Delire

In the early modern period ‘error’ meant not only a fault, offense or mistake, but wandering, as discussed in the introduction. In this way, error is a divergence from the straightforward path, evoking Lecercle’s theory of ‘délire’, also previously

62 _{Michel Serres, The Birth of Physics, trans. Jack Hawkes, ed. David Webb (Manchester: Clinamen,}

discussed. This is particularly useful in discussing The Comedy of Errors because the strong sense of wandering combines with the confusion of mistaken identity, leading to a kind of delirium on behalf of the characters and, to a lesser extent, the audience. To be in délire is to ‘go beyond the bounds of common sense’, to stray from the commonsensical line.63 The line, the border or boundary is that between common sense and individual or perhaps even irrational knowledge. These lines are

metaphorical boundaries: the line marks the passing of a plough or its way ahead but can be applied more generally to the conception and ordering of phenomena.

Lecercle discusses the boundaries of language, seeing them as fundamental to the disorganisation of language: ‘[t]he problem of frontiers is placed at the centre of the study of language’.64

This is because language will sometimes break a boundary. He claims ‘[l]anguage will always try to utter what cannot be said, the subject will always be tempted to go beyond the frontier: in order to define a boundary one must at least attempt to cross it. This is exactly what happens in délire.’65 The dividing line is contravened: for Lecercle it is crossed when language proceeds beyond its own bounds and continues to speak. This type of digression illuminates the fundamental condition of wandering in The Comedy of Errors, of peripatetic characters that constantly enter and exit, and the linguistic confusions that result.

The play opens with wandering, with Egeon’s narrative of shipwreck and loss. ‘Five summers have I spend in farthest Greece,| Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, | And coasting homeward, came to Ephesus’ (I.1.132-4). This is a wandering journey of oblivion, travelling without identity, which ends in death: ‘Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend, | But to procrastinate his liveless end’ (I.2.157-8). As Egeon arrives another Merchant sets sail. ‘I am bound | To Persia,

63 _{Lecercle, Philosophy Through the Looking Glass, p. 5.} 64 _{Lecercle, Philosophy Through the Looking Glass, p. 50.} 65

and want guilders for my voyage’ (IV.1.3-4). The setting of the play in the Mediterranean does not exist in geographical isolation, it is constantly being travelled to and from, allowing the theme of wandering to sail perilously close to disorientation. All the characters are travellers at one time or another. As well as occurring off-stage, travel and movement fills the scenes of the play. Antipholus Erotes says to his Dromio ‘Why, how now, Dromio, where run’st thou so fast?’ (III.2.71-2). Throughout the play the four men are constantly moving from one location to another, wandering in between sturdy thresholds that physically divide up the theatrical space and structure the play.

Although the characters fall into the error of mistaken identity, erratical wandering is a larger theme within the play. It presupposes the straight, correct line, patterned with idiosyncratic, unpredictable divergences. The geography of the twins’ wanderings spatialises their error: they travel from Ephesus to Syracuse, and then from one house to another around Ephesus. Conceptually, error relies upon

boundaries and the transgression of boundaries. Doors shut the twins out, providing physical boundaries, impenetrable frontiers of entry into the home. The settings are particularly important for this purpose: the Phoenix where the native Antipholus and his family live, the Porpentine for the courtesan, and the priory or abbey which becomes central in the fifth act. The action takes place either in ‘the mart’, or marketplace, outside three houses or the priory. The mart in its world of business stands in the opposite direction to the more open and ambiguous sea-port.

Doors form the threshold of these boundaries, distinguishing inner from outer, private from public, home from wandering. Antipholus of Ephesus says ‘Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, | I’ll knock elsewhere, to see they’ll disdain me’ (III.1.120-1). The personified door realises the welcome or rejection it offers.

Other doors can be tested to see if they are spaces of welcoming. Luce asks from within Antipholus of Ephesus’s house, ‘Who are those at the gate?’ (III.1.46). It is Antipholus of Ephesus who is locked out of his own house accompanied by Dromio of Ephesus. The gate or door is no small obstacle—throughout the play these

thresholds are more like fortresses. The boundary is strong and clearly defined—it cannot be crossed by those who are not admitted and in a world of confused doubles these edifices provide a clear division between the two spaces. Antipholus threatens to break the boundary: ‘Go fetch me something: I’ll break ope the gate’ (III.1.73). For the first time the twins come together by speaking across the boundary. Dromio of Ephesus responds to Antipholus: ‘Break any breaking here, and I’ll break your knave’s pate’, unknowingly threatening his own brother on the other side (III.1.74). Through the membrane of the door Dromio responds ‘A man may break a word with you, sir, and words are but wind’ (III.1.75). Breaking becomes an exchange of words and all of it is unsubstantial given the identity of the person to whom he is speaking. Similarly the abbey is impenetrable to those who gather outside, with dialogue the only thing able to cross the threshold. When Antipholus is inside the abbey, Adriana commands

Good people, enter and lay hold on him. Abb. No, not a creature enters in my house.

Adr. Then let your servants bring my husband forth.

Abb. Neither. (V.1.91-4)

The abbey itself is an immovable fixture and it becomes a physical impossibility for Adriana to enter. People must work (or wander) around this monument—either they go in or he comes out. The fixity of such monuments throws the constant movement of the characters into relief, and will come to represent the termination of wandering, error or chaos.

For example, at the beginning of the play Antipholus Erotes [of Syracuse] is constantly banishing both Dromios and calling them back to him. ‘Get thee away’ says Antipholus, to which Dromio replies ‘Many a man would take you at your word, | And go indeed, having so good a mean’ (I.2.16-8). Antipholus’s ‘word’ has ‘so good a mean’ because it works on several levels. It refers to his truth or honour given in language, but also to the single word he has just spoken instructing Dromio ‘away’. Dromio threatens to take his ‘word’ literally and go away, not just apart from Antipholus but with the implication of disappearing. The threat of getting lost, even wilfully lost, haunts both sets of twins.

Similarly, ‘mean’ operates on several levels. It can refer to the semantics of Antipholus’s ‘word’, being the reason to leave as Dromio has been instructed, or to the gold he has just been given, being his means: he is more than happy to vanish with a large bag of gold. Alternatively it could refer to Antipholus’s face or mien. Given that Antipholus is grumpy, having just admitted ‘For with long travel I am stiff and weary’, his ‘good’ mien could sarcastically refer to his irascible expression and Dromio is therefore glad to avoid suffering the consequences of Antipholus’s mood (I.2.15). The indeterminacy of ‘away’—where, how far and until when— depends upon the ambiguity of ‘word’ and ‘mean’. At an early stage of the play, Shakespeare is using the concept of wandering to create semantic multiplicity. Antipholus’s destabilising order to wander ‘away’ is rendered further uncertain by the multiplicity of meanings which is itself a wandering from one interpretation to another. By virtue of this multiplicity, the sense of the concept verges on being lost and when present, this kind of playful, dangerous language only generates confusion.