Ctes. (apart.) Syrus!
Syr. (apart.) What’s the matter?
Ctes. (apart.) Is he looking for me?
Syr. (apart.) Yes.
Ctes. (apart.) Undone!
Syr. (apart.) Nay, do be of good heart.
Dem. (to himself.) Plague on it! what ill luck is this? I can not really account for it, unless I suppose myself only born for the purpose of enduring misery. I am the first to feel our misfortunes; the first to know of them all; then the first to carry the news; I am the only one, if any thing does go wrong, to take it to heart.
Syr. (apart.) I’m amused at him; he says that he is the first to know of every thing, while he is the only one ignorant of every thing.
Dem. (to himself.) I’ve now come back; and I’ll go see whether perchance my brother has yet returned.
Ctes. (apart.) Syrus, pray do take care that he doesn’t suddenly rush in upon us here.
Syr. (apart.) Now will you hold your tongue? I’ll take care.
Ctes. (apart.) Never this day will I depend on your management for that, upon my faith; for I’ll shut myself up with her in some cupboard66—that’s the safest.
Goes into the house.
Syr. (apart.) Do so, still I’ll get rid of him.
Dem. (seeing Syrus.) But see! there’s that rascal, Syrus.
Syr. (aloud, pretending not to see Demea.) Really, upon my faith, no person can stay here, if this is to be the case! For my part, I should like to know how many masters I have—what a cursed condition this is!
Dem. What’s he whining about? What does he mean? How say you, good sir, is my brother at home?
Syr. What the plague do you talk to me about, “good sir”? I’m quite distracted!
Dem. What’s the matter with you?
Syr. Do you ask the question? Ctesipho has been beating me, poor wretch, and that Music-girl, almost to death.
Dem. Ha! what is it you tell me?
Syr. Aye, see how he has cut my lip. (Pretends to point to it.)
Dem. For what reason?
Syr. He says that she was bought by my advice.
Dem. Did not you tell me, a short time since, that you had seen him on his way into the country?
Syr. I did; but he afterward came back, raving like a madman; he spared nobody—ought he not to have been ashamed to beat an old man? Him whom, only the other day, I used to carry about in my arms when thus high? (Showing.)
Dem. I commend him; O Ctesipho, you take after your father. Well, I do pronounce you a man.
Syr. Commend him? Assuredly he will keep his hands to himself in future, if he’s wise.
Dem. ’Twas done with spirit.
Syr. Very much so, to be beating a poor woman, and me, a slave, who didn’t dare strike him in return; heyday! very spirited indeed!
Dem. He could not have done better: he thought the same as I did, that you were the principal in this affair. But is my brother within?
Syr. He is not.
Dem. I’m thinking where to look for him.
Syr. I know where he is—but I shall not tell you at present.
Dem. Ha! what’s that you say?
Syr. I do say so.
Dem. Then I’ll break your head for you this instant.
Syr. I can’t tell the person’s name he’s gone to, but I know the place where he lives.
Dem. Tell me the place then.
Syr. Do you know the portico down this way, just by the shambles? (Pointing in the direction.)
Dem. How should I but know it?
Syr. Go straight along, right up that street; when you come there, there is a descent right opposite that goes downward, go straight down that; afterward, on this side (extending one hand), there is a chapel: close by it is a narrow lane, where there’s also a great wild fig-tree.
Dem. I know it.
Syr. Go through that—
Dem. But that lane is not a thoroughfare.
Syr. I’ faith, that’s true; dear, dear, would you take me to be in my senses?67 I made a mistake. Return to the portico; indeed that will be a much nearer way, and there is less going round about: you know the house of Cratinus, the rich man?
Dem. I know it.
Syr. When you have passed that, keep straight along that street on the left hand;68 when you come to the Temple of Diana, turn to the right; before you come to the city gate,69 just by that pond, there is a baker’s shop, and opposite to it a joiner’s; there he is.
Dem. What is he doing there?
Syr. He has given some couches to be made, with oaken legs, for use in the open air.70
Dem. For you to carouse upon! Very fine! But why do I delay going to him?
Exit.
Scene III.
Syrus alone.
Syr. Go, by all means. I’ll work you to day, you skeleton,71 as you deserve. Æschinus loiters intolerably; the breakfast’s spoiling; and as for Ctesipho, he’s head and ears in love.72 I shall now think of myself, for I’ll be off at once, and pick out the very nicest bit, and, leisurely sipping my cups,73 I’ll lengthen out the day.
Goes into the house.
Scene IV.
Enter Micio and Hegio.
Mic. I can see no reason here, Hegio, that I should be so greatly commended. I do my duty; the wrong that has originated with us I redress. Unless, perhaps, you thought me one of that class of men who think that an injury is purposely done them if you expostulate about any thing they have done; and yet are themselves the first to accuse. Because I have not acted thus, do you return me thanks?
Heg. Oh, far from it; I never led myself to believe you to be otherwise than you are; but I beg, Micio, that you will go with me to the mother of the young woman, and repeat to her the same; what you have told me, do you yourself tell the woman, that this suspicion of Æschinus’s fidelity was incurred on his brother’s account, and that this Music-girl was for him.
Mic. If you think I ought, or if there is a necessity for doing so, let us go.
Heg. You act with kindness; for you’ll then both have relieved her mind who is now languishing in sorrow and affliction, and have discharged your duty. But if you think otherwise, I will tell her myself what you have been saying to me.
Mic. Nay, I’ll go as well.
Heg. You act with kindness; all who are in distressed circumstances are suspicious,74 to I know not what degree; they take every thing too readily as an affront; they fancy themselves trifled with on account of their helpless condition; therefore it will be more satisfactory for you to justify him to them yourself.
They go into the house of Sostrata.
Scene V.
Enter Æschinus.
I am quite distracted in mind! for this misfortune so unexpectedly to befall me, that I neither know what to do with myself, or how to act! My limbs are enfeebled through fear, my faculties bewildered with apprehension; no counsel is able to find a place within my breast. Alas! how to extricate myself from this perplexity I know not; so strong a suspicion has taken possession of them about me; not without some reason too: Sostrata believes that I have purchased this Music-girl for myself: the old woman informed me of that. For by accident, when she was sent for the midwife, I saw her, and at once went up to her. “How is Pamphila?” I inquired; “is her delivery at hand? Is it for that she is sending for the midwife?” “Away, away, Æschinus,” cries she; “you have deceived us long enough; already have your promises disappointed us sufficiently.” “Ha!” said I; “pray what is the meaning of this?” “Farewell,” she cries; “keep to her who is your choice.” I instantly guessed what it was they suspected, but still I checked myself, that I might not be telling that gossip any thing about my brother, whereby it might be divulged. Now what am I to do? Shall I say she is for my brother, a thing that ought by no means to be repeated any where? However, let that pass. It is possible it might go no further. I am afraid they would not believe it, so many probabilities concur against it: ’twas I myself carried her off; ’twas I, my own self, that paid the money for her; ’twas my own house she was carried to. This I confess has been entirely my own fault. Ought I not to have disclosed this affair, just as it happened, to my father? I might have obtained his consent to marry her. I have been too negligent hitherto; henceforth, then, arouse yourself, Æschinus. This then is the first thing; to go to them and clear myself. I’ll approach the door. (Advances to the door of Sostrata’s house.) Confusion! I always tremble most dreadfully when I go to knock at that door. (Knocking and calling to them within.) Ho there, ho there! it is Æschinus; open the door immediately, some one. (The door opens.) Some person, I know not who, is coming out; I’ll step aside here. (He stands apart.)
Scene VI.
Enter Micio from the house of Sostrata.
Mic. (speaking at the door to Sostrata.) Do as I told you, Sostrata; I’ll go find Æschinus, that he may know how these matters have been settled. (Looking round.) But who was it knocking at the door?
Æsch. (apart.) Heavens, it is my father!—I am undone!
Mic. Æschinus!
Æsch. (aside.) What can be his business here?
Mic. Was it you knocking at this door? (Aside.) He is silent. Why shouldn’t I rally him a little? It would be as well, as he was never willing to trust me with this secret. (To Æschinus.) Don’t you answer me?
Æsch. (confusedly.) It wasn’t I knocked at that door, that I know of.
Mic. Just so; for I wondered what business you could have here. (Apart.) He blushes; all’s well.
Æsch. Pray tell me, father, what business have you there?
Mic. Why, none of my own; but a certain friend of mine just now brought me hither from the Forum to give him some assistance.
Æsch. Why?
Mic. I’ll tell you. There are some women living here; in impoverished circumstances, as I suppose you don’t know them; and, in fact, I’m quite sure, for it is not long since they removed to this place.
Æsch. Well, what next?
Mic. There is a girl living with her mother.
Æsch. Go on.
Mic. This girl has lost her father; this friend of mine is her next of kin; the law obliges him to marry her.75
Æsch. (aside.) Undone!
Mic. What’s the matter?
Æsch. Nothing. Very well: proceed.
Mic. He has come to take her with him; for he lives at Miletus.
Æsch. What! To take the girl away with him?
Mic. Such is the fact.
Æsch. All the way to Miletus, pray?76
Mic. Yes.
Æsch. (aside.) I’m overwhelmed with grief. (To Micio.) But what of them? What do they say?
Mic. What do you suppose they should? Why, nothing at all. The mother has trumped up a tale, that there is a child by some other man, I know not who, and she does not state the name; she says that he was the first, and that she ought not to be given to the other.
Æsch. Well now, does not this seem just to you after all?
Mic. No.
Æsch. Why not, pray? Is the other to be carrying her away from here?
Mic. Why should he not take her?
Æsch. You have acted harshly and unfeelingly, and even, if, father, I may speak my sentiments more plainly, unhandsomely.
Mic. Why so?
Æsch. Do you ask me? Pray, what do you think must be the state of mind of the man who was first connected with her, who, to his misfortune, may perhaps still love her to distraction, when he sees her torn away from before his face, and borne off from his sight forever? An unworthy action, father!
Mic. On what grounds is it so? Who betrothed her?77 Who gave her away? When and to whom was she married? Who was the author of all this? Why did he connect himself with a woman who belonged to another?
Æsch. Was it to be expected that a young woman of her age should sit at home, waiting till a kinsman of hers should come from a distance? This, my father, you ought to have represented, and have insisted on it.
Mic. Ridiculous! Was I to have pleaded against him whom I was to support? But what’s all this, Æschinus, to us? What have we to do with them? Let us begone:——What’s the matter? Why these tears?
Æsch. (weeping.) Father, I beseech you, listen to me.
Mic. Æschinus, I have heard and know it all; for I love you, and therefore every thing you do is the more a care to me.
Æsch. So do I wish you to find me deserving of your love, as long as you live, my dear father, as I am sincerely sorry for the offense I have committed, and am ashamed to see you.
Mic. Upon my word I believe it, for I know your ingenuous disposition: but I am afraid that you are too inconsiderate. In what city, pray, do you suppose you live? You have debauched a virgin, whom it was not lawful for you to touch. In the first place then that was a great offense; great, but still natural. Others, and even men of worth, have frequently done the same. But after it happened, pray, did you show any circumspection? Or did you use any foresight as to what was to be done, or how it was to be done? If you were ashamed to tell me of it, by what means was I to come to know it? While you were at a loss upon these points, ten months have been lost. So far indeed as lay in your power, you have periled both yourself and this poor girl, and the child. What did you imagine—that the Gods would set these matters to rights for you while you were asleep, and that she would be brought home to your chamber without any exertions of your own? I would not have you to be equally negligent in other affairs. Be of good heart, you shall have her for your wife.
Æsch. Hah!
Mic. Be of good heart, I tell you.
Æsch. Father, are you now jesting with me, pray?
Mic. I, jesting with you! For what reason?
Æsch. I don’t know; but so anxiously do I wish this to be true, that I am the more afraid it may not be.
Mic. Go home, and pray to the Gods that you may have your wife; be off.
Æsch. What! have my wife now?
Mic. Now.
Æsch. Now?
Mic. Now, as soon as possible.
Æsch. May all the Gods detest me, father, if I do not love you better than even my very eyes!
Mic. What! better than her?
Æsch. Quite as well.
Mic. Very kind of you!
Æsch. Well, where is this Milesian?
Mic. Departed, vanished, gone on board ship; but why do you delay?
Æsch. Father, do you rather go and pray to the Gods; for I know, for certain, that they will rather be propitious to you,78 as being a much better man than I am.
Mic. I’ll go in-doors, that what is requisite may be prepared. You do as I said, if you are wise.
Goes into his house.
Scene VII.
Æschinus alone.
Æsch. What can be the meaning of this? Is this being a father, or this being a son? If he had been a brother or familiar companion, how could he have been more complaisant! Is he not worthy to be beloved? Is he not to be imprinted in my very bosom? Well then, the more does he impose an obligation on me by his kindness, to take due precaution not inconsiderately to do any thing that he may not wish. But why do I delay going in-doors this instant, that I may not myself delay my own nuptials?
Goes into the house of Micio.
Scene VIII.
Enter Demea.
I am quite tired with walking: May the great Jupiter confound you, Syrus, together with your directions! I have crawled the whole city over; to the gate, to the pond—where not? There was no joiner’s shop there; not a soul could say he had seen my brother; but now I’m determined to sit and wait at his house till he returns.
Scene IX.
Enter Micio from his house.
Mic. (speaking to the people within.) I’ll go and tell them there’s no delay on our part.
Dem. But see here’s the very man: O Micio, I have been seeking you this long time.
Mic. Why, what’s the matter?
Dem. I’m bringing you some new and great enormities of that hopeful youth.
Mic. Just look at that!
Dem. Fresh ones, of blackest dye.
Mic. There now—at it again.
Dem. Ah, Micio! you little know what sort of person he is.
Mic. I do.
Dem. O simpleton! you are dreaming that I’m talking about the Music-girl; this crime is against a virgin and a citizen.
Mic. I know it.
Dem. So then, you know it, and put up with it!
Mic. Why not put up with it?
Dem. Tell me, pray, don’t you exclaim about it? Don’t you go distracted?
Mic. Not I: certainly I had rather79——
Dem. There has been a child born.
Mic. May the Gods be propitious to it.
Dem. The girl has no fortune.
Mic. So I have heard.
Dem. And he—must he marry her without one?
Mic. Of course.
Dem. What is to be done then?
Mic. Why, what the case itself points out: the young woman must be brought hither.
Dem. O Jupiter! must that be the way then?
Mic. What can I do else?
Dem. What can you do? If in reality this causes you no concern, to pretend it were surely the duty of a man.
Mic. But I have already betrothed the young woman to him; the matter is settled: the marriage takes place to-day. I have removed all apprehensions. This is rather the duty of a man.
Dem. But does the affair please you, Micio?
Mic. If I were able to alter it, no; now, as I can not, I bear it with patience. The life of man is just like playing with dice:80 if that which you most want to throw does not turn up, what turns up by chance you must correct by art.
Dem. O rare corrector! of course it is by your art that twenty minæ have been thrown away for a Music-girl; who, as soon as possible, must be got rid of at any price; and if not for money, why then for nothing.
Mic. Not at all, and indeed I have no wish to sell her.
Dem. What will you do with her then?
Mic. She shall be at my house.
Dem. For heaven’s sake, a courtesan and a matron in the same house!
Mic. Why not?
Dem. Do you imagine you are in your senses?
Mic. Really I do think so.
Dem. So may the Gods prosper me, I now see your folly; I believe you are going to do so that you may have somebody to practice music with.
Mic. Why not?
Dem. And the new-made bride to be learning too?
Mic. Of course.
Dem. Having hold of the rope,81 you will be dancing with them.
Mic. Like enough; and you too along with us, if there’s need.
Dem. Ah me! are you not ashamed of this?
Mic. Demea, do, for once, lay aside this anger of yours, and show yourself as you ought at your son’s wedding, cheerful and good-humored. I’ll just step over to them, and return immediately.
Goes into Sostrata’s house.
Scene X.
Demea alone.
Dem. O Jupiter! here’s a life! here are manners! here’s madness! A wife to be coming without a fortune! A music-wench in the house! A house full of wastefulness! A young man ruined by extravagance! An old man in his dotage!—Should Salvation herself82 desire it, she certainly could not save this family.
Exit.
ACT THE FIFTH.
Scene I.
Enter Syrus, drunk, and Demea, on the opposite side of the stage.
Syr. Upon my faith, my dear little Syrus, you have taken delicate care of yourself, and have done your duty83 with exquisite taste; be off with you. But since I’ve had my fill of every thing in-doors, I have felt disposed to take a walk.
Dem. (apart.) Just look at that—there’s an instance of their good training!
Syr. (to himself.) But see, here comes our old man. (Addressing him.) What’s the matter? Why out of spirits?
Dem. Oh you rascal!
Syr. Hold now; are you spouting your sage maxims here?
Dem. If you were my servant——
Syr. Why, you would be a rich man, Demea, and improve your estate.
Dem. I would take care that you should be an example to all the rest.
Syr. For what reason? What have I done?
Dem. Do you ask me? in the midst of this confusion, and during the greatest mischief, which is hardly yet set right, you have been getting drunk, you villain, as though things had been going on well.
Syr. (aside.) Really, I wish I hadn’t come out.
Scene II.
Enter Dromo in haste, from the house of Micio.
Dro. Halloo, Syrus! Ctesipho desires you’ll come back.
Syr. Get you gone.
Pushes him back into the house.
Dem. What is it he says about Ctesipho?
Syr. Nothing.
Dem. How now, you hang-dog, is Ctesipho in the house?
Syr. He is not.
Dem. Then why does he mention him?
Syr. It’s another person; a little diminutive Parasite. Don’t you know him?
Dem. I will know him before long. (Going to the door.)
Syr. (stopping him.) What are you about? Whither are you going?
Dem. (struggling.) Let me alone.
Syr. (holding him.) Don’t, I tell you.
Dem. Won’t you keep your hands off, whip-scoundrel? Or would you like me to knock your brains out this instant?
Rushes into the house.
Syr. He’s gone! no very pleasant boon-companion, upon my faith, particularly to Ctesipho. What am I to do now? Why, even get into some corner till this tempest is lulled, and sleep off this drop of wine. That’s my plan.
Goes into the house, staggering.
Scene III.
Enter Micio, from the house of Sostrata.
Mic. (to Sostrata, within.) Every thing’s ready with us, as I told you, Sostrata, when you like.—Who, I wonder, is making my door fly open with such fury?
Enter Demea in haste, from the house of Micio.
Dem. Alas! what shall I do? How behave? In what terms exclaim, or how make my complaint? O heavens! O earth! O seas of Neptune!
Mic. (apart.) Here’s for you! he has discovered all about the affair; and of course is now raving about it; a quarrel is the consequence; I must assist him,84 however. Dem. See, here comes the common corrupter of my children.
Mic. Pray moderate your passion, and recover yourself.
Dem. I have moderated it; I am myself; I forbear all reproaches; let us come to the point: was this agreed upon between us,—proposed by yourself, in fact,—that you were not to concern yourself about my son, nor I about yours? Answer me.
Mic. It is the fact,—I don’t deny it.
Dem. Why is he now carousing at your house? Why are you harboring my son? Why do you purchase a mistress for him, Micio? Is it at all fair, that I should have any less justice from you, than you from me? Since I do not concern myself about your son, don’t you concern yourself about mine.
Mic. You don’t reason fairly.
Dem. No?
Mic. For surely it is a maxim of old, that among themselves all things are common to friends.
Dem. Smartly said; you’ve got that speech up for the occasion.
Mic. Listen to a few words, unless it is disagreeable, Demea. In the first place, if the extravagance your sons are guilty of distresses you, pray do reason with yourself. You formerly brought up the two suitably to your circumstances, thinking that your own property would have to suffice for them both; and, of course, you then thought that I should marry. Adhere to that same old rule of yours,—save, scrape together, and be thrifty for them; take care to leave them as much as possible, and take that credit to yourself: my fortune, which has come to them beyond their expectation, allow them to enjoy; of your captial there will be no diminution; what comes from this quarter, set it all down as so much gain. If you think proper impartially to consider these matters in your mind, Demea, you will save me and yourself, and them, considerable uneasiness.
Dem. I don’t speak about the expense; their morals—
Mic. Hold; I understand you; that point I was coming to.85 There are in men, Demea, many signs from which a conjecture is easily formed; so that when two persons do the same thing, you may often say, this one may be allowed to do it with impunity, the other may not; not that the thing itself is different, but that he is who does it. I see signs in them, so as to feel confident that they will turn out as we wish. I see that they have good sense and understanding, that they have modesty upon occasion, and are affectionate to each other; you may infer that their bent and disposition is of a pliant nature; at any time you like you may reclaim them. But still, you may be apprehensive that they will be somewhat too apt to neglect their interests. O my dear Demea, in all other things we grow wiser with age; this sole vice does old age bring upon men: we are all more solicitous about our own interests than we need be; and in this respect age will make them sharp enough.
Dem. Only take care, Micio, that these fine reasonings of yours, and this easy disposition of yours, do not ruin us in the end.
Mic. Say no more; there’s no danger of that. Now think no further of these matters. Put yourself to-day into my hands; smooth your brow.
Dem. Why, as the occasion requires it, I must do so; but to-morrow I shall be off with my son into the country at daybreak.
Mic. Aye, to-night, for my share; only keep yourself in good-humor for the day.
Dem. I’ll carry off that Music-girl along with me as well.
Mic. You will gain your point; by that means you will keep your son fast there; only take care to secure her.
Dem. I’ll see to that; and what with cooking and grinding, I’ll take care she shall be well covered with ashes, smoke, and meal; besides all this, at the very mid-day86 I’ll set her gathering stubble; I’ll make her as burned and as black as a coal.
Mic. You quite delight me; now you seem to me to be wise; and for my part I would then compel my son to go to bed with her, even though he should be unwilling.
Dem. Do you banter me? Happy man, to have such a temper! I feel—
Mic. Ah! at it again!
Dem. I’ll have done then at once.
Mic. Go in-doors then, and let’s devote this day to the object87 to which it belongs.
Goes into the house.
Scene IV.
Demea alone.
Dem. Never was there any person of ever such well-trained habits of life, but that experience, age, and custom are always bringing him something new, or suggesting something; so much so, that what you believe you know you don’t know, and what you have fancied of first importance to you, on making trial you reject; and this is my case at present: for the rigid life I have hitherto led, my race nearly run, I now renounce. Why so?—I have found, by experience, that there is nothing better for a man than an easy temper and complacency. That this is the truth, it is easy for any one to understand on comparing me with my brother. He has always spent his life in ease and gayety; mild, gentle, offensive to no one, having a smile for all, he has lived for himself, and has spent his money for himself; all men speak well of him, all love him. I, again, a rustic, a rigid, cross, self-denying, morose and thrifty person, married a wife; what misery I entailed in consequence! Sons were born—a fresh care. And just look, while I have been studying to do as much as possible for them, I have worn out my life and years in saving; now, in the decline of my days, the return I get from them for my pains is their dislike. He, on the other hand, without any trouble on his part, enjoys a father’s comforts; they love him; me they shun; him they trust with all their secrets, are fond of him, are always with him. I am forsaken; they wish him to live; but my death, forsooth, they are longing for. Thus, after bringing them up with all possible pains, at a trifling cost he has made them his own; thus I bear all the misery, he enjoys the pleasure. Well, then, henceforward let us try, on the other hand, whether I can’t speak kindly and act complaisantly, as he challenges me to it: I also want myself to be loved and highly valued by my friends. If that is to be effected by giving and indulging, I will not be behind him. If our means fail, that least concerns me, as I am the eldest.88
Scene V.
Enter Syrus.
Syr. Hark you, Demea, your brother begs you will not go out of the way.
Dem. Who is it?—O Syrus, my friend,89 save you! how are you? How goes it with you ?
Syr. Very well.
Dem. Very good. (Aside.) I have now for the first time used these three expressions contrary to my nature,—“O Syrus, my friend, how are you?—how goes it with you?” (To Syrus.) You show yourself far from an unworthy servant, and I shall gladly do you a service.
Syr. I thank you.
Dem. Yes, Syrus, it is the truth; and you shall be convinced of it by experience before long.
Scene VI.
Enter Geta, from the house of Sostrata.
Geta (to Sostrata, within). Mistress, I am going to see after them, that they may send for the damsel as soon as possible; but see, here’s Demea. (Accosting him.) Save you!
Dem. O, what’s your name?
Geta. Geta.
Dem. Geta, I have this day come to the conclusion that you are a man of very great worth, for I look upon him as an undoubtedly good servant who has a care for his master; as I have found to be your case, Geta; and for that reason, if any opportunity should offer, I would gladly do you a service. (Aside.) I am practicing the affable, and it succeeds very well.
Geta. You are kind, sir, to think so.
Dem. (aside.) Getting on by degrees—I’ll first make the lower classes my own.
Scene VII.
Enter Æschinus, from the house of Micio.
Æsch. (to himself.) They really are killing me while too intent on performing the nuptials with all ceremony; the whole day is being wasted in their preparations.
Dem. Æschinus! how goes it?
Æsch. Ha, my father! are you here?
Dem. Your father, indeed, both by affection and by nature; as I love you more than my very eyes; but why don’t you send for your wife?
Æsch. So I wish to do; but I am waiting for the music-girl90 and people to sing the nuptial song.
Dem. Come now, are you willing to listen to an old fellow like me?
Æsch. What is it?
Dem. Let those things alone, the nuptial song, the crowds, the torches,91 and the music-girls, and order the stone wall in the garden92 here to be pulled down with all dispatch, and bring her over that way; make but one house of the two; bring the mother and all the domestics over to our house.
Æsch. With all my heart, kindest father.
Dem. (aside.) Well done! now I am called “kind.” My brother’s house will become a thoroughfare; he will be bringing home a multitude, incurring expense in many ways: what matters it to me? I, as the kind Demea, shall get into favor. Now then, bid that Babylonian93 pay down his twenty minæ. (To Syrus.) Syrus, do you delay to go and do it?
Syr. What am I to do?
Dem. Pull down the wall: and you, Geta, go and bring them across.
Geta. May the Gods bless you, Demea, as I see you so sincere a well-wisher to our family.
Geta and Syrus go into Micio’s house.
Dem. I think they deserve it. What say you, Æschinus, as to this plan?
Æsch. I quite agree to it.
Dem. It is much more proper than that she, being sick and lying-in, should be brought hither through the street.
Æsch. Why, my dear father, I never did see any thing better contrived.
Dem. It’s my way; but see, here’s Micio coming out.
Scene VIII.
Enter Micio, from his house.
Mic. (speaking to Geta, within.) Does my brother order it? Where is he? (To Demea.) Is this your order, Demea?
Dem. Certainly, I do order it, and in this matter, and in every thing else, wish especially to make this family one with ourselves, to oblige, serve, and unite them.
Æsch. Father, pray let it be so.
Mic. I do not oppose it.
Dem. On the contrary, i’ faith, it is what we ought to do: in the first place, she is the mother of his wife (pointing to Æschinus).
Mic. She is. What then?
Dem. An honest and respectable woman.
Mic. So they say.
Dem. Advanced in years.
Mic. I am aware of it.
Dem. Through her years, she is long past child-bearing; there is no one to take care of her; she is a lone woman.
Mic. (aside.) What can be his meaning?
Dem. It is right you should marry her; and that you, Æschinus, should use your endeavors to effect it.
Mic. I, marry her, indeed?
Dem. You.
Mic. I?
Dem. You, I say.
Mic. You are trifling!
Dem. Æschinus, if you are a man, he’ll do it.
Æsch. My dear father——
Mic. What, ass! do you attend to him?
Dem. ’Tis all in vain; it can not be otherwise.
Mic. You are mad!
Æsch. Do let me prevail on you, my father.
Mic. Are you out of your senses? Take yourself off.94
Dem. Come, do oblige your son.
Mic. Are you quite in your right mind? Am I, in my five-and-sixtieth year, to be marrying at last? A decrepit old woman too? Do you advise me to do this?
Æsch. Do; I have promised it.95
Mic. Promised, indeed; be generous at your own cost, young man.
Dem. Come, what if he should ask a still greater favor?
Mic. As if this was not the greatest!
Dem. Do comply.
Æsch. Don’t make any difficulty.
Dem. Do promise.
Mic. Will you not have done?
Æsch. Not until I have prevailed upon you.
Mic. Really, this is downright force.96
Dem. Act with heartiness, Micio.
Mic. Although this seems to me97 to be wrong, foolish, absurd, and repugnant to my mode of life, yet, if you so strongly wish it, be it so.
Æsch. You act obligingly.
Dem. With reason I love you; but——
Mic. What?
Dem. I will tell you, when my wish has been complied with.
Mic. What now? What remains to be done?
Dem. Hegio here is their nearest relation; he is a connection of ours and poor; we ought to do some good for him.
Mic. Do what?
Dem. There is a little farm here in the suburbs, which you let out; let us give it him to live upon.
Mic. But is it a little one?
Dem. If it were a large one, still it ought to be done; he has been as it were a father to her; he is a worthy man, and connected with us; it would be properly bestowed. In fine, I now adopt that proverb which you, Micio, a short time ago repeated with sense and wisdom—it is the common vice of all, in old age, to be too intent upon our own interests. This stain we ought to avoid: it is a true maxim, and ought to be observed in deed.
Mic. What am I to say to this? Well then, as he desires it (pointing to Æschinus), it shall be given him.
Æsch. My father!
Dem. Now, Micio, you are indeed my brother, both in spirit and in body.
Mic. I am glad of it.
Dem. (aside.) I foil him at his own weapon.98
Scene IX.
Enter Syrus, from the house.
Syr. It has been done as you ordered, Demea.
Dem. You are a worthy fellow. Upon my faith,—in my opinion, at least,—I think Syrus ought at once to be made free.
Mic. He free! For what reason?
Dem. For many.
Syr. O my dear Demea! upon my word, you are a worthy man! I have strictly taken care of both these sons of yours, from childhood; I have taught, advised, and carefully instructed them in every thing I could.
Dem. The thing is evident; and then besides all this, to cater for them, secretly bring home a wench, prepare a morning entertainment;99 these are the accomplishments of no ordinary person.
Syr. O, what a delightful man!
Dem. Last of all, he assisted to-day in purchasing this Music-wench—he had the management of it; it is right he should be rewarded; other servants will be encouraged thereby: besides, he (pointing to Æschinus) desires it to be so.
Mic. (to Æschinus.) Do you desire this to be done?
Æsch. I do wish it.
Mic. Why then, if you desire it, just come hither, Syrus, to me (performing the ceremony of manumission); be a free man.100
Syr. You act generously; I return my thanks to you all;—and to you, Demea, in particular.
Dem. I congratulate you.
Æsch. And I.
Syr. I believe you. I wish that this joy were made complete—that I could see my wife, Phrygia,101 free as well.
Dem. Really, a most excellent woman.
Syr. And the first to suckle your grandchild, his son, today (pointing to Æschinus).
Dem. Why really, in seriousness, if she was the first to do so, there is no doubt she ought to be made free.
Mic. What, for doing that?
Dem. For doing that; in fine, receive the amount from me102 at which she is valued.
Syr. May all the Gods always grant you, Demea, all you desire.
Mic. Syrus, you have thrived pretty well to-day.
Dem. If, in addition, Micio, you will do your duty, and lend him a little ready money in hand for present use, he will soon repay you.
Mic. Less than this (snapping his fingers).
Æsch. He is a deserving fellow.
Syr. Upon my word, I will repay it; only lend it me.
Æsch. Do, father.
Mic. I’ll consider of it afterward.
Dem. He’ll do it, Syrus.
Syr. O most worthy man!
Æsch. O most kind-hearted father!
Mic. How is this? What has so suddenly changed your disposition, Demea? What caprice is this? What means this sudden liberality?103
Dem. I will tell you:—That I may convince you of this, Micio, that the fact that they consider you an easy and kind-hearted man, does not proceed from your real life, nor, indeed, from a regard for virtue and justice; but from your humoring, indulging, and pampering them. Now therefore, Æschinus, if my mode of life has been displeasing to you, because I do not quite humor you in every thing, just or unjust, I have done: squander, buy, do what you please. But if you would rather have one to reprove and correct those faults, the results of which, by reason of your youth, you can not see, which you pursue too ardently, and are thoughtless upon, and in due season to direct you; behold me ready to do it for you.
Æsch. Father, we leave it to you; you best know what ought to be done. But what is to be done about my brother?
Dem. I consent. Let him have his mistress:104 with her let him make an end of his follies.
Mic. That’s right. (To the Audience.) Grant us your applause.