Demipho, the brother of Chremes, has gone abroad, his son Antipho being left at Athens. Chremes has secretly a wife and a daughter at Lemnos, another wife at Athens, and an only son, who loves a Music-girl. The mother arrives at Athens from Lemnos, and there dies. The girl, her orphan daughter, (Chemes being away,) arranges the funeral. After Antipho has fallen in love with her when seen there, through the aid of the Parasite he receives her as his wife. His father and Chremes, having now returned, begin to be enraged. Afterward they give thirty minæ to the Parasite, that he may take her as his own wife. With this money the Music-girl is bought for Phædria. Antipho then keeps his wife, who has been recognized by his uncle.
Since the old Poet17 can not withdraw our bard from his pursuits and reduce him to indolence, he endeavors, by invectives, to deter him from writing: for he is wont to say to this effect,—that the Plays which he has hitherto composed are poor in their language, and of meagre style: because he has nowhere described a frantic youth as seeing a hind in flight, and the hounds pursuing; while he implores18 and entreated that he would give her aid. But if he had been aware that his Play, when formerly first represented, stood its ground more through the merits of the performers than its own, he would attack with much less boldness than he does. Now, if there is any one who says or thinks to this effect, that if the old Poet had not assailed him first, the young one could have devised no Prologue for him to repeat, without having some one to abuse, let him receive this for an answer: “that the prize is proposed in common to all who apply to the Dramatic art.” He has aimed at driving our Poet from his studies to absolute want; he then has intended this for an answer, not an attack. If he had opposed him with fair words, he would have heard himself civilly addressed; what has been given by him, let him consider as now returned. I will make an end of speaking about him, when, of his own accord, he himself makes an end of offending. Now give your attention to what I request. I present you a new play, which they call “Epidicazomenos,”19 in Greek: in the Latin, he calls it “Phormio;” because the person that acts the principal part is Phormio, a Parasite, through whom, principally, the plot will be carried on, if your favor attends the Poet. Lend your attention; in silence give an ear with impartial feelings, that we may not experience a like fortune to what we did, when, through a tumult, our Company was driven from the place;20 which place, the merit of the actor, and your good-will and candor seconding it, has since restored unto us.
Enter Davus,21 with a bag of money in his hand.
Dav. Geta, my very good friend and fellow-townsman, came to me yesterday. There had been for some time a trifling balance of money of his in my hands upon a small account; he asked me to make it up. I have done so, and am carrying it to him. But I hear that his master’s son has taken a wife; this, I suppose, is scraped together as a present for her. How unfair a custom!—that those who have the least should always be giving something to the more wealthy! That which the poor wretch has with difficulty spared, ounce by ounce, out of his allowance,22 defrauding himself of every indulgence, the whole of it will she carry off, without thinking with how much labor it has been acquired. And then besides, Geta will be struck23 for another present24 when his mistress is brought to bed; and then again for another present, when the child’s birthday comes; when they initiate him,25 too: all this the mother will carry off; the child will only be the pretext for the present. But don’t I see Geta there?
Enter Geta, from the house of Demipho.
Geta (at the door, to those within.) If any red-haired man should inquire for me—
Dav. (stepping forward.) Here he is, say no more.
Geta (starting.) Oh! Why I was trying to come and meet you, Davus.
Dav. (giving the money to Geta.) Here, take it; it’s all ready counted out;26 the number just amounts to the sum I owed you.
Geta. I am obliged to you; and I return you thanks for not having forgotten me.
Dav. Especially as people’s ways are nowadays; things are come to such a pass, if a person repays you any thing, you must be greatly obliged to him. But why are you out of spirits?
Geta. What, I? You little know what terror and peril I am in.
Dav. What’s the matter?
Geta. You shall know, if you can only keep it secret.
Dav. Out upon you, simpleton; the man, whose trustworthiness you have experienced as to money, are you afraid to intrust with words? In what way have I any interest in deceiving you?
Geta. Well then, listen.
Dav. I give you my best attention.
Geta. Davus, do you know Chremes, the elder brother of our old gentleman?
Dav. Why should I not?
Geta. Well, and his son Phædria?
Dav. As well as your own self.
Geta. It so happened to both the old gentlemen, just at the same period, that the one had to take a journey to Lemnos, and our old man to Cilicia, to see an old acquaintance; he tempted over the old man by letters, promising him all but mountains of gold.
Dav. To one who had so much property, that he had more than he could use?
Geta. Do have done; that is his way.
Dav. Oh, as for that, I really ought to have been a man of fortune.
Geta. When departing hence, both the old gentlemen left me as a sort of tutor to their sons.
Dav. Ah, Geta, you undertook a hard task there.
Geta. I came to experience it, I know that. I’m quite sure that I was forsaken by my good Genius, who must have been angry with me.27 I began to oppose them at first; but what need of talking? As long as I was trusty to the old men, I was paid for it in my shoulder-blades. This, then, occurred to my mind: why, this is folly to kick against the spur.28 I began to do every thing for them that they wished to be humored in.
Dav. You knew how to make your market.29
Geta. Our young fellow did no mischief whatever at first; that Phædria at once picked up a certain damsel, a Music-girl, and fell in love with her to distraction. She belonged to a most abominable Procurer; and their fathers had taken good care that they should have nothing to give him. There remained nothing for him then but to feed his eyes, to follow her about, to escort her to the school,30 and to escort her back again. We, having nothing to do, lent our aid to Phædria. Near the school at which she was taught, right opposite the place, there was a certain barber’s shop: here we were generally in the habit of waiting for her, until she was coming home again. In the mean time, while one day we were sitting there, there came in a young man in tears;31 we were surprised at this. We inquired what was the matter? “Never,” said he, “has poverty appeared to me a burden so grievous and so insupportable as just now. I have just seen a certain poor young woman in this neighborhood lamenting her dead mother. She was laid out before her, and not a single friend, acquaintance, or relation was there with her, except one poor old woman, to assist her in the funeral: I pitied her. The girl herself was of surpassing beauty.” What need of a long story? She moved us all. At once Antipho exclaims, “Would you like us to go and visit her?” The other said, “I think we ought—let us go—show us the way, please.” We went, and arrived there; we saw her; the girl was beautiful, and that you might say so the more, there was no heightening to her beauty; her hair disheveled, her feet bare, herself neglected, and in tears; her dress mean, so that, had there not been an excess of beauty in her very charms, these circumstances must have extinguished those charms. The one who had lately fallen in love with the Music-girl said: “She is well enough;” but our youth—
Dav. I know it already—fell in love with her.
Geta. Can you imagine to what an extent? Observe the consequence. The day after, he goes straight to the old woman; entreats her to let him have her: she, on the other hand, refuses him, and says that he is not acting properly; that she is a citizen of Athens, virtuous, and born of honest parents: that if he wishes to make her his wife, he is at liberty to do so according to law; but if otherwise, she gives him a refusal. Our youth was at a loss what to do. He was both eager to marry her, and he dreaded his absent father.
Dav. Would not his father, if he had returned, have given him leave?
Geta. He let him marry a girl with no fortune, and of obscure birth! He would never do so.
Dav. What came of it at last?
Geta. What came of it? There is one Phormio here, a Parasite, a fellow of great assurance; may all the Gods confound him!
Dav. What has he done?
Geta. He has given this piece of advice, which I will tell you of. “There is a law, that orphan girls are to marry those who are their next-of-kin; and the same law commands such persons to marry them. I’ll say you are the next-of-kin, and take out a summons32 against you; I’ll pretend that I am a friend of the girl’s father; we will come before the judges: who her father was, who her mother, how she is related to you—all this I’ll trump up, just as will be advantageous and suited to my purpose; on your disproving none of these things, I shall prevail, of course. Your father will return; a quarrel will be the consequence; what care I? She will still be ours.”
Dav. An amusing piece of assurance!
Geta. He was persuaded to this. It was carried out; they came into court: we were beaten. He has married her.
Dav. What is it you tell me?
Geta. Just what you have heard.
Dav. O Geta, what will become of you?
Geta. Upon my faith, I don’t know; this one thing I do know, whatever fortune may bring, I’ll bear it with firmness.
Dav. You please me; well, that is the duty of a man.
Geta. All my hope is in myself.
Dav. I commend you.
Geta. Suppose I have recourse to some one to intercede for me, who will plead for me in these terms: “Pray, do forgive him this time; but if after this he does any thing, I make no entreaty:” if only he doesn’t add, “When I’ve gone, e’en kill him for my part.”
Dav. What of the one who was usher to the Music-girl?33
Geta (shrugging his shoulders.) So so, but poorly.
Dav. Perhaps he hasn’t much to give.
Geta. Why, really, nothing at all, except mere hopes.
Dav. Is his father come back or not?
Geta. Not yet.
Dav. Well, when do you expect your old man?
Geta. I don’t know for certain; but I just now heard that a letter has been brought from him, and has been left with the officers of the customs: I’m going to fetch it.
Dav. Is there any thing else that you want with me, Geta?
Geta. Nothing; but that I wish you well. (Exit Davus.) Hark you, boy (calling at the door). Is nobody coming out here? (A Lad comes out.) Take this, and give it to Dorcium.
He gives the purse to the Lad, who carries it into Demipho’s house and exit Geta.
Enter Antipho and Phædria.
Ant. That things should have come to such a pass, Phædria, that I should be in utter dread of my father, who wishes me so well, whenever his return comes into my thoughts! Had I not been inconsiderate, I might have waited for him, as I ought to have done.
Phæd. What’s the matter?
Ant. Do you ask the question? You, who have been my confederate in so bold an adventure? How I do wish it had never entered the mind of Phormio to persuade me to this, or to urge me in the heat of my passion to this step, which is the source of my misfortunes. Then I should not have obtained her; in that case I might have been uneasy for some few days; but still, this perpetual anxiety would not have been tormenting my mind (touching Phædria).
Phæd. I hear you.
Ant. While I am every moment expecting his return, who is to sever from me this connection.34
Phæd. Other men feel uneasiness because they can not gain what they love; you complain because you have too much. You are surfeited with love, Antipho. Why, really, upon my faith, this situation of yours is surely one to be coveted and desired. So may the Gods kindly bless me, could I be at liberty to be so long in possession of the object of my love, I could contentedly die. Do you, then, form a judgment as to the rest, what I am now suffering from this privation, and what pleasure you enjoy from the possession of your desires; not to mention how, without any expense, you have obtained a well-born and genteel woman, and have got a wife of unblemished reputation: happy you, were not this one thing wanting, a mind capable of bearing all this with moderation. If you had to deal with that Procurer with whom I have to deal, then you would soon be sensible of it. We are mostly all of us inclined by nature to be dissatisfied with our lot.
Ant. Still, on the other hand, Phædria, you now seem to me the fortunate man, who still have the liberty, without restraint, of resolving on what pleases you best: whether to keep, to love on, or to give her up. I, unfortunately, have got myself into that position, that I have neither right35 to give her up, nor liberty to retain her. But how’s this? Is it our Geta I see running this way? ’Tis he himself. Alas! I’m dreadfully afraid what news it is he’s now bringing me.
Enter Geta, running, at the other side of the stage.
Geta (to himself.) Geta, you are undone, unless you instantly find out some expedient; so suddenly do such mighty evils now threaten me thus unprepared, which I neither know how to shun, nor how to extricate myself therefrom; for this daring step of ours can not now any longer be kept a secret. If such a result is not adroitly guarded against, these matters will cause the ruin of myself, or of my master.
Ant. (to Phædria.) Why, I wonder, is he coming in such fright?
Geta (to himself.) Besides, I’ve but a moment left for this matter—my master’s close at hand.
Ant. (to Phædria.) What mischief is this?
Geta (to himself.) When he comes to hear of it, what remedy shall I discover for his anger? Am I to speak? I shall irritate him: be silent? I shall provoke him: excuse myself? I should be washing a brickbat.36 Alas! unfortunate me! While I am trembling for myself, this Antipho distracts my mind. I am concerned for him; I’m in dread for him: ’tis he that now keeps me here; for had it not been for him, I should have made due provision for my safety, and have taken vengeance on the old man for his crabbedness; I should have scraped up something, and straightway taken to my heels away from here.
Ant. (to Phædria.) I wonder what running away or theft it is that he’s planning.
Geta (to himself.) But where shall I find Antipho, or which way go look for him?
Phæd. (to Antipho.) He’s mentioning your name.
Ant. (to Phædria.) I know not what great misfortune I expect to hear from this messenger.
Phæd. (to Antipho.) Why, are you in your senses?
Geta (to himself.) I’ll make my way homeward; he’s generally there.
Phæd. (to Antipho.) Let’s call the fellow back.
Ant. (calling out.) Stop, this instant.
Geta (turning round.) Heyday—with authority enough, whoever you are.
Ant. Geta!
Geta. The very person I wanted to find.
Ant. Pray, tell me what news you bring and dispatch it in one word, if you can.
Geta. I’ll do so.
Ant. Out with it.
Geta. Just now, at the harbor—
Ant. What, my father—?
Geta. You’ve hit it.
Ant. Ruined outright!
Phæd. Pshaw!
Ant. What am I to do?
Phæd. (to Geta.) What is it you say?
Geta. That I have seen his father, your uncle.
Ant. How am I, wretch that I am, now to find a remedy for this sudden misfortune? But if it should be my fortune, Phanium, to be torn away from you, life would cease to be desirable.
Geta. Therefore, Antipho, since matters are thus, the more need have you to be on your guard; fortune helps the brave.
Ant. I am not myself.
Geta. But just now it is especially necessary you should be so, Antipho; for if your father perceives that you are alarmed, he will think that you have been guilty of some fault.
Phæd. That’s true.
Ant. I can not change.
Geta. What would you do, if now something else still more difficult had to be done by you?
Ant. As I am not equal to this, I should be still less so to the other.
Geta. This is doing nothing at all, Phædria, let’s be gone; why do we waste our time here to no purpose. I shall be off.
Phæd. And I too. (They move as if going.)
Ant. Pray, now, if I assume an air, will that do? (He endeavors to assume another air.)
Geta. You are trifling.
Ant. Look at my countenance—there’s for you. (Assuming a different air.) Will that do?
Geta. No.
Ant. Well, will this? (Assuming another air.)
Geta. Pretty well.
Ant. Well then, this? (Assuming a still bolder air.)
Geta. That’s just the thing. There now, keep to that, and answer him word for word, like for like; don’t let him, in his anger, disconcert you with his blustering words.
Ant. I understand.
Geta. Say that you were forced against your will by law, by sentence of the court; do you take me? (Looking earnestly in one direction.) But who is the old man that I see at the end of the street?
Ant. ’Tis he himself. I can not stand it. (Going.)
Geta. Oh! What are you about? Whither are you going, Antipho? Stop, I tell you.
Ant. I know my own self and my offense; to your management I trust Phanium and my own existence.
Exit hastily.
Phædria and Geta.
Phæd. Geta, what’s to be done now?
Geta. You will just hear some harsh language: I shall be trussed up and trounced, if I am not somewhat mistaken. But what we were just now advising Antipho to do, the same we must do ourselves, Phædria.
Phæd. Away with your “musts;” rather do you command me what I am to do.
Geta. Do you remember what were your words formerly on our entering upon this project, with the view of protecting yourselves from ill consequences—that their cause was just, clear, unanswerable, and most righteous?
Phæd. I remember it.
Geta. Well then, now there’s need of that plea, or of one still better and more plausible, if such there can be.
Phæd. I’ll use my best endeavors.
Geta. Do you then accost him first; I’ll be here in reserve,37 by way of reinforcement, if you give ground at all.
Phæd. Very well.
They retire to a distance.
Enter Demipho, at the other side of the stage.
Dem. (to himself.) And is it possible that Antipho has taken a wife without my consent? and that no authority of mine—but let alone “authority”38—no displeasure of mine, at all events, has he been in dread of? To have no sense of shame! O audacious conduct! O Geta, rare adviser!
Geta (apart to Phædria.) Just brought in at last.
Dem. What will they say to me, or what excuse will they find? I wonder much.
Geta (apart.) Why, I’ve found that out already; do think of something else.
Dem. Will he be saying this to me: “I did it against my will; the law compelled me?” I hear you, and admit it.
Geta (apart.) Well said!
Dem. But knowingly, in silence, to give up the cause to his adversaries—did the law oblige him to do that as well?
Geta (apart.) That is a hard blow.
Phæd. I’ll clear that up; let me alone for that.
Dem. It is a matter of doubt what I am to do; for beyond expectation, and quite past all belief, has this befallen me. So enraged am I, that I can not compose my mind to think upon it. Wherefore it is the duty of all persons, when affairs are the most prosperous,39 then in especial to reflect within themselves in what way they are to endure adversity. Returning from abroad, let him always picture to himself dangers and losses, either offenses committed by a son, or the death of his wife, or the sickness of a daughter,—that these things are the common lot, so that no one of them may ever come as a surprise upon his feelings. Whatever falls out beyond his hopes, all that he must look upon as so much gain.
Geta (apart.) O Phædria, it is incredible how much I surpass my master in wisdom. All my misfortunes have been already calculated upon by me, upon my master coming home. I must grind at the mill, be beaten, wear fetters, be set to work in the fields; not one individual thing of these will happen unexpected by my mind. Whatever falls out beyond my expectations, all that I shall look upon as so much gain. But why do you hesitate to accost him, and soften him at the outset with fair words?
Phædria goes forward to accost Demipho.
Dem. (to himself.) I see Phædria, my brother’s son, coming toward me.
Phæd. My uncle, welcome!
Dem. Greetings to you; but where is Antipho?
Phæd. That you have arrived in safety——
Dem. I believe it; answer my question.
Phæd. He is well; he’s close at hand; but is every thing quite to your wishes?
Dem. I wish it was so, indeed.
Phæd. What’s the matter?
Dem. Do you ask me, Phædria? You people have cooked up a fine marriage in my absence.
Phæd. What now, are you angry with him for that?
Geta (apart.) What a clever contriver!
Dem. Have I not reason to be angry with him? I long for him to come into my sight, that he may know that through his faultiness, from being a mild father, I am become a most severe one.
Phæd. But he has done nothing, uncle, for which you should blame him.
Dem. Now, do look at that; all alike; all hanging together; when you know one, you know all.
Phæd. That is not the case.
Dem. When the one is in fault, the other is at hand to defend him; when it is the other, then he is ready; they just help one another by turns.
Geta (apart.) The old man, without knowing it, has exactly described their proceedings.
Dem. For if it had not been so, you would not, Phædria, have stood up for him.
Phæd. If, uncle, it is the fact, that Antipho has been guilty of any fault, in consequence of which he has been too regardless of his interest or his reputation, I would not allege any reason why he should not suffer what he deserves. But if some one by chance, relying upon his own artfulness, has laid a snare for our youthful age, and has succeeded, is it our fault or that of the judges, who often, through envy, take away from the rich, or, through compassion, award to the poor?
Geta (apart.) Unless I knew the case, I could fancy he was saying the truth.
Dem. Is there any judge who can possibly know your rights, when you yourself don’t answer a word—as he has done?
Phæd. He acted the part of an ingenuous young man; after they had come before the judges, he was not able to say what he had intended, so much did his modesty confuse him there through his bashfulness.
Geta (apart.) I commend him: but why do I hesitate at once to accost the old man? (Going forward to Demipho.) Master, welcome to you! I’m glad to see you safe returned.
Dem. (ironically.) Ah, excellent guardian! save you, stay of my family, no doubt, to whom, at my departure, I intrusted my son.
Geta. For some minutes past I’ve heard you accusing all of us undeservedly; and me the most undeservedly of them all; for what would you have had me do for you in this affair? The laws do not allow a person who is a slave to plead; nor is there any giving evidence40 on his part.
Dem. I grant all that: I admit this too—the young man, unused to courts, was bashful; I allow it: you, too, are a slave: still, if she was ever so near a relative, it was not necessary for him to marry her, but as the law enjoins, you might have given her a portion;41 she could have looked out for another husband. Why, then, in preference, did he bring a pauper home?
Geta. No particular reason; but he hadn’t the money.
Dem. He might have borrowed it from some person or other.
Geta. From some person or other? Nothing more easily said.
Dem. After all, if on no other terms, on interest.
Geta. Aye, aye, fine talking; as if any one would have trusted him, while you were living.42
Dem. No, it shall not be so; it must not be. Ought I to allow her to remain with him as his wife a single day? She merits no indulgence. I should like this fellow to be pointed out to me, or to be shown where he lives.
Geta. Phormio, do you mean?
Dem. That fellow, the woman’s next friend?43
Geta. I’ll have him here immediately.
Dem. Where is Antipho at present?
Geta. Away from home.
Dem. Go, Phædria, look for him, and bring him here.
Phæd. I’ll go straightway to the place.
Geta (aside.) To Pamphila, you mean.
Exeunt Phædria and Geta.
Demipho, alone.
Dem. (to himself.) I’ll just step home to salute the household Gods.44 From there, I’ll go to the Forum, and summon some of my friends to give me their assistance in this affair; so that I may not be unprepared, when Phormio comes.
Goes into his house.
Enter Phormio and Geta.
Phor. And so you say45 that, dreading his father’s presence, he has taken himself off?
Geta. Exactly so.
Phor. That Phanium is left alone?
Geta. Just so.
Phor. And that the old man is in a rage?
Geta. Extremely so.
Phor. The whole business, Phormio, rests on yourself alone; you yourself have hashed it up;46 it must all be swallowed by yourself, so set about it.
Geta. I entreat you——
Phor. (to himself.) If he inquires.
Geta. In you is all our hope.
Phor. (to himself.) Look at this, now:—What if he sends her back?
Geta. It was you that urged us.
Phor. (to himself.) I think that will do.
Geta. Do help us.
Phor. (with alacrity.) Let the old gentleman come; all my plans are now ready prepared in my mind.
Geta. What will you do?
Phor. What would you have me? But that Phanium may continue with him, and that I may clear Antipho from this charge, and turn upon myself47 all the wrath of the old gentleman?
Geta. O brave and kind man! But, Phormio, I often dread lest this courage may end in the stocks at last.48
Phor. Oh, by no means; I’ve made trial, and have already pondered on the paths for my feet. How many men before to-day do you suppose I have beaten, even to death, strangers as well as citizens: the better I understand it, the oftener I try it. Just tell me, look you, did you ever hear of an action of damages being brought against me?
Geta. How is that?
Phor. Because the net is never spread for the hawk or the kite, that do us the mischief; it is spread for those that do us none: because in the last there is profit, while with the others it is labor lost. For persons, out of whom any thing can be got, there’s risk from others; they know that I’ve got nothing. You will say: “They will take you,49 when sentenced, into their house;” they have no wish to maintain a devouring fellow; and, in my opinion, they are wise, if for an injury they are unwilling to return the highest benefits.
Geta. It’s impossible that sufficient thanks can be returned you by him for your kindness.
Phor. Why no; no person can return thanks sufficient to his patron50 for his kindness. For you to take your place at table at free cost,51 anointed and just washed at the bath, with your mind at ease, whereas he is devoured with the care and expense: while every thing is being done to give you delight, he is being vexed at heart; you are laughing away, first to drink,52 take the higher place; a banquet full of doubts53 is placed before you—
Geta. What is the meaning of that expression?
Phor. When you are in doubt which in especial to partake of. When you enter upon a consideration how delicious these things are, and how costly they are, the person who provides them, must you not account him a very God—neither more nor less?
Geta. The old man is coming; take care what you are about; the first onset is the fiercest; if you stand that, then, afterward, you may play just as you please.
They retire to a distance.
Enter, at a distance, Demipho, Hegio, Cratinus, and Crito, following him.
Dem. Well now—did you ever hear of an injury being done to any person in a more affronting manner than this has to me? Assist me, I do beg of you.
Geta (apart.) He’s in a passion.
Phor. (apart.) Do you mind your cue; I’ll rouse him just now. (Stepping forward and crying aloud.) Oh immortal Gods! does Demipho deny that Phanium here is related to him?
Geta. He does deny it.
Dem. (to his friends.) I believe it is the very man I was speaking about. Follow me.
They all come forward.
Phor. (to Geta.) And that he knows who her father was?
Geta. He does deny it.
Phor. And that he knows who Stilpho was?
Geta. He does deny it.
Phor. Because the poor thing was left destitute, her father is disowned; she herself is slighted: see what avarice does.
Geta (in a loud voice.) If you are going to accuse my master of avarice, you shall hear what you won’t like.
Dem. Oh, the impudence of the fellow! Does he come on purpose to accuse me?
Phor. For really, I have no reason why I should be offended at the young man, if he did not know him; since that person, when growing aged and poor, and supporting himself by his labor, generally confined himself to the country; there he had a piece of land from my father to cultivate; full oft, in the mean time, did the old man tell me that this kinsman of his neglected him: but what a man? The very best I ever saw in all my life.
Geta (in a loud voice.) Look to yourself as well as to him, how you speak.
Phor. (with affected indignation.) Away, to utter perdition, with you. For if I had not formed such an opinion of him, I should never have incurred such enmity with your family on her account, whom he now slights in such an ungenerous manner.
Geta (aloud.) What, do you persist in speaking abusively of my master in his absence, you most abominable fellow?
Phor. Why, it’s just what he deserves.
Geta (aloud.) Say you so, you jail-bird?
Dem. (calling aloud.) Geta!
Geta (aloud.) A plunderer of people’s property—a perverter of the laws!
Dem. (calling aloud.) Geta!
Phor. (apart, in a low voice.) Answer him.
Geta. Who is it? (Looking round.) Oh!——
Dem. Hold your peace.
Geta. He has never left off uttering abuse against you behind your back, unworthy of you, and just befitting himself.
Dem. Well now, have done. (Addressing Phormio.) Young man, in the first place, with your good leave, I ask you this, if you may possibly be pleased to give me an answer: explain to me who this friend of yours was, that you speak of, and how he said that he was related to me.
Phor. (sneeringly.) You are fishing it out, just as if you didn’t know.
Dem. I, know?
Phor. Yes.
Dem. I say I do not; you, who affirm it, recall it to my recollection.
Phor. Come now, didn’t you know your own cousin-german?
Dem. You torture me to death; tell me his name.
Phor. His name?
Dem. Of course. (Phormio hesitates.) Why are you silent now?
Phor. (aside.) Heavens, I’m undone; I’ve forgot the name.
Dem. Well, what do you say?
Phor. (aside, to Geta.) Geta, if you recollect the name I told you a short time since, prompt me. (Aloud, to Demipho.) Well then, I sha’n’t tell you; as if you didn’t know, you come to pump me.
Dem. I, come to pump you, indeed?
Geta. (whispering to Phormio.) Stilpho.
Phor. But, after all, what matters that to me? It is Stilpho.
Dem. Whom did you say?
Phor. Stilpho, I tell you; you knew him.
Dem. I neither know him, nor had I ever any relation of that name.
Phor. Say you so? Are you not ashamed of this? But if he had left you ten talents——
Dem. May the Gods confound you!
Phor. You’d have been the first, from memory, to trace your line of kindred, even as far back as from grandfather and great-grandfather.
Dem. Very likely what you say. In that case, when I had undertaken it, I should have shown how she was related to me; do you do the same: tell me, how is she related to me?
Geta. Well done, my master, that’s right! (Threateningly to Phormio.) Hark you, take you care.
Phor. I’ve already made the matter quite plain where I ought, before the judges; besides, if it was untrue, why didn’t your son disprove it?
Dem. Do you talk about my son to me? Of whose folly there is no speaking in the language it deserves.
Phor. Then do you, who are so wise, go to the magistrates, that for you they may give a second decision in the same cause, since you reign alone54 here, and are the only man allowed to get a second trial in the same cause.
Dem. Although wrong has been done me, still, however, rather than engage in litigation, or listen to you, just as though she had been my relation, as the law orders one to find her a portion, rid me of her, and take five minæ.
Phor. (laughing.) Ha, ha, ha! a pleasant individual!
Dem. Well! am I asking any thing unfair? Or am I not to obtain even this, which is my right at common law?
Phor. Pray, really is it so, that when you have abused her like a courtesan, the law orders you to pay her hire and pack her off? Or is it the fact, that in order that a citizen may bring no disgrace upon herself through poverty, she has been ordered to be given to her nearest relative, to pass her life with him alone? A thing which you mean to prevent.
Dem. Yes, to her nearest relative, indeed; but why to us, or on what ground?
Phor. Well, well, a thing tried, they say, you can’t try over again.
Dem. Not try it? On the contrary, I shall not desist until I have gone through with it.
Phor. You are trifling.
Dem. Only let me alone for that.
Phor. In short, Demipho, I have nothing to do with you; your son has been cast, and not you; for your time of life for marrying has now gone by.
Dem. Consider that it is he that says to you all I now say, or else assuredly, together with this wife of his, I’ll be forbidding him the house.
Geta (aside.) He’s in a passion.
Phor. You’ll be acting more considerately.
Dem. Are you so resolved, you unlucky fellow, to do me all the mischief you can?
Phor. (aside, to Geta.) He’s afraid of us, although he’s so careful to conceal it.
Geta (aside, to Phormio.) Your beginning has turned out well.
Phor. But if, on the contrary, you endure what must be endured, you’ll be doing what’s worthy of you, so that we may be on friendly terms.
Dem. (indignantly.) What, I seek your friendship, or have any wish to see or hear you?
Phor. If you can agree with her, you will have some one to cheer up your old age; just consider your time of life.
Dem. Let her cheer up yourself; keep her to yourself.
Phor. Really, do moderate your passion.
Dem. Mark what I say. There have been words enough already; if you don’t make haste to fetch away the woman, I shall turn her out: I have said it, Phormio.
Phor. If you use her in any other manner than is befitting a free-born woman, I shall be bringing a swinging action against you: I have said it, Demipho. (To Geta.) Hark you, if there should be any occasion for me, I shall be at home.
Geta (apart.) I understand you.
Exit Phormio.
Demipho, Hegio, Cratinus, Crito, and Geta.
Dem. What care and anxiety my son does bring upon me, by entangling himself and me in this same marriage! And he doesn’t so much as come into my sight, that at least I might know what he says about this matter, or what his sentiments are. (To Geta.) Be off, go see whether he has returned home or not by this.
Geta. I will.
Goes into the house.
Dem. (to the Assistants.) You see how the case stands. What am I to do? Tell me, Hegio.
Heg. What, I? I think Cratinus ought, if it seems good to you.
Dem. Tell me, Cratinus.
Crat. What, do you wish me to speak? I should like you to do what is most for your advantage; it is my opinion, that what this son of yours has done in your absence, in law and justice ought to be annulled; and that you’ll obtain redress. That’s my opinion.
Dem. Say now, Hegio.
Heg. I believe that he has spoken with due deliberation; but it is the fact, “as many men, so many minds;”55 every one his own way. It doesn’t appear to me that what has been done by law can be revoked; and it is wrong to attempt it.
Dem. Speak, Crito.
Crit. I am of opinion that we must deliberate further;56 it is a matter of importance.
Heg. Do you want any thing further with us?
Dem. You have done very well. (Exeunt Assistants.) I am much more at a loss57 than before.
Re-enter Geta, from the house.
Geta. They say that he has not come back.
Dem. I must wait for my brother. The advice that he gives me about this matter, I shall follow. I’ll go make inquiry at the harbor, when he is to come back.
Exit.
Geta. And I’ll go look for Antipho, that he may learn what has passed here. But look, I see him coming this way, just in the very nick of time.
Enter Antipho, at a distance.
Ant. (to himself.) Indeed, Antipho, in many ways you are to be blamed for these feelings; to have thus run away, and intrusted your existence to the protection of other people. Did you suppose that others would give more attention to your interests than your own self? For, however other matters stood, certainly you should have thought of her whom you have now at home, that she might not suffer any harm in consequence of her confiding in you, whose hopes and resources, poor thing, are all now centred in yourself alone.
Geta (coming forward.) Why really, master, we have for some time been censuring you here in your absence, for having thus gone away.
Ant. You are the very person I was looking for.
Geta. But still, we were not a bit the more remiss on that account.
Ant. Tell me, I beg of you, in what posture are my interests and fortunes. Has my father any suspicion?
Geta. Not any at present.
Ant. Is there still any hope?
Geta. I don’t know.
Ant. Alas!
Geta. But Phædria has not neglected to use his endeavors in your behalf.
Ant. He did nothing new.
Geta. Then Phormio, too, in this matter, just as in every thing else, showed himself a man of energy.
Ant. What did he do?
Geta. With his words he silenced the old man, who was very angry.
Ant. Well done, Phormio!
Geta. I, too, did all I could.
Ant. My dear Geta, I love you all.
Geta. The commencement is just in this position, as I tell you: matters, at present, are going on smoothly, and your father intends to wait for your uncle till he arrives.
Ant. Why him?
Geta. He said he was wishful to act by his advice, in all that relates to this business.
Ant. How greatly now, Geta, I do dread my uncle’s safe arrival! For, according to his single sentence, from what I hear, I am to live or die.
Geta. Here comes Phædria.
Ant. Where is he, pray?
Geta. See, he’s coming from his place of exercise.58
Enter from Dorio’s house, Dorio, followed by Phædria.
Phæd. Prithee, hear me, Dorio.
Dor. I’ll not hear you.
Phæd. Only a moment.
Dor. Let me alone.
Phæd. Do hear what I have to say.
Dor. Why really I am tired of hearing the same thing a thousand times over.
Phæd. But now, I have something to tell you that you’ll hear with pleasure.
Dor. Speak then; I’m listening.
Phæd. Can I not prevail on you to wait for only three days? Whither are you going now?
Dor. I was wondering if you had any thing new to offer.
Ant. (apart, to Geta.) I’m afraid for this Procurer, lest——
Geta (apart, to Antipho.) Something may befall his own safety.59
Phæd. You don’t believe me?
Dor. You guess right.
Phæd. But if I pledge my word.
Dor. Nonsense!
Phæd. You will have reason to say that this kindness was well laid out by you on interest.
Dor. Stuff!
Phæd. Believe me, you will be glad you did so; upon my faith, it is the truth.
Dor. Mere dreams!
Phæd. Do but try; the time is not long.
Dor. The same story over again.
Phæd. You will be my kinsman, my father, my friend; you——
Dor. Now, do prate on.
Phæd. For you to be of a disposition so harsh and inexorable, that neither by pity nor by entreaties can you be softened!
Dor. For you to be of a disposition so unreasonable and so unconscionable, Phædria, that you can be talking me over with fine words,60 and be for amusing yourself with what’s my property for nothing!
Ant. (apart, to Geta.) I am sorry for him.
Phæd. (aside.) Alas! I feel it to be too true.
Geta (apart, to Antipho.) How well each keeps up to his character!
Phæd. (to himself.) And would that this misfortune had not befallen me at a time when Antipho was occupied with other cares as well.
Ant. (coming forward.) Ah Phædria, why, what is the matter?
Phæd. O most fortunate Antipho!
Ant. What, I?
Phæd. To have in your possession the object of your love, and have no occasion to encounter such a nuisance as this.
Ant. What I, in my possession? Why yes, as the saying is, I’ve got a wolf by the ears;61 for I neither know how to get rid of her, nor yet how to keep her.
Dor. That’s just my case with regard to him (pointing to Phædria).