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think Douce was somewhat hasty in pro- | pervades the following lines belongs to the claiming that the Abbess of a Nunnery, Satan, "true Arcadian" Adam and Noah, and Christian were anachronisms, in connexion with the "ancient city of Ephesus.”

Douce, seeing that 'The Comedy of Errors' was suggested by 'The Menæchmi' of Plautus, considers, no doubt, that Shakspere intended to place his action at the same period as the Roman play. It is manifest to us that he intended precisely the contrary. The Menæchmi' contains invocations in great number to the ancient divinities;-Jupiter and Apollo are here familiar words. From the first line of 'The Comedy of Errors' to the last we have not the slightest allusion to the classical mythology. Was there not a time, then, even in the ancient city of Ephesus, when there might be an Abbessmen might call themselves Christians-and Satan, Adam, and Noah might be names of common use? We do not mean to affirm that Shakspere intended to select the Ephesus of Christianity-the great city of churches and councils-for the dwelling-place of Antipholus, any more than we think that Duke Solinus was a real personage that "Duke Menaphon, his most renowned uncle," ever had any existence or that even his name could be found in any story more trustworthy than that of Greene's 'Arcadia.' The truth is, that, in the same way that Ardennes was a sort of terra incognita of chivalry, the poets of Shakspere's time had no hesitation in placing the fables of the romantic ages in classical localities, leaving the periods and the names perfectly undefined and unappreciable. Who will undertake to fix a period for the action of Sir Philip Sidney's great romance, when the author has conveyed his reader into the fairy or pastoral land, and

informed him "what manner of life the inhabitants of that region lead?" We cannot open a page of Sidney's 'Arcadia' without being struck with what we are accustomed to call anachronisms,-and these from a very severe critic, who, in his 'Defence of Poesy,' denounces with merciless severity all violation of the unities of the drama. One example will suffice-Histor and Damon sing a "double sestine." The classical spirit that

"O Mercury, foregoer to the evening,

O heavenly huntress of the savage mountains,
O lovely star entitled of the morning,
While that my voice doth fill these woful
valleys,

Vouchsafe your silent ears to plaining music,
Which oft hath echo tired in secret forests."

But to what period belongs the following

lines of the 'Phaleuciacs,' which Zelmene

sings, whose voice "strains the canary

birds?"

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"Her cannons be her eyes, mine eyes the walls be,

Which at first volley gave too open entry, Nor rampier did abide; my brain was upblown,

Undermined with a speech, the piercer of thoughts."

Warton has prettily said, speaking of Spencer, exactness in his poem would have been like the cornice which a painter introduced in the grotto of Calypso." Those who would define everything in poetry are the makers of corniced grottos. As we are not desirous of belonging to this somewhat obsolete fraternity, to which even Warton himself affected to be

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long when he wrote what is truly an apology for The Fairy Queen,' we will leave our readers to decide-whether Duke Solinus reigned at Ephesus before "the great temple, after having risen with increasing splendour from seven repeated misfortunes, was finally burnt by the Goths in their third naval invasion;"* or whether he presided over the decaying city, somewhat nearer to the period when Justinian "filled Constantinople with its statues, and raised his church of St. Sophia on its columns; "+ or, lastly, whether he approached the period of its final desolation, when the "candlestick was removed out of its place," and the Christian Ephesus be

came the Mohammedan Aiasaluck.

But, decide as our readers may—and if they decide not at all they will not derive less satisfaction from the perusal of this drama-it has become necessary for the de

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When the word "Thebes"*

mands of the modern theatre that the scenery | the fable, in order to produce strange and and costume should belong to some definite laughable situations. The story need not be period. This desire for exactness is, to a probable, it is enough that it is possible. A certain extent, an evil; and it is an evil comedy would scarcely allow even the two which necessarily belongs to what, at first Antipholuses; because, although there have appearance, is a manifest improvement in the been instances of almost indistinguishable modern stage. The exceeding beauty and likeness in two persons, yet these are mere accuracy of scenery and dress in our days is individual accidents, casus ludentis naturæ, destructive, in some degree, to the poetical and the verum will not excuse the inveritruth of Shakspere's dramas. It takes them simile. But farce dares add the two Droout of the region of the broad and universal, mios, and is justified in so doing by the laws to impair their freedom and narrow their of its end and constitution. In a word, range by a topographical and chronological farces commence in a postulate, which must minuteness. be granted." was exhibited upon a painted board to Shakspere's audience, their thoughts of that city were in subjection to the descriptions of the poet; but, if a pencil as magical as that of Stanfield had shown them a Thebes that the child might believe to be a reality, the words to which they listened would have been comparatively uninteresting, in the easier gratification of the senses instead of the intellect. Poetry must always have something of the vague and indistinct in its character. The exact has its own province. Let science explore the wilds of Africa, and map out for us where there are mighty rivers and verdant plains, in the places where the old geographers gave us pictures of lions and elephants to designate undiscovered desolation. But let poetry still have its undefined countries; let Arcadia remain unsurveyed; let us not be too curious to inquire whether Dromio was an ancient heathen or a Christian, nor whether Bottom the weaver lived precisely at the time when Theseus did battle with the Centaurs.

Coleridge has furnished the philosophy of all just criticism upon 'The Comedy of Errors' in a note, which we shall copy entire from his 'Literary Remains:’—

"The myriad-minded man, our, and all men's Shakspere, has in this piece presented us with a legitimate farce in exactest consonance with the philosophical principles and character of farce, as distinguished from comedy and from entertainments. A proper farce is mainly distinguished from comedy by the licence allowed, and even required, in

*See Sydney's Defence of Poesy.'

This postulate granted, it is impossible to imagine any dramatic action to be managed with more skill than that of 'The Comedy of Errors.' Hazlitt has pronounced a censure upon the play which is in reality a commendation:-"The curiosity excited is certainly very considerable, though not of the most pleasing kind. We are teased as with a riddle, which, notwithstanding, we try to solve." To excite the curiosity, by presenting a riddle which we should try to solve, was precisely what Plautus and Shakspere intended to do. Our poet has made the riddle more complex by the introduction of the two Dromios, and has therefore increased the excitement of our curiosity. But whether this excitement be pleasing or annoying, and whether the riddle amuse or tease us, entirely depends upon the degree of attention which the reader or spectator of the farce is disposed to bestow upon it. Hazlitt adds, "In reading the play, from the sameness of the names of the two Antipholuses and the two Dromios, as well as from their being constantly taken for each other by those who see them, it is difficult, without a painful effort of attention, to keep the characters distinct in the mind. And again, on the stage, either the complete similarity of their persons and dress must produce the same perplexity whenever they first enter, or the identity of appearance which the story supposes will be destroyed. We still, however, having a clue to the difficulty, can tell which is which, merely from the contradictions which arise as soon as the different parties begin to speak; and we are

indemnified for the perplexity and blunders into which we are thrown, by seeing others thrown into greater and almost inextricable ones." Hazlitt has here, almost undesignedly, pointed out the source of the pleasure which, with an "effort of attention,"-not a "painful effort," we think, a reader or spectator of 'The Comedy of Errors' is sure to receive from this drama. We have "a clue to the difficulty;"—we know more than the actors in the drama;-we may be a little perplexed, but the deep perplexity of the characters is a constantly increasing triumph to us. We have never seen the play; but one who has seen it thus describes the effect: "Until I saw it on the stage (not mangled into an opera), I had not imagined the extent of the mistakes, the drollery of them, their unabated continuance, till, at the end of the fourth act, they reached their climax with the assistance of Dr. Pinch, when the audience in their laughter rolled about like Mr. Brown adds, with great truth, "To the strange contrast of grave astonishment among the actors, with their laughable situations in the eyes of the spectators, who are let into the secret, is to be ascribed the irresistible effect." The spectators, the readers, have the clue, are let into the secret, by the story of the first scene. Nothing can be more beautifully managed, or is altogether more Shaksperean, than the narrative of Egeon: and that narrative is so clear and so impressive, that the reader never forgets it amidst all the errors and perplexities which follow. The Duke, who, like the reader or spectator, has heard the narrative, instantly sees the real state of things when the dénouement is approaching :

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appears to us that every one of an audience of 'The Comedy of Errors,' who keeps his eyes open, will, after he has become a little familiar with the persons of the two Antipholuses and the two Dromios, find out some clue by which he can detect a difference between each, even without "the practical contradictions which arise as soon as the different parties begin to speak." Schlegel says, "In such pieces we must always presuppose, to give an appearance of truth to the senses at least, that the parts by which the misunderstandings are occasioned are played with masks: and this the poet, no doubt, observed." Whether masks, properly so called, were used in Shakspere's time in the representation of this play, we have some doubt. But, unquestionably, each pair of persons selected to play the twins must be of the same height,-with such general resemblances of the features as may be made to appear identical by the colour and false hair of the tiring-room,—and be dressed with apparently perfect similarity. But let every care be taken to make the deception perfect, and yet the observing spectator will detect a difference between each; some peculiarity of the voice, some "trick o' the eye," some dissimilarity in gait, some minute variation in dress. We once knew two adult twin-brothers who might have played the Dromios without the least aids from the arts of the theatre. They were each stout, their stature was the same, each had a sort of shuffle in his walk, the voice of each was rough and unmusical, and they each dressed without any manifest peculiarity. One of them had long been a resident in the country town where we lived within a few doors of him, and saw him daily; the other came from a distant county to stay with our neighbour. Great was the perplexity. It was perfectly impossible to distinguish between them, at first, when they were apart; and we well remember walking some distance with the stranger, mistaking him for his brother, and not discovering the mistake (which he humoured) till we saw his total ignorance of the locality. But after seeing this Dromio erraticus a few times the perplexity was at an end. There was a difference which was

palpable, though not exactly to be defined. | execute, which he has for years pursued If the features were alike, their expression without success :— was somewhat varied; if their figures were the same, the one was somewhat more erect than the other; if their voices were similar, the one had a different mode of accentuation

ence.

from the other; if they each wore a blue coat with brass buttons, the one was decidedly more slovenly than the other in his general appearance. If we had known them at all intimately, we probably should have ceased to think that the outward points of identity were even greater than the points of differWe should have, moreover, learned the difference of their characters. It appears to us, then, that as this farce of real life was very soon at an end when we had become a little familiar with the peculiarities in the persons of those twin brothers, so the spectator of The Comedy of Errors' will very soon detect the differences of the Dromios and Antipholuses; and that, while his curiosity is kept alive by the effort of attention which is necessary for this detection, the riddle will not only not tease him, but its perpetual solution will afford him the utmost satisfaction.

But has not Shakspere himself furnished a clue to the understanding of the Errors, by his marvellous skill in the delineation of character? Pope forcibly remarked that, if our poet's dramas were printed without the names of the persons represented being attached to the individual speeches, we should know who is speaking by his wonderful discrimination in assigning to every character appropriate modes of thought and expression. It appears to us that this is unquestionably the case with the characters of each of the twin-brothers in 'The Comedy of Errors.'

"He that commends me to mine own content
Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
I to the world am like a drop of water
That in the ocean seeks another drop."
Sedate, gentle, loving, the Antipholus of
Syracuse is one of Shakspere's amiable crea-
tions. He beats his slave according to the
custom of slave-beating; but he laughs with
him and is kind to him almost at the same
moment. He is an enthusiast, for he falls
in love with Luciana in the midst of his
perplexities, and his lips utter some of the
most exquisite poetry:—

"Oh, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,
To drown me in thy sister flood of tears;
Sing, syren, for thyself, and I will dote:
Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden
hairs."

But he is accustomed to habits of self-command, and he resolves to tear himself away even from the syren :

"But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,

I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song."

As his perplexities increase, he ceases to be angry with his slave:—

"The fellow is distract, and so am I;

And here we wander in illusions:

Some blessed power deliver us from hence!" Unlike the Menæchmus Sosicles of Plautus he refuses to dine with the courtezan. He is firm yet courageous when assaulted by the Merchant.

When the Errors are clearing up, he modestly adverts to his love for Luciana; and we feel that he will be happy.

Antipholus of Ephesus is decidedly inferior to his brother in the quality of his intellect

The Dromio of Syracuse is described by his and the tone of his morals. He is scarcely

master as

"A trusty villain, sir; that very oft,
When I am dull with care and melancholy,
Lightens my humour with his merry jests."

But the wandering Antipholus herein describes himself: he is a prey to "care and melancholy." He has a holy purpose to

justified in calling his wife "shrewish." Her fault is a too sensitive affection for him. Her feelings are most beautifully described in that address to her supposed husband :"Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine: Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine; Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,

Makes me with thy strength to communicate:

If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
Usurping ivy, briar, or idle moss."

The classical image of the elm and the vine would have been sufficient to express the feelings of a fond and confiding woman; the exquisite addition of the

“Usurping ivy, briar, or idle moss," conveys the prevailing uneasiness of a loving and doubting wife. Antipholus of Ephesus has somewhat hard measure dealt to him throughout the progress of the Errors ;-but he deserves it. His doors are shut against him, it is true;-in his impatience he would force his way into his house, against the remonstrances of the good Balthazar :

"Your long experience of her wisdom, Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, Plead on her part some cause to you unknown."

He departs, but not "in patience; "—he is content to dine from home, but not at "the Tiger." His resolve

"That chain will I bestow

(Be it for nothing but to spite my wife) Upon mine hostess"

would not have been made by his brother in a similar situation. He has spited his wife; he has dined with the courtezan. But he is not satisfied:

"Go thou

And buy a rope's end; that will I bestow Among my wife and her confederates." We pity him not when he is arrested, nor when he receives the "rope's end" instead of his "ducats." His furious passion with his wife, and the foul names he bestows on her, are quite in character; and when he has

"Beaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor," we cannot have a suspicion that the doctor was practising on the wrong patient. In a word, we cannot doubt that, although the Antipholus of Ephesus may be a brave soldier, who took "deep scars to save his prince's life, and that he really has a right to consider himself much injured, he is strikingly opposed to the Antipholus of Syracuse; that he is neither sedate, nor

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gentle, nor truly-loving ;-that he has no habits of self-command;-that his temperament is sensual;-and that, although the riddle of his perplexity is solved, he will still find causes of unhappiness, and enter

tain

"a huge infectious troop

Of pale distemperatures."

The characters of the two Dromios are not so distinctly marked in their points of difference, at the first aspect. They each have their "merry jests;" they each bear a beating with wonderful good temper; they each cling faithfully to their master's interests. But there is certainly a marked difference in the quality of their mirth. The Dromio of Ephesus is precise and antithetical, striving to utter his jests with infinite gravity and discretion, and approaching a pun with a sly solemnity that is prodigiously diverting :— "The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit; The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell; My mistress made it one upon my cheek: She is so hot, because the meat is cold." Again :

"I have some marks of yours upon my pate, Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders,

But not a thousand marks between you both." He is a formal humorist, and, we have no doubt, spoke with a drawling and monotonous accent, fit for his part in such a dialogue as this:

"Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up, and I shut out?

Dro. E. Perdy, your doors were lock'd, and you shut out.

Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there?

Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself reviled you there.

Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me?

Dro. E. Certes, she did; the kitchen-vestal scorn'd you."

On the contrary, the "merry jests" of Dromio of Syracuse all come from the outpouring of his gladsome heart. He is a creature of prodigious animal spirits, running over

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