A severe father compels his son Clinia, in love with Antiphila, to go abroad to the wars; and repenting of what has been done, torments himself in mind. Afterward, when he has returned, unknown to his father, he is entertained at the house of Clitipho. The latter is in love with Bacchis, a Courtesan. When Clinia sends for his much-loved Antiphila, Bacchis comes, as though his mistress, and Antiphila, wearing the garb of her servant; this is done in order that Clitipho may conceal it from his father. He, through the stratagems of Syrus, gets ten minæ from the old man for the Courtesan. Antiphila is discovered to be the sister of Clitipho. Clinia receives her, and Clitipho, another woman, for his wife.
Lest it should be a matter of surprise to any one of you, why the Poet has assigned to an old man12 a part that belongs to the young, that I will first explain to you;13 and then, the reason for my coming I will disclose. An entire Play from an entire Greek one,14 the Heautontimorumenos, I am to-day about to represent, which from a two-fold plot15 has been made but one. I have shown that it is new, and what it is: next I would mention who it was that wrote it, and whose in Greek it is, if I did not think that the greater part of you are aware. Now, for what reason I have learned this part, in a few words I will explain. The Poet intended me to be a Pleader,16 not the Speaker of a Prologue; your decision he asks, and has appointed me the advocate; if this advocate can avail as much by his oral powers as he has excelled in inventing happily, who composed this speech which I am about to recite. For as to malevolent rumors spreading abroad that he has mixed together many Greek Plays while writing a few Latin ones, he does not deny that this is the case, and that he does not repent of so doing; and he affirms that he will do so again. He has the example of good Poets; after which example he thinks it is allowable for him to do what they have done. Then, as to a malevolent old Poet17 saying that he has suddenly applied himself to dramatic pursuits, relying on the genius of his friends,18 and not his own natural abilities; on that your judgment, your opinion, will prevail. Wherefore I do entreat you all, that the suggestions of our antagonists may not avail more than those of our favorers. Do you be favorable; grant the means of prospering to those who afford you the means of being spectators of new Plays; those, I mean, without faults: that he may not suppose this said in his behalf who lately made the public give way to a slave as he ran along in the street;19 why should he take a madman’s part? About his faults he will say more when he brings out some other new ones, unless he puts an end to his caviling. Attend with favorable feelings; grant me the opportunity that I may be allowed to act a quiet Play20 in silence; that the servant everlastingly running about, the angry old man, the gluttonous parasite, the impudent sharper, and the greedy procurer, may not have always to be performed by me with the utmost expense of voice, and the greatest exertion. For my sake come to the conclusion that this request is fair, that so some portion of my labor may be abridged. For nowadays, those who write new Plays do not spare an aged man. If there is any piece requiring exertion, they come running to me; but if it is a light one, it is taken to another Company. In the present one the style is pure. Do you make proof, what, in each character,21 my ability can effect. If I have never greedily set a high price upon my skill, and have come to the conclusion that this is my greatest gain, as far as possible to be subservient to your convenience, establish in me a precedent, that the young may be anxious rather to please you than themselves.
Enter Chremes, and Menedemus with a spade in his hand, who falls to digging.
Chrem. Although this acquaintanceship between us is of very recent date, from the time in fact of your purchasing an estate here in the neighborhood, yet either your good qualities, or our being neighbors (which I take to be a sort of friendship), induces me to inform you, frankly and familiarly, that you appear to me to labor beyond your years, and beyond what your affairs require. For, in the name of Gods and men, what would you have? What can be your aim? You are, as I conjecture, sixty years of age, or more. No man in these parts has a better or a more valuable estate, no one more servants; and yet you discharge their duties just as diligently as if there were none at all. However early in the morning I go out, and however late in the evening I return home, I see you either digging, or plowing, or doing something, in fact, in the fields. You take respite not an instant, and are quite regardless of yourself. I am very sure that this is not done for your amusement. But really I am vexed how little work is done here.22 If you were to employ the time you spend in laboring yourself, in keeping your servants at work, you would profit much more.
Men. Have you so much leisure, Chremes, from your own affairs, that you can attend to those of others—those which don’t concern you?
Chrem. I am a man,23 and nothing that concerns a man do I deem a matter of indifference to me. Suppose that I wish either to advise you in this matter, or to be informed myself: if what you do is right, that I may do the same; if it is not, then that I may dissuade you.
Men. It’s requisite for me to do so; do you as it is necessary for you to do.
Chrem. Is it requisite for any person to torment himself?
Men. It is for me.
Chrem. If you have any affliction, I could wish it otherwise. But prithee, what sorrow is this of yours? How have you deserved so ill of yourself?
Men. Alas! alas! (He begins to weep.)
Chrem. Do not weep, but make me acquainted with it, whatever it is. Do not be reserved; fear nothing; trust me, I tell you. Either by consolation, or by counsel, or by any means, I will aid you.
Men. Do you wish to know this matter?
Chrem. Yes, and for the reason I mentioned to you.
Men. I will tell you.
Chrem. But still, in the mean time, lay down that rake; don’t fatigue yourself.
Men. By no means.
Chrem. What can be your object? (Tries to take the rake from him.)
Men. Do leave me alone, that I may give myself no respite from my labor.
Chrem. I will not allow it, I tell you. (Taking the rake from him.)
Men. Ah! that’s not fair.
Chrem. (poising the rake.) Whew! such a heavy one as this, pray!
Men. Such are my deserts.
Chrem. Now speak. (Laying down the rake.)
Men. I have an only son,—a young man,—alas! why did I say—“I have?”—rather I should say, “I had” one, Chremes:—whether I have him now, or not, is uncertain.
Chrem. Why so?
Men. You shall know:—There is a poor old woman here, a stranger from Corinth:—her daughter, a young woman, he fell in love with, insomuch that he almost regarded her as his wife; all this took place unknown to me. When I discovered the matter, I began to reprove him, not with gentleness, nor in the way suited to the love-sick mind of a youth, but with violence, and after the usual method of fathers. I was daily reproaching him,—“Look you, do you expect to be allowed any longer to act thus, myself, your father, being alive; to be keeping a mistress pretty much as though your wife? You are mistaken, Clinia, and you don’t know me, if you fancy that. I am willing that you should be called my son, just as long as you do what becomes you; but if you do not do so, I shall find out how it becomes me to act toward you. This arises from nothing, in fact, but too much idleness. At your time of life, I did not devote my time to dalliance, but, in consequence of my poverty, departed hence for Asia, and there acquired in arms both riches and military glory.” At length the matter came to this,—the youth, from hearing the same things so often, and with such severity, was overcome. He supposed that I, through age and affection, had more judgment and foresight for him than himself. He went off to Asia, Chremes, to serve under the king.
Chrem. What is it you say?
Men. He departed without my knowledge—and has been gone these three months.
Chrem. Both are to be blamed—although I still think this step shows an ingenuous and enterprising disposition.
Men. When I learned this from those who were in the secret, I returned home sad, and with feelings almost overwhelmed and distracted through grief. I sit down; my servants run to me; they take off my shoes:24 then some make all haste to spread the couches,25 and to prepare a repast; each according to his ability did zealously what he could, in order to alleviate my sorrow. When I observed this, I began to reflect thus:—“What! are so many persons anxious for my sake alone, to pleasure myself only? Are so many female servants to provide me with dress?26 Shall I alone keep up such an expensive establishment, while my only son, who ought equally, or even more so, to enjoy these things—inasmuch as his age is better suited for the enjoyment of them—him, poor youth, have I driven away from home by my severity! Were I to do this, really I should deem myself deserving of any calamity. But so long as he leads this life of penury, banished from his country through my severity, I will revenge his wrongs upon myself, toiling, making money, saving, and laying up for him.” At once I set about it; I left nothing in the house, neither movables27 nor clothing; every thing I scraped together. Slaves, male and female, except those who could easily pay for their keep by working in the country, all of them I set up to auction and sold. I at once put up a bill to sell my house.28 I collected somewhere about fifteen talents, and purchased this farm; here I fatigue myself. I have come to this conclusion, Chremes, that I do my son a less injury, while I am unhappy; and that it is not right for me to enjoy any pleasure here, until such time as he returns home safe to share it with me.
Chrem. I believe you to be of an affectionate disposition toward your children,29 and him to be an obedient son, if one were to manage him rightly or prudently. But neither did you understand him sufficiently well, nor he you—a thing that happens where persons don’t live on terms of frankness together. You never showed him how highly you valued him, nor did he ever dare put that confidence in you which is due to a father. Had this been done, these troubles would never have befallen you.
Men. Such is the fact, I confess; the greatest fault is on my side.
Chrem. But still, Menedemus, I hope for the best, and I trust that he’ll be here safe before long.
Men. Oh that the Gods would grant it!
Chrem. They will do so. Now, if it is convenient to you—the festival of Bacchus30 is being kept here to-day—I wish you to give me your company.
Men. I can not.
Chrem. Why not? Do, pray, spare yourself a little while. Your absent son would wish you do so.
Men. It is not right that I, who have driven him hence to endure hardships, should now shun them myself.
Chrem. Is such your determination?
Men. It is.
Chrem. Then kindly fare you well.
Men. And you the same.
Goes into his house.
Chremes, alone.
Chrem. (to himself.) He has forced tears from me, and I do pity him. But as the day is far gone, I must remind Phania, this neighbor of mine, to come to dinner. I’ll go see whether he is at home. (Goes to Phania’s door, makes the inquiry, and returns.) There was no occasion for me to remind him: they tell me he has been some time already at my house; it’s I myself am making my guests wait. I’ll go in-doors immediately. But what means the noise at the door of my house? I wonder who’s coming out! I’ll step aside here.
He stands aside.
Enter Clitipho, from the house of Chremes.
Clit. (at the door, to Clinia within.) There is nothing, Clinia, for you to fear as yet: they have not been long by any means: and I am sure that she will be with you presently along with the messenger. Do at once dismiss these causeless apprehensions which are tormenting you.
Chrem. (apart.) Who is my son talking to?
Makes his appearance.
Clit. (to himself.) Here comes my father, whom I wished to see: I’ll accost him. Father, you have met me opportunely.
Chrem. What is the matter?
Clit. Do you know this neighbor of ours, Menedemus?
Chrem. Very well.
Clit. Do you know that he has a son?
Chrem. I have heard that he has; in Asia.
Clit. He is not in Asia, father; he is at our house.
Chrem. What is it you say?
Clit. Upon his arrival, after he had just landed from the ship, I immediately brought him to dine with us; for from our very childhood upward I have always been on intimate terms with him.
Chrem. You announce to me a great pleasure. How much I wish that Menedemus had accepted my invitation to make one of us: that at my house I might have been the first to surprise him, when not expecting it, with this delight!—and even yet there’s time enough——
Clit. Take care what you do; there is no necessity, father, for doing so.
Chrem. For what reason?
Clit. Why, because he is as yet undetermined what to do with himself. He is but just arrived. He fears every thing; his father’s displeasure, and how his mistress may be disposed toward him. He loves her to distraction: on her account, this trouble and going abroad took place.
Chrem. I know it.
Clit. He has just sent a servant into the city to her, and I ordered our Syrus to go with him.
Chrem. What does Clinia say?
Clit. What does he say? That he is wretched.
Chrem. Wretched? Whom could we less suppose so? What is there wanting for him to enjoy every thing that among men, in fact, are esteemed as blessings? Parents, a country in prosperity, friends, family, relations, riches? And yet, all these are just according to the disposition of him who possesses them. To him who knows how to use them, they are blessings; to him who does not use them rightly, they are evils.
Clit. Aye, but he always was a morose old man; and now I dread nothing more, father, than that in his displeasure he’ll be doing something to him more than is justifiable.
Chrem. What, he? (Aside.) But I’ll restrain myself; for that the other one should be in fear of his father is of service to him.31
Clit. What is it you are saying to yourself!
Chrem. I’ll tell you. However the case stood, Clinia ought still to have remained at home. Perhaps his father was a little stricter than he liked: he should have put up with it. For whom ought he to bear with, if he would not bear with his own father? Was it reasonable that he should live after his son’s humor, or his son after his? And as to charging him with harshness, it is not the fact. For the severities of fathers are generally of one character, those I mean who are in some degree reasonable men.32 They do not wish their sons to be always wenching; they do not wish them to be always carousing; they give a limited allowance; and yet all this tends to virtuous conduct. But when the mind, Clitipho, has once enslaved itself by vicious appetites, it must of necessity follow similar pursuits. This is a wise maxim, “to take warning from others of what may be to your own advantage.”
Clit. I believe so.
Chrem. I’ll now go hence in-doors, to see what we have for dinner. Do you, seeing what is the time of day, mind and take care not to be any where out of the way.
Goes into his house, and exit Clitipho.
Enter Clitipho.
Clit. (to himself.) What partial judges are all fathers in regard to all of us young men, in thinking it reasonable for us to become old men all at once from boys, and not to participate in those things which youth is naturally inclined to. They regulate us by their own desires,—such as they now are,—not as they once were. If ever I have a son, he certainly shall find in me an indulgent father. For the means both of knowing and of pardoning33 his faults shall be found by me; not like mine, who by means of another person, discloses to me his own sentiments. I’m plagued to death,—when he drinks a little more than usual, what pranks of his own he does relate to me! Now he says, “Take warning from others of what may be to your advantage.” How shrewd! He certainly does not know how deaf I am at the moment when he’s telling his stories. Just now, the words of my mistress make more impression upon me. “Give me this, and bring me that,” she cries; I have nothing to say to her in answer, and no one is there more wretched than myself. But this Clinia, although he, as well, has cares enough of his own, still has a mistress of virtuous and modest breeding, and a stranger to the arts of a courtesan. Mine is a craving, saucy, haughty, extravagant creature, full of lofty airs. Then all that I have to give her is—fair words34—for I make it a point not to tell her that I have nothing. This misfortune I met with not long since, nor does my father as yet know any thing of the matter.
Exit.
Enter Clinia from the house of Chremes.
Clin. (to himself.) If my love-affairs had been prosperous for me, I am sure she would have been here by this; but I’m afraid that the damsel has been led astray here in my absence. Many things combine to strengthen this opinion in my mind; opportunity, the place, her age, a worthless mother, under whose control she is, with whom nothing but gain is precious.
Enter Clitipho.
Clit. Clinia!
Clin. Alas! wretched me!
Clit. Do, pray, take care that no one coming out of your father’s house sees you here by accident.
Clin. I will do so; but really my mind presages I know not what misfortune.
Clit. Do you persist in making up your mind upon that, before you know what is the fact?
Clin. Had no misfortune happened, she would have been here by this.
Clit. She’ll be here presently.
Clin. When will that presently be?
Clit. You don’t consider that it is a great way from here.35 Besides, you know the ways of women, while they are bestirring themselves, and while they are making preparations a whole year passes by.
Clin. O Clitipho, I’m afraid—
Clit. Take courage. Look, here comes Dromo, together with Syrus: they are close at hand.
They stand aside.
Enter Syrus and Dromo, conversing at a distance.
Syr. Do you say so?
Dro. ’Tis as I told you,—but in the mean time, while we’ve been carrying on our discourse, these women have been left behind.
Clit. (apart.) Don’t you hear, Clinia? Your mistress is close at hand.
Clin. (apart.) Why yes, I do hear now at last, and I see and revive, Clitipho.
Dro. No wonder; they are so encumbered; they are bringing a troop of female attendants36 with them.
Clin. (apart.) I’m undone! Whence come these female attendants?
Clit. (apart.) Do you ask me?
Syr. We ought not to have left them; what a quantity of things they are bringing!
Clin. (apart.) Ah me!
Syr. Jewels of gold, and clothes; it’s growing late too, and they don’t know the way. It was very foolish of us to leave them. Just go back, Dromo, and meet them. Make haste—why do you delay?
Exit Dromo.
Clin. (apart.) Woe unto wretched me!—from what high hopes am I fallen!
Clit. (apart.) What’s the matter? Why, what is it that troubles you?
Clin. (apart.) Do you ask what it is? Why, don’t you see? Attendants, jewels of gold, and clothes, her too, whom I left here with only one little servant girl. Whence do you suppose that they come?
Clit. (apart.) Oh! now at last I understand you.
Syr. (to himself.) Good Gods! what a multitude there is! Our house will hardly hold them, I’m sure. How much they will eat! how much they will drink! what will there be more wretched than our old gentleman? (Catching sight of Clinia and Clitipho.) But look, I espy the persons I was wanting.
Clin. (apart.) Oh Jupiter! Why, where is fidelity gone? While I, distractedly wandering, have abandoned my country for your sake, you, in the mean time, Antiphila, have been enriching yourself, and have forsaken me in these troubles, you for whose sake I am in extreme disgrace, and have been disobedient to my father; on whose account I am now ashamed and grieved, that he who used to lecture me about the manners of these women, advised me in vain, and was not able to wean me away from her:—which, however, I shall now do; whereas when it might have been advantageous to me to do so, I was unwilling. There is no being more wretched than I.
Syr. (to himself.) He certainly has been misled by our words which we have been speaking here. (Aloud.) Clinia, you imagine your mistress quite different from what she really is. For both her mode of life is the same, and her disposition toward you is the same as it always was; so far as we could form a judgment from the circumstances themselves.
Clin. How so, prithee? For nothing in the world could I rather wish for just now, than that I have suspected this without reason.
Syr. This, in the first place, then (that you may not be ignorant of any thing that concerns her); the old woman, who was formerly said to be her mother, was not so.—She is dead: this I overheard by accident from her, as we came along, while she was telling the other one.
Clit. Pray, who is the other one?
Syr. Stay; what I have begun I wish first to relate. Clitipho; I shall come to that afterward.
Clit. Make haste, then.
Syr. First of all, then, when we came to the house, Dromo knocked at the door; a certain old woman came out; when she opened the door, he directly rushed in; I followed; the old woman bolted the door, and returned to her wool. On this occasion might be known, Clinia, or else on none, in what pursuits she passed her life during your absence; when we thus came upon a female unexpectedly. For this circumstance then gave us an opportunity of judging of the course of her daily life; a thing which especially discovers what is the disposition of each individual. We found her industriously plying at the web; plainly clad in a mourning dress,37 on account of this old woman, I suppose, who was lately dead; without golden ornaments, dressed, besides, just like those who only dress for themselves, and patched up with no worthless woman’s trumpery.38 Her hair was loose, long, and thrown back negligently about her temples. (To Clinia.) Do you hold your peace.39
Clin. My dear Syrus, do not without cause throw me into ecstasies, I beseech you.
Syr. The old woman was spinning the woof:40 there was one little servant girl besides;—she was weaving41 together with them, covered with patched clothes, slovenly, and dirty with filthiness.
Clit. If this is true, Clinia, as I believe it is, who is there more fortunate than you? Do you mark this girl whom he speaks of, as dirty and drabbish? This, too, is a strong indication that the mistress is out of harm’s way, when her confidant is in such ill plight; for it is a rule with those who wish to gain access to the mistress, first to bribe the maid.
Clin. (to Syrus.) Go on, I beseech you; and beware of endeavoring to purchase favor by telling an untruth. What did she say, when you mentioned me?
Syr. When we told her that you had returned, and had requested her to come to you, the damsel instantly put away the web, and covered her face all over with tears; so that you might easily perceive that it really was caused by her affection for you.
Clin. So may the Deities bless me, I know not where I am for joy! I was so alarmed before.
Clit. But I was sure that there was no reason, Clinia. Come now, Syrus, tell me, in my turn, who this other lady is.
Syr. Your Bacchis, whom we are bringing.42
Clit. Ha! What! Bacchis? How now, you rascal! whither are you bringing her?
Syr. Whither am I bringing her? To our house, to be sure.
Clit. What! to my father’s?
Syr. To the very same.
Clit. Oh, the audacious impudence of the fellow!
Syr. Hark’ye, no great and memorable action is done without some risk.
Clit. Look now; are you seeking to gain credit for yourself, at the hazard of my character, you rascal, in a point, where, if you only make the slightest slip, I am ruined? What would you be doing with her?
Syr. But still—
Clit. Why “still?”
Syr. If you’ll give me leave, I’ll tell you.
Clin. Do give him leave.
Clit. I give him leave then.
Syr. This affair is now just as though when—
Clit. Plague on it, what roundabout story is he beginning to tell me?
Clin. Syrus, he says what’s right—do omit digressions; come to the point.
Syr. Really I can not hold my tongue. Clitipho, you are every way unjust, and can not possibly be endured.
Clin. Upon my faith, he ought to have a hearing. (To Clitipho.) Do be silent.
Syr. You wish to indulge in your amours; you wish to possess your mistress; you wish that to be procured wherewithal to make her presents; in getting this, you do not wish the risk to be your own. You are not wise to no purpose,—if indeed it is being wise to wish for that which can not happen. Either the one must be had with the other, or the one must be let alone with the other. Now, of these two alternatives, consider which one you would prefer; although this project which I have formed, I know to be both a wise and a safe one. For there is an opportunity for your mistress to be with you at your father’s house, without fear of a discovery; besides, by these self-same means, I shall find the money which you have promised her—to effect which, you have already made my ears deaf with entreating me. What would you have more?
Clit. If, indeed, this could be brought about—
Syr. If, indeed? You shall know it by experience.
Clit. Well, well, disclose this project of yours. What is it?
Syr. We will pretend that your mistress is his (pointing to Clinia).
Clit. Very fine! Tell me, what is he to do with his own? Is she, too, to be called his, as if one was not a sufficient discredit?
Syr. No—she shall be taken to your mother.
Clit. Why there?
Syr. It would be tedious, Clitipho, if I were to tell you why I do so; I have a good reason.
Clit. Stuff! I see no grounds sufficiently solid why it should be for my advantage to incur this risk.43 (Turning as if going.)
Syr. Stay; if there is this risk, I have another project, which you must both confess to be free from danger.
Clit. Find out something of that description, I beseech you.
Syr. By all means; I’ll go meet her, and tell her to return home.
Clit. Ha! what was it you said?
Syr. I’ll rid you at once of all fears, so that you may sleep at your ease upon either ear.44
Clit. What am I to do now?
Clin. What are you to do? The goods that—
Clit. Only tell me the truth, Syrus.
Syr. Dispatch quickly; you’ll be wishing just now too late and in vain. (Going.)
Clin. The Gods provide, enjoy while yet you may; for you know not—
Clit. (calling.) Syrus, I say!
Syr. (moving on.) Go on; I shall still do that which I said.45
Clin. Whether you may have another opportunity hereafter or ever again.
Clit. I’faith, that’s true. (Calling.) Syrus, Syrus, I say, harkye, harkye, Syrus!
Syr. (aside.) He warms a little. (To Clitipho.) What is it you want?
Clit. Come back, come back.
Syr. (coming back to him.) Here I am; tell me what you would have. You’ll be presently saying that this, too, doesn’t please you.
Clit. Nay, Syrus, I commit myself, and my love, and my reputation entirely to you: you are the seducer; take care you don’t deserve any blame.
Syr. It is ridiculous for you to give me that caution, Clitipho, as if my interest was less at stake in this affair than yours. Here, if any ill luck should perchance befall us, words will be in readiness for you, but for this individual blows (pointing to himself.) For that reason, this matter is by no means to be neglected on my part: but do prevail upon him (pointing to Clinia) to pretend that she is his own mistress.
Clin. You may rest assured I’ll do so. The matter has now come to that pass, that it is a case of necessity.
Clit. ’Tis with good reason that I love you, Clinia.
Clin. But she mustn’t be tripping at all.
Syr. She is thoroughly tutored in her part.
Clit. But this I wonder at, how you could so easily prevail upon her, who is wont to treat such great people46 with scorn.
Syr. I came to her at the proper moment, which in all things is of the first importance: for there I found a certain wretched captain soliciting her favors: she artfully managed the man, so as to inflame his eager passions by denial; and this, too, that it might be especially pleasing to yourself. But hark you, take care, will you, not to be imprudently impetuous. You know your father, how quick-sighted he is in these matters; and I know you, how unable you are to command yourself. Keep clear of words of double meaning,47 your sidelong looks, sighing, hemming, coughing, tittering.
Clit. You shall have to commend me.
Syr. Take care of that, please.
Clit. You yourself shall be surprised at me.
Syr. But how quickly the ladies have come up with us!
Clit. Where are they? (Syrus stands before him.) Why do you hold me back?
Syr. For the present she is nothing to you.
Clit. I know it, before my father; but now in the mean time—
Syr. Not a bit the more.
Clit. Do let me.
Syr. I will not let you, I tell you.
Clit. But only for a moment, pray.
Syr. I forbid it.
Clit. Only to salute her.
Syr. If you are wise, get you gone.
Clit. I’m off. But what’s he to do? (Pointing at Clinia.)
Syr. He will stay here.
Clit. O happy man!
Syr. Take yourself off.
Exit Clitipho.
Enter Bacchis and Antiphila at a distance.
Bacchis. Upon my word, my dear Antiphila, I commend you, and think you fortunate in having made it your study that your manners should be conformable to those good looks of yours: and so may the Gods bless me, I do not at all wonder if every man is in love with you. For your discourse has been a proof to me what kind of disposition you possess. And when now I reflect in my mind upon your way of life, and that of all of you, in fact, who keep the public at a distance from yourselves, it is not surprising both that you are of that disposition, and that we are not; for it is your interest to be virtuous; those, with whom we are acquainted, will not allow us to be so. For our lovers, allured merely by our beauty, court us for that; when that has faded, they transfer their affections elsewhere; and unless we have made provision in the mean time for the future, we live in destitution. Now with you, when you have once resolved to pass your life with one man whose manners are especially kindred to your own, those persons48 become attached to you. By this kindly feeling, you are truly devoted to each other; and no calamity can ever possibly interrupt your love.
Anti. I know nothing about other women: I’m sure that I have, indeed, always used every endeavor to derive my own happiness from his happiness.
Clin. (apart, overhearing Antiphila.) Ah! ’tis for that reason, my Antiphila, that you alone have now caused me to return to my native country; for while I was absent from you, all other hardships which I encountered were light to me, save the being deprived of you.
Syr. (apart.) I believe it.
Clin. (apart.) Syrus, I can scarce endure it!49 Wretch that I am, that I should not be allowed to possess one of such a disposition at my own discretion!
Syr. Nay, so far as I understand your father, he will for a long time yet be giving you a hard task.
Bacch. Why, who is that young man that’s looking at us?
Anti. (seeing Clinia.) Ah! do support me, I entreat you!
Bacch. Prithee, what is the matter with you?
Anti. I shall die, alas! I shall die!
Bacch. Why are you thus surprised, Antiphila?
Anti. Is it Clinia that I see, or not?
Bacch. Whom do you see?
Clin. (running to embrace Antiphila.) Blessings on you, my life!
Anti. Oh my long-wished for Clinia, blessings on you!
Clin. How fare you, my love?
Anti. I’m overjoyed that you have returned safe.
Clin. And do I embrace you, Antiphila, so passionately longed for by my soul?
Syr. Go in-doors; for the old gentleman has been waiting for us some time.
They go into the house of Chremes.
Enter Chremes from his house.
Chrem. (to himself.) It is now daybreak.50 Why do I delay to knock at my neighbor’s door, that he may learn from me the first that his son has returned? Although I am aware that the youth would not prefer this. But when I see him tormenting himself so miserably about his absence, can I conceal a joy so unhoped for, especially when there can be no danger to him from the discovery? I will not do so; but as far as I can I will assist the old man. As I see my son aiding his friend and year’s-mate, and acting as his confidant in his concerns, it is but right that we old men as well should assist each other.
Enter Menedemus from his house.
Men. (to himself.) Assuredly I was either born with a disposition peculiarly suited for misery, or else that saying which I hear commonly repeated, that “time assuages human sorrow,” is false. For really my sorrow about my son increases daily; and the longer he is away from me, the more anxiously do I wish for him, and the more I miss him.
Chrem. (apart.) But I see him coming out of his house; I’ll go speak to him. (Aloud.) Menedemus, good-morrow; I bring you news, which you would especially desire to be imparted.
Men. Pray, have you heard any thing about my son, Chremes?
Chrem. He’s alive, and well.
Men. Why, where is he, pray?
Chrem. Here, at my house, at home.
Men. My son?
Chrem. Such is the fact.
Men. Come home?
Chrem. Certainly.
Men. My son, Clinia, come home?
Chrem. I say so.
Men. Let us go. Lead me to him, I beg of you.
Chrem. He does not wish you yet to know of his return, and he shuns your presence; he’s afraid that, on account of that fault, your former severity may even be increased.
Men. Did you not tell him how I was affected?51
Chrem. No—
Men. For what reason, Chremes?
Chrem. Because there you would judge extremely ill both for yourself and for him, if you were to show yourself of a spirit so weak and irresolute.
Men. I can not help it: enough already, enough, have I proved a rigorous father.
Chrem. Ah Menedemus! you are too precipitate in either extreme, either with profuseness or with parsimony too great. Into the same error will you fall from the one side as from the other. In the first place, formerly, rather than allow your son to visit a young woman, who was then content with a very little, and to whom any thing was acceptable, you frightened him away from here. After that, she began, quite against her inclination, to seek a subsistence upon the town. Now, when she can not be supported without a great expense, you are ready to give any thing. For, that you may know how perfectly she is trained to extravagance, in the first place, she has already brought with her more than ten female attendants, all laden with clothes and jewels of gold; if a satrap52 had been her admirer, he never could support her expenses, much less can you.
Men. Is she at your house?
Chrem. Is she, do you ask? I have felt it; for I have given her and her retinue one dinner; had I to give them another such, it would be all over with me; for, to pass by other matters, what a quantity of wine she did consume for me in tasting only,53 saying thus, “This wine is too acid,54 respected sir,55 do please look for something more mellow.” I opened all the casks, all the vessels;56 she kept all on the stir: and this but a single night. What do you suppose will become of you when they are constantly preying upon you? So may the Gods prosper me, Menedemus, I do pity your lot.
Men. Let him do what he will; let him take, waste, and squander; I’m determined to endure it, so long as I only have him with me.
Chrem. If it is your determination thus to act, I hold it to be of very great moment that he should not be aware that with a full knowledge you grant him this.
Men. What shall I do?
Chrem. Any thing, rather than what you are thinking of; supply him with money through some other person; suffer yourself to be imposed upon by the artifices of his servant: although I have smelt out this too, that they are about that, and are secretly planning it among them. Syrus is always whispering with that servant of yours;57 they impart their plans to the young men; and it were better for you to lose a talent this way, than a mina the other. The money is not the question now, but this—in what way we can supply it to the young man with the least danger. For if he once knows the state of your feelings, that you would sooner part with your life, and sooner with all your money, than allow your son to leave you; whew! what an inlet58 will you be opening for his debauchery! aye, and so much so, that henceforth to live can not be desirable to you. For we all become worse through indulgence. Whatever comes into his head, he’ll be wishing for; nor will he reflect whether that which he desires is right or wrong. You will not be able to endure your estate and him going to ruin. You will refuse to supply him: he will immediately have recourse to the means by which he finds that he has the greatest hold upon you, and threaten that he will immediately leave you.
Men. You seem to speak the truth, and just what is the fact.
Chrem. I’faith, I have not been sensible of sleep this night with my eyes,59 for thinking of this—how to restore your son to you.
Men. (taking his hand.) Give me your right hand. I request that you will still act in a like manner, Chremes.
Chrem. I am ready to serve you.
Men. Do you know what it is I now want you to do?
Chrem. Tell me.
Men. As you have perceived that they are laying a plan to deceive me, that they may hasten to complete it. I long to give him whatever he wants: I am now longing to behold him.
Chrem. I’ll lend my endeavors. This little business is in my way. Our neighbors Simus and Crito are disputing here about boundaries; they have chosen me for arbitrator. I’ll go and tell them that I can not possibly give them my attention to-day as I had stated I would. I’ll be here immediately.
Exit.
Men. Pray do. (To himself.) Ye Gods, by our trust in you! That the nature of all men should be so constituted, that they can see and judge of other men’s affairs better than their own! Is it because in our own concerns we are biased either with joy or grief in too great a degree? How much wiser now is he for me, than I have been for myself!
Re-enter Chremes.
Chrem. I have disengaged myself, that I might lend you my services at my leisure. Syrus must be found and instructed by me in this business. Some one, I know not who, is coming out of my house: do you step hence home, that they may not perceive60 that we are conferring together.
Menedemus goes into his house.
Enter Syrus from the house of Chremes.
Syr. (aloud to himself.) Run to and fro in every direction; still, money, you must be found: a trap must be laid for the old man.
Chrem. (apart, overhearing him.) Was I deceived in saying that they were planning this? That servant of Clinia’s is somewhat dull; therefore that province has been assigned to this one of ours.
Syr. (in a low voice.) Who’s that speaking? (Catches sight of Chremes.) I’m undone! Did he hear it, I wonder?
Chrem. Syrus.
Syr. Well—
Chrem. What are you doing here?
Syr. All right. Really, I am quite surprised at you, Chremes, up so early, after drinking so much yesterday.
Chrem. Not too much.
Syr. Not too much, say you? Really, you’ve seen the old age of an eagle,61 as the saying is.
Chrem. Pooh, pooh!
Syr. A pleasant and agreeable woman this Courtesan.
Chrem. Why, so she seemed to me, in fact.
Syr. And really of handsome appearance.
Chrem. Well enough.
Syr. Not like those of former days,62 but as times are now, very passable: nor do I in the least wonder that Clinia doats upon her. But he has a father—a certain covetous, miserable, and niggardly person—this neighbor of ours (pointing to the house). Do you know him? Yet, as if he was not abounding in wealth, his son ran away through want. Are you aware that it is the fact, as I am saying?
Chrem. How should I not be aware? A fellow that deserves the mill.
Syr. Who?
Chrem. That servant of the young gentleman, I mean.
Syr. (aside.) Syrus! I was sadly afraid for you.
Chrem. To suffer it to come to this!
Syr. What was he to do?
Chrem. Do you ask the question? He ought to have found some expedient, contrived some stratagem, by means of which there might have been something for the young man to give to his mistress, and thus have saved this crabbed old fellow in spite of himself.
Syr. You are surely joking.
Chrem. This ought to have been done by him, Syrus.
Syr. How now—pray, do you commend servants, who deceive their masters?
Chrem. Upon occasion—I certainly do commend them.
Syr. Quite right.
Chrem. Inasmuch as it often is the remedy for great disturbances. Then would this man’s only son have staid at home.
Syr. (aside.) Whether he says this in jest or in earnest, I don’t know; only, in fact, that he gives me additional zest for longing still more to trick him.
Chrem. And what is he now waiting for, Syrus? Is it until his father drives him away from here a second time, when he can no longer support her expenses?63 Has he no plot on foot against the old gentleman?
Syr. He is a stupid fellow.
Chrem. Then you ought to assist him—for the sake of the young man.
Syr. For my part, I can do so easily, if you command me; for I know well in what fashion it is usually done.
Chrem. So much the better, i’ faith.
Syr. ’Tis not my way to tell an untruth.
Chrem. Do it then.
Syr. But hark you! Just take care and remember this, in case any thing of this sort should perchance happen at a future time, such are human affairs!—your son might do the same.
Chrem. The necessity will not arise, I trust.
Syr. I’ faith, and I trust so too: nor do I say so now, because I have suspected him in any way; but in case, none the more64—You see what his age is; (aside) and truly, Chremes,65 if an occasion does happen, I may be able to handle you right handsomely.
Chrem. As to that, we’ll consider what is requisite when the occasion does happen. At present do you set about this matter.
Goes into his house.
Syr. (to himself.) Never on any occasion did I hear my master talk more to the purpose; nor at any time could I believe that I was authorized to play the rogue with greater impunity. I wonder who it is coming out of our house?
Stands aside.
Enter Chremes and Clitipho from the house of the former.
Chrem. Pray, what does this mean? What behavior is this, Clitipho? Is this acting as becomes you?
Clit. What have I done?
Chrem. Did I not see you just now putting your hand into this Courtesan’s bosom?
Syr. (apart.) It’s all up with us—I’m utterly undone!
Clit. What, I?
Chrem. With these self-same eyes I saw it—don’t deny it. Besides, you wrong him unworthily in not keeping your hands off: for indeed it is a gross affront to entertain a person, your friend, at your house, and to take liberties with his mistress. Yesterday, for instance, at wine, how rude you were—
Syr. (apart.) ’Tis the truth.66
Chrem. How annoying you were! So much so, that for my part, as the Gods may prosper me, I dreaded what in the end might be the consequence. I understand lovers. They resent highly things that you would not imagine.
Clit. But he has full confidence in me, father, that I would not do any thing of that kind.
Chrem. Be it so; still, at least, you ought to go somewhere for a little time away from their presence. Passion prompts to many a thing; your presence acts as a restraint upon doing them. I form a judgment from myself. There’s not one of my friends this day to whom I would venture, Clitipho, to disclose all my secrets. With one, his station forbids it; with another, I am ashamed of the action itself, lest I may appear a fool or devoid of shame; do you rest assured that he does the same.67 But it is our part to be sensible of this; and, when and where it is requisite, to show due complaisance.