Complete Works of Terence

by Terence

  Phil. O, good-morrow, Parmeno.

  Syr. By my troth, good-morrow, Parmeno.

  Par. I’faith, Syra, the same to you. Philotis, tell me, where have you been enjoying yourself so long?

  Phil. For my part, indeed, I have been far from enjoying myself, in leaving this place for Corinth with a most brutal captain; for two whole years, there, had I to put up with him to my sorrow.

  Par. I’troth, I fancy that regret for Athens full oft possessed you, and that you thought but poorly of your foresight.

  Phil. It can not be expressed how impatient I was to return hither, get rid of the captain, and see yourselves here, that after our old fashion I might at my ease enjoy the merry-makings among you; for there it was not allowed me to speak, except at the moment prescribed, and on such subjects as he chose.

  Par. (sarcastically.) I don’t think it was gallant in the captain to place a restraint on your tongue.

  Phil. But what is this piece of business that Bacchis has just now been telling me in-doors here? (pointing to her house.) A thing I never supposed would come to pass, that he, in her lifetime, could possibly prevail upon his feelings to take a wife.

  Par. To take, indeed!

  Phil. Why, look you, has he not taken one?

  Par. He has; but I doubt whether this match will be lasting.

  Phil. May the Gods and Goddesses grant it so, if it is for the advantage of Bacchis. But why am I to believe it is so? Tell me, Parmeno.

  Par. There is no need for its being spread abroad; ask me no more about it.

  Phil. For fear, I suppose, it may be made public. So may the Gods prosper me, I do not ask you in order that I may spread it abroad, but that, in silence, I may rejoice within myself.

  Par. You’ll never speak me so fairly, that I shall trust my back to your discretion.

  Phil. Oh, don’t say so, Parmeno; as though you were not much more impatient to tell me this, than I to learn what I’m inquiring about.

  Par. (to himself.) She tells the truth there; and that is my greatest failing. (To Philotis.) If you give me your word that you’ll keep it a secret, I’ll tell you.

  Phil. You are now returning to your natural disposition. I give you my word; say on.

  Par. Listen.

  Phil. I’m all attention.

  Par. Pamphilus was in the height of his passion for Bacchis here, when his father began to importune him to take a wife, and to urge those points which are usual with all fathers, that he himself was now in years, and that he was his only son, that he wished for a support for his declining years. He refused at first. But on his father pressing more urgently, he caused him to become wavering in his mind, whether to yield rather to duty or to love. By hammering on and teazing him, at last the old man gained his point; and betrothed him to the daughter of our next-door neighbor here (pointing to the house of Phidippus). This did not seem so very disagreeable to Pamphilus, until on the very point of marriage, when he saw that all was ready, and that no respite was granted, but marry he must; then, at last, he took it so much to heart, that I do believe if Bacchis had been present, even she would have pitied him. Whenever opportunity was afforded for us being alone, so that he could converse with me, he used to say: “Parmeno, I am ruined! What have I done! Into what misery have I plunged myself! Parmeno, I shall never be able to endure this. To my misery, I am undone!”

  Phil. (vehemently exclaiming.) May the Gods and Goddesses confound you, Laches, for vexing him so!

  Par. To cut the matter short, he took home his wife. On the first night, he did not touch the girl; the night that followed that, not a bit the more.

  Phil. What is it you tell me? A young man go to bed with a virgin, intoxicated to boot, and able to restrain himself from touching her! You do not say what’s likely; nor do I believe it to be the truth.

  Par. I suppose it does seem so to you, for no one comes to you unless he is eager for you; but he had married her against his will.

  Phil. After this, what followed?

  Par. In a very few days after, Pamphilus took me aside, away from the house, and told me how that the young woman was still untouched by him; and how that before he had taken her home as his wife, he had hoped to be able to endure this marriage: “But, Parmeno, as I can not resolve to live with her any longer, it is neither honorable in me, nor of advantage to the young woman herself, for her to be turned to ridicule, but rather I ought to return her to her relations just as I received her.”

  Phil. You tell me of a conscientious and virtuous disposition in Pamphilus.

  Par. “For me to declare this, I consider to be inconvenient to me, but for her to be sent back to her father without mentioning any blame, would be insolent; but I am in hopes that she, when she is sensible that she can not live with me, will go at last of her own accord.”

  Phil. What did he do in the mean while? Used he to visit Bacchis?

  Par. Every day. But as usually is the case, after she saw that he belonged to another, she immediately became more ill-natured and more peevish.

  Phil. I’faith, that’s not to be wondered at.

  Par. And this circumstance in especial contributed to estrange him from her; after he had fairly examined himself, and her, and the one that was at home, he formed a judgment, by comparison, upon the principles of them both. She, just as might be expected from a person of respectable and free birth, chaste and virtuous, patient under the slights and all the insults of her husband, and concealing his affronts. Upon this, his mind, partly overcome by compassion for his wife, partly constrained by the insolence of the other, was gradually estranged from Bacchis, and transferred its affections to the other, after having found a congenial disposition. In the mean time, there dies at Imbros an old man, a relative of theirs. His property there devolved on them by law. Thither his father drove the love-sick Pamphilus, much against his will. He left his wife here with his mother, for the old man has retired into the country; he seldom comes into the city.

  Phil. What is there yet in this marriage to prevent its being lasting?

  Par. You shall hear just now. At first, for several days, there really was a good understanding between them. In the mean time, however, in a strange way, she began to take a dislike to Sostrata; nor yet was there ever any quarrel or words between them.

  Phil. What then?

  Par. If at any time she came to converse with her, she would instantly withdraw from her presence, and refuse to see her; in fine, when she could no longer endure her, she pretended that she was sent for by her mother to assist at a sacrifice. When she had been there a few days, Sostrata ordered her to be fetched. She made some, I know not what, excuse. Again she gave similar orders; no one sent back any excuse. After she had sent for her repeatedly, they pretended that the damsel was sick. My mistress immediately went to see her; no one admitted her. On the old man coming to know of this, he yesterday came up from the country on purpose, and waited immediately upon the father of Philumena. What passed between them, I do not know as yet; but really I do feel some anxiety in what way this is to end. You now have the whole matter; and I shall proceed whither I was on my way.

  Phil. And I too, for I made an appointment with a certain stranger to meet him.

  Par. May the Gods prosper what you undertake!

  Phil. Farewell!

  Par. And a kind farewell to you, my dear Philotis.

  Exeunt severally.

  ACT THE SECOND.

  Scene I.

  Enter Laches and Sostrata, from the house of the former.

  Lach. O faith of Gods and men! what a race is this! what a conspiracy this! that all women should desire and reject every individual thing alike! And not a single one can you find to swerve in any respect from the disposition of the rest. For instance, quite as though with one accord, do all mothers-in-law hate their daughters-in-law. Just in the same way is it their system to oppose their husbands; their obstinacy here is the same. In the very same school they all seem to me to have been trained up to perverseness. Of t
hat school, if there is any mistress, I am very sure that she (pointing at Sostrata) it is.

  Sos. Wretched me! when now I don’t so much as know why I am accused!

  Lach. Eh! you don’t know?

  Sos. So may the Gods kindly prosper me, Laches, and so may it be allowed us to pass our lives together in unity!

  Lach. (aside.) May the Gods avert such a misfortune!

  Sos. I’m sure that before long you will be sensible that I have been accused by you undeservedly.

  Lach. You, undeservedly? Can any thing possibly be said that you deserve in return for this conduct of yours? You, who are disgracing both me and yourself and the family, and are laying up sorrow for your son. Then besides, you are making our connections become, from friends, enemies to us, who have thought him deserving for them to intrust their children to him. You alone have put yourself forward, by your folly, to be causing this disturbance.

  Sos. What, I?

  Lach. You, woman, I say, who take me to be a stone, not a man. Do you think because it’s my habit to be so much in the country, that I don’t know in what way each person is passing his life here? I know much better what is going on here than there, where I am daily; for this reason, because, just as you act at home, I am spoken of abroad. Some time since, indeed, I heard that Philumena had taken a dislike to you; nor did I the least wonder at it; indeed, if she hadn’t done so, it would have been more surprising. But I did not suppose that she would have gone so far as to hate even the whole of the family; if I had known that, she should have remained here in preference, and you should have gone away. But consider how undeservedly these vexations arise on your account, Sostrata; I went to live in the country, in compliance with your request, and to look after my affairs, in order that my circumstances might be able to support your lavishness and comforts, not sparing my own exertions, beyond what’s reasonable and my time of life allows. That you should take no care, in return for all this, that there should be nothing to vex me!

  Sos. Upon my word, through no means or fault of mine has this taken place.

  Lach. Nay, through you in especial; you were the only person here; on you alone, Sostrata, falls all the blame. You ought to have taken care of matters here, as I had released you from other anxieties. Is it not a disgrace for an old woman to pick a quarrel with a girl? You will say it was her fault.

  Sos. Indeed I do not say so, my dear Laches.

  Lach. I am glad of that, so may the Gods prosper me, for my son’s sake. I am quite sure of this, that no fault of yours can possibly put you in a worse light.

  Sos. How do you know, my husband, whether she may not have pretended to dislike me, on purpose that she might be more with her mother?

  Lach. What say you to this? Is it not proof sufficient, when yesterday no one was willing to admit you into the house, when you went to see her?

  Sos. Why, they told me that she was very ill just then; for that reason I was not admitted to her.

  Lach. I fancy that your humors are more her malady than any thing else; and with good reason in fact, for there is not one of you but wants her son to take a wife; and the match which has taken your fancy must be the one; when, at your solicitation, they have married, then, at your solicitation, they are to put them away again.

  Scene II.

  Enter Phidippus from his house.

  Phid. (speaking to Philumena within.) Although I am aware, Philumena, that I have the right to compel you to do what I order, still, being swayed by the feelings of a father, I will prevail upon myself to yield to you, and not oppose your inclination.

  Lach. And look, most opportunely I see Phidippus; I’ll presently know from him how it is. (Accosting him.) Phidippus, although I am aware that I am particularly indulgent to all my family, still it is not to that degree to let my good nature corrupt their minds. And if you would do the same, it would be more for your own interest and ours. At present I see that you are under the control of those women.

  Phid. Just look at that, now!

  Lach. I waited on you yesterday about your daughter; you sent me away just as wise as I came. It does not become you, if you wish this alliance to continue, to conceal your resentment. If there is any fault on our side, disclose it; either by clearing ourselves, or excusing it, we shall remedy these matters for you, yourself the judge. But if this is the cause of detaining her at your house, because she is ill, then I think that you do me an injustice, Phidippus, if you are afraid lest she should not be attended with sufficient care at my house. But, so may the Gods prosper me, I do not yield in this to you, although you are her father, that you can wish her well more than I do, and that on my son’s account, who I know values her not less than his own self. Nor, in fact, is it unknown to you, how much, as I believe, it will vex him, if he comes to know of this; for this reason, I wish to have her home before he returns.

  Phid. Laches, I am sensible of both your carefulness and your good-will, and I am persuaded that all you say is just as you say: and I would have you believe me in this; I am anxious for her to return to you, if I possibly can by any means effect it.

  Lach. What is it prevents you from effecting it? Come, now, does she make any complaint against her husband?

  Phid. By no means; for when I urged it still more strongly, and attempted to constrain her by force to return, she solemnly protested that she couldn’t possibly remain with you, while Pamphilus was absent. Probably each has his own failing; I am naturally of an indulgent disposition; I can not thwart my own family.

  Lach. (turning to his wife, who stands apart.) Ha! Sostrata!

  Sos. (sighing deeply.) Alas! wretched me!

  Lach. (to Phidippus.) Is this your final determination?

  Phid. For the present, at least, as it seems; but have you any thing else to say? for I have some business that obliges me to go at once to the Forum.

  Lach. I’ll go with you.

  Exeunt.

  Scene III.

  Sostrata alone.

  Sos. Upon my faith, we assuredly are all of us hated by our husbands with equal injustice, on account of a few, who cause us all to appear deserving of harsh treatment. For, so may the Gods prosper me, as to what my husband accuses me of, I am quite guiltless. But it is not so easy to clear myself, so strongly have people come to the conclusion that all step-mothers are harsh: i’faith, not I, indeed, for I never regarded her otherwise than if she had been my own daughter; nor can I conceive how this has befallen me. But really, for many reasons, I long for my son’s return home with impatience.

  Goes into her house.

  ACT THE THIRD.

  Scene I.

  Enter Pamphilus and Parmeno.

  Pam. No individual, I do believe, ever met with more crosses in love than I. Alas! unhappy me! that I have thus been sparing of life! Was it for this I was so very impatient to return home? O, how much more preferable had it been for me to pass my life any where in the world than to return here and be sensible that I am thus wretched! For all of us know who have met with trouble from any cause, that all the time that passes before we come to the knowledge of it, is so much gain.

  Par. Still, as it is, you’ll the sooner know how to extricate yourself from these misfortunes. If you had not returned, this breach might have become much wider; but now, Pamphilus, I am sure that both will be awed by your presence. You will learn the facts, remove their enmity, restore them to good feeling once again. These are but trifles which you have persuaded yourself are so grievous.

  Pam. Why comfort me? Is there a person in all the world so wretched as I? Before I took her to wife, I had my heart engaged by other affections. Now, though on this subject I should be silent, it is easy for any one to know how much I have suffered; yet I never dared refuse her whom my father forced upon me. With difficulty did I withdraw myself from another, and disengage my affections so firmly rooted there! and hardly had I fixed them in another quarter, when, lo! a new misfortune has arisen, which may tear me from her too. Then besides, I suppose that in this matter
I shall find either my mother or my wife in fault; and when I find such to be the fact, what remains but to become still more wretched? For duty, Parmeno, bids me bear with the feelings of a mother; then, to my wife I am bound by obligations; with so much temper did she formerly bear my usage, and on no occasion disclose the many wrongs inflicted on her by me. But, Parmeno, something of consequence, I know not what it is, must have happened for this misunderstanding to have arisen between them, that has lasted so long.

  Par. Or else something frivolous, i’faith, if you would only give words their proper value; those which are sometimes the greatest enmities, do not argue the greatest injuries; for it often happens that in certain circumstances, in which another would not even be out of temper, for the very same reason a passionate man becomes your greatest enemy. What enmities do children entertain among themselves for trifling injuries! For what reason? Why, because they have a weak understanding to direct them. Just so are these women, almost like children with their fickle feelings; perhaps a single word has occasioned this enmity between them, master.

  Pam. Go, Parmeno, into the house, and carry word that I have arrived.

  A noise is heard in the house of Phidippus.

  Par. (starting.) Ha! What means this?

  Pam. Be silent. I perceive a bustling about, and a running to and fro.

  Par. (going to the door.) Come then, I’ll approach nearer to the door. (He listens.) Ha! did you hear?

  Pam. Don’t be prating. (He listens.) O Jupiter, I heard a shriek!

  Par. You yourself are talking, while you forbid me.

  Myr. (within the house.) Prithee, my child, do be silent.

  Pam. That seems to be the voice of Philumena’s mother. I’m undone!

  Par. Why so?

  Pam. Utterly ruined!

  Par. For what reason?

  Pam. Parmeno, you are concealing from me some great misfortune to me unknown.