Chapter XXIX: Act THE FIRST: Scene I

_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 struck[23] for another present[24] 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?

SCENE II.

_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 summons[32] 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._)

SCENE III.

_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 right[35] 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.

SCENE IV.

_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._

SCENE V.

_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._)

SCENE VI.

_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 evidence[40] {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._

SCENE VII.

_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._)