As Demea has two sons, young men, he gives Æschinus to his brother Micio to be adopted by him; but he retains Ctesipho: him, captivated with the charms of a Music-girl, and under a harsh and strict father, his brother Æschinus screens; the scandal of the affair and the amour he takes upon himself; at last, he carries the Music-girl away from the Procurer. This same Æschinus has previously debauched a poor woman, a citizen of Athens, and has given his word that she shall be his wife. Demea upbraids him, and is greatly vexed; afterward, however, when the truth is discovered, Æschinus marries the girl who has been debauched; and, his harsh father Demea now softened, Ctesipho retains the Music-girl.
Since the Poet has found that his writings are carped at by unfair critics, and that his adversaries represent in a bad light the Play that we are about to perform, he shall give information about himself; you shall be the judges whether this ought to be esteemed to his praise or to his discredit. The Synapothnescontes17 is a Comedy of Diphilus;18 Plautus made it into a Play called the “Commorientes.” In the Greek, there is a young man, who, at the early part of the Play, carries off a Courtesan from a Procurer; that part Plautus has entirely left out. This portion he has adopted in the Adelphi, and has transferred it, translated word for word. This new Play we are about to perform; determine then whether you think a theft has been committed, or a passage has been restored to notice which has been passed over in neglect. For as to what these malevolent persons say, that men of noble rank assist him, and are always writing in conjunction with him—that which they deem to be a heavy crimination, he takes to be the highest praise; since he pleases those who please you all and the public; the aid of whom in war, in peace, in private business,19 each one has availed himself of, on his own occasion, without any haughtiness on their part. Now then, do not expect the plot of the Play; the old men20 who come first will disclose it in part; a part in the representation they will make known. Do you cause your impartial attention to increase the industry of the Poet in writing.
Enter Micio, calling to a servant within.
Mic. Storax! Æschinus has not returned home from the entertainment last night, nor any of the servants who went to fetch him.21 (To himself.) Really, they say it with reason, if you are absent any where, or if you stay abroad at any time, ’twere better for that to happen which your wife says against you, and which in her passion she imagines in her mind, than the things which fond parents fancy. A wife, if you stay long abroad, either imagines that you are in love or are beloved, or that you are drinking and indulging your inclination, and that you only are taking your pleasure, while she herself is miserable. As for myself, in consequence of my son not having returned home, what do I imagine? In what ways am I not disturbed? For fear lest he may either have taken cold,22 or have fallen down somewhere, or have broken some limb. Oh dear! that any man should take it into his head, or find out what is dearer to him than he is to himself! And yet he is not my son, but my brother’s. He is quite different in disposition. I, from my very youth upward, have lived a comfortable town life, and taken my ease; and, what they esteem a piece of luck, I have never had a wife. He, on the contrary to all this, has spent his life in the country, and has always lived laboriously and penuriously. He married a wife, and has two sons. This one, the elder of them, I have adopted. I have brought him up from an infant, and considered and loved him as my own. In him I centre my delight; this object alone is dear to me. On the other hand, I take all due care that he may hold me equally dear. I give—I overlook; I do not judge it necessary to exert my authority in every thing; in fine, the things that youth prompts to, and that others do unknown to their fathers, I have used my son not to conceal from me. For he, who, as the practice is, will dare to tell a lie to or to deceive his father, will still more dare to do so to others. I think it better to restrain children through a sense of shame and liberal treatment, than through fear. On these points my brother does not agree with me, nor do they please him. He often comes to me exclaiming, “What are you about, Micio? Why do you ruin for us this youth? Why does he intrigue? Why does he drink? Why do you supply him with the means for these goings on? You indulge him with too much dress; you are very inconsiderate.” He himself is too strict, beyond what is just and reasonable; and he is very much mistaken, in my opinion, at all events, who thinks that an authority is more firm or more lasting which is established by force, than that which is founded on affection. Such is my mode of reasoning;
and thus do I persuade myself. He, who, compelled by harsh treatment, does his duty, so long as he thinks it will be known, is on his guard: if he hopes that it will be concealed, he again returns to his natural bent. He whom you have secured by kindness, acts from inclination; he is anxious to return like for like; present and absent, he will be the same. This is the duty of a parent, to accustom a son to do what is right rather of his own choice, than through fear of another. In this the father differs from the master: he who can not do this, let him confess that he does not know how to govern children. But is not this the very man of whom I was speaking? Surely it is he. I don’t know why it is I see him out of spirits; I suppose he’ll now be scolding as usual. Demea, I am glad to see you well.23
Enter Demea.
Dem. Oh,—opportunely met; you are the very man I was looking for.24
Mic. Why are you out of spirits?
Dem. Do you ask me, when we have such a son as Æschinus,25 why I’m out of spirits?
Mic. (aside.) Did I not say it would be so? (To Demea.) What has he been doing?
Dem. What has he been doing? He, who is ashamed of nothing, and fears no one, nor thinks that any law can control him. But I pass by what has been previously done: what a thing he has just perpetrated!
Mic. Why, what is it?
Dem. He has broken open a door,26 and forced his way into another person’s house, beaten to death the master himself, and all the household, and carried off a wench whom he had a fancy for. All people are exclaiming that it was a most disgraceful proceeding. How many, Micio, told me of this as I was coming here? It is in every body’s mouth. In fine, if an example must be cited, does he not see his brother giving his attention to business, and living frugally and soberly in the country? No action of his is like this. When I say this to him, Micio, I say it to you. You allow him to be corrupted.
Mic. Never is there any thing more unreasonable than a man who wants experience, who thinks nothing right except what he himself has done.
Dem. What is the meaning of that?
Mic. Because, Demea, you misjudge these matters. It is no heinous crime, believe me, for a young man to intrigue or to drink; it is not; nor yet for him to break open a door. If neither I nor you did so, it was poverty that did not allow us to do so. Do you now claim that as a merit to yourself, which you then did from necessity? That is unfair; for if we had had the means to do so, we should have done the same. And, if you were a man, you would now suffer that other son of yours to act thus now, while his age will excuse it, rather than, when he has got you, after long wishing it, out of the way, he should still do so, at a future day, and at an age more unsuited.
Dem. O Jupiter! You, sir, are driving me to distraction. Is it not a heinous thing for a young man to do these things?
Mic. Oh! do listen to me, and do not everlastingly din me upon this subject. You gave me your son to adopt; he became mine; if he offends in any thing, Demea, he offends against me: in that case I shall bear the greater part of the inconvenience. Does he feast,27 does he drink, does he smell of perfumes,28—it is at my cost. Does he intrigue, money shall be found by me, so long as it suits me; when it shall be no longer convenient, probably he’ll be shut out of doors.29 Has he broken open a door—it shall be replaced; has he torn any one’s clothes—they shall be mended. Thanks to the Gods, I both have means for doing this, and these things are not as yet an annoyance. In fine, either desist, or else find some arbitrator between us: I will show that in this matter you are the most to blame.
Dem. Ah me! Learn to be a father from those who are really so.
Mic. You are his father by nature, I by my anxiety.
Dem. You, feel any anxiety?
Mic. Oh dear,—if you persist, I’ll leave you.
Dem. Is it thus you act?
Mic. Am I so often to hear about the same thing?
Dem. I have some concern for my son.
Mic. I have some concern for him too; but, Demea, let us each be concerned for his own share—you for the one, and I for the other. For, to concern yourself about both is almost the same thing as to demand him back again, whom you intrusted to me.
Dem. Alas, Micio!
Mic. So it seems to me.
Dem. What am I to say to this? If it pleases you, henceforth—let him spend, squander, and destroy; it’s nothing to me. If I say one word after this——
Mic. Again angry, Demea?
Dem. Won’t you believe me? Do I demand him back whom I have intrusted? I am concerned for him; I am not a stranger in blood; if I do interpose—well, well, I have done. You desire me to concern myself for one of them,—I do concern myself; and I give thanks to the Gods, he is just as I would have him; that fellow of yours will find it out at a future day: I don’t wish to say any thing more harsh against him.
Exit.
Micio alone.
Mic. These things are30 not nothing at all, nor yet all just as he says; still they do give me some uneasiness; but I was unwilling to show him that I took them amiss, for he is such a man; when I would pacify him, I steadily oppose and resist him; and in spite of it he hardly puts up with it like other men; but if I were to inflame, or even to humor his anger, I should certainly be as mad as himself. And yet Æschinus has done me some injustice in this affair. What courtesan has he not intrigued with? Or to which of them has he not made some present? At last, he recently told me that he wished to take a wife,31 I suppose he was just then tired of them all. I was in hopes that the warmth of youth had now subsided; I was delighted. But look now, he is at it again; however, I am determined to know it, whatever it is, and to go meet the fellow, if he is at the Forum.
Exit.
Enter Æschinus and Parmeno with the Music-Girl, followed by Sannio and a crowd of people.
San. I beseech you, fellow-citizens, do give aid to a miserable and innocent man; do assist the distressed.
Æsch. (to the Girl.) Be quiet, and now then stand here just where you are. Why do you look back? There’s no danger; he shall never touch you while I am here.
San. I’ll have her, in spite of all.
Æsch. Though he is a villain, he’ll not risk, to-day, getting a second beating.
San. Hear me, Aeschinus, that you may not say that you were in ignorance of my calling; I am a Procurer.32
Æsch. I know it.
San. And of as high a character as any one ever was. When you shall be excusing yourself by-and-by, how that you wish this injury had not been done me, I shall not value it this (snapping his fingers). Depend upon it, I’ll prosecute my rights; and you shall never pay with words for the evil that you have done me in deed. I know those ways of yours: “I wish it hadn’t happened; I’ll take my oath that you did not deserve this injustice;” while I myself have been treated in a disgraceful manner.
Æsch. (to Parmeno.) Go first with all dispatch and open the door.
Parmeno opens the door.
San. But you will avail nothing by this.
Æsch. (To the Girl.) Now then, step in.
San. (coming between.) But I’ll not let her.
Æsch. Step this way, Parmeno; you are gone too far that way; here (pointing), stand close by him; there, that’s what I want. Now then, take care you don’t move your eyes in any direction from mine, that there may be no delay if I give you the sign, to your fist being instantly planted in his jaws.
San. I’d have him then try that.
Æsch. (to Parmeno.) Now then, observe me.
Par. (to Sannio.) Let go the woman. (Strikes him.)
San. Oh! scandalous deed!
Æsch. He shall repeat it, if you don’t take care. (Parmeno strikes him again.)
San. Oh shocking!
Æsch. (to Parmeno.) I didn’t give the sign; but still make your mistakes on that side in preference. Now then, go.
Parmeno goes with the Music-Girl into Micio’s house.
San. What is the meaning of this? Have you the sway here, Aeschinus?
Æsch. If I had it, you should be exalted for your deserts.
San. What business have you with me?
Æsch. None.
San. How then, do you know who I am?
Æsch. I don’t want to.
San. Have I touched any thing of yours?
Æsch. If you had touched it, you’d have got a drubbing.
San. What greater right then have you to take my property, for which I paid my money? Answer me that.
Æsch. It were better for you not to be making a disturbance here before the house; for if you persist in being impertinent, you shall be dragged in at once, and there you shall be lashed to death with whips.
San. A free man, with whips?
Æsch. So it shall be.
San. Oh, you shameless fellow! Is this the place where they say there is equal liberty for all?
Æsch. If you have now raved enough, Procurer, now then listen, if you please.
San. Why, is it I that have been raving, or you against me?
Æsch. Leave alone all that, and come to the point.
San. What point? Where am I to come to?
Æsch. Are you willing now that I should say something that concerns you?
San. With all my heart, only so it be something that’s fair.
Æsch. Very fine! a Procurer wishing me not to say what’s unfair.
San. I am a Procurer,33 I confess it—the common bane of youth—a perjurer, a public nuisance; still, no injury has befallen you from me.
Æsch. Why, faith, that remains to come——
San. Pray, Æschinus, do come back to the point at which you set out.
Æsch. You bought her for twenty minæ; and may your bargain never thrive! That sum shall be given for her.
San. What if I don’t choose to sell her to you? Will you compel me?
Æsch. By no means.
San. I was afraid you would.
Æsch. Neither do I think that a woman can be sold who is free; for I claim her by action of freedom.34 Now consider which you choose; take the money, or prepare yourself for the action. Think of it, Procurer, till I return.35
He goes into the house of Micio.
Sannio alone.
San. (to himself.) O supreme Jupiter! I do by no means wonder that men run mad through ill usage. He has dragged me out of my house, beaten me, taken my property away against my will, and has given me, unfortunate wretch, more than five hundred blows. In return for all this ill usage he demands the girl to be made over to him for just the same price at which she was bought. But however, since he has so well deserved of me, be it so: he demands what is his due. Very well, I consent then, provided he only gives the money. But I suspect this; when I have said that I will sell her for so much, he’ll be getting witnesses forthwith that I have sold her.36 As to getting the money, it’s all a dream. Call again by and by; come back to-morrow. I could bear with that too, hard as it is, if he would only pay it. But I consider this to be the fact; when you take up this trade, you must brook and bear in silence the affronts of these young fellows. However, no one will pay me; it’s in vain for me to be reckoning upon that.
Enter Syrus, from the house of Micio.
Syr. (speaking to Æschinus within.) Say no more; I myself will arrange with him; I’ll make him glad to take the money at once, and say besides that he has been fairly dealt with. (Addressing Sannio.) Sannio, how is this, that I hear you have been having some dispute or other with my master?
San. I never saw a dispute on more unequal terms37 than the one that has happened to-day between us; I, with being thumped, he, with beating me, were both of us quite tired.
Syr. Your own fault.
San. What could I do?
Syr. You ought to have yielded to the young man.
San. How could I more so, when to-day I have even afforded my face to his blows?
Syr. Well—are you aware of what I tell you? To slight money on some occasions is sometimes the surest gain. What!—were you afraid, you greatest simpleton alive, if you had parted with ever so little38 of your right, and had humored the young man, that he would not repay you with interest?
San. I do not pay ready money for hope.
Syr. Then you’ll never make a fortune. Get out with you, Sannio; you don’t know how to take in mankind.
San. I believe that to be the better plan—but I was never so cunning as not, whenever I was able to get it, to prefer getting ready money.
Syr. Come, come, I know your spirit; as if twenty minæ were any thing at all to you in comparison to obliging him; besides, they say that you are setting out for Cyprus——
San. (aside.) Hah!
Syr. That you have been buying up many things to take thither; and that the vessel is hired. This I know, your mind is in suspense; however, when you return thence, I hope you’ll settle the matter.
San. Not a foot do I stir: Heavens! I’m undone! (Aside.) It was upon this hope they devised their project.
Syr. (aside.) He is alarmed. I’ve brought the fellow into a fix.
San. (aside.) Oh, what villainy!—Just look at that; how he has nicked me in the very joint.39 Several women have been purchased, and other things as well, for me to take to Cyprus.40 If I don’t get there to the fair, my loss will be very great. Then if I postpone this business, and settle it when I come back from there, it will be of no use; the matter will be quite forgotten. “Come at last?” they’ll say. “Why did you delay it? Where have you been?” So that I had better lose it altogether than either stay here so long, or be suing for it then.
Syr. Have you by this reckoned41 up what you calculate will be your profits?
San. Is this honorable of him? Ought Æschinus to attempt this? Ought he to endeavor to take her away from me by downright violence?
Syr. (aside.) He gives ground. (To Sannio.) I have this one proposal to make; see if you fully approve of it. Rather than you should run the risk, Sannio, of getting or losing the whole, halve it. He will manage to scrape together ten minæ42 from some quarter or other.
San. Ah me! unfortunate wretch, I am now in danger of even losing part of the principal. Has he no shame? He has loosened all my teeth; my head, too, is full of bumps with his cuffs; and would he defraud me as well? I shall go nowhere.
Syr. Just as you please. Have you any thing more to say before I go?
San. Why yes, Syrus, i’ faith, I have this to request. Whatever the matters that are past, rather than go to law, let what is my own be returned me; at least, Syrus, the sum she cost me. I know that you have not hitherto made trial of my friendship; you will have no occasion to say that I am unmindful or ungrateful.
Syr. I’ll do the best I can. But I see Ctesipho; he’s in high spirits about his mistress.
San. What about what I was asking you?
Syr. Stay a little.
Enter Ctesipho, at the other side of the stage.
Ctes. From any man, when you stand in need of it, you are glad to receive a service; but of a truth it is doubly acceptable, if he does you a kindness who ought to do so. O brother, brother, how can I sufficiently commend you? This I am quite sure of; I can never speak of you in such high terms but that your deserts will surpass it. For I am of opinion that I possess this one thing in especial beyond all others, a brother than whom no individual is more highly endowed with the highest qualities.
Syr. O Ctesipho!
Ctes. O Syrus, where is Æschinus?
Syr. Why, look—he’s at home, waiting for you.
Ctes. (speaking joyously.) Ha!
Syr. What’s the matter?
Ctes. What’s the matter? ’Tis through him, Syrus, that I am now alive—generous creature! Has he not deemed every thing of secondary importance to himself in comparison with my happiness? The reproach, the discredit, my own amour and imprudence, he has taken upon himself. There can be nothing beyond this; but what means that noise at the door?
Syr. Stay, stay; ’tis Æschinus himself coming out.
Enter Æschinus, from the house of Micio.
Æsch. Where is that villain?
San. (aside.) He’s looking for me.43 Is he bringing any thing with him? Confusion! I don’t see any thing.
Æsch. (to Ctesipho.) Ha! well met; you are the very man I was looking for. How goes it, Ctesipho? All is safe: away then with your melancholy.
Ctes. By my troth, I certainly will away with it, when I have such a brother as you. O my dear Æschinus! O my brother! Alas! I am unwilling to praise you any more to your face, lest you should think I do so rather for flattery than through gratitude.
Æsch. Go to, you simpleton! as though we didn’t by this time understand each other, Ctesipho. This grieves me, that we knew of it almost too late, and that the matter had come to such a pass, that if all mankind had wished they could not possibly have assisted you.
Ctes. I felt ashamed.
Æsch. Pooh! that is folly, not shame; about such a trifling matter to be almost flying the country!44 ’Tis shocking to be mentioned; I pray the Gods may forbid it!
Ctes. I did wrong.
Æsch. (in a lower voice.) What says Sannio to us at last?
Syr. He is pacified at last.
Æsch. I’ll go to the Forum to pay him off; you, Ctesipho, step in-doors to her.
San. (aside to Syrus.) Syrus, do urge the matter.
Syr. (to Æschinus.) Let us be off, for he is in haste for Cyprus.45
San. Not particularly so; although still, I’m stopping here doing nothing at all.
Syr. It shall be paid, don’t fear.
San. But he is to pay it all.
Syr. He shall pay it all; only hold your tongue and follow us this way.
San. I’ll follow.
Ctes. (as Syrus is going.) Harkye, harkye, Syrus.
Syr. (turning back.) Well now, what is it?
Ctes. (aside.) Pray do discharge that most abominable fellow as soon as possible; for fear, in case he should become more angry, by some means or other this matter should reach my father, and then I should be ruined forever.
Syr. That shall not happen, be of good heart; meanwhile enjoy yourself in-doors with her, and onder the couches46 to be spread for us, and the other things to be got ready. As soon as this business is settled, I shall come home with the provisions.
Ctes. Pray do so. Since this has turned out so well, let us make a cheerful day of it.
Ctesipho goes into the house of Micio; and exeunt Æschinus and Syrus, followed by Sannio.
Enter Sostrata and Canthara, from the house of the former.
Sos. Prithee, my dear nurse, how is it like to end?
Can. Like to end, do you ask? I’troth, right well, I trust.
Sos. Her pains are just beginning, my dear.
Can. You are in a fright now, just as though you had never been present on such an occasion—never been in labor yourself.
Sos. Unfortunate woman that I am! I have not a person at home; we are quite alone; Geta too is absent. I have no one to go for the midwife, or to fetch Æschinus.
Can. I’faith, he’ll certainly be here just now, for he never lets a day pass without visiting us.
Sos. He is my sole comfort in my afflictions.
Can. Things could not have happened, mistress, more for the advantage of your daughter than they have, seeing that violence was offered her; so far as he is concerned, it is most lucky,—such a person, of such disposition and feelings, a member of so respectable a family.
Sos. It is indeed as you say; I entreat the Gods that he may be preserved to us.
They stand apart, on seeing Geta.
Enter Geta, on the other side of the stage.
Geta (to himself.) Now such is our condition, that if all were to combine all their counsels, and to seek a remedy for this mischief that has befallen myself, my mistress, and her daughter, they could find no relief. Oh wretched me! so many calamities beset us on a sudden, we can not possibly extricate ourselves. Violence, poverty, oppression, desertion, infamy! What an age is this! O shocking villainy! O accursed race! O impious man!—
Sos. Unhappy me! How is it that I see Geta hurrying along thus terrified?
Geta (continuing.) Whom neither promises, nor oaths, nor compassion could move or soften; nor yet the fact that the delivery was nigh at hand of the unfortunate woman on whom he had so shamefully committed violence.
Sos. (apart to Canthara.) I don’t well understand what he is talking about.
Can. Pray, let us go nearer to him, Sostrata.
Geta (continuing.) Ah wretched me! I am scarcely master of my senses, I am so inflamed with anger. There is nothing that I would like better than for all that family to be thrown in my way, that I might give vent to all my wrath upon them while this wound is still fresh. I could be content with any punishment, so I might only wreak my vengeance on them. First, I would stop the breath of the old fellow himself who gave being to this monster; then as for his prompter, Syrus, out upon him! how I would tear him piecemeal! I would snatch him by the middle up aloft, and dash him head downward upon the earth, so that with his brains he would bestrew the road: I would pull out the eyes of the young fellow himself, and afterward hurl him headlong over some precipice. The others I would rush upon, drive, drag, crush, and trample them under foot. But why do I delay at once to acquaint my mistress with this calamity? (Moves as if going.)
Sos. (to Canthara.) Let us call him back. Geta——
Geta. Well—leave me alone,47 whoever you are.
Sos. ’Tis I,—Sostrata.
Geta (turning round.) Why, where are you? You are the very person I am looking for. I was in quest of you; it’s very fortunate you have met me.
Sos. What’s the matter? Why are you trembling?
Geta. Alas! Alas!
Sos. My dear Geta, why in such haste? Do take breath.
Geta. Quite—(pauses.)
Sos. Why, what means this “quite”?
Geta. Undone—It’s all over with us.
Sos. Say, then, I entreat you, what is the matter.
Geta. Now——
Sos. What “now,” Geta?
Geta. Æschinus——
Sos. What about him?
Geta. Has abandoned our family.
Sos. Then I am undone! Why so?
Geta. He has attached himself to another woman.
Sos. Woe unto wretched me!
Geta. And he makes no secret of it; he himself has carried her off openly from a procurer.
Sos. Are you quite sure of this?
Geta. Quite sure; I saw it myself, Sostrata, with these same eyes.
Sos. Ah wretched me! What is one now to believe, or whom believe? Our own Æschinus, the very life of us all, in whom all our hopes and comforts were centred! Who used to swear he could never live a single day without her! Who used to say, that he would place the infant on his father’s knees,48 and thus entreat that he might be allowed to make her his wife!
Geta. Dear mistress, forbear weeping, and rather consider what must be done for the future in this matter. Shall we submit to it, or shall we tell it to any person?
Can. Pooh, pooh! are you in your senses, my good man? Does this seem to you a business to be made known to any one?
Geta. I, indeed, have no wish for it. In the first place, then, that his feelings are estranged from us, the thing itself declares. Now, if we make this known, he’ll deny it, I’m quite sure; your reputation and your daughter’s character will then be in danger. On the other hand, if he were fully to confess it, as he is in love with another woman, it would not be to her advantage to be given to him. Therefore, under either circumstance, there is need of silence.
Sos. Oh! by no means in the world! I’ll not do it.
Geta. What is it you say?
Sos. I’ll make it known.
Geta. Ha, my dear Sostrata, take care what you do!
Sos. The matter can not possibly be in a worse position than it is at present. In the first place, she has no portion; then, besides, that which was as good as a portion, her honor, is lost: she can not be given in marriage as a virgin. This resource is left; if he should deny it, I have a ring which he lost as evidence of the truth. In fine, Geta, as I am fully conscious that no blame attaches to me, and that neither interest nor any consideration unworthy of her or of myself has had a share in this matter, I will make trial——
Geta. What am I to say to this? I agree, as you speak for the best.
Sos. You be off as fast as possible, and relate all the matter just as it has happened to her kinsman Hegio; for he was the best friend of our lamented Simulus, and has shown especial regard for us.
Geta. (aside.) Aye, faith, because nobody else takes any notice of us.
Sos. Do you, my dear Canthara, run with all haste, and fetch the midwife, so that, when she is wanted, we may not have to wait for her.
Sostrata goes into the house, and exit Geta and Canthara.
Enter Demea.
Dem. (to himself.) Utterly undone! I hear that Ctesipho was with Æschinus at the carrying off of this girl. This sorrow still remains for unhappy me, should Æschinus be able to seduce him, even him, who promises so fair, to a course of debauchery. Where am I to inquire for him? I doubt he has been carried off to some bad house; that profligate has persuaded him, I’m quite sure. But look—I see Syrus coming this way, I shall now know from him where he is. But, i’faith, he is one of the gang; if he perceives that I am looking for him, the rascal will never tell me. I’ll not let him know what I want.
Enter Syrus, at the other side of the stage.
Syr. (to himself.) We just now told the old gentleman the whole affair just as it happened; I never did see any one more delighted.
Dem. (apart.) O Jupiter! the folly of the man!
Syr. (continuing.) He commended his son. To me, who put them upon this project, he gave thanks——
Dem. (apart) I shall burst asunder.
Syr. (continuing.) He told down the money instantly, and gave me half a mina besides to spend. That was laid out quite to my liking.
Dem. (apart.) Very fine—if you would wish a thing to be nicely managed, intrust it to this fellow.
Syr. (overhearing him.) Ha, Demea! I didn’t see you; how goes it?
Dem. How should it go? I can not enough wonder at your mode of living here.
Syr. Why, really silly enough, and, to speak without disguise, altogether absurd. (Calls at the door of Micio’s house.) Dromo, clean the rest of the fish; let the largest conger-eel play a little in the water; when I come back it shall be boned;49 not before.
Dem. Is profligacy like this——
Syr. As for myself, it isn’t to my taste, and I often exclaim against it. (Calls at the door.) Stephanio, take care that the salt fish is well soaked.
Dem. Ye Gods, by our trust in you! is he doing this for any purpose of his own, or does he think it creditable to ruin his son? Wretch that I am! methinks I already see the day when Æschinus will be running away for want, to serve somewhere or other as a soldier.50
Syr. O Demea! that is wisdom indeed,—not only to look at the present moment, but also to look forward to what’s to come.
Dem. Well—is this Music-girl still with you?
Syr. Why, yes, she’s in-doors.
Dem. How now—is he going to keep her at home?
Syr. I believe so; such is his madness!
Dem. Is it possible?
Syr. An imprudent lenity in his father, and a vicious indulgence.
Dem. Really, I am ashamed and grieved at my brother.
Syr. Demea! between you there is a great—I do not say it because you are here present—a too great difference. You are, every bit of you, nothing but wisdom; he a mere dreamer. Would you indeed have suffered that son of yours to act thus?
Dem. I, suffer him? Would I not have smelt it out six months before he attempted it?
Syr. Need I be told by you of your foresight?
Dem. I pray he may only continue the same he is at present!
Syr. Just as each person wishes his son to be, so he turns out.
Dem. What news of him? Have you seen him to-day?
Syr. What, your son? (Aside.) I’ll pack him off into the country. (To Demea.) I fancy he’s busy at the farm long before this.
Dem. Are you quite sure he is there?
Syr. What!—when I saw him part of the way myself——
Dem. Very good. I was afraid he might be loitering here.
Syr. And extremely angry too.
Dem. Why so?
Syr. He attacked his brother in the Forum with strong language about this Music-girl.
Dem. Do you really say so?
Syr. Oh dear, he didn’t at all mince the matter; for just as the money was being counted out, the gentleman came upon us by chance, and began exclaiming, “Oh Æschinus, that you should perpetrate these enormities! that you should be guilty of actions so disgraceful to our family!”
Dem. Oh, I shall weep for joy.
Syr. “By this you are not squandering your money only, but your reputation.”
Dem. May he be preserved to me! I trust he will be like his forefathers. (Weeping.)
Syr. (aside.) Heyday!
Dem. Syrus, he is full of these maxims.
Syr. (aside.) Strange, indeed! He had the means at home of learning them.
Dem. I do every thing I can; I spare no pains; I train him up to it: in fine, I bid him look into the lives of men, as though into a mirror, and from others to take an example for himself. Do this, I say——
Syr. Quite right.
Dem. Avoid that——
Syr. Very shrewd.
Dem. This is praiseworthy——
Syr. That’s the thing.
Dem. That is considered blamable——
Syr. Extremely good.
Dem. And then, moreover——
Syr. Upon my honor, I have not the leisure to listen to you just at present: I have got some fish just to my taste, and must take care they are not spoiled; for that would be as much a crime in me, as for you, Demea, not to observe those maxims which you have just been mentioning; and so far as I can, I lay down precepts for my fellow-servants on the very same plan; “this is too salt, that is quite burned up, this is not washed enough, that is very well done; remember and do so another time.” I carefully instruct them so far as I can to the best of my capacity. In short, Demea, I bid them look into their sauce-pans as though into a mirror,51 and suggest to them what they ought to do. I am sensible these things are trifling which we do; but what is one to do? According as the man is, so must you humor him. Do you wish any thing else?
Dem. That more wisdom may be granted you.
Syr. You will be going off into the country, I suppose?
Dem. Directly.
Syr. For what should you do here, where, if you do give any good precepts, no one will regard them?
Goes into Micio’s house.
Demea, alone.
Dem. (to himself.) I certainly will be off, as he on whose account I came hither has gone into the country. I have a care for him: that alone is my own concern, since my brother will have it so; let him look to the other himself. But who is it I see yonder at a distance? Isn’t it Hegio of our tribe?52 If I see right, i’faith, it is he. Ah, a man I have been friendly with from a child! Good Gods! we certainly have a great dearth of citizens of that stamp nowadays, with the old-fashioned virtue and honesty. Not in a hurry will any misfortune accrue to the public from him. How glad I am to find some remnants of this race even still remaining; now I feel some pleasure in living. I’ll wait here for him, to ask him how he is, and have some conversation with him.
Enter Hegio and Geta, conversing, at a distance.
Heg. Oh immortal Gods! a disgraceful action, Geta! What is it you tell me?
Geta. Such is the fact.
Heg. That so ignoble a deed should come from that family! Oh Æschinus, assuredly you haven’t taken after your father in that!
Dem. (apart.) Why surely, he has heard this about the Music-girl; that gives him concern, though a stranger; this father of his thinks nothing of it. Ah me! I wish he were somewhere close at hand to overhear this.
Heg. Unless they do as they ought to do, they shall not come off so easily.
Geta. All our hopes, Hegio, are centred in you; you we have for our only friend; you are our protector, our father. The old man, Simulus, when dying, recommended us to you; if you forsake us, we are undone.
Heg. Beware how you mention that; I neither will do it, nor do I think thaat; with due regard to the ties of relationship, I could.
Dem. (apart.) I’ll accost him. (Approaches Hegio.) Hegio, I bid you welcome right heartily.
Heg. (starting.) Oh! I you are the very man I was looking for. Greetings to you, Demea.
Dem. Why, what’s the matter?
Heg. Your eldest son Æschinus, whom you gave to your brother to adopt, has been acting the part of neither an honest man nor a gentleman.
Dem. What has he been doing?
Heg. You knew my friend and year’s-mate, Simulus?
Dem. Why not?
Heg. He has debauched his daughter, a virgin.
Dem. Hah!
Heg. Stay, Demea. You have not yet heard the worst.
Dem. Is there any thing still worse?
Heg. Worse, by far: for this indeed might in some measure have been borne with. The hour of night prompted him; passion, wine, young blood; ’tis human nature. When he was sensible of what he had done, he came voluntarily to the girl’s mother, weeping, praying, entreating, pledging his honor, vowing that he would take her home.53 The affair was pardoned, hushed, up, his word taken. The girl from that intercourse became pregnant: this is the tenth month. He, worthy fellow, has provided himself, if it please the Gods, with a Music-girl to live with; the other he has cast off.
Dem. Do you say this for certain?
Heg. The mother of the young woman is among us,54 the young woman too; the fact speaks for itself; this Geta, besides, according to the common run of servants, not a bad one or of idle habits; he supports them; alone, maintains the whole family; take him, bind him,55 examine him upon the matter.
Geta. Aye, faith, put me to the torture, Demea, if such is not the fact: besides, he will not deny it. Confront me with him.
Dem. (aside.) I am ashamed; and what to do, or how to answer him, I don’t know.
Pam. (crying out within the house of Sostrata.) Ah me! I am racked with pains! Juno Lucina,56 bring aid, save me, I beseech thee!
Heg. Hold; is she in labor, pray?
Geta. No doubt of it, Hegio.
Heg. Ah! she is now imploring your protection, Demea; let her obtain from you spontaneously what the power of the law compels you to give. I do entreat the Gods that what befits you may at once be done. But if your sentiments are otherwise, Demea, I will defend both them and him who is dead to the utmost of my power. He was my kinsman:57 we were brought up together from children, we were companions in the wars and at home, together we experienced the hardships of poverty. I will therefore exert myself, strive, use all methods, in fine lay down my life, rather than forsake these women. What answer do you give me?
Dem. I’ll go find my brother, Hegio: the advice he gives me upon this matter I’ll follow.58
Heg. But, Demea, take you care and reflect upon this: the more easy you are in your circumstances, the more powerful, wealthy, affluent, and noble you are, so much the more ought you with equanimity to observe the dictates of justice, if you would have yourselves esteemed as men of probity.
Dem. Go back now;59 every thing shall be done that is proper to be done.
Heg. It becomes you to act thus. Geta, show me in to Sostrata.
Follows Geta into Sostrata’s house.
Dem. (to himself.) Not without warning on my part have these things happened: I only wish it may end here; but this immoderate indulgence will undoubtedly lead to some great misfortune. I’ll go find my brother, and vent these feelings upon him.
Exit.
Enter Hegio, from Sostrata’s house, and speaking to her within.
Heg. Be of good heart,60 Sostrata, and take care and console her as far as you can. I’ll go find Micio, if he is at the Forum, and acquaint him with the whole circumstances in their order; if so it is that he will do his duty by you, let him do so; but if his sentiments are otherwise about this matter, let him give me his answer, that I may know at once what I am to do.
Exit.
Enter Ctesipho and Syrus from the house of Micio.
Ctes. My father gone into the country, say you?
Syr. (with a careless air.) Some time since.
Ctes. Do tell me, I beseech you.
Syr. He is at the farm at this very moment,61 I warrant—hard at some work or other.
Ctes. I really wish, provided it be done with no prejudice to his health, I wish that he may so effectually tire himself, that, for the next three days together, he may be unable to arise from his bed.
Syr. So be it, and any thing still better than that,62 if possible.
Ctes. Just so; for I do most confoundedly wish to pass this whole day in merry-making as I have begun it; and for no reason do I detest that farm so heartily as for its being so near town. If it were at a greater distance, night would overtake him there before he could return hither again. Now, when he doesn’t find me there, he’ll come running back here, I’m quite sure; he’ll be asking me where I have been, that I have not seen him all this day: what am I to say?
Syr. Does nothing suggest itself to your mind?
Ctes. Nothing whatever.
Syr. So much the worse63—have you no client, friend, or guest?
Ctes. I have; what then?
Syr. You have been engaged with them.
Ctes. When I have not been engaged? That can never do.
Syr. It may.
Ctes. During the daytime; but if I pass the night here, what excuse can I make, Syrus?
Syr. Dear me, how much I do wish it was the custom for one to be engaged with friends at night as well! But you be easy; I know his humor perfectly well. When he raves the most violently, I can make him as gentle as a lamb.
Ctes. In what way?
Syr. He loves to hear you praised: I make a god of you to him, and recount your virtues.
Ctes. What, mine?
Syr. Yours; immediately the tears fall from him as from a child, for very joy. (Starting.) Hah! take care——
Ctes. Why, what’s the matter?
Syr. The wolf in the fable64——
Ctes. What! my father?
Syr. His own self.
Ctes. What shall we do, Syrus?
Syr. You only be off in-doors, I’ll see to that.
Ctes. If he makes any inquiries, you have seen me nowhere; do you hear?
Syr. Can you not be quiet?
They retreat to the door of Micio’s house, and Ctesipho stands in the doorway.
Enter Demea, on the other side of the stage.
Dem. (to himself.) I certainly am an unfortunate man. In the first place, I can find my brother nowhere; and then, in the next place, while looking for him, I met a day-laborer65 from the farm; he says that my son is not in the country, and what to do I know not——