered to the other Antipholus.
Adriana believed the story the lady told her of her husband's madness
must be true when he reproached her for shutting him out of his own
house; and remembering how he had protested all dinner time that he
was not her husband, and had never been in Ephesus till that day, she
had no doubt that he was mad; she therefore paid the jailer the money,
and having discharged him, she ordered her servants to bind her
husband with ropes, and had him conveyed into a dark room, and sent
for a doctor to come and cure him of his madness: Antipholus all the
while hotly exclaiming against this false accusation, which the exact
likeness he bore to his brother had brought upon him. But his rage
only the more confirmed them in the belief that he was mad; and Dromio
persisting in the same story, they bound him also, and took him away
along with his master.
Soon after Adriana had put her husband into confinement, a servant
came to tell her that Antipholus and Dromio must have broken loose
from their keepers, for that they were both walking at liberty in the
next street. On hearing this, Adriana ran out to fetch him home,
taking some people with her to secure her husband again; and her
sister went along with her. When they came to the gates of a convent
in their neighborhood, there they saw Antipholus and Dromio, as they
thought, being again deceived by the likeness of the twin brothers.
Antipholus of Syracuse was still beset with the perplexities this
likeness had brought upon him. The chain which the goldsmith had given
him was about his neck, and the goldsmith was reproaching him for
denying that he had it, and refusing to pay for it, and Antipholus Was
protesting that the goldsmith freely gave him the chain in the
morning, and that from that hour he had never seen the goldsmith
again.
And now Adriana came up to him and claimed him as her lunatic husband,
who had escaped from his keepers; and the men she brought with her
were going to lay violent hands on Antipholus and Dromio; but they ran
into the convent, and Antipholus begged the abbess to give him shelter
in her house.
And now came out the lady abbess herself to inquire into the cause of
this disturbance. She was a grave and venerable lady, and wise to
judge of what she saw, and she would not too hastily give up the man
who had sought protection in her house; so she strictly questioned the
wife about the story she told of her husband's madness, and she said,
"What is the cause of this sudden distemper of your husband's? Has he
lost his wealth at sea? Or is it the death of some dear friend that
has disturbed his mind?" Adriana replied that no such things as these
had been the cause. "Perhaps," said the abbess, "he has fixed his
affections on some other lady than you his wife; and that has driven
him to this state." Adriana said she had long thought the love of some
other lady was the cause of his frequent absences from home. Now it
was not his love for another, but the teasing jealousy of his wife's
temper, that often obliged Antipholus to leave his home; and (the
abbess suspecting this from the vehemence of Adriana's manner) to
learn the truth, she said, "You should have reprehended him for this."
"Why, so I did," replied Adriana. "Aye," said the abbess, "but perhaps
not enough." Adriana, willing to convince the abbess that she had said
enough to Antipholus on this subject, replied, "It was the constant
subject of our conversation: in bed I would not let him sleep for
speaking of it. At table I would not let him eat for speaking of it.
When I was alone with him, I talked of nothing else; and in company I
gave him frequent hints of it. Still all my talk was how vile and bad
it was in him to love any lady better than me."
The lady abbess, having drawn this full confession from the jealous
Adriana, now said, "And therefore comes it that your husband is mad.
The venomous clamor of a jealous woman is a more deadly poison than a
mad dog's tooth. It seems his sleep was hindered by your railing; no
wonder that his head is light: and his meat was sauced with your
upbraidings; unquiet meals make ill digestions, and that has thrown
him into this fever. You say his sports were disturbed by your brawls;
being debarred from the enjoyment of society and recreation, what
could ensue but dull melancholy and comfortless despair? The
consequence is then, that your jealous fits have made your husband
mad."
Luciana would have excused her sister, saying, she always reprehended
her husband mildly; and she said to her sister, "Why do you hear these
rebukes without answering them?" But the abbess had made her so
plainly perceive her fault, that she could only answer, "She has
betrayed me to my own reproof."
Adriana, though ashamed of her own conduct, still insisted on having
her husband delivered up to her; but the abbess would suffer no person
to enter her house, nor would she deliver up this unhappy man to the
care of the jealous wife, determining herself to use gentle means for
his recovery, and she retired into her house again, and ordered her
gates to be shut against them.
During the course of this eventful day, in which so many errors had
happened from the likeness the twin brothers bore to each other, old
Ægeon's day of grace was passing away, it being now near sunset; and
at sunset he was doomed to die, if he could not pay the money.
The place of his execution was near this convent, and here he arrived
just as the abbess retired into the convent; the duke attending in
person, that if any offered to pay the money, he might be present to
pardon him.
Adriana stopped this melancholy procession and cried out to the duke
for justice, telling him that the abbess had refused to deliver up her
lunatic husband to her care. While she was speaking, her real husband
and his servant Dromio, who had got loose, came before the duke to
demand justice, complaining that his wife had confined him on a false
charge of lunacy, and telling in what manner he had broken his bands,
and eluded the vigilance of his keepers. Adriana was strangely
surprised to see her husband, when she thought he had been within the
convent.
Ægeon, seeing his son, concluded this was the son who had left him to
go in search of his mother and his brother; and he felt secure that
this dear son would readily pay the money demanded for his ransom. He
therefore spoke to Antipholus in words of fatherly affection, with
joyful hope that he should now be released. But to the utter
astonishment of Ægeon, his son denied all knowledge of him, as well he
might, for this Antipholus had never seen his father since they were
separated in the storm in his infancy; but while the poor old Ægeon
was in vain endeavoring to make his son acknowledge him, thinking
surely that either his griefs and the anxieties he had suffered had so
strangely altered him that his son did not know him, or else that he
was ashamed to acknowledge his father in his misery, in the midst of
this perplexity, the lady abbess and the other Antipholus and Dromio
came out, and the wondering Adriana saw two husbands and two Dromios
standing before her.
And now these riddling errors, which had so perplexed them all, were
clearly made out. When the duke saw the two Antipholuses and the two
Dromios both so exactly alike, he at once conjectured aright of these
seeming mysteries, for he remembered the story Ægeon had told him in
the morning; and he said, these men must be the two sons of Ægeon and
their twin slaves.
But now an unlooked-for joy, indeed, completed the history of Ægeon;
and the tale he had in the morning told in sorrow, and under sentence
of death, before the setting sun went down was brought to a happy
conclusion, for the venerable lady abbess made herself known to be the
long-lost wife of Ægeon, and the fond mother of the two Antipholuses.
When the fisherman took the eldest Antipholus and Dromio away from
her, she entered a nunnery, and by her wise and virtuous conduct she
was at length made lady abbess of this convent, and in discharging the
rites of hospitality to an unhappy stranger she had unknowingly
protected her own son.
Joyful congratulations and affectionate greetings between these long
separated parents and their children made them for a while forget that
Ægeon was yet under sentence of death; but when they were become a
little calm, Antipholus of Ephesus offered the duke the ransom money
for his father's life; but the duke freely pardoned Ægeon, and would
not take the money. And the duke went with the abbess and her newly
found husband and children into the convent, to hear this happy family
discourse at leisure of the blessed ending of their adverse fortunes.
And the two Dromios' humble joy must not be forgotten; they had their
congratulations and greetings too, and each Dromio pleasantly
complimented his brother on his good looks, being well pleased to see
his own person (as in a glass) show so handsome in his brother.
Adriana had so well profited by the good counsel of her mother-in-law
that she never after cherished unjust suspicions, or was jealous of
her husband.
Antipholus of Syracuse married the fair Luciana, the sister of his
brother's wife; and the good old Ægeon, with his wife and sons, lived
at Ephesus many years. Nor did the unraveling of these perplexities so
entirely remove every ground of mistake for the future, but that
sometimes, to remind them of adventures past, comical blunders would
happen, and the one Antipholus and the one Dromio be mistaken for the
other, making altogether a pleasant and diverting Comedy of Errors.
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE
_By Charles and Mary Lamb_
Shylock, the Jew, lived at Venice: he was an usurer, who had amassed
an immense fortune by lending money at great interest to Christian
merchants. Shylock, being a hard-hearted man, exacted the payment of
the money he lent with such severity that he was much disliked by all
good men, and particularly by Antonio, a young merchant of Venice; and
Shylock as much hated Antonio, because he used to lend money to people
in distress, and would never take any interest for the money he lent;
therefore there was great enmity between this covetous Jew and the
generous merchant, Antonio. Whenever Antonio met Shylock on the Rialto
(or Exchange) he used to reproach him with his usuries and hard
dealings, which the Jew would bear with seeming patience, while he
secretly meditated revenge.
Antonio was the kindest man that lived, the best-conditioned, and had
the most unwearied spirit in doing courtesies; indeed he was one in
whom the ancient Roman honor more appeared than in any that drew
breath in Italy. He was greatly beloved by all his fellow-citizens;
but the friend who was nearest and dearest to his heart was Bassanio,
a noble Venetian, who, having but a small patrimony, had nearly
exhausted his little fortune by living in too expensive a manner for
his slender means, as young men of high rank with small fortunes are
too apt to do. Whenever Bassanio wanted money, Antonio assisted him;
and it seemed as if they had but one heart and one purse between them.
One day Bassanio came to Antonio, and told him that he wished to
repair his fortune by a wealthy marriage with a lady whom he dearly
loved, whose father, that was lately dead, had left her sole heiress
to a large estate; and that in her father's lifetime he used to visit
at her house, when he thought he had observed this lady had sometimes
from her eyes sent speechless messages that seemed to say he would be
no unwelcome suitor; but not having money to furnish himself with an
appearance befitting the lover of so rich an heiress, he besought
Antonio to add to the many favors he had shown him, by lending him
three thousand ducats.
Antonio had no money by him at that time to lend his friend; but
expecting soon to have some ships come home laden with merchandise, he
said he would go to Shylock, the rich money-lender, and borrow the
money upon the credit of those ships.
Antonio and Bassanio went together to Shylock, and Antonio asked the
Jew to lend him three thousand ducats upon any interest he should
require, to be paid out of the merchandise contained in his ships at
sea. On this, Shylock thought within himself, "If I can once catch him
on the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him: he hates
our Jewish nation; he lends out money gratis; and among the merchants
he rails at me and my well-earned bargains which he calls interest.
Cursed be my tribe if I forgive him!" Antonio, finding he was musing
within himself and did not answer, and being impatient for the money,
said, "Shylock, do you hear? will you lend the money?" To this
question the Jew replied, "Signior Antonio, on the Rialto many a time
and often you have railed at me about my moneys and my usuries, and I
have borne it with a patient shrug, for sufferance is the badge of all
our tribe; and then you have called me unbeliever, cutthroat dog, and
spit upon my Jewish garments, and spurned at me with your foot as if I
was a cur. Well then, it now appears you need my help; and you come to
me, and say, _Shylock, lend me moneys_. Has a dog money? Is it
possible a cur should lend three thousand ducats? Shall I bend low and
say, Fair sir, you spit upon me on Wednesday last, another time you
called me dog, and for these courtesies I am to lend you moneys?"
Antonio replied, "I am as like to call you so again, to spit on you
again, and spurn you too. If you will lend me this money, lend it not
to me as to a friend, but rather lend it to me as to an enemy, that,
if I break, you may with better face exact the penalty."--"Why look
you," said Shylock, "how you storm! I would be friends with you, and
have your love. I will forget the shames you have put upon me. I will
supply your wants, and take no interest for my money." This seemingly
kind offer greatly surprised Antonio; and then Shylock, still
pretending kindness, and that all he did was to gain Antonio's love,
again said he would lend him the three thousand ducats, and take no
interest for his money; only Antonio should go with him to a lawyer,
and there sign in merry sport a bond, that if he did not repay the
money by a certain day, he would forfeit a pound of flesh, to be cut
off from any part of his body that Shylock pleased.
"Content," said Antonio; "I will sign to this bond and say there is
much kindness in the Jew."
Bassanio said Antonio should not sign to such a bond for him; but
still Antonio insisted that he would sign it, for that before the day
of payment came, his ships would return laden with many times the
value of the money.
Shylock, hearing this debate, exclaimed, "O father Abraham, what
suspicious people these Christians are. Their own hard dealings teach
them to suspect the thoughts of others. I pray you tell me this,
Bassanio: if he should break this day, what should I gain by the
exaction of this forfeiture? A pound of man's flesh taken from a man
is not so estimable, nor profitable neither, as the flesh of mutton or
of beef. I say, to buy his favor, I offer this friendship: if he will
take it, so; if not, adieu."
At last, against the advice of Bassanio, who, notwithstanding all the
Jew had said of his kind intention, did not like his friend should run
the hazard of this shocking penalty for his sake, Antonio signed the
bond, thinking it really was (as the Jew said) merely in sport.
The rich heiress that Bassanio wished to marry lived near Venice, at a
place called Belmont; her name was Portia, and in the graces of her
person and her mind she was nothing inferior to that Portia, of whom
we read, who was Cato's daughter and the wife of Brutus.
Bassanio--being so kindly supplied with money by his friend Antonio,
at the hazard of his life--set out for Belmont with a splendid train,
and attended by a gentleman of the name of Gratiano.
Bassanio proving successful in his suit, Portia in a short time
consented to accept of him for a husband.
Bassanio confessed to Portia that he had no fortune, and that his high
birth and noble ancestry was all that he could boast of; she, who
loved him for his worthy qualities, and had riches enough not to
regard wealth in a husband, answered with a graceful modesty that she
would wish herself a thousand times more fair, and ten thousand times
more rich, to be more worthy of him; and then the accomplished Portia
prettily dispraised herself, and said she was an unlessoned girl,
unschooled, unpracticed, yet not so old but that she could learn, and
that she would commit her gentle spirit to be directed and governed by
him in all things; and she said, "Myself and what is mine, to you and
yours is now converted. But yesterday, Bassanio, I was the lady of
this fair mansion, queen of myself, and mistress over these servants;
and now this house, these servants, and myself, are yours, my lord; I
give them with this ring," presenting a ring to Bassanio.
Bassanio was so overpowered with gratitude and wonder at the gracious
manner in which the rich and noble Portia accepted of a man of his
humble fortunes, that he could not express his joy and reverence to
the dear lady who so honored him, by anything but broken words of love
and thankfulness; and taking the ring, he vowed never to part with it.
Gratiano and Nerissa, Portia's waiting-maid, were in attendance upon
their lord and lady, when Portia so gracefully promised to become the
obedient wife of Bassanio; and Gratiano, wishing Bassanio and the
generous lady joy, desired permission to be married at the same time.
"With all my heart, Gratiano," said Bassanio, "if you can get a wife."
Gratiano then said that he loved the lady Portia's fair waiting
gentlewoman Nerissa, and that she had promised to be his wife, if her
lady married Bassanio. Portia asked Nerissa if this was true. Nerissa
replied, "Madam, it is so, if you approve of it." Portia willingly
consenting, Bassanio pleasantly said, "Then our wedding feast shall be
much honored by your marriage, Gratiano."
The happiness of these lovers was sadly crossed at this moment by the
entrance of a messenger, who brought a letter from Antonio containing
fearful tidings. When Bassanio read Antonio's letter, Portia feared it
was to tell him of the death of some dear friend, he looked so pale;
and inquiring what was the news which had so distressed him, he said,
"O sweet Portia, here are a few of the unpleasantest words that ever
blotted paper: gentle lady, when I first imparted my love to you, I
freely told you all the wealth I had ran in my veins; but I should
have told you that I had less than nothing, being in debt." Bassanio
then told Portia what has been here related, of his borrowing the
money of Antonio, and of Antonio's procuring it of Shylock the Jew,
and of the bond by which Antonio had engaged to forfeit a pound of
flesh, if it was not repaid by a certain day: and then Bassanio read
Antonio's letter, the words of which were, "Sweet Bassanio, my ships
are all lost, my bond to the Jew is forfeited, and since in paying it
is impossible I should live, I could wish to see you at my death;
notwithstanding, use your pleasure; if your love for me do not
persuade you to come, let not my letter."
"O my dear love," said Portia, "dispatch all business, and be gone;
you shall have gold to pay the money twenty times over, before this
kind-hearted friend shall lose a hair by my Bassanio's fault; and as
you are so dearly bought, I will dearly love you." Portia then said
she would be married to Bassanio before he set out, to give him a
legal right to her money; and that same day they were married, and
Gratiano was also married to Nerissa; and Bassanio and Gratiano, the
instant they were married, set out in great haste for Venice, where
Bassanio found Antonio in prison.
The day of payment being past, the cruel Jew would not accept of the
money which Bassanio offered him, but insisted upon having a pound of
Antonio's flesh. A day was appointed to try this shocking cause before
the duke of Venice, and Bassanio awaited in dreadful suspense the
event of the trial.
When Portia parted with her husband, she spoke cheeringly to him, and
bade him bring his dear friend along with him when he returned; yet
she feared it would go hard with Antonio, and when she was left alone,
she began to think and consider within herself, if she could by any
means be instrumental in saving the life of her dear Bassanio's
friend; and notwithstanding, when she wished to honor her Bassanio,
she had said to him with such a meek and wifelike grace that she would
submit in all things to be governed by his superior wisdom, yet being
now called forth into action by the peril of her honored husband's
friend, she did nothing doubt her own powers, and by the sole guidance
of her own true and perfect judgment, at once resolved to go herself
to Venice, and speak in Antonio's defense.
Portia had a relation who was a counselor in the law. To this
gentleman, whose name was Bellario, she wrote; and stating the case to
him, desired his opinion, and that with his advice he would also send
her the dress worn by a counselor. When the messenger returned he
brought letters from Bellario of advice how to proceed, and also
everything necessary for her equipment.