TERENCE’S ANDRIAN.
TERENCE’S
ANDRIAN,
A Comedy, in Five Acts,
TRANSLATED INTO
ENGLISH PROSE,
WITH
CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY NOTES,
BY
W. R. GOODLUCK, JUN.
The Athenian and Roman plays were written with such a regard to
morality, that Socrates used to frequent the one, and Cicero the
other.
SPECTATOR; No. 446.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1820.
LONDON:
Printed by W. CLOWES, Northumberland-court.
PREFACE.
If an apology for the following translation cannot be found in the work
itself, it would be to little purpose to insert it in the Preface. I
have attempted to present to the public the most celebrated dramatist
of ancient Rome, in such a dress as may enable the English reader,
learned and unlearned equally, to relish, in his own language, the
beauties of this great poet. Though the original is composed in verse,
I have employed prose in this translation, because the verse of Terence
approaches so very nearly to prose, that in prose only is it possible
to adhere faithfully to the words, and particularly to the style of
our author; as we have in our language no measure of verse at all
corresponding with that used by Terence.
To the learned reader, the number of the subjoined Notes may, perhaps,
seem excessive; and the minuteness of description which characterizes
many of them, may appear unnecessary; but, though this work was not
written professedly for the schools, yet the Notes were not composed
entirely without a view to the instruction of the young student;
and, as translations are supposed to be made chiefly for the use of
the unlearned, who cannot be expected to be much acquainted with the
manners and customs of the ancients; I thought it better, if I erred
at all, to err on the safe side, and to repeat to some of my readers
something that they knew before, rather than run the risk of permitting
any one of them to remain unacquainted with it altogether. A French
translator of Terence, the learned and indefatigable Madame Dacier,
has judged a still greater number of Notes than I have subjoined in
this work, necessary to elucidate various passages in her translation
of the play of the Andrian, and of Suetonius’s Life of our author. One
remark may be added on this subject; it must be considered that many
of the explanatory Notes affixed to the play of the Andrian, tend to
the general elucidation of the various passages in the remaining five
plays of Terence; and I think I may venture to hope, that the Notes in
general, will, in many instances, be found useful in the exposition of
many passages in the Latin and Greek classics.
I am induced to publish this play singly, with a view of ascertaining
whether a translation of Terence’s comedies on this plan may meet with
sufficient approbation to encourage the appearance of the remaining
five plays: as I propose to give a complete translation of the works of
this celebrated author, if the present attempt should be honoured with
a favourable reception. I may say, in the words of Terence himself,
“Favete, adeste æquo animo, et rem cognoscite,
Ut pernoscatis, ecquid spei sit reliquum,
Posthac quas faciet de integro comœdias,
Spectandæ, an exigendæ sint vobis priùs.”
And now deign to favour the play with your attention, and
give it an impartial hearing, that you may know what is
in future to be expected from the poet, and whether the
comedies that he may write hereafter, will be worthy to
be accepted, or to be rejected by you.――_Prologue to the
Andrian._
These lines contain very strong presumptive proof that the Andrian
was Terence’s first production; and, for that reason, it has been
selected for this essay, and not on account of its being supposed to be
superior to his other plays: for so great, so steady was the equality
of this poet’s genius, that no critic of eminence, ancient or modern,
could ever yet venture to assign to any one of his plays a claim of
superiority to the rest. The celebrated Scaliger has asserted that
there were not more than _three_ faults in the _six_ plays of Terence.
The ancients seem to have been least partial to the Step-mother:
Volcatius says,
“Sumetur Hecyra sexta ex his fabula.”
The Step-mother is reckoned the last of the six. This was the only
piece written by our author, in which the plot was single; and the want
of a double plot, which the Romans then preferred, was, doubtless, the
reason of its being postponed to Terence’s other productions.
The force of custom has given authority to an erroneous disposition of
these comedies, which are usually printed in the following order:
The Andrian,
The Eunuch,
The Self-tormentor,
The Brothers,
The Step-mother,
The Phormio.
They were written and represented at Rome as follows:
Year of Rome.
The Andrian 587
The Step-mother 588
The Self-tormentor 590
The Eunuch 592
The Phormio 592
The Brothers 593
The original cause of the order of these plays being changed by the
ancient transcribers is not known; though it is conjectured that they
classed them thus, that the four plays taken from Menander might be
placed together. This leads me to mention Terence’s close imitation of
the Greek dramatists, amounting, in fact, to a partial translation of
them; and it is necessary to bear this in mind during a perusal of his
writings, lest, under the impression that this author wrote originally
in _Latin_, the reader should forget that the scene is always laid in
Greece; that the persons of the drama are not Romans but Greeks; and
that, consequently, the manners, customs, names, and things, there
mentioned, are almost uniformly Grecian.
Roman literature had emerged from obscurity just previous to the times
of Terence: that sun, which was destined to shed its splendour over all
future ages, was then scarcely risen from the darkness which shrouded
it during the rude infancy of the Roman commonwealth; and even for
a long period after Rome assumed the highest rank in the scale of
nations. Livius Andronicus, the first poet of eminence, wrote dramatic
pieces in the year of Rome 513. He was followed by Nævius, Ennius,
Tegula, and Cæcilius; next comes Pacuvius, who excelled in tragedies;
then follow Plautus and his cotemporaries Plautius, Aquilius, and
Acutius; and, lastly, Terence brought the Latin drama to its highest
perfection about the year of Rome 590, eighty years after its first
appearance. But, in Greece, dramatic writing had attained the highest
pitch of excellence under Menander, more than one hundred years before;
and the Latin poets copied most closely from the refined writings of
the Greeks. At that time, and for many years after, Greek was almost as
much in fashion at Rome, as French has of late years been in fashion
in England: it formed a necessary branch of a polite education; and
many of the Romans quitted their native city, and resided in Greece
a considerable time, for the purpose of perfecting themselves in the
Greek language, and enjoying the advantage of associating themselves
with the philosophers and other learned men of that country.
Our author, therefore, complied with the taste of the age, and no man
succeeded better in making the Greek poets speak Latin. He copied
chiefly from Menander: the four entire plays, the Andrian, the Eunuch,
the Self-tormentor, and the Brothers, were taken from the writings of
that great poet, as were also some parts of the Step-mother and the
Phormio.
Terence’s great rival in dramatic fame was Marcus Accius Plautus, who
flourished a few years before him; and has left twenty comedies replete
with wit and spirit. To draw a comparison at length, between these
great poets, would be an undertaking by no means suited to a Preface;
and far more arduous than I should at present feel prepared to enter
into: the learned Madame Dacier very happily observes, “Il est certain
qu’il n’y a rien de plus difficile que cette espèce de critique qui
consiste à juger des hommes, et à faire voir les avantages qu’ils
ont les uns sur les autres. Il y a tant d’égards à observer; tant de
rapports à unir, tant de différences à peser, que c’est une chose
presque infinie; et il semble que pour s’en bien acquitter, il faudroit
avoir une esprit supérieur à ceux dont on juge, comme il est nécessaire
que la main qui se sert d’une balance soit plus forte que les choses
quelle veut peser.”――It is certain, that no species of criticism is
more difficult than that which consists of judging generally of an
author; and in pointing out those excellencies, in which he is superior
to other writers. There are so many points to be considered, so many
similarities to be compared with each other, so many differences to
be weighed against each other, that the task is almost endless; and
appears to require talents superior to those of the person whose
productions are to be criticised; as the hand which holds the balance
ought to possess a power more than equal to the weight of whatever is
to be placed in it.
Most of those critics who have undertaken to compare Terence and
Plautus with each other, have, on a general estimate of their merits,
decided in favour of Terence; though in one or two particular
excellencies they allow Plautus to have surpassed him. They judged
Plautus to be chiefly recommended by his humour, by the amusing variety
of his incidents, by the liveliness and spirit of his action, and by
his rich, agreeable, and witty style. Terence they praise for his
delicacy of expression, his unequalled skill in the delineation of
characters and of manners, and in the construction and management of
his plots, for the well-timed introduction of his incidents, and for
the evenness, purity, and chasteness of his style.
_Terentio non similem dices quempiam._――AFRANIUS.
_Terence stands unrivalled._
One natural defect the critics have charged Terence with, and only one,
_viz_., the want of what the ancients called the _vis comica_, which is
usually interpreted _humour_: and, in this requisite, they judged him
to have fallen short of Plautus. One fault also is objected against
him, being no less than a direct breach of the rules of dramatic
writing; which is, that he makes the actors directly address the
audience in their assumed characters; as in the fourth scene of the
first act of the Andrian, and also in the last scene of the last act.
Against the latter charge, no defence can be made, except we urge the
authority of custom; but the imputation against our author of a want
of humour may, in a great measure, be repelled.
The _vis comica_ of the ancients, though we translate it by the word
_humour_, which approaches nearer to its true signification than any
other expression in our language, could not have been exactly the same
kind of humour with that of our own times; which has been usually
considered as peculiar to the English drama, and has not even a name
in any other modern language. If we allow the _vis comica_, or comic
force, to be divided into two species, namely, the _vis comica_ of
the action, and the _vis comica_ of the dialogue, (and is there not
a humour of action, as there is of words?) we must also allow, that
Terence’s writings, far from being devoid of the humour of action, are
replete with it throughout. The Eunuch, particularly, abounds with this
kind of humour, especially in the eighth scene of the fourth act, where
Thraso forms his line of battle; and, in the fifth, sixth, and seventh
scenes of the last act, between Laches, Pythias, and Parmeno, which are
specimens of the _vis comica of action_, not inferior to many of the
witty Plautus’s attempts to exhibit this species of dramatic manners.
I shall conclude by giving the reader some account of the rise and
conduct of dramatic entertainments at Rome: which cannot be so
conveniently introduced in the Notes. A knowledge of these things is
very necessary to a right understanding of Terence’s plays; as his mode
of writing could not be reconciled to the modern method of dramatic
representation, which differs very materially from the ancient manner.
About an hundred and twenty years before regular plays were first
exhibited at Rome, a sort of entertainment called _ludi scenici_ was
introduced there by the Etrurians: it consisted merely of dancing to
the sound of a pipe. This simple amusement was soon improved upon,
and the dancers began also to speak. They spouted a species of rude
satirical verses, in which they threw out rough jests, raillery, and
repartee against each other: these were called Saturnian verses, or
Satires, from their god Saturn: hence this name was afterwards applied
to poetry composed for the purpose of lashing vice or folly. The
Saturnian verses, set to music, and accompanied by dancing, continued
a favourite diversion, till they were superseded by regular plays
about the year of Rome 515. The places where they were represented,
(called theatra, theatres, from a Greek word signifying _to see_,)
were originally tents, erected in the country, under the shade of
some lofty trees: afterwards they performed in temporary buildings
formed of wood: one of these is recorded to have been large enough to
contain eighty thousand spectators. Pompey the Great erected the first
permanent theatre: it was built of stone, and of a size sufficient to
accommodate forty thousand persons.
Some critics have objected against Terence, that he is guilty of an
impropriety in making one actor speak very frequently without being
heard by another; and introducing two or more persons on the stage,
who, though they are both of them seen by the spectators, yet do not
perceive each other for a considerable space of time. These objections
are easily answered when we reflect on the magnificent size of the
Roman theatres. An ingenious writer of the last century has given a
very clear explanation of this subject: I shall give it in his own
words.
“Some make this objection, that in the beginning of many scenes, two
actors enter upon the stage, and talk to themselves a considerable time
before they see or know one another; which they say is neither probable
nor natural. Those that object to this don’t consider the great
difference between our little scanty stage and the large magnificent
Roman theatres. Their stage was sixty yards wide in the front, their
scenes so many streets meeting together, with all by-lanes, rows,
and alleys; so that two actors coming down two different streets or
lanes, couldn’t be seen by each other, though the spectators might
see both; and sometimes, if they did see each other, they couldn’t
well distinguish faces at sixty yards’ distance. Besides, upon several
accounts, it might well be supposed when an actor enters upon the stage
out of some house, he might take a turn or two under the porticoes,
cloisters, or the like, (that were usual at that time,) about his door,
and take no notice of an actor’s being on the other side of the stage.”
Of course, the extensive size of the Roman theatres made it impossible
that the natural voice of the actors should be distinctly heard at the
distance they stood from the audience: to remedy this inconvenience,
they had recourse to a sort of mask, which covered both the head and
the face: it was called _persona_, from two Latin words, signifying to
_sound through_: the mouth of this mask was made very large, and with
thin plates of brass they contrived to swell the sound of the voice,
and, at the same time, to vary its tones, so as to accord with the
passions they wished to express. Instructions in the use of these masks
formed an essential and important branch of the education of a Roman
actor.
The plays represented at Rome were divided into two classes: 1. the
palliatæ, 2. the togatæ. In the first, the characters of the piece were
entirely Grecian: in the latter, they were entirely Roman. The second
class, _viz._, the togatæ, were subdivided into the prætextatæ, when
the play was tragedy: the tabernariæ, when the scenes lay in low life:
the atellanæ, or farces: and the trabeatæ, when the scene lay in the
camp: they had likewise mimes and pantomimes.
The chorus consisted sometimes of one person, though generally of
several, who stood on the stage during the representation, at first,
without any share in the action of the piece: some suppose that they
were there partly in the character of spectators: if this conjecture
be correct, Terence may be excused for making the actors address them.
Their business seems originally to have been singing between the pauses
in the action, and delivering moral reflections on what was represented
on the stage: afterwards they were incorporated with the action, as a
species of attendants. These theatrical appendages were at last laid
aside, because it was thought to appear improbable, that intrigues,
which usually are to be kept secret, should be carried on in their
presence.
Flutes were played during the whole time of the performance, and the
chief musician beating time, directed the actors when they were to
raise, and when they were to depress their voices. Sometimes one person
recited the words, and another performed the action of the same part.
The tibiæ, or flutes, were of various kinds: the best account of the
manner in which they were used is given us by Madame Dacier, as follows:
“The performers played on two flutes during the whole of the
representation. They stopped the vents of one of them with the right
hand: that flute was, therefore, called right handed: the other was
stopped with the left, and called a left-handed flute. In the first,
there were but a few holes; which occasioned it to give a deep, bass
sound: in the other, the holes were very numerous: this flute sounded a
sharp shrill note.
“When a comedy was accompanied by two flutes of a different sound,
it was said to be played _Tibiis imparibus dextris et sinistris,
unequal flutes, right and left handed_. When the flutes were of the
same sound, it was said to be played _Tibiis paribus dextris, with
equal right-handed flutes_, if they were of a deep sound: and _Tibiis
paribus sinistris, with equal left-handed flutes_, when they were of
a sharp shrill sound. The right-handed flutes were called Lydian; the
left-handed Tyrian; the unequal Phrygian; as were also the crooked
flutes.”
The tragic and comic actors were distinguished from each other by the
covering of their feet. The tragedians wore a sort of boot, called
cothurnus, with a very high heel; which was intended to give them a
commanding, majestic appearance. The comedians wore a light shoe, or
slipper, called soccus.
The Romans appear to have been very partial to dramatic entertainments.
Magistrates were appointed to exhibit them: and the people even
devoted to the theatre part of that time which is usually allotted to
more weighty concerns: as their plays were usually performed in the
day-time. Magnificent theatres were erected at the public expense; and
sometimes even by private individuals. A description of one of these
buildings is recorded by Pliny. The scenes were divided into three
partitions, one above another. The first consisted of one hundred
and twenty marble pillars; the second of the same number of pillars,
most curiously covered and ornamented with glass: the third of the
same number of pillars, covered with gilded tablets. Three thousand
brazen statues filled up the spaces between the pillars. This theatre
would contain eighty thousand persons. Independently of the ordinary
representations, plays were performed on all solemn occasions: at the
public feasts and games, and at the funerals of eminent citizens. No
opportunity seems to have been neglected to introduce this species
of amusement at Rome: no nation, ancient or modern, appears to have
cultivated the drama with greater diligence than the Romans; and few
have had more success. It is our misfortune, that so few specimens
of the excellence of their dramatists have descended to our times.
Let us, however, admire and profit by what we have. The writings of
Terence and of Plautus present us with an inexhaustible source of
pleasure and instruction. As long as virtuous and humane sentiments do
not lose their appeal to the heart; as long as purity, delicacy of
expression, wit, and spirit, and well-wrought fable continue to satisfy
the judgment; so long the names of Terence and of Plautus must remain
immortal.
THE
LIFE OF TERENCE,
Translated from the Latin
OF
CAIUS SUETONIUS TRANQUILLUS[1].
Publius Terentius[2], born at Carthage, in Africa, was slave to
Terentius Lucanus, a Roman senator: who, justly appreciating his great
abilities, gave him not only a polite education, but also his liberty
in the earlier part of his life. He is supposed by some to have been
made a prisoner of war: but Fenestella[3] refutes this opinion; as
[4]Terence was born after the conclusion of the second Punic war, and
died before the commencement of the third: neither, if he had been made
a captive by the [5]Numidians, or Getulians, could he have fallen into
the hands of the Romans, as there was no commerce between the Italians
and Africans, before the destruction of Carthage.
Terence lived in the closest intimacy with many of the Roman nobility,
but particularly with Scipio Africanus[6] and Caius Lælius[7], who were
about his own age[8], though Fenestella makes Terence rather older
than either of them. Portius[9] commemorates their friendship in the
following verses:
Dum lasciviam nobilium; et fucosas laudes petit:
Dum Africani vocem divinam inhiat avidis auribus:
Dum ad Furium se cœnitare et Lælium pulchrum putat:
Dum se amari ab hisce credit, crebro in Albanum rapi
Ob florem ætatis suæ, ipsus sublatis rebus ad summam
Inopiam redactus est.
Itaque e conspectu omnium abiit in Græciam in terram ultimam.
Mortuus est in Stymphalo Arcadiæ oppido: nihil Publius
Scipio profuit, nihil ei Lælius, nihil Furius;
Tres per idem tempus qui agitabant nobiles facillime,
Eorum ille opera ne domum quidem habuit conductitiam,
Saltem ut esset, quo referret obitum domini servulus.
“While Terence joins in the pleasures of the nobles, and seeks their
empty praise; while he listens with delight to the divine voice of
Africanus; and thinks himself most happy to sup with Lælius and with
Furius[10]; while he believes them to be his true friends; while he is
frequently carried to the [11]Albanian villa; his property is spent,
and he himself reduced to the greatest poverty: on which account he
goes, avoiding all mankind, to the most distant parts of Greece, and
dies at Stymphalus[12], a town in Arcadia: his three great friends
Scipio, Lælius, and Furius, give him no assistance; nor even enable him
to hire a house; that there might, at least, be a place where his slave
might announce to Rome his master’s death.”
He wrote six comedies: when the first of them, the Andrian, was
presented to the Ædiles[13]; he was desired to read it to Cærius[14];
he accordingly repaired to his house, and found him at supper;
and, being meanly dressed, was seated on a stool near the couch of
Cærius[15], where he commenced the reading of his play; but Cærius
had no sooner heard the first few lines than he invited the poet to
sup with him; after which, the play was read, to the great admiration
of Cærius, who betowed on the author the most unbounded applause. The
other five comedies met with equal commendation from the Romans, though
Volcatius[16], in his enumeration of them, says,
Sumetur Hecyra sexta ex his fabula.
The Step-mother is reckoned the last of the six.
The Eunuch was acted twice in one day[17]; and the author received
for it a higher price than was ever paid for any comedy before that
time, viz., eight thousand sesterces[18]: on account of the magnitude
of the sum, it is mentioned in the title of that play. Varro[19] even
prefers the opening scenes of the Brothers of Terence to the same part
in Menander. The report that Terence was indebted to Scipio and Lælius,
with whom he was so intimate, for parts of his comedies, is well
known; and he himself scarcely seems to have discouraged the assertion,
as he never seriously denies it: witness the Prologue to the Brothers:
Nam quod isti dicunt malevoli, homines nobiles
Eum adjutare, assidueque una scribere:
Quod illi maledictum vehemens existimant,
Eam laudem hic ducit maximam, cum illis placet
Qui vobis universis, et populo placent:
Quorum opera in bello, in otio, in negotio
Suo quisque tempore usus est sine superbia.
“And as for what those malicious railers say[20], who assert that
certain noble persons assist the poet, and very frequently write with
him, what they think a reproach, he considers as the highest praise;
that he should be thought to please those who please you, and all
Rome; those who have assisted every one in war, and peace, and even in
their private affairs, with the greatest services; and yet have been
always free from arrogance.” It is likely, that he might wish, in some
measure, to encourage this idea, because he knew that it would not be
displeasing to Scipio and Lælius: however, the opinion has gained
ground, and is strongly entertained even to the present day. Quintus
Memmius[21], in an oration in his own defence, says,
Publius Africanus, qui a Terentio personam mutuatus, quæ domi
luserat ipse, nomine illius in scenam detulit.――――
“Publius Africanus, who borrowed the name of Terence for those
plays which he composed at home for his diversion.――――”
Cornelius Nepos[22] asserts, that he has it from the very first
authority, that Caius Lælius being at his country-house at [23]Puteoli,
on the first of March[24], and being called to supper by his wife at an
earlier hour than usual, requested that he might not be interrupted;
and afterwards coming to table very late, he declared that he had
scarcely ever succeeded better in composition than at that time; and,
being asked to repeat the verses, he read the following from the
Self-tormentor, Act IV, Scene III.
Satis pol proterve me Syri promissa huc induxerunt
Decem minas quas mihi dare pollicitus est, quod si is nunc me
Deceperit, sæpe obsecrans me, ut veniam, frustra veniet:
Aut, cum venturam dixero, et constituero, cum is certe
Renunciârit; Clitiphon cum in spe pendebit animi
Decipiam, ac non veniam; Syrus mihi tergo pænas pendet.
“Truly this Syrus has coaxed me hither, impertinently enough, with his
fine promises that I should receive ten minæ; but, if he deceives me
this time, ’twill be to no purpose to ask me to come again; or, if I
promise, and appoint to come, I’ll take good care to disappoint him.
Clitipho, who will be full of eager hope to see me, will I deceive, and
will not come; and Syrus’ back shall pay the penalty.”
Santra[25] thinks, that if Terence had required any assistance in
his comedies; he would not have requested it from Scipio and Lælius,
who were then extremely young[26]; but from [27]Caius Sulpicius
Gallus, a man of great learning, who also was the first person who
procured[28] the representation of comedies at the consular games or
from [29]Quintus Fabius Labeo; or from[30] Marcus Popilius Lænas,
two eminent poets, and persons[31] of consular dignity: and Terence
himself, speaking of those who were reported to have assisted him, does
not mention them as young men, but as persons of weight and experience,
who had served the Romans in peace, in war, and in private business.
After the publication of his six comedies, he quitted Rome, in the
thirty-fifth year of his age, and returned no more. Some suppose that
he undertook this journey with a view to silence the reports of his
receiving assistance from others in the composition of his plays:
others, that he went with a design to inform himself more perfectly of
the manners and customs of Greece.
Volcatius speaks of his death as follows:
Sed ut Afer sex populo edidit comœdias
Iter hinc in Asiam fecit: navim cum semel
Conscendit, visus nunquam est. Sic vita vacat.
“Terence, after having written six comedies, embarked for Asia, and was
seen no more. He perished at sea.”
Quintus Consentius[32] writes, that he died at sea, as he was returning
from Greece, with one hundred and eight plays, translated from
Menander[33]. Other writers affirm, that he died at Stymphalus, a town
in Arcadia, or in Leucadia[34], in the consulate of[35] Cneus Cornelius
Dolabella and Marcus Fulvius Nobilior, and that his end was hastened
by extreme grief for the loss of the comedies which he had translated,
and some others which he had composed himself, and sent before him in a
vessel which was afterwards wrecked.
He is said to have been of a middle stature, well-shaped, and of a
dark complexion. He left one daughter, who was afterwards married to
[36]a Roman knight, and bequeathed to her a garden of [37]XX jugera,
near the Appian Way, and close to the [38]Villa Martis: it is therefore
surprising that Portius should write thus:
――――nihil Publius
Scipio profuit, nihil ei Lælius, nihil Furius:
Tres per idem tempus qui agitabant nobiles facillime,
Eorum ille opera ne domum quidem habuit conductitiam:
Saltem ut esset, quo referret obitum domini servulus.
“His three great friends, Scipio, Lælius, and Furius, give him no
assistance, nor even enable him to hire a house, that there might at
least be a place where his slave might announce to Rome his master’s
death.”
Afranius[39] prefers Terence to all the comic poets, saying, in his
Compitalia[40].
Terentio non similem dices quempiam.
“Terence is without an equal.”
But Volcatius places him not only after [41]Nævius, [42]Plautus, and
[43]Cæcilius, but even after [44]Licinius. [45]Cicero, in his ΛΕΙΜΩΝ,
writes of Terence thus,
Tu quoque qui solus lecto sermone, Terenti,
Conversum, expressumque Latina voce Menandrum
In medio populi sedatis vocibus effers,
Quicquid come loquens, ac omnia dulcia dicens.
“And thou, also, O Terence, whose pure style alone could make Menander
speak the Latin tongue, thou, with the sweetest harmony and grace, hast
given him to Rome.”
Also Caius Julius Cæsar[46],
Tu quoque tu in Summis, O dimidiate Menander,
Poneris et merito, puri sermonis amator,
Lenibus atque utinam scriptis adjuncta foret vis
Comica ut æquato virtus polleret honore,
Cum Græcis neque in hac despectus parte jaceres,
Unum hoc maceror, et doleo tibi deesse Terenti.
“And thou, also, O thou half Menander, art justly placed among the most
divine poets, for the purity of thy style. O would that humour had kept
pace with ease in all thy writings; then thou wouldest not have been
compelled to yield even to the Greeks; nor could a single defect have
been objected to thee. But, as it is, thou hast this great defect, and
this, O Terence, I lament.”
THE ANDRIAN,
A Comedy,
ACTED AT
THE MEGALESIAN GAMES[47];
IN THE [48]CURULE ÆDILATE OF [49]MARCUS FULVIUS AND
MARCUS GLABRIO[50]; BY THE COMPANY[51] OF LUCIUS
AMBIVIUS TURPIO, AND LUCIUS ATTILIUS[52],
OF PRÆNESTE.
FLACCUS, the Freedman of Claudius, composed the Music for
[53]equal Flutes, right and left handed.
[54]It is taken from the Greek, and was published during the
Consulate of Marcus Claudius Marcellus, and Cneus Sulpicius
Galba[55].
Year of Rome 587
Before Our Saviour 162
Author’s Age 27
THE ARGUMENT.
There were in Athens two brothers, CHREMES and PHANIA. The
former making a voyage to Asia, left his infant daughter,
named PASIBULA, under the protection of PHANIA; who, to
avoid the dangers of a war which shortly after convulsed
the GRECIAN States, quitted Athens, and embarked also for
ASIA with the infant PASIBULA, designing to rejoin his
brother CHREMES. His vessel being wrecked off Andros, he
was received and hospitably entertained by an inhabitant
of the island, where he died, bequeathing his niece to his
host, who generously educated her with his own daughter
CHRYSIS; changing her name from PASIBULA to GLYCERA. After
some years he also died, and his daughter CHRYSIS, finding
herself reduced to poverty, and avoided by her relations,
removed to Athens, accompanied by her adopted sister
GLYCERA, or PASIBULA. Here, supported by her industry, she
lived for some months in a virtuous seclusion; but after
that period became acquainted with several young Athenians
of good family, whose visits she admitted, hoping perhaps
to accomplish an advantageous marriage either for GLYCERA
or for herself. She was seduced by pleasure, and her
conduct from that time became very far from irreproachable.
Meanwhile a young man, named PAMPHILUS, is accidently
introduced at her house, sees GLYCERA, is enamoured of
her; she returns his affections, and they are privately
betrothed; a short time previous to the death of CHRYSIS,
which happens about three years after her removal to
Athens. CHREMES, whom we left in Asia, returned to Athens,
and became the father of another daughter, who was called
PHILUMENA; he had long before formed a friendship with
SIMO, the father of PAMPHILUS. PAMPHILUS being a youth of
great worth and high reputation, CHREMES wishes to bestow
on him the hand of his daughter PHILUMENA. Here the play
opens. A report of the connexion between PAMPHILUS and
GLYCERA reaching the ears of CHREMES, he breaks off the
marriage. SIMO conceals this, and to try the truth of the
rumour, proposes PHILUMENA again to his son, and desires
him to wed her instantly. Apprized by his servant DAVUS
of his father’s artful stratagem, PAMPHILUS professes
his willingness to marry, thinking by this measure to
disappoint it; but he defeats himself, for from his ready
consent, CHREMES concludes the rumour false, and renews the
treaty to the great embarrassment of PAMPHILUS, which, with
the artifices DAVUS employs to extricate him, form the most
diverting scenes of the play. However, when the affairs of
PAMPHILUS and DAVUS are reduced to extremity, and a breach
between father and son appears inevitable on account of the
marriage with GLYCERA, and the refusal to accept PHILUMENA,
a stranger called CRITO, most opportunely arrives from
Andros, and discovers GLYCERA to be PASIBULA, the daughter
of CHREMES, who willingly confirms her the wife of
PAMPHILUS, and bestows PHILUMENA, his other daughter, on
CHARINUS, a friend of PAMPHILUS, to the great satisfaction
of all parties.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
SIMO, an old man, the father of Pamphilus.
SOSIA, the freedman of Simo.
PAMPHILUS, the son of Simo.
DAVUS, servant to Pamphilus.
CHARINUS, a young man, the friend of Pamphilus.
BYRRHIA, servant to Charinus.
CHREMES, an old man, the friend of Simo.
CRITO, a stranger, from the island of Andros.
DROMO, a servant.
GLYCERA, the Andrian.
MYSIS, her maid.
LESBIA, a midwife.
MUTES.
ARCHILLIS, Glycera’s nurse.
SERVANTS belonging to Simo.
* * * * *
The Scene lies in ATHENS, in a street between the
houses of Simo and Glycera.
The TIME is about nine hours.
PROLOGUE[56].
Our poet, when first he bent his mind to write, thought that he
undertook no more than to compose Comedies which should please the
people. But he finds himself not a little deceived; and is compelled
to waste his time in making Prologues; not to narrate the plot of his
play, but to answer the snarling malice of an older poet[57]. And
now, I pray you, Sirs, observe what they object against our Author:
Menander wrote the [58]Andrian and Perinthian: he who knows one of them
knows both, their plots are so very similar; but they are different
in dialogue, and in style. He confesses that whatever seemed suitable
to the Andrian, he borrowed from the Perinthian, and used as his own:
and this, forsooth, these railers carp at, and argue against him
that Comedies thus mixed are good for nothing. But, in attempting
to shew their wit, they prove their folly: since, in censuring him,
they censure Nævius, Plautus[59], Ennius, who have given our author a
precedent for what he has done: and whose careless ease he would much
rather imitate than their obscure correctness. But henceforth let them
be silent, and cease to rail; or I give them warning, they shall hear
their own faults published. And now deign to favour the play with your
attention; and give it an impartial hearing, that you may know what
is in future to be expected from the poet, and whether the Comedies
that he may write hereafter, will be worthy to be accepted, or to be
rejected by you.
THE ANDRIAN.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
SIMO, SOSIA, _and Slaves, carrying Provisions_.
_Simo._ [60]Carry in those things, directly. (_Exeunt Slaves._) Do you
come hither Sosia; I have something to say to you.
_Sosia._ You mean, I suppose, that I should take care that these
provisions are properly drest.
_Simo._ No; it’s quite another matter.
_Sosia._ In what else can my skill be of any service?
_Simo._ There is no need of your skill in the management of the affair
I am now engaged in; all that I require of you is faithfulness and
secrecy; qualities I know you to possess.
_Sosia._ I long to hear your commands.
_Simo._ You well know, Sosia, that from the time when I first bought
you as my slave;[61] even from your childhood until the present moment;
I have been a just and gentle master: you served me with a free spirit;
and I gave you freedom; [62]as the greatest reward in my power to
bestow.
_Sosia._ Believe me, Sir, I have not forgotten it.
_Simo._ Nor have you given me any cause to repent that I did so.[63]
_Sosia._ I am very glad, Simo, that my past, and present conduct has
been pleasing to you; and I am grateful for your goodness in receiving
my poor services so favourably: but it pains me to be thus reminded of
the benefits you have conferred upon me, as it seems to upbraid me with
having forgotten them.[64] Pray, Sir, let me request to know your will
at once.
_Simo._ You shall; but first I must inform you that my son’s marriage,
which you expect to take place, is only a feigned marriage.
_Sosia._ But why do you make use of this deceit?
_Simo._ [65]You shall hear every thing from the beginning; by which
means you will learn my son’s course of life, my intentions, and the
part I wish you to take in this affair. When my son, Pamphilus, arrived
at man’s estate,[66] of course he was able to live more according to
his own inclination: for, until a man has attained that age, his
disposition does not discover itself, being kept in check either by his
tutor, or by bashfulness, or by his tender years.
_Sosia._ That is very true.
_Simo._ Most young men attach themselves chiefly to one particular
pursuit; such, for instance, as breeding horses, keeping hounds, or
frequenting the schools of the philosophers.[67] He did not devote
himself entirely to any one of these: but employed a moderate portion
of his time in each; and I was much pleased to see it.
_Sosia._ As well you might, for I think that every man, in the conduct
of his life, should adhere to this precept, “AVOID EXCESS.”
_Simo._ This was his way of life; he bore patiently with every one,
accommodated himself to the tempers of his associates; and fell in
with them in their pursuits; avoided quarrels; and never arrogantly
preferred himself before his companions. Conduct like this will ensure
a man praise without envy, and gain many friends.
_Sosia._ This was indeed a wise course of life; for in these times[68],
flattery makes friends; truth, foes.
_Simo._ Meantime, about three years ago, a certain woman, exceedingly
beautiful, and in the flower of her age, removed into this
neighbourhood; she came from the Island of Andros[69]; being compelled
to quit it by her poverty and the neglect of her relations[70].
_Sosia._ I augur no good from this woman of Andros.
_Simo._ At first she lived chastely, and penuriously, and laboured
hard, managing with difficulty to gain a livelihood[71] with the
distaff and the loom: but soon afterwards several lovers made their
addresses to her[72]; promising to repay her favours with rich
presents; and as we all are naturally prone to pleasure, and averse to
labour, she was induced to accept their offers; and at last admitted
all her lovers without scruple. It happened that some of them with
much persuasion prevailed on my son to accompany them to her house.
Aha! thought I, he is caught[73]: he is certainly in love with her. In
the morning I watched their pages going to her house and returning; I
called one of them; Hark ye, boy, prithee tell me who was the favourite
of Chrysis, yesterday? For this was the Andrian’s name.
_Sosia._ I understand you, Sir.
_Simo._ I was answered that it was Phædrus, or Clinia, or Niceratus;
for all these were her lovers at that time: well, said I, and what
did Pamphilus there! oh! he paid[74] his share and supped with the
rest. Another day I inquired and received the same answer; and I was
extremely rejoiced that I could learn nothing to attach any blame to my
son. Then I thought that I had proved him sufficiently; and that he was
a miracle of chastity:――for he who has to contend against the example
of men of such vicious inclinations, and can preserve his mind from its
pernicious influence, may very safely be trusted with the regulation
of his own conduct. To increase my satisfaction, every body joined as
if with one voice in the praise of Pamphilus, every one extolled his
virtues, and my happiness, in possessing a son endued with so excellent
a disposition. In short, this his high reputation induced my friend
Chremes to come to me of his own accord, and offer to give his daughter
to Pamphilus with a large dowry[75]. I contracted [76]my son, as I was
much pleased with the match, which was to have taken place on this very
day.
_Sosia._ And what has happened to prevent it?
_Simo._ You shall hear: within a few days of this time our neighbour
Chrysis died.
_Sosia._ O happy news! I was still fearful of some mischief from this
Andrian.
_Simo._ Upon this occasion my son was continually at the house with the
lovers of Chrysis, and joined with them in the care of her funeral;
meantime he was sad, and sometimes would even weep. Still I was pleased
with all this; if, thought I, he is so much concerned at the death of
so slight an acquaintance, how would he be afflicted at the loss of one
whom he himself loved, or at my death. I attributed every thing to his
humane and affectionate disposition; in short, I myself, for his sake,
attended the funeral, even yet suspecting nothing.
_Sosia._ Ah! what has happened then?
_Simo._ I will tell you. The corpse is carried out; we follow: in the
mean time, among the women who were there[77], I saw one young girl,
with a form so――――
_Sosia._ Lovely, without doubt.
_Simo._ And with a face, Sosia, so modest, and so charming, that
nothing can surpass it; and as she appeared more afflicted than the
others who were there, and so pre-eminently beautiful[78], and of so
noble a carriage, I approach the women who were following the body[79],
and inquire who she is: they answer, The sister of the deceased.
Instantly the whole truth burst upon me at once: hence then, thought I,
proceed those tears; this sister it is, who is the cause of all his
affliction.
_Sosia._ How I dread to hear the end of all this!
_Simo._ In the mean time the procession advances; we follow, and arrive
at the tomb[80]: the corpse is placed on the pile[81], and quickly
enveloped in flames; they weep; while the sister I was speaking of,
rushed forward in an agony of grief toward the fire; and her imprudence
exposed her to great danger. Then, then it was, that Pamphilus, half
dead with terror, publicly betrayed the love he had hitherto so well
concealed: he flew to the spot, and throwing his arms around her with
all the tenderness imaginable; my dearest Glycera, cried he, what are
you about to do? Why do you rush upon destruction? Upon which she threw
herself weeping upon his bosom in so affectionate a manner, that it was
easy enough to perceive their mutual love.
_Sosia._ How! is this possible!
_Simo._ I returned home, scarcely able to contain my anger; but yet
I had not sufficient cause to chide Pamphilus openly; as he might
have replied to me, What have I done amiss, my father? or how have I
offended you? of what am I guilty? I have preserved the life of one
who was going to throw herself into the flames: I prevented her: this
would have been a plausible excuse.
_Sosia._ You consider this rightly, Sir; for if he who has helped to
save a life is to be blamed for it; what must be done to him who is
guilty of violence and injustice?
_Simo._ The next day Chremes came to me, and complained of being
shamefully used, as he had discovered for a certainty that Pamphilus
had actually married this strange woman[82]. I positively denied that
this was the case, and he as obstinately insisted on the truth of it:
at last I left him, as he was absolutely resolved to break off the
match.
_Sosia._ Did you not then rebuke Pamphilus?
_Simo._ No: there was nothing yet so flagrant as to justify my rebuke.
_Sosia._ How so, Sir, pray explain?
_Simo._ He might have answered me thus: you yourself, my father, have
fixed the time when this liberty must cease; and the period is at hand
when I must conform myself to the pleasure of another: permit me then,
I beseech you, for the short space that remains to me, to live as my
own will prompts me.
_Sosia._ True. What cause of complaint can you then find against him?
_Simo._ If he is induced by his love for this stranger, to refuse to
marry Philumena in obedience to my commands, that offence will lay him
open to my anger; and I am now endeavouring by means of this feigned
marriage, to find a just cause of complaint against him: and, at the
same time, if that rogue Davus has any subtle scheme on foot, this
will induce him to bring it forward now, when it can do no harm; as
I believe that rascal will leave no stone unturned in the affair;
though more for the sake of tormenting me, than with a view to serve or
gratify my son.
_Sosia._ Why do you suspect that?
_Simo._ Why? because of a wicked mind one can expect nothing but
wicked intentions[83]. But if I catch him at his tricks――However, ’tis
in vain to say more: if it appear, as I trust it will, that my son
makes no objection to the marriage, I have only to gain Chremes, whom
I must prevail upon by entreaty; and I have great hopes that I shall
accomplish it. What I wish you to do is, to assist me in giving out
this marriage for truth, to terrify Davus, and to watch the conduct
of my son, what he does; and what course he and his hopeful servant
resolve upon.
_Sosia._ It is enough, Sir; I will take care to obey you. Now, I
suppose, we may go in.
_Simo._ Go, I will follow presently[84].
[_Exit_ SOSIA.
SCENE II.
SIMO, DAVUS.
_Simo._ My son, I have no doubt, will refuse to marry; for I observed
that Davus seemed terribly perplexed just now, when he heard that the
match was to take place: but here he comes[85].
_Davus._ (_not seeing Simo._) I wondered that this affair seemed
likely to pass off so easily! and always mistrusted the drift of my
old master’s extraordinary patience and gentleness; who, though he was
refused the wife he wished for, for his son, never mentioned a word of
it to us, or seemed to take any thing amiss.
_Simo._ (_aside_.) But now he will, as you shall feel, rascal.
_Davus._ His design was to entrap us while we were indulging in an
ill-founded joy, and fancied ourselves quite secure. He wished to take
advantage of our heedlessness, and make up the match before we could
prevent him: what a crafty old fellow!
_Simo._ How this rascal prates[86]!
_Davus._ Here is my master! he has overheard me! I never saw him!
_Simo._ Davus.
_Davus._ Who calls Davus?
_Simo._ Come hither, sirrah.
_Davus._ (_aside._) What can he want with me?
_Simo._ What were you saying?
_Davus._ About what, Sir?
_Simo._ About what, Sir? The world says that my son has an intrigue.
_Davus._ Oh! Sir, the world cares a great deal about that, no doubt.
_Simo._ Are you attending to this, Sir?
_Davus._ Yes, Sir, certainly.
_Simo._ It does not become me to inquire too strictly into the truth of
these reports. I shall not concern myself in what he has done hitherto;
for as long as circumstances allowed of it, I left him to himself:
but it is now high time that he should alter and lead a new life.
Therefore, Davus, I command, and even entreat, that you will prevail on
him to amend his conduct.
_Davus._ What is the meaning of all this discourse?
_Simo._ Those who have love intrigues on their hands are generally very
averse to marriage.
_Davus._ So I have heard.
_Simo._ And if any of them manage such an affair after the counsel of a
knave, ’tis a hundred to one but the rogue will take advantage of their
weakness, and lead them a step further, from being love-sick to some
still greater scrape or imprudence.
_Davus._ Truly, Sir, I don’t understand what you said last.
_Simo._ No! not understand it!
_Davus._ No. I am not Œdipus[87] but Davus.
_Simo._ Then you wish that what I have to say should be explained
openly and without reserve.
_Davus._ Certainly I do.
_Simo._ Then, sirrah, if I discover that you endeavour to prevent my
son’s marriage by any of your crafty tricks; or interfere in this
business to show your cunning; you may rely on receiving a few scores
of lashes, and a situation in the grinding-house[88] for life: upon
this token, moreover, that when I liberate you from thence, I will
grind in your stead. Is this plain enough for you, or don’t you
understand yet?
_Davus._ Oh, perfectly! you come to the point at once: you don’t use
much circumlocution, i’faith.
_Simo._ Remember! In this affair above all others, if you begin
plotting, I will never forgive it.
_Davus._ Softly, worthy Sir, softly, good words I beg of you.
_Simo._ So! you are merry upon it, are you, but I am not to be imposed
upon. I advise you, finally, to take care what you do: you cannot say
you have not had fair warning.
[_Exit._
SCENE III[89].
DAVUS.
In truth, friend Davus, from what I have just heard from the old man
about the marriage, I think thou hast no time to lose. This affair
must be [90]handled dexterously, or either my young master or I must
be quite undone. Nor have I yet resolved which side to take; whether
I shall assist Pamphilus, or obey his father. If I abandon the son,
I fear his happiness will be destroyed: if I help him, I dread the
threats of the old man, who is as crafty as a fox. First, he has
discovered his son’s intrigue, and keeps a jealous eye upon me, lest
I should set some scheme a-foot to retard the marriage. If he finds
out the least thing, I am undone[91], for right or wrong, if he once
takes the whim into his head, he will soon find a pretence for sending
me to grind in the mill for my life; and, to crown our disasters, this
Andrian, Pamphilus’s wife or mistress, I know not which, is with child
by him: ’tis strange enough to hear their presumption. I think their
[92]intentions savour more of madness than of any thing else: boy or
girl, say they, the child shall be brought up[93]. They have made up
among them too, some story or other, to prove that she is a citizen of
Athens[94]. Thus runs the tale. Once upon a time there was a certain
old merchant[95], who was shipwrecked upon the island of Andros, where
he afterwards died, and the father of Chrysis took in his helpless
little orphan, who was this very Glycera. Fables! for my part I don’t
believe a word of it: however, they themselves are vastly pleased with
the story. But here comes her maid Mysis. Well, I’ll betake myself to
the Forum[96], and look for Pamphilus: lest his father should surprise
him with this marriage before I can tell him any thing of the matter.
[_Exit._
SCENE IV.
MYSIS.
[97]I understand you, Archillis: you need not stun me with the same
thing over so often: you want me to fetch the midwife Lesbia: in
truth, she’s very fond of the dram-bottle, and very headstrong; and I
should think she was hardly skilful enough to attend a woman in her
first labour.――However, I’ll bring her.――――Mark how [98]importunate
this [99]old baggage is to have her fellow-gossip, that they may
tipple together. Well, may Diana grant my [100]poor mistress a happy
minute; and that Lesbia’s want of skill may be shewn any where
rather than here. But what do I see? here comes Pamphilus, seemingly
half-distracted, surely something is the matter. I will stay and see
whether this agitation is not the forerunner of some misfortune.
SCENE V.
PAMPHILUS, MYSIS[101].
_Pam._ Heavens! is it possible that any human being, much less a
father, could be guilty of an action like this?
_Mysis._ (_aside._) What can be the matter?
_Pam._ By the faith of gods and men, if ever any one was unworthily
treated, I am. He peremptorily resolved that I should be married on
this very day. Why was not I informed of this before? Why was not I
consulted?
_Mysis._ (_aside._) Miserable woman that I am! what do I hear?
_Pam._ And why has Chremes changed his mind, who obstinately persisted
in refusing me his daughter, after he heard of my imprudence[102]? Can
he do this to tear me from my dearest Glycera? Alas! if I lose her,
I am utterly undone. Was there ever such an unfortunate lover?――was
there ever such an unhappy man as I am? Heavens and earth! will this
persecution never end? Shall I never hear the last of this detested
marriage? How have I been insulted; how have I been slighted! First
of all, the match is agreed on, every thing is prepared, then I am
rejected, now I am courted again. I cannot, for the soul of me,
discover the reason of all this; however, I shrewdly suspect that this
daughter of Chremes is either hideously [103]ugly, or that something is
amiss in her; and so, because he can find no one else to take her off
his hands, he comes to me.
_Mysis._ (_aside._) Bless me! I’m almost frightened out of my senses.
_Pam._ But what shall I say of my father’s behaviour? Ought an affair
of such consequence to be treated so lightly? Meeting me just now
in the Forum, Pamphilus, said he, you are to be married to-day, get
ready, make haste home; it seemed as if he said, go quickly and hang
yourself. I stood amazed and motionless; not one single word could I
pronounce; not one single excuse could I make, though it had been ever
so absurd, false, or unreasonable: I was quite speechless. If any one
were to ask me now, what I would have done, if I had known of this
before? I answer, I would have done any thing in the world to prevent
this hateful marriage; but now what course can I take? A thousand
cares distract my mind. On one side, I am called upon by love and
my compassion for this unfortunate: on the other by their continued
importunities for my marriage with Philumena, and a fear of offending
my father, who has been hitherto so indulgent to me, and complied
with my every wish; and can I now oppose his will? Alas! I am still
wavering; I can resolve upon nothing.
_Mysis._ Unhappy wretch that I am. I dread how this wavering may end
at last; but now it is of the utmost consequence either that I should
say something to him respecting my mistress, or that he should see her
himself; for the least thing in the world may turn the scale, while
the mind is in suspense.
_Pam._ Whose voice is that? Oh, Mysis, welcome.
_Mysis._ Oh! Sir, well met.
_Pam._ How is your mistress?
_Mysis._ Do you not know? she is in labour[104], and her anguish
is increased tenfold at the thought of this being the day formerly
appointed for your marriage. Her greatest fear is lest you should
forsake her.
_Pam._ Heavens! could I have the heart even to think of so base an
action? Can I deceive an unfortunate who has intrusted her all to me?
and whom I have always tenderly loved as my wife? Can I suffer that
she, who has been brought up in the paths of modesty and virtue, should
be exposed to want; [105]and perhaps even to dishonour? I never can, I
never will permit it!
_Mysis._ Ah! Sir, if you were your own master, I should fear nothing;
but I dread lest you should not be able to withstand your father’s
commands.
_Pam._ Do you then think me so cowardly, so ungrateful too, so inhuman,
and so cruel, that neither our intimate connexion, nor love, nor even
shame can prevail upon me, or influence me to keep my promise?
_Mysis._ I am sure of this; she does not deserve that you should forget
her.
_Pam._ Forget her! O Mysis, Mysis, the last words that Chrysis spoke to
me, are still engraved upon my heart, already at the point of death;
she calls for me; I approach; you all retire: we are alone with her:
she speaks thus,――My dear Pamphilus; you see the youth and beauty of
this dear girl; I need not tell you how little these endowments are
calculated to secure either her property or her honour; I call upon
you then, by the pledge of this hand you now extend to me, and by the
natural goodness of your disposition[106]; by your plighted faith,
and by her helpless situation, I conjure you not to forsake her.
If ever I have loved you as my brother, if ever she has obeyed you
as her husband, take her, I implore you, as your wife; be to her a
[107]friend, a guardian, a parent; to you I confide our little wealth;
in your honour I put all my trust.――She placed the hand of Glycera
in mine, and expired. I received the precious gift, and never will I
relinquish it.
_Mysis._ Heaven forbid you ever should!
_Pam._ But why are you abroad at this time?
_Mysis._ I am going for the midwife.
_Pam._ Make haste then; and Mysis, do you hear; say not a word to your
mistress about this marriage, lest that should increase her sufferings.
_Mysis._ I understand you, Sir.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
CHARINUS, BYRRHIA[108].
_Char._ What is it you tell me, Byrrhia; is she then to be married to
Pamphilus; and is the wedding to take place even on this very day?
_Byrr._ It is even so, Sir.
_Char._ How do you know it?
_Byrr._ From Davus, whom I met just now in the Forum.
_Char._ Alas! the measure of my wretchedness is now full: my soul has
hitherto fluctuated between my hopes and fears; but now all hope is
lost, I sink wearied and care-worn into utter despair.
_Byrr_[109]. I beseech you, O Charinus, [110]to wish for something
possible, since what you now wish for is impossible!
_Char._ I can wish for nothing but Philumena!
_Byrr._ Ah! how much wiser you would be, if instead of talking thus,
which only serves to nourish [111]a hopeless passion; you would
endeavour to subdue, and banish it entirely from your heart.
_Char._ How readily do those who are in health give good counsel to the
diseased! if you were in my situation you would not talk thus.
_Byrr._ Well, well, as you please, Sir.
_Char._ But I see Pamphilus coming this way. I am resolved to attempt
every thing before I am quite undone.
_Byrr._ What is he going about now?
_Char._ I will entreat even my rival himself, I will implore him, I
will tell him of my love. I trust I shall be able to prevail upon him,
at least to postpone his marriage for a few days; meantime I hope
something may happen in my favour.
_Byrr._ That something is nothing at all.
_Char._ What think you, Byrrhia; shall I speak to him?
_Byrr._ Why not? that even if you can obtain nothing, you may make him
think, at least, that Philumena will find a pressing gallant in you, if
he marries her[112].
_Char._ Get away, rascal, with your base suspicions.
SCENE II.
CHARINUS, BYRRHIA, PAMPHILUS.
_Pam._ Ha! Charinus, I hope you are well, Sir.
_Char._ Oh, Pamphilus!――――I come to implore from you hope, safety,
counsel, and assistance.
_Pam._ Truly, I myself have need of counsel, and assistance too: but
what is this affair?
_Char._ You are to be married to-day!
_Pam._ Ay, they say so.
_Char._ If you are, Pamphilus, you see me to-day for the last time[113].
_Pam._ Why so?
_Char._ Alas! I dread to speak it! tell him, Byrrhia, I beseech you.
_Byrr._ I will.
_Pam._ What is it, speak?
_Byrr._ My master loves Philumena to distraction, and hears that she is
betrothed to you.
_Pam._ Truly, he and I are not of the same mind then; but prithee now,
Charinus, tell me, has nothing passed between you and Philumena?
_Char._ Ah! Pamphilus, nothing.
_Pam._ I wish with all my soul there had!
_Char._ I implore you then, by all the ties of friendship, and tried
affection, never to wed her: this is my first request.
_Pam._ Never! if I can help it, believe me.
_Char._ But if you cannot grant me this, and earnestly desire the
match――――
_Pam._ I desire it!
_Char._ At least defer it for a day or two, that I may go from here,
and avoid the misery of being obliged to witness it.
_Pam._ Listen to me, Charinus; I think it is by no means the part of
a man of honour to claim thanks, where none are due to him. I am more
desirous to avoid Philumena, than you are to obtain her.
_Char._ My dearest friend! your words have given me new life.
_Pam._ Now, if either you, or Byrrhia here, can do any thing; for
[114]Heaven’s sake do it; contrive, invent, and manage if you can, that
she may be given to you; I meantime will do all in my power to prevent
her from being given to me.
_Char._ I am satisfied.
_Pam._ But here comes Davus, most opportunely; I rely entirely upon his
advice.
_Char._ [_to Byrrhia._] But as for you, you can tell me nothing but
what I don’t care to hear. Begone, sirrah.
_Byrr._ With all my heart, Sir.
[_Exit._
SCENE III.
CHARINUS, PAMPHILUS, DAVUS.
_Davus._ Heaven! what a world of good news do I bring! but, [_to
himself_,] where shall I find Pamphilus? that I may relieve him from
his present fears, and fill his soul with joy.
_Char._ He seems to be very much pleased at something; he’s mighty
merry.
_Pam._ Oh! ’tis nothing at all: he does not yet know of this
unfortunate affair.
_Davus._ [_to himself._] For if he has heard that he is to be married
to-day.
_Char._ Do you hear what he says?
_Davus._ I’ll be bound he’s at this very moment half distracted, and
seeking for me all over the town: but where shall I find him, or which
way shall I now direct my course.
_Char._ Why do you not speak to him?
_Davus_ [_going._] Well, I’ll go.
_Pam._ Stop, Davus.
_Davus._ Who calls me? Oh! Pamphilus! I was seeking for you every
where. Charinus, too! well met, Sir; I wanted both of you.
_Pam._ Oh Davus, I am quite undone.
_Davus._ But hear me.
_Pam._ I am quite ruined!
_Davus._ I know all your fears.
_Char._ And as for me, my very existence is at stake!
_Davus._ I know your affair also[115].
_Pam._ A marriage is――――
_Davus._ I know that also.
_Pam._ This very day too.
_Davus._ You stun me; I tell you I know every thing already. You,
Pamphilus, fear lest you should be compelled to marry Philumena; and
you, Charinus, lest you should not marry her.
_Char._ Exactly so.
_Pam._ ’Tis the very thing.
_Davus._ Then, Sir, in that very thing there is no danger at all; take
my word for it.
_Pam._ For heaven’s sake, Davus, if you can do so, rid me of my fears
at once.
_Davus._ I banish them all; Chremes does not intend to give you his
daughter at present.
_Pam._ How do you know that?
_Davus._ I am sure of it. Your father took me aside just now, and told
me that he meant to have you married to-day; and added a great deal
more, which I have not time to tell you at present. Immediately I run
at full speed to the Forum, to look for you; that I may acquaint you
with all this. Not being able to find you, I get upon an eminence,
look around; you are no where to be seen. By chance I descry among the
crowd, Charinus’ servant Byrrhia; I inquire of him; he knows nothing of
you: how vexatious! quite perplexed; I begin to consider what course to
take next. Meantime as I was returning and thinking the business over,
a suspicion struck me. How’s this! thought I; no extra provision made,
the old man gloomy, and the marriage to take place so suddenly! these
things don’t appear consistent.
_Pam._ Well, what then?
_Davus._ I then go directly to Chremes’ house; but when I get there,
not a soul [116]do I see before the door; every thing is quite still
and quiet, [117]which pleased me not a little.
_Char._ Very good.
_Pam._ Go on.
_Davus._ I stay there a little while, but no one goes in or out; I come
quite up to the door, and look in, [118]but can see no bridemaid; no
preparations[119]; all was silent.
_Pam._ I understand: a good sign!
_Davus._ Can all these things be consistent with a marriage?
_Pam._ I think not, Davus.
_Davus._ Think not! do you say? you must be blind, Sir, not to see it:
it is an absolute certainty: besides all this, as I was returning I met
Chremes’ servant, who was carrying home some herbs, and as many little
[120]fishes for the old man’s supper, as might have cost an obolus.
_Char._ Friend Davus, you have been my deliverer to-day.
_Davus._ Not at all, Sir, this does not benefit you.
_Char._ How so? why Chremes certainly will not give his daughter to
Pamphilus.
_Davus._ Nonsense; as if it followed of course that he must give her
to you, because he does not give her to him: if you do not take care;
if you do not use all your endeavours, to gain the support of the old
man’s friends, you will be no nearer your wishes than ever[121].
_Char._ You advise me well; I will go about it, though in truth this
hope has often deceived me before. Farewell.
[_Exit._
SCENE IV.
PAMPHILUS, DAVUS.
_Pam._ What then can my father mean? why does he thus dissemble?
_Davus._ I will tell you, Sir. He knows very well that it would be
unreasonable in him to be angry with you, because Chremes has refused
to give you his daughter, nor can he take any thing amiss, before he
knows how your mind stands affected towards the marriage; but if you
should refuse to marry, all the blame will be thrown on you, and a
grievous disturbance created.
_Pam._ What then, shall I bear it patiently, and consent to marry?
_Davus._ He is your father, Pamphilus, and it would not be easy to
oppose him: Glycera moreover is [122]destitute and friendless, and
he would speedily find some pretext or other to banish her from the
city[123].
_Pam._ Banish her.
_Davus._ Ay, directly.
_Pam._ Oh Davus, what shall I do?
_Davus._ Tell him that you are ready to marry.
_Pam._ Ah!
_Davus._ What’s the matter?
_Pam._ Can I tell him so?
_Davus._ Why not?
_Pam._ Never.
_Davus._ Be advised, Sir, tell him so.
_Pam._ Do not attempt to persuade me to it.
_Davus._ Consider the result.
_Pam._ Torn for ever from my Glycera, I should be wedded to another.
_Davus._ You are mistaken, Sir, listen to me: your father, I expect,
will speak to you to this effect. Pamphilus, ’tis my will that you
should be married to-day. I am ready, Sir; you shall answer: how can he
then complain of you? All his plans on which he places so much reliance
will be rendered abortive, and entirely frustrated by this reply; which
you may very safely make; as it is beyond a doubt that Chremes will
persist in refusing you his daughter; therefore do not let the fear
of his changing his [124]mind, prevent you from following my advice.
Tell your father that you are willing to marry; that when he seeks a
cause of complaint against you, he may not be able to find any. As
to the hopes you indulge, that no man will give his daughter to you,
on account of this imprudent [125]connexion that you have formed; I
will soon convince you of their fallacy; for believe me, your father
would rather see you wedded to poverty itself, than suffer you to
continue your present intimacy with Glycera; but if he thinks you are
indifferent, he will grow unconcerned, and look out another wife at his
leisure; meantime something may happen in your favour.
_Pam._ Do you think so?
_Davus._ There is no doubt of it.
_Pam._ Be cautious whither you lead me.
_Davus._ Pray, Sir, say no more about it.
_Pam._ I will act as you advise me; but we must take care that he knows
nothing of the child, for I have promised to bring it up.
_Davus._ [126]Is it possible?
_Pam._ She entreated me to promise this as a pledge that I would not
forsake her.
_Davus._ Enough. I will be on my guard; but here comes your father:
take care that you do not appear melancholy or embarrassed.
SCENE V.
DAVUS, PAMPHILUS, SIMO.
_Simo._ [_to himself._] I am come back again, to see what they are
about; or what course they resolve upon.
_Davus._ He is fully persuaded that you will refuse to marry, and has
been ruminating by himself in some corner, where he has prepared an
harangue with which he expects to embarrass you: therefore take care to
be on your guard.
_Pam._ I will, Davus, if I can.
_Davus._ Do but tell him that you are ready to marry in obedience to
his wishes, and you’ll strike the old gentleman dumb: he’ll not mention
the subject again, I’ll answer for it.
SCENE VI.
SIMO, DAVUS, PAMPHILUS, BYRRHIA.
_Byrr._ [_to himself._] My master has given me orders to lay all other
business aside and watch Pamphilus to-day, that I may discover how he
acts touching this marriage; so [127]as I saw the old man coming this
way, I followed him. Oh! here is Davus, and his master with him: now
then to execute my commission.
_Simo._ Oh! there they are together.
_Davus._ [_aside to Pamphilus._] Now, Sir, be on your guard.
_Simo._ Pamphilus.
_Davus._ [_aside to Pamphilus_.] Turn round suddenly, as if you had not
perceived him.
_Pam._ Ha! my father.
_Davus._ [_aside._] Acted to the life.
_Simo._ I intend, (as I told you before), to have you married to-day.
_Byrr._ [_aside._] Now for my master’s[128] sake, I dread to hear his
answer.
_Pam._ You shall not find me tardy in obeying your commands, Sir,
either on this, or any other subject.
_Byrr._ [_aside._] Ha! I am[129] struck dumb. What did he say?
_Simo._ You do your duty, when you meet my wishes with a ready
compliance.
_Davus._ [_aside to Pam._] Was I not right, Sir?
_Byrr._ [_aside._] From what I hear, I fancy my master has nothing
to do, but to provide himself with another mistress as soon as
possible[130].
_Simo._ Now, Pamphilus, go in immediately, that you may be ready when
you are wanted.
_Pam._ I go, Sir.
[_Exit._
_Byrr._ [_aside._] Is there no honour, no sincerity in any man? I find
the common proverb to be true. Every man loves himself best. I have
seen Philumena, and I remember that I thought her charming; in truth,
I cannot much blame Pamphilus, that he had rather wed her himself
than yield her to my master. Well, I’ll carry him an account of what
has passed. I suppose I shall receive an abundance of bad language in
return for my bad news[131].
[_Exit._
SCENE VII.
DAVUS, SIMO.
_Davus._ [_aside._] The old man thinks I have some scheme on foot, and
stay here now to play it off upon him.
_Simo._ Well, what says Davus?
_Davus._ Nothing, Sir, just at present.
_Simo._ Nothing? indeed!
_Davus._ Nothing at all.
_Simo._ But yet I expected something.
_Davus._ [_aside._] He [132]has missed his aim! I see this nettles him
to the quick.
_Simo._ Is it possible that for once you can speak truth?
_Davus._ Nothing can be easier.
_Simo._ Tell me then, does not this marriage very much distress my son,
on account of his partiality for this Andrian.
_Davus._ By Hercules, not at all: or if indeed he feels a slight
uneasiness for a day or two, you know it will not last longer than
that, for he has reflected on the subject, and sees it in its true
light, I assure you, Sir.
_Simo._ I commend him for it.
_Davus._ While circumstances allowed him, and while [133]his youth in
some measure excused him, I confess he did intrigue a little; but then
he took care to conceal it from the world: he was cautious, [134]as a
gentleman should be, not to disgrace himself by giving room for any
scandalous reports; but now as he must marry, he inclines his thoughts
to marriage.
_Simo._ Yet, he appeared to me, to be rather melancholy[135].
_Davus._ Not at all on that account, but he is a little vexed with you.
_Simo._ About what?
_Davus._ Oh! a mere trifle.
_Simo._ But what is it?
_Davus._ Nothing worth speaking of.
_Simo._ But tell me what it is?
_Davus._ He says you are too sparing of your purse.
_Simo._ Who? I?
_Davus._ You. My father, said he, has scarcely spent ten drachms for
the wedding supper[136]: does this look like the marriage of his son?
I cannot invite my companions even on such an occasion as this. Indeed,
Sir[137], I think you are too frugal: it is not well timed.
_Simo._ [_angrily._] Hold your tongue.
_Davus._ [_aside._] I’ve [138]ruffled him now!
_Simo._ I will take care that every thing is as it should be. Away!
[_Exit Davus._] What can all this be about? what can this crafty knave
mean? if there is any mischief on foot, this fellow is sure to be the
contriver of it.
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
MYSIS, SIMO, DAVUS, LESBIA[139], GLYCERA[140].
_Mysis._ Indeed, Lesbia, what you say is very true: one scarcely ever
meets with a constant lover.
[_Simo to Davus._] This girl belongs to Glycera! Ha! Davus?
_Davus._ Yes.
_Mysis._ But as for Pamphilus――――
_Simo._ [_aside._] What’s that?
_Mysis._ He has kept his promise.
_Simo._ [_aside._] Ha!
_Davus._ [_aside._] Would to Heaven that he were deaf, or that she were
dumb.
_Mysis._ For girl, or boy, he has given orders that the child shall be
brought up[141].
_Simo._ O Jupiter! what do I hear? it is all over, if what she says be
truth.
_Lesbia._ What you tell me, is a proof of a good disposition.
_Mysis._ His is most excellent; but now let us go, lest we should be
wanted before we arrive.
_Lesbia._ I follow you.
[_They go in._
_Davus._ [_aside._] Here’s a pretty disaster! how shall I be able to
remedy this evil?
[_Simo to himself._] What’s this? Is he so mad? A foreigner too!
[142]phoo! now I see through it all! how simple I must be not to
discover it at first.
_Davus._ What does he say he has discovered?
_Simo._ Davus, that indefatigable contriver of mischief, is the chief
mover of all this roguery. They pretend the birth of a child, that they
may deter Chremes from the match.
[_Glycera cries out from the house._] O Juno Lucina, help! save me! I
beseech thee[143].
_Simo._ Hey day! what already! ha! ha! ha! how preposterous! the moment
she finds out that I am within hearing, she begins to cry out. Why,
Davus, your incidents are not well [144]timed at all, man.
_Davus._ Mine!
_Simo._ Have your actors forgotten their parts?
_Davus._ I don’t understand you really, Sir.
_Simo._ What an object of derision! what a laughing-stock [145]would
this rascal have made of me, if he had played off this fine trick in a
real marriage: but now he is shipwrecked whilst I am safe in port.
SCENE II.
LESBIA, SIMO, DAVUS.
_Lesbia._ Hitherto, Archillis, she has all the usual symptoms of doing
well. Now, first, let her be bathed[146]: and, after that, give her the
drink, in the quantities I directed. I shall return immediately. Upon
my life, Pamphilus has got a very pretty boy. Heaven grant he may live
to make a good man! for his father is a worthy youth, who would not
wrong this innocent young creature.
[_Exit._
_Simo._ (_to Davus._) Could any one, who knew you, doubt for a moment
that you were the contriver of this?
_Davus._ Contriver! of what, Sir?
_Simo._ The midwife never gave her orders about the treatment of her
patient while she was in the house: but, after she was come out of
doors, she bawls from the street to those within. O Davus, am I so
despised by you? or do I appear to you a fit subject to practise such
barefaced tricks upon? The least you could have done, was to have acted
cautiously, that I might, at any rate, seem to be feared, if I had
discovered it.
_Davus._ (_aside._) By Jupiter, he cheats himself: I am sure I’ve no
hand in it.
_Simo._ Did I not warn you? Did I not threaten you with the
consequences of this? But what care you? ’Twas all to no purpose! Do
you think that I really believe that Glycera has borne a child to
Pamphilus?
_Davus._ I see his error now, and know my cue.
_Simo._ Why don’t you speak?
_Davus._ What! not believe it! as if you had not been told of all this
before!
_Simo._ I told of it!
_Davus._ Ha! ha! Could you, of yourself, have discovered that this was
all pretended?
_Simo._ I am laughed at!
_Davus._ You must have been told of it: how else could you have
suspected any thing?
_Simo._ How! because I know you thoroughly, sirrah.
_Davus._ Meaning, Sir, I suppose, that this was done by my advice?
_Simo._ Certainly: there can’t be the least doubt of that.
_Davus._ I’m sorry, Simo, that you don’t yet know me better.
_Simo._ What! not know you?
_Davus._ The moment I begin to speak, you imagine that I am trying to
impose upon you.
_Simo._ Quite without cause, hey, Mr. Innocence?
_Davus._ Truly, at this rate, I shall hardly dare open my [147]mouth.
_Simo._ One thing I am sure of; that this child-birth is all
counterfeited.
_Davus._ You have discovered the truth; but, nevertheless, they will
not fail to lay a child at our door very shortly. I tell you, Sir,
beforehand, that this will happen, that you may be prepared for it; and
not afterwards say, that it was done by the advice and contrivance of
Davus. Indeed, Sir, I wish to remove the unjust opinion you entertain
of me.
_Simo._ How do you know this?
_Davus._ I heard it, and believe it to be true. Many circumstances
induce me to form this conjecture. First of all, this girl affirms that
she is with child by Pamphilus, which I have discovered to be false.
Now, finding that the marriage preparations are going forward in our
house[148], she sends her maid to fetch a midwife, and to provide a
child[149]: at the same time, thinking that unless they managed that
you should see a child, the marriage would not be impeded.
_Simo._ But, as you had discovered all this, why did you not directly
acquaint my son with their designs?
_Davus._ Why, Sir, who was it that prevailed on him to break off the
connexion? was it not Davus? We all know how madly he loved her:
but now, on the contrary, he prudently resolves to marry. In short,
Sir, leave this business to me: and do you persevere, (as you have
begun,) in forwarding the marriage: and, I trust, that Heaven will be
propitious to your endeavours!
_Simo._ Well, now, go in, and wait for me.
SCENE III.
SIMO.
_Simo._ I am not exactly inclined to believe this fellow; and I know
not whether all that he has been telling me is true, neither do I much
care. Pamphilus has given me his promise; that I conceive to be of the
greatest consequence. Now, I will go to Chremes, and entreat him to
give his daughter to my son. If I prevail, what can I do better than
celebrate the marriage this very day? As for Pamphilus, if he refuse,
I have no doubt I can compel him to keep his promise[150]. And, most
opportunely for my purpose, I see Chremes himself coming this way.
SCENE IV.
SIMO, CHREMES[151].
_Simo._ Chremes, I am very glad to see you!
_Chremes._ O! Simo, I was looking for you.
_Simo._ And I for you.
_Chremes._ I meet you most opportunely. Several persons came to me,
and asserted, that you had told them, that my daughter was to be given
in marriage to your son to-day. For this reason, I came to see whether
they have lost their senses, or you your’s.
_Simo._ Hear me, Chremes; and you shall know, both what you come to
ask, and what I desire of you.
_Chremes._ I am all attention: pray proceed.
_Simo._ I conjure you, by the gods, and by our friendship, Chremes,
which has grown up with us from our earliest years, and strengthened
with our age: for the sake of your daughter, your only child: and, for
the sake of my son, whose welfare depends entirely upon you; I entreat
you to assist me in this affair: and renew your consent to the marriage
of our children.
_Chremes._ Ah, Simo, what need of prayers? as if it were necessary
to use so much entreaty with me, your friend. Do you think that I am
less your friend than when I offered my daughter to your son? If the
marriage will conduce to their mutual happiness, in Heaven’s name, send
for my daughter, and let them marry at once: but, if it be found, that
it would tend to the detriment, rather than to the advantage, of both;
I beseech you to consult their mutual benefit, without partiality, as
if you were the father of Philumena, and I of Pamphilus.
_Simo._ Truly, Chremes, it is with that view that I wish their union,
and entreat you to consent to it. Neither should I press it so
earnestly upon you, if the present aspect of the affair did not justify
my urgency.
_Chremes._ How so, pray?
_Simo._ Glycera and my son have quarrelled!
_Chremes._ Indeed! I hear you.
_Simo._ And the breach between them is so great, that I trust that we
shall be able entirely to detach Pamphilus from her society.
_Chremes._ Fables!
_Simo._ Upon my honour what I tell you is a fact.
_Chremes._ A fact, by Hercules, that I’ll explain to you. The quarrels
of lovers, is the renewal[152] of their love.
_Simo._ You are right, and that is the reason of my request: I am
anxious that we should seize this opportunity to prevent them, while
his love is weakened by her insolence and upbraidings. Let us then
hasten his marriage, before the artifices and hypocritical tears
of these creatures recal his love-sick mind to pity. And, I trust,
Chremes, that a well-assorted marriage, and the endearing society of
his wife, will enable my son to extricate himself easily from their
toils.
_Chremes._ You may view the affair in that light: but I cannot think,
either that Pamphilus could be faithful to my daughter, or that I could
bear to see him otherwise.
_Simo._ But how do you know that, without you put him to the trial.
_Chremes._ But to stake the happiness of my daughter on that trial, is
hard indeed.
_Simo._ Yet the most serious mischief, after all, can amount but to a
separation[153], which may the gods avert. But, on the other hand, if
he fulfils our wishes, consider the advantages that will result from
the marriage: in the first place, you will restore to your friend a
son: you will ensure to yourself, a dutiful son: and, to your daughter,
a faithful husband.
_Chremes._ What occasion for so many words: if you think this step so
very essential to reclaim your son, I should be sorry to throw any
impediment in your way.
_Simo._ O Chremes! you well deserve the love I’ve always borne you.
_Chremes._ But tell me――――
_Simo._ What?
_Chremes._ How did you learn their quarrel?
_Simo._ I was informed of it by Davus himself, who is the confidant
of all their counsels; and he persuaded me to do all in my power to
forward the marriage: would he have done so, do you think, had he not
known it to be consonant to my son’s wishes? But you yourself shall
hear what he says. Within, there: send Davus hither; but here he is, I
see him coming forth.
SCENE V.
SIMO, CHREMES, DAVUS.
_Davus._ I was coming to you, Sir.
_Simo._ What is it?
_Davus._ Why is not the bride brought? it grows late[154ᴬ].
_Simo._ (_to Chremes._) Do you hear him? I confess to you, Davus,
that, till lately, I have been fearful, that you would prove
perfidious[154ᴮ], like the common herd of slaves, and deceive me in
this intrigue of Pamphilus.
_Davus._ I do such a thing, Sir!
_Simo._ I did suspect it, and, on that very account, I concealed from
you what I will now disclose.
_Davus._ What is that, Sir?
_Simo._ You shall hear: for, at last, I begin to think that I may trust
you.
_Davus._ Ah, Sir, you now appreciate my character as you ought; you now
see what kind of man I am.
_Simo._ This marriage was all counterfeited.
_Davus._ Counterfeited!
_Simo._ Yes, for the purpose of proving you and my son, and to try how
you would receive the proposal.
_Davus._ How! is it possible?
_Simo._ Fact, I assure you.
_Davus._ I never could have fathomed this design; what a profound
contrivance! deep, Sir, very deep. (_bantering._)
_Simo._ But hear me out. After I sent you in, I most opportunely met my
friend Chremes.
_Davus._ (_aside._) How! what does he say? All is lost, I fear.
_Simo._ I related to him what you had just before related to me.
_Davus._ (_aside._) What do I hear!
_Simo._ I entreated him to give his daughter to Pamphilus, and, with
great difficulty, prevailed upon him to consent.
_Davus._ (_aside._) How unfortunate!
_Simo._ Ha! what’s that you say[155]?
_Davus._ How very fortunate, I say.
_Simo._ Chremes now consents to an immediate union.
_Chremes._ Well, I will now return home, and order every thing to be
prepared: when all is ready, I shall let you know.
[_Exit._
SCENE VI.
SIMO, DAVUS.
_Simo._ Now, I entreat you, Davus, since you have brought about the
marriage entirely by yourself――――
_Davus._ (_aside._) Yes, I have the credit of it entirely to myself. O!
curse my unlucky stars.
_Simo._――――to use all your influence with Pamphilus to induce him to
give up his present connexion with Glycera.
_Davus._ I’ll do all in my power, Sir.
_Simo._ You will find less difficulty now, while he is angry with his
mistress.
_Davus._ Be at ease, Sir, and rely on me.
_Simo._ About it then at once: but where is my son now?
_Davus._ I should not wonder if he were at home.
_Simo._ I will go and tell him what I have just told you.
SCENE VII.
DAVUS (_alone_).
I am utterly undone: why do I not at once go straight to the
grinding-house. ’Twill be to no purpose to implore mercy: I’ve
overturned everything. I have deceived the old man, and embarrassed
the son with a marriage he detests; which I have brought about this
very day, though the father considered the attempt as hopeless; and
Pamphilus as the greatest evil that could befal him. O! wise Davus, if
you had but been quiet, this mischief would never have happened. But,
see, here come Pamphilus himself! I’m a dead man. O! for some precipice
that I might dash myself down headlong!
[_Retires._
SCENE VIII.
DAVUS, PAMPHILUS.
_Pam._ Where is that villain who has ruined me?
_Davus._ (_aside._) I’m a lost man!
_Pam._ But I confess that I am justly punished for my imprudence: for
my want of common sense. Ought I to have confided my happiness to the
keeping of such a shallow slave? I only pay the penalty of my folly:
however, the rascal shall not escape the punishment he so richly
deserves.
_Davus._ (_aside._) If I escape this time, I think I never need know
fear again.
_Pam._ And what can I say to my father? Can I, who so lately promised
to marry, now refuse? with what face can I venture on such a step as
that? I know not what to do!
_Davus._ (_aside._) Nor I, though I am racking my brains to hit upon
something. I will tell him that I have thought of an expedient to put
off the marriage.
_Pam._ (_seeing Davus._) Oh!
_Davus._ I am seen!
_Pam._ Pray, good Sir, what have you to say for yourself? do you see
what a fine situation your rare advice has reduced me to?
_Davus._ But I will soon find an expedient to extricate you from it.
_Pam._ You will find an expedient!
_Davus._ Certainly, Sir.
_Pam._ Like your last, I suppose.
_Davus._ Better, I hope, Sir.
_Pam._ What trust can I put in such a rascal[156]? Can you remedy a
misfortune, which appears entirely ruinous? Ah! how foolishly I relied
on you, who, out of a perfect calm[157], have raised this storm, and
wrecked me on the rock of this accursed marriage! Did I not forewarn
you, that it would end thus?
_Davus._ You did, Sir, I confess.
_Pam._ What do you deserve[158]?
_Davus._ Death. But allow me a short time to recover myself, and I will
soon consider what is to be done?
_Pam._ Alas! I have not time to punish you as you deserve: the present
moment demands my attention to my own wretched affairs; and will not
suffer me to revenge myself on you.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
CHARINUS. (_alone._)
[159]Is this credible, or to be mentioned as a truth, that any man
can be so innately worthless, as to rejoice at the miseries and
misfortunes of others, and even turn them to his own advantage? Ah! is
it possible that such baseness can exist? Those men have characters
of the very worst description, who make a scruple to deny a favour;
and are ashamed[160], or unwilling to give a downright refusal at
first; but who, when the time arrives for the performance of their
promises, necessarily expose themselves in their true colours; and,
though they may hesitate, yet, circumstances compel them to give an
absolute denial: and they will afterwards insult you with the most
impertinent speeches, as, Who are you? What are you to me? Why should
I resign my mistress to you? Every man for himself, Sir, is my maxim!
And, if you upbraid them with their want of honour, they are not at all
ashamed. Thus, when they ought to blush for their perfidy, they are
shameless! And, in the former case, when there was no cause for it,
they are shamefaced and timorous! But what shall I do? Shall I go and
expostulate with him on his treachery? I will! and overwhelm him with
reproaches: if any one tell me that no advantage will result from it: I
answer this, that I shall poison[161] his joy: and even that will yield
me some satisfaction.