he had the impudence to wear. Antipholus of Syracuse lost his temper, and drew his sword, and at that moment Adriana and several others appeared. “Hold!” shouted the careful wife. “Hurt him not; he is mad. Take his sword away. Bind him—and Dromio too.”
Dromio of Syracuse did not wish to be bound, and he said to his master, “Run, master! Into that abbey, quick, or we shall be robbed!”
They accordingly retreated into the abbey.
Adriana, Luciana, and a crowd remained outside, and the Abbess came out, and said, “People, why do you gather here?”
“To fetch my poor distracted husband,” replied Adriana.
Angelo and the merchant remarked that they had not known that he was mad.
Adriana then told the Abbess rather too much about her wifely worries, for the Abbess received the idea that Adriana was a shrew, and that if her husband was distracted he had better not return to her for the present.
Adriana determined, therefore, to complain to Duke Solinus, and, lo and behold! a minute afterwards the great man appeared with officers and two others. The others were Aegeon and the headsman. The thousand marks had not been found, and Aegeon’s fate seemed sealed.
Ere the Duke could pass the abbey Adriana knelt before him, and told a woeful tale of a mad husband rushing about stealing jewelry and drawing his sword, adding that the Abbess refused to allow her to lead him home.
The Duke bade the Abbess be summoned, and no sooner had he given the order than a servant from The Phoenix ran to Adriana with the tale that his master had singed off the doctor’s beard.
“Nonsense!” said Adriana, “he’s in the abbey.”
“As sure as I live I speak the truth,” said the servant.
Antipholus of Syracuse had not come out of the abbey, before his brother of Ephesus prostrated himself in front of the Duke, exclaiming, “Justice, most gracious Duke, against that woman.” He pointed to Adriana. “She has treated another man like her husband in my own house.”
Even while he was speaking Aegeon said, “Unless I am delirious, I see my son Antipholus.”
No one noticed him, and Antipholus of Ephesus went on to say how the doctor, whom he called “a threadbare juggler,” had been one of a gang who tied him to his slave Dromio, and thrust them into a vault whence he had escaped by gnawing through his bonds.
The Duke could not understand how the same man who spoke to him was seen to go into the abbey, and he was still wondering when Aegeon asked Antipholus of Ephesus if he was not his son. He replied, “I never saw my father in my life;” but so deceived was Aegeon by his likeness to the brother whom he had brought up, that he said, “Thou art ashamed to acknowledge me in misery.”
Soon, however, the Abbess advanced with Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse.
Then cried Adriana, “I see two husbands or mine eyes deceive me;” and Antipholus, espying his father, said, “Thou art Aegeon or his ghost.”
It was a day of surprises, for the Abbess said, “I will free that man by paying his fine, and gain my husband whom I lost. Speak, Aegeon, for I am thy wife Aemilia.”
The Duke was touched. “He is free without a fine,” he said.
So Aegeon and Aemilia were reunited, and Adriana and her husband reconciled; but no one was happier than Antipholus of Syracuse, who, in the Duke’s presence, went to Luciana and said, “I told you I loved you. Will you be my wife?”
Her answer was given by a look, and therefore is not written.
The two Dromios were glad to think they would receive no more beatings.
The Merchant of Venice
Antonio was a rich and prosperous merchant of Venice. His ships were on nearly every sea, and he traded with Portugal, with Mexico, with England, and with India. Although proud of his riches, he was very generous with them, and delighted to use them in relieving the wants of his friends, among whom his relation, Bassanio, held the first place.
Now Bassanio, like many another gay and gallant gentleman, was reckless and extravagant, and finding that he had not only come to the end of his fortune, but was also unable to pay his creditors, he went to Antonio for further help.
“To you, Antonio,” he said, “I owe the most in money and in love: and I have thought of a plan to pay everything I owe if you will but help me.”
“Say what I can do, and it shall be done,” answered his friend.
Then said Bassanio, “In Belmont is a lady richly left, and from all quarters of the globe renowned suitors come to woo her, not only because she is rich, but because she is beautiful and good as well. She looked on me with such favor when last we met, that I feel sure that I should win her away from all rivals for her love had I but the means to go to Belmont, where she lives.”
“All my fortunes,” said Antonio, “are at sea, and so I have no ready money; but luckily my credit is good in Venice, and I will borrow for you what you need.”
There was living in Venice at this time a rich moneylender, named Shylock. Antonio despised and disliked this man very much, and treated him with the greatest harshness and scorn. He would thrust him, like a cur, over his threshold, and would even spit on him. Shylock submitted to all these indignities with a patient shrug; but deep in his heart he cherished a desire for revenge on the rich, smug merchant. For Antonio both hurt his pride and injured his business. “But for him,” thought Shylock, “I should be richer by half a million ducats. On the market place, and wherever he can, he denounces the rate of interest I charge, and—worse than that—he lends out money freely.”
So when Bassanio came to him to ask for a loan of three thousand
