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.
Aegeon, an old merchant of Syracuse, was discovered in the
streets of Ephesus, and brought before the duke, either to pay
this heavy fine or receive sentence of death.
Aegeon 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.
Aegeon 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 shipboard, 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.
“The incessant weeping of my wife and the piteous complaints of
the pretty babes, who, not knowing what to fear, wept for
fashion, because they saw their mother weep, filled me with
terror for them, though I did not for myself fear death; and all
my thoughts were bent to contrive means for their safety. I tied
my youngest son to the end of a small spire mast, such as
seafaring men provide against storms; at the other end I bound
the youngest of the twin slaves, and at the same time I directed
my wife how to fasten the other children in like manner to
another mast. She thus having the care of the eldest two
children, and I of the younger two, we bound ourselves separately
to these masts with the children; and but for this contrivance we
had all been lost, for the ship split on a mighty rock and was
dashed in pieces; and we, clinging to these slender masts, were
supported above the water, where I, having the care of two
children, was unable to assist my wife, who, with the other
children, was soon separated from me; but while they were yet in
my sight they were taken up by a boat of fishermen, from Corinth
(as I supposed), and, seeing them in safety, I had no care but to
struggle with the wild sea-waves, to preserve my dear son and the
youngest slave. At length we, in our turn, were taken up by a
ship, and the sailors, knowing me, gave us kind welcome and
assistance and landed us in safety at Syracuse; but from that sad
hour I have never known what became of my wife and eldest child.
“My youngest son, and now my only care, when he was eighteen
years of age, began to be inquisitive after his mother and his
brother, and often importuned me that he might take his
attendant, the young slave, who had also lost his brother, and
go in search of them. At length I unwillingly gave consent, for,
though I anxiously desired to hear tidings of my wife and eldest
son, yet in sending my younger one to find them I hazarded the
loss of him also. It is now seven years since my son left me;
five years have I passed in traveling through the world in search
of him. I have been in farthest Greece, and through the bounds of
Asia, and, coasting homeward, I landed here in Ephesus, being
unwilling to leave any place unsought that harbors men; but this
day must end the story of my life, and happy should I think
myself in my death if I were assured my wife and sons were
living.”
Here the hapless Aegeon ended the account of his misfortunes; and
the duke, pitying this unfortunate father who had brought upon
himself this great peril by his love for his lost son, said if it
were not against the laws, which his oath and dignity did not
permit him to alter, he would freely pardon him; yet, instead of
dooming him to instant death, as the strict letter of the law
required, he would give him that day to try if he could beg or
borrow the money to pay the fine.
This day of grace did seem no great favor to Aegeon, for, not
knowing any man in Ephesus, there seemed to him but little chance
that any stranger would lend or give him a thousand marks to pay
the fine; and, helpless and hopeless of any relief, he retired
from the presence of the duke in the custody of a jailer.
Aegeon supposed he knew no person in Ephesus; but at the time he
was in danger of losing his life through the careful search he
was making after his youngest son that son, and his eldest son
also, were in the city of Ephesus.
Aegeon’s sons, besides being exactly alike in face and person,
were both named alike, being both called Antipholus, and the two
twin slaves were also both named Dromio. Aegeon’s youngest son,
Antipholus of Syracuse, he whom the old man had come to Ephesus
to seek, happened to arrive at Ephesus with his slave Dromio that
very same day that Aegeon did; and he being also a merchant of
Syracuse, he would have been in the same danger that his father
was, but by good fortune he met a friend who told him the peril
an old merchant of Syracuse was in, and advised him to pass for a
merchant of Epidamnum. This Antipholus agreed to do, and he was
sorry to hear one of his own countrymen was in this danger, but
he little thought this old merchant was his own father.
The eldest son of Aegeon (who must be called Antipholus of
Ephesus, to distinguish him from his brother Antipholus of
Syracuse) had lived at Ephesus twenty years, and, being a rich
man, was well able to have paid the money for the ransom of his
father’s life; but Antipholus knew nothing of his father, being
so young when he was taken out of the sea with his mother by the
fishermen that he only remembered he had been so preserved; but
he had no recollection of either his father or his mother, the
fishermen who took up this Antipholus and his mother and the
young slave Dromio having carried the two children away from her
(to the great grief of that unhappy lady), intending to sell
them.
Antipholus and Dromio were sold by them to Duke Menaphon, a
famous warrior, who was uncle to the Duke of Ephesus, and he
carried the boys to Ephesus when he went to visit the duke, his
nephew.
The Duke of Ephesus, taking a liking to young Antipholus, when he
grew up made him an officer in his army, in which he
distinguished himself by his great bravery in the wars, where he
saved the life of his patron, the duke, who rewarded his merit by
marrying him to Adriana, a rich lady of Ephesus, with whom he was
living (his slave Dromio still attending him) at the time his
father came there.
Antipholus of Syracuse, when he parted with his friend, who,
advised him to say he came from Epidamnum, gave his slave Dromio
some money to carry to the inn where he intended to dine, and in
the mean time he said he would walk about and view the city and
observe the manners of the people.
Dromio was a pleasant fellow, and when Antipholus was dull and
melancholy he used to divert himself with the odd humors and
merry jests of his slave, so that the freedoms of speech he
allowed in Dromio were greater than is usual between masters and
their servants.
When Antipholus of Syracuse had sent Dromio away, he stood awhile
thinking over his solitary wanderings in search of his mother and
his brother, of whom in no place where he landed could he hear
the least tidings; and he said sorrowfully to himself, “I am like
a drop of water in the ocean. which, seeking to find its fellow
drop, loses itself in the wide sea, So I, unhappily, to find a
mother and a brother, do lose myself.”
While he was thus meditating on his weary travels, which had
hitherto been so useless, Dromio (as he thought) returned.
Antipholus, wondering that he came back so soon, asked him where
he had left the money. Now it was not his own Dromio, but the
twin-brother that lived with Antipholus of Ephesus, that he spoke
to. The two Dromios and the two Antipholuses were still as much
alike as Aegeon had said they were in their infancy; therefore no
wonder Antipholus thought it was his own slave returned, and
asked him why he came back so soon.
Dromio replied: “My mistress sent me to bid you come to dinner.
The capon burns, and the pig falls from the spit, and the meat
will be all cold if you do not come home.”
“These jests are out of season,” said Antipholus. “Where did you
leave the money?”
Dromio still answering that his mistress had sent him to fetch
Antipholus to dinner, “What mistress?” said Antipholus.
“Why, your worship’s wife, sir!” replied Dromio.
Antipholus having no wife, he was very angry with Dromio, and
said: “Because I familiarly sometimes chat with you, you presume
to jest with me in this free manner. I am not in a sportive humor
now. Where is the money? We being strangers here, how dare you
trust so great a charge from your own custody?”
Dromio, hearing his master, as he thought him, talk of their
being strangers, supposing Antipholus was jesting, replied,
merrily: “I pray you, sir, jest as you sit at dinner. I had no
charge but to fetch you home to dine with my mistress and her
sister.”
Now Antipholus lost all patience, and beat Dromio, who ran home
and told his mistress that his master had refused to come to
dinner and said that he had no wife.
Adriana, the wife of Antipholus of Ephesus, was very angry when
she heard that her husband said he had no wife; for she was of a
jealous temper, and she said her husband meant that he loved
another lady better than herself; and she began to fret, and say
unkind words of jealousy and reproach of her husband; and her
sister Luciana, who lived with her, tried in vain to persuade her
out of her groundless suspicions.
Antipholus of Syracuse went to the inn, and found Dromio with the
money in safety there, and, seeing his own Dromio, he was going
again to chide him for his free jests, when Adriana came up to
him, and, not doubting but it was her husband she saw, she began
to reproach him for looking strange upon her (as well he might,
never having seen this angry lady before); and then she told him
how well he loved her before they were married, and that now he
loved some other lady instead of her.
“How comes it now, my husband,” said she, “oh, how comes it that
I have lost your love?”
“Plead you to me, fair dame?” said the astonished Antipholus.
It was in vain he told her he was not her husband and that he had
been in Ephesus but two hours. She insisted on his going home
with her, and Antipholus at last, being unable to get away, went
with her to his brother’s house, and dined with Adriana and her
sister, the one calling him husband and the other brother, he,
all amazed, thinking he must have been married to her in his
sleep, or that he was sleeping now. And Dromio, who followed
them, was no less surprised, for the cook-maid, who was his
brother’s wife, also claimed him for her husband.
While Antipholus of Syracuse was dining with his brother’s wife,
his brother, the real husband, returned home to dinner with his
slave Dromio; but the servants would not open the door, because
their mistress had ordered them not to admit any company; and
when they repeatedly knocked, and said they were Antipholus and
Dromio, the maids laughed at them, and said that Antipholus was
at dinner with their mistress, and Dromio was in the kitchen, and
though they almost knocked the door down, they could not gain
admittance, and at last Antipholus went away very angry, and
strangely surprised at, hearing a gentleman was dining with his
wife.
When Antipholus of Syracuse had finished his dinner, he was so
perplexed at the lady’s still persisting in calling him husband,
and at hearing that Dromio had also been claimed by the cookmaid,
that he left the house as soon as he could find any pretense to
get away; for though he was very much pleased with Luciana, the
sister, yet the jealous-tempered Adriana he disliked very much,
nor was Dromio at all better satisfied with his fair wife in the
kitchen; therefore both master and man were glad to get away from
their new wives as fast as they could.
The moment Antipholus of Syracuse had left the house he was met
by a goldsmith, who, mistaking him, as Adriana had done, for
Antipholus of Ephesus, gave him a gold chain, calling him by his
name; and when Antipholus would have refused the chain, saying it
did not belong to him, the goldsmith replied he made it by his
own orders, and went away, leaving the chain in the hands of
Antipholus, who ordered his man Dromio to get his things on board
a ship, not choosing to stay in a place any longer where he met
with such strange adventures that he surely thought himself
bewitched.
The goldsmith who had given the chain to the wrong Antipholus was
arrested immediately after for a sum of money he owed; and
Antipholus, the married brother, to whom the goldsmith thought he
had given the chain, happened to come to the place where the
officer was arresting the goldsmith, who, when he saw Antipholus,
asked him to pay for the gold chain he had just delivered to him,
the price amounting to nearly the same sum as that for which he
had been arrested. Antipholus denying the having received the
chain, and the goldsmith persisting to declare that he had but a
few minutes before given it to him, they disputed this matter a
long time, both thinking they were right; for Antipholus knew the
goldsmith never gave him the chain, and so like were the two
brothers, the goldsmith was as certain he had delivered the chain
into his hands, till at last the officer took the goldsmith away
to prison for the debt he owed, and at the same time the
goldsmith made the officer arrest Antipholus for the price of the
chain; so that at the conclusion of their dispute Antipholus and
the merchant were both taken away to prison together.
As Antipholus was going to prison, he met Dromio of Syracuse, his
brother’s slave, and, mistaking him for his own, he ordered him
to go to Adriana his wife, and tell her to send the money for
which he was arrested. Dromio, wondering that his master should
send him back to the strange house where he dined, and from which
he had just before been in such haste to depart, did not dare to
reply, though he came to tell his master the ship was ready to
sail, for he saw Antipholus was in no humor to be jested with.
Therefore he went away, grumbling within himself that he must
return to Adriana’s house, “Where,” said he, “Dowsabel claims me
for a husband. But I must go, for servants must obey their
masters’ commands.”
Adriana gave him the money, and as Dromio was returning he met
Antipholus of Syracuse, who was still in amaze at the surprising
adventures he met with, for, his brother being well known in
Ephesus, there was hardly a man he met in the streets but saluted
him as an old acquaintance. Some offered him money which they
said was owing to him, some invited him to come and see them, and
some gave him thanks for kindnesses they said he had done them,
all mistaking him for his brother. A tailor showed him some silks
he had bought for him, and insisted upon taking measure of him
for some clothes.
Antipholus began to think he was among a nation of sorcerers and
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 house
(those within supposing him to be already there) be 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, 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 Aegeon’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.
Aegeon, 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 Aegeon, 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 Aegeon 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
Aegeon had told him in the morning; and he said these men must be
the two sons of Aegeon and their twin slaves.
But now an unlooked-for joy indeed completed the history of
Aegeon; 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 Aegeon and the fond
mother of the two Antipholuses.
When the fishermen 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 Aegeon was yet under sentence of death. 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 Aegeon, 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
nor was jealous of her husband.
Antipholus of Syracuse married the fair Luciana, the sister of
his brother’s wife; and the good old Aegeon, 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.