The Comedy of Errors

I’m sorry that I delayed you, sir. But even though he denies it, I swear he got the necklace from me.

What’s this man’s reputation like here in the city?

People think very highly of him. The merchants give him unlimited credit. He’s well beloved, second to none in the city. I’d trust him with everything I own.

Speak more quietly: I think he’s coming this way.

You’re right. And that necklace around his neck is the very one he swore he didn’t have! Good sir, stay close to me. I’ll speak to him. Signior Antipholus, I can’t believe you’d put me to this kind of shame and trouble—not to mention the scandal you’ve brought on yourself. You swore I never gave you the necklace, but now you’re wearing it openly. Not only has your lie cost you money, shame, and imprisonment, but you’ve also mistreated this honest friend of mine. If it hadn’t been for this dispute, he would have already hoisted sail and left for sea. You got that necklace from me: can you deny that?

I got it from you—I never said I didn’t.

Yes, you did, sir. In fact, you swore it.

Who heard me do that?

My own ears heard it, and you know it. To hell with you! It’s a shame that you walk the streets with all the honest men.

You’re a villain to say this about me. I’ll prove that I’m an honest man and a man of honor if you dare defend yourself.

I do dare, and I say that you are the villain.

(to SECOND MERCHANT) Wait! Don’t hurt him, for God’s sake! He’s crazy! Somebody approach him and take away his sword. Tie up Dromio, too, and take them to my house.

Run, master, run. For God’s sake, find a house to duck into. This looks like an abbey. Go in, or we’re done for.

Be quiet, people! Why have you come here in such a mob?

To get my poor, mad husband out from inside there. Let us in so we can tie him up tight and bring him home to recover.

(to SECOND MERCHANT) I knew he wasn’t quite in his right mind.

(to ANGELO) Now I’m sorry I raised my sword against him.

How long has he been possessed like this?

This week he was sad, moody, and depressed and very different from his usual self. But it wasn’t until this afternoon that he broke out into violence.

Did he lose a lot of money in a shipwreck? Has a close friend of his died? Has he fallen in love with another woman? That’s a sin young men often commit because they allow their eyes to wander. Which of these bad things happened to him?

None of them, except the last one. He fell in love, and that made him leave home often.

You should have reprimanded him for that.

I did.

Fine, but you weren’t harsh enough.

I was as harsh as I could be while still being a lady.

You scolded him in private?

And in public too.

Fine, but not enough.

It was all we talked about. I kept him awake at night talking about it. He couldn’t eat without me talking about it. When we were alone, it was the only thing I talked about, and when we were with other people, I often found a way to mention it. All I ever did was tell him how hurtful and bad it was.

And that’s why he went crazy. A jealous woman’s poisonous ranting is worse than the bite of a rabid dog. You disturbed his sleep with your complaining, which is why he’s disoriented. You seasoned his food with screams. Stress during mealtime ruins the digestion, and that gave him a raging fever. Fever, as we know, is a kind of madness. You spoiled his fun by fighting with him, and when people can’t enjoy themselves, they grow moody and dull with melancholy—they come very close to being grim and cheerlessly depressed. Next thing you know, all kinds of terrible illnesses break out. Ruining his meals, his enjoyment, and his sleep would drive any man or beast mad. What I’m saying is, your jealousy has pushed your husband away from his sanity.

She was always gentle when she scolded him, even when he behaved in the worst and wildest ways. (to ADRIANA) Why won’t you defend yourself against this woman?

She has tricked me into seeing my own faults. Gentlemen, go in there and grab him.

Nobody goes into my house!

Then have your servants bring him out.

No: he came here for sanctuary, and that will protect him from you. I’ll try to bring him back to his right mind and work to the end of my abilities to do so.

It’s my place to take care of my husband and nurse him back to health. It is my duty and mine alone. So let me take him home.

Be patient. I’m not going to let him leave until I’ve tried every means to cure him. With my healthful potions, drugs, and holy prayers, I’ll make him a complete man again. Healing is part and parcel of my religious vows; it is a charitable duty my order performs. Therefore, depart, and leave him here with me.

I will not depart and leave my husband here. It doesn’t suit your holiness to separate a husband and his wife.

Be quiet and depart. You’re not going to take him.

Go lodge a complaint about this with the duke.

Come with me. I’ll fall at his feet and lie there until my pleading and crying convinces the duke to come here and force my husband to leave this abbey.

It’s almost five o’clock. The duke will pass by here soon. He always passes here on his way to that melancholy place where criminals are put to death. It’s just behind this abbey.

Why is he going there today?

To see an elderly, unlucky merchant from Syracuse publicly beheaded for breaking the law and coming here to Ephesus.

Here they come. We will watch the execution.

Kneel down to the duke before he passes by the abbey.

One more time, we proclaim this publicly: If anyone will pay this man’s bail, he will not be put to death. This is how well we regard him.

Duke, the abbess has wronged me and I seek justice.

She’s a virtuous and holy lady. She can’t possibly have done you any wrong.

Your Highness, you were the one who introduced me to my husband, Antipholus, and suggested I marry him. On this terrible day, a most outrageous fit of madness possessed him. It made him run desperately through the streets with his servant, who is just as mad. He angered all the citizens by rushing into their houses and taking rings, jewels, and anything else he felt like. At one point I managed to get him tied up and sent home so that I could make some order out of all the trouble he caused. But somehow, he broke free from his guards. Then he and his crazy servant found us and chased us away with swords. We got more help and came back to capture them, but then they fled into this abbey. We tried to go in, but the abbess stopped us. She wouldn’t let us get him and she wouldn’t send him out. So please, most gracious duke, order her to bring him out so we can get him some help.

A long time ago your husband was a soldier in the wars I led. And when you married him and made him the master of your bed, I gave you my word that I would do everything I possibly could for him. (to his followers) Go, knock on the gate and bid the abbess come out here and speak to me. I’ll settle this before I go

Mistress! Run and save yourself. My master and his servant broke loose. They’ve beaten the maids and tied up Doctor Pinch. Then they set fire to his beard and threw sewage to put out the flames. My master keeps telling the doctor to relax, while his servant cuts the doctor’s hair in a ridiculous fashion. If you don’t send some help, they’ll kill Doctor Pinch.

Shut up, fool! Your master and his servant are here. You’re telling a lie.

Mistress, I swear on my life that it’s true. It was just moments ago. He’s crying out for you and swears he’ll burn your face and disfigure you if he can get ahold of you.

Listen, listen! I hear him, mistress. Run, get out of here!

(to ADRIANA) Stand with me. Don’t be scared. (to his men) Guards, get your weapons!

Oh, my, it’s my husband. Look, he can become invisible. Just now we put him in the abbey over here, and now he’s over there. It’s impossible to understand.

Justice, gracious duke. Please bring me justice! A long time ago I did good service to you. I fought in your wars and took deep wounds to save your life. In exchange for the blood I shed for you then, I ask you for justice now.

(to himself) The fear of death might be making me senile, but I think I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio.

Sweet prince, I want justice from that woman there. This woman that you urged me to marry has abused me and dishonored me, doing the most injury possible. The things she has shamelessly hurled on me are beyond imagination.

Tell me the details. You know I’ll be fair.

Today, great duke, she locked me out of my house and feasted there with whores.

That’s terrible! (to ADRIANA) Tell us, woman, did you do that?

No, my good lord. I ate with him and my sister. Damn my soul if these accusations are true!

If she’s lying, I pray that I never sleep again at night or wake up during the day.

Oh, lying woman! Both of them are liars: the madman accuses them justly.

My lord, I know what I’m saying. I’m not drunk, and I haven’t gone mad from anger—even though the wrongs done to me today would drive any man insane. This woman locked me out of the house today at lunchtime, and if he weren’t conspiring with her, this jeweler could confirm my story since he was with me at the time. He left to fetch a necklace and he promised to bring it to the Porcupine, where I was dining with Balthasar. He hadn’t arrived by the time we finished eating, so I went out looking for him. I met him in the street—he was there with that man. (points to the SECOND MERCHANT) That’s when this lying jeweler swore that he had already given me the necklace, which, God knows, he hadn’t. He had me arrested for it, and I went with the officer, sending my servant home to get money for the bail. When my servant returned empty-handed, I politely asked the officer to accompany me to my house. On the way, we came across my wife, her sister, and their gang of vile associates. One of them was a man named Pinch: a hungry, narrow-faced villain; a skeleton; a fraud; a raggedy magician and fortune-teller; a needy, hollow-eyed, emaciated wretch; a walking corpse. He pretended to be some kind of sorcerer, and he gazed in my eyes and took my pulse. Then, with his thin face leering down at mine, he cried out that I was possessed. Then they all pounced on me, tied me up, carried me away, and left me in a dark, dank cellar in my house. They left me and my servant there, tied together. Eventually I chewed through the ropes and freed myself, and I immediately ran to find you, Your Grace. I beg you: grant me justice for the deep shame I have suffered and the terrible wrongs done to me.

Your Highness, I can confirm this much: he was locked out of his house and didn’t eat at home.

But did he receive a necklace from you?

He did, my lord. And when he ran in here, everyone could see that he was wearing that necklace.

Besides, I’ll swear I heard you confess that you did receive the necklace, even after you swore at the marketplace that you hadn’t. That’s when I raised my sword against you, and you fled into this abbey—which, I think, you must have escaped from through some kind of trick.

I was never inside this abbey, and you never raised your sword against me. I never saw the necklace, so help me heaven! Everything you charge me with is untrue.

Why, what a complicated case this is! I think you all must have drunk some kind of potion that’s turned you all into animals. (to ADRIANA) If you put him in the abbey, that’s where he’d be. If he were insane, he wouldn’t be pleading his case so sensibly. You say he ate at home, but the jeweler says he didn’t. Sirrah, what do you have to say?

Sir, he ate with this woman at the Porcupine.

He did, and he snatched my ring right off my finger.

That’s true, my lord: I did get this ring from her.

Did you see him enter this abbey?

As clearly as I see you, my lord.

This is very odd. Get the abbess out here. I think you’re all either bewildered or stark raving mad.

Mighty duke, please allow me to say something. I think I see a friend who will pay my bail and save my life.

Feel free to say what you wish, Syracusian.

(to ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS) Isn’t your name Antipholus? And isn’t that Dromio, the man bound to you?

I was bound to him an hour ago, sir, but thankfully he chewed through our ropes. Now I’m Dromio and no longer attached to him.

I’m sure you both remember me.

Actually, it’s ourselves you bring to mind since just a few moments ago we were tied up, as you are now. You’re not one of Pinch’s patients, are you, sir?

Why are you looking at me so strangely? You know me well.

I never saw you before in my life.

Oh, grief has transformed me since the last time you saw me. Time has the power to deform people, and the sorrowful hours I have spent in his company have put these strange lines and wrinkles on my face. But tell me this: don’t you know my voice?

No.

Don’t you, Dromio?

No sir, trust me, I do not.

I am sure you do.

Fine, sir, but I’m sure I don’t. And you’re in no position to doubt my word.

You don’t know my voice? Oh, severe Time! Have you mangled my tongue so badly in these seven short years that my only son can no longer recognize my weak, sorrow-ravaged voice? It’s true: this aged face of mine is hidden by a snow white beard, and the blood is freezing in my veins. But I still have a little memory left, and there’s still some fire in my eyes; my dull, deaf ears can still hear a little. All these aging faculties tell me—and I cannot be wrong—that you are my son, Antipholus.

I never saw my father in my life.

You know that we parted only seven years ago, in Syracuse. Maybe you’re ashamed to admit that you know me because I’m a prisoner now.

The duke and everyone who knows me in this city can confirm that’s not true. I’ve never been to Syracuse in my life.

I tell you, Syracusian. I’ve been looking after Antipholus for twenty years, and during that time he’s never been to Syracuse. Your old age and the prospect of death are making you imagine things.

Mighty duke, look here and see a man who’s been treated most terribly!

Either my eyes deceive me, or I see two husbands.

(looks at the ANTIPHOLUS twins) One of these men is the other’s genius. (looks at the DROMIO twins) And the same with these two. But which is the man and which is the spirit? Can anyone tell?

I, sir, am Dromio. Command this man to leave.

I, sir, am Dromio. Pray, let me stay.

You are Egeon, aren’t you? Or are you his ghost?

Oh, my old master!—Who tied him up?

Whoever tied him up, I will loosen the ropes, and with his freedom I will gain a husband. Tell us, old Egeon: are you the man who once had a wife named Emilia, who gave birth to two fair sons? Oh, if you are the same Egeon, speak now, and speak to that same Emilia!

Why, now the story the merchant told me this morning is starting to make sense. These two Antipholuses, who look so alike—and these two Dromios, who seem to have the same face—and her story of being shipwrecked—why, these two are the parents of these children and have been reunited by accident.

If I’m not dreaming, you are Emilia. If it’s really you, tell me what happened to our son, who floated away with you on that deadly raft.

Some men from Epidamnum rescued me, our son, and Dromio. But then a gang of violent fishermen from Corinth kidnapped Dromio and my son and carried them away. I don’t know what became of them. You can see what became of me.

Antipholus, aren’t you originally from Corinth?

No, sir. I came from Syracuse.

Wait, don’t stand next to each other. I can’t tell who’s who.

I came from Corinth, Your Highness.

And I came with him.

Your renowned uncle, Duke Menaphon, the famous soldier, brought me here.

Which of you two ate lunch with me today?

I did, kind lady.

And you’re my husband, right?

No, he’s not. I say no to that.

So do I, although she called me her husband. And this beautiful gentlewoman, her sister, called me brother. (to LUCIANA) If all this is for real, I hope I’ll get the chance to make good on all the things I said to you today.

That’s the necklace I gave you, sir.

I think it is, sir. I don’t deny it.

And you, sir, had me arrested over that necklace.

I think I did, sir. I don’t deny it.

I sent Dromio to you with money for bail, but I don’t think he brought it to you.

No, he didn’t get any by me.

I got this purse full of money from you, and my Dromio brought it to me. It seems that we kept running into each other’s servants all day. And everyone thought I was him, and he was me, and that’s how all these errors came about.

I want to use this money to set my father free.

That’s not necessary. I’m going to let him live.

Sir, I must get that diamond ring back from you.

There, take it, and thanks for taking such good care of me.

Renowned duke, please join us in the abbey, where we will discuss at length all that has happened to us. Everyone assembled here who has been troubled by the day’s events join us as well, and we will straighten everything out. My sons, waiting to hear news of you has been like a second childbirth: this time, my labor lasted thirty-three years, and I am only now delivered of my heavy burden. Duke Solinus, my husband, and both my children—and you two Dromios, who marked the day of my sons’ births with your own—come into the abbey with me for a new christening. After such a long period of grief, we will have such a celebration!

With all my heart, I’ll join you.

(to ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS) Master, should I go get your luggage off the ship?

Dromio, what stuff of mine did you put on a ship?

The stuff you had at the Centaur, sir.

He means me. I’m your master, Dromio. Come inside with us: we’ll deal with that later. Embrace your brother there, and rejoice with him.

You have a fat friend at your master’s house: she took care of me in the kitchen today, thinking I was you. I guess now she’s going to be my sister-in-law and not my wife.

I think you’re my mirror, not my brother. And I can see by looking at you that I’m a pretty good-looking fellow. Do you want to go in and join the party?

After you, sir. You’re older than me.

That’s a good point. How can we tell which of us is the oldest?

We’ll draw straws. Meanwhile, after you.

No, I’ll tell you what. We came into the world as brother and brother, so now let’s enter hand in hand—not one before the other.