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This is Volume Eight of a complete set of

THE CLASSICS— GREEK AND LATIN

consisting of fifteen volumes issued strictly as
a Limited Edition. In Volume One will be
found a certificate as to the Limitation of the
Edition and the Registered Number of this Set.

ANT

HISTORY

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A ROMAN SLAVE MARKET

From a painting by Gustave Boulangcr

Plautus, the first Latin dramatist, was the son of a slave,
AND Terence, the other great Latin comic dramatist, was him-
self A SLAVE. Terence was a Carthaginian, brought to Rome as

a prisoner of war, and SOLD TO A ROMAN SENATOR, WHO. RECOG-
NIZING his genius, gave him HIS FREEDOM. —Page 201.

^^i^^

6REM/^IiVTIN

HE MOST CELEBRATED

WORKS OF HELLENIC

AND ROMAN LITERATVRE, EM-
BRACING POETRY, ROMANCE,
HISTORY, ORATORY, SCIENCE,
AND PHILOSOPHY, TRANS-
LATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE
AND VERSE BY DISTINGVISHED
MEN OF LETTERS, WITH CRIT-
ICAL APPRECIATIONS BY AN
INTERNATIONAL COVNCIL OF
CLASSICAL SCHOLARS. * *

MARION MILLS MILLER, Litt.D.
(PRINCETON) EDITOR IN CHIEF

yiNCENTPARKE

i AND • COMPANY-
— ^WEWYORKSS-

THE CLASSICS

GREEK AND LATIN

CONTRIBUTING CLASSIC COUNCIL

J. P. MAHAFFY, D.C.L., Trinity College, Dublin
SIR ALEXANDER GRANT, LL.D., Edinburgh
EDWARD POSTE, M.A., Oxford University
J. H. FREESE, M.A., Cambridge University
BASIL L. GILDERSLEEVE, LL.D.,

Professor of Greek, Johns Hopkins University

JOHN HENRY WRIGHT, LL.D.,

Professor of Greek, Harvard University

HENRY P. WRIGHT, PH.D.,

Professor of Latin, Yale University
HARRY THURSTON PECK, L.H.D.,

Professor of Latin, Columbia University
SAMUEL ROSS WINANS, PH.D.,

Professor of Greek, Princeton University
CHARLES E. BENNETT, LITT.D.,

Professor of Latin, Cornell University
WILLIAM A. LAMBERTON, LITT.D.,

Professor of Greek, University of Pennsylvania
JOHN DAMEN MAGUIRE, PH.D.,

Professor of Latin, Catholic University of America
PAUL SHOREY, PH.D.,

Professor of Greek, University of Chicago
MARTIN LUTHER D'OOGE, PH.D.,

Professor of Greek, University of Michigan
ANDREW J. BELL, M.A.,

Professor of Latin, University of Toronto
WILLIAM AUGUSTUS MERRILL, L.H.D.,

Professor of Latin, University of California
MARY LEAL HARKNESS, M.A.,

Professor of Latin, Tulane University

MARION MILLS MILLER, LITT. D. (Princeton)
Editor-in-Chief

VINCENT PARKE AND
COMPANY, NEW YORK

Vincent Parke and Company,

New York

CONTENTS K\\

Introduction :

PAGE

The Beginnings *of Latin Literature . . . i

Introduction :

The Latin Dramatists ...... 6

By Andrew J. Bell, M.A., of Toronto University

Introduction :

Life of Plautus . . . . . . .21

By the Rev. W. Lucas Collins, M.A.

The Comedies of Plautus:

Translated by Henry Thomas Riley, M.A.
Miles Gloriosus [The Braggart Captain] . . 25
Men^chmi [The Twin-Brothers] .... 97
Captivi [The Captives] . . . . . .151

Introduction :

Life of Terence ....... 201

By the Rev. W. Lucas Collins, M.A.

The Comedies of Terence :

Translated by Henry Thomas Riley, M.A.
Heautontimorumenos [The Self-Tormentor] . . 205
Adelphi [The Brothers] ...... 261

Seneca :

The Ph^dra, or Hippolytus . . . . .311
Translated by Watson Bradshaw, M.D., R.N.

Introduction : Seneca's Life and Death and His

Writings ........ 367

By Sir Roger L'Estrange, Knt.

On Anger ........ 378

ILLUSTRATIONS

A Roman Slave Market Frontispiece

From a painting by Gustave Boulanger

The Continence of Scipio ...... 202

Ecole de Fontainebleau (XVIeme Siecle)

Temple of jupiter at Rome ......

From a painting by Alexander Wagner and J. Bohlniann

?.7'o

fUN 2 7 195?

INTRODUCTION

THE BEGINNINGS OF LATIN
LITERATURE

O wonder the Romans conquered the world,"
said Heine in his witty account of his educa-
tion ; " they alone had time for doing it — they
did not have to study Latin."

The manner in which the little tribe in the
Alban hills who called themselves Latins
gradually imposed their language upon the world — causing it
even to-day to be the basic element of linguistic and literary
education in every country, is one of the most striking facts
in racial psychology. Of all primitive people who afterwards
rose to importance, they were the most unliterary. Their
mental habit was prosaic and practical. They lacked imag-
ination. These characteristics are clearly indicated in their
mythology, which was of the crudest, most puerile, most
materialistic sort. The principal deities of the primitive
Latins were not the joyous and kindly personifications of
nature which were chiefly adored by the early Greek worship-
per, but malevolent powers, such as Fever and Miasma, de-
manding propitiation.

The beginnings of Latin poetry were of the same order.
Latin folk-lore largely consisted of spells against malign in-
fluences in the home and the field, and even' of spells that were
themselves actively malevolent — chants to enrich the enchant-
er's own crop at the expense of a neighbor, or to bring other
misfortune upon him.

There were, it is true, dirges, but these lacked the pathetic
beauty of the Linus hymns of the Greeks, so permeated by
the imaginative conception of nature's sympathy with human
woe; instead, they were designed to propitiate the departed
spirit, lest it should harm the living; even the one noble

2 INTRODUCTION

feature which they possessed in common with the Greek
laments, the praise of the dead man's character, is open to the
suspicion that it was because the living thought it wise and
discreet, rather than appropriate and generous, that they
spoke well of the dead.

This view, perhaps, may do the early Latins some wrong,
for at the feasts (where, if ever, a Roman was inspired with
the joy of life), young men recited songs in praise of ancient
worthies. These were extemporized, and were probably of
little artistic merit, for none has been preserved in litera-
ture. Cato records the fact that he had heard them, but
gives no specimens. The custom was entirely dead before
the time of Cicero, who keenly regretted its passing — not so
much, it may be suggested, because of the literary merit of
these eulogies, as for antiquarian and patriotic considerations.

Another literary form of early Latin was the Fescennina,
extemporaneous doggerel verses recited at weddings, harvests,
and other festal occasions of the country folk of ancient Italy.
The name points to the town of Fescennia in Etruria as the
place of its origin, though Festus, a Latin grammarian of
about the second century a.d.^ derives the name from fas-
cinum, the phallus, and thus connects the songs with the
worship of fertility prevalent among primitive folk — un-
doubtedly the true explanation.

These songs at first were permeated with the sardonic
spirit that finds enjoyment in another's pain, being composed
of coarse and unfeeling personal abuse and ridicule. While
this is a common feature of all primitive literatures, it per-
sisted longer with the Romans than with any other people,
informing, indeed, the two most characteristic species of
Latin writings, the Latin Satire (originating with Ennius
and Lucilius, and brought to perfection by Juvenal), and the
Latin Epigram (formed by Martial from the Greek epigram
by the injection therein of the satiric animus).

And yet from the same kind of folk-songs in Sicily, The-
ocritus developed the charming idyl, or pastoral. (See intro-
duction to Theocritus in volume three of The Greek
Classics.)

After the Fescennina were taken up by the more cultivated

BEGINNINGS OF LATIN LITERATURE 3

people of the towns and cities, the malicious spirit softened
into good-humored raillery, the verse-maker calling on the
person attacked to answer him in kind. Late in the classic
period, literary form was given to this order of verse by
writers such as Macrobius (fourth century a.d.), who made
it a vehicle of personal satire, and Claudian (fourth century
A.D.), who adapted it for use in an epithalamium on the
marriage of the emperor Honorius.

History had as crude an origin as song and satire among
the Latins. It began with annals; first a bare record of
prodigies, many of them childishly absurd; these were fol-
lowed by chronicles of political events.

The " Annales Maximi " were the records kept by each
successive Pontifix Maximus, who wrote an account of the
events of each year on a white board, and set it up by the
door of his official residence for public inspection. At the
end of the year the board was " filed away " for preservation
and reference.

While the narrative in these Annals began with the
foundation of Rome, this was a traditional account, as all
the early records were destroyed at the time of the capture of
the city by the Gauls under Brennus. The Annals were dis-
continued in 133 B.C., by Quintus Mucius Sc;evola, be-
cause of their unwieldiness and obsoleteness, historical writ-
ing in both Greek and Latin being well developed by this time
among the Romans. Scaevola published the records in manu-
script, the whole amounting to eighty books.

Great Roman families, such as the Valerii and Fabii, also
kept records of their history. By these were preserved the
stories of the chief men of the past.

It was from such documents, as well as the oral traditions
of his day, that Ennius, the *^ Father" of Latin literature,
gathered the historical facts that he set forth in his Annals.

Quintus Ennius was born b.c. 239, at Rudiae, in Cala-
bria, a town settled by Greek colonists. Ennius, however,
was a member of the native Oscan race; he believed, indeed,
that he was descended from Messapus, the patriarch of the
land. He said that he had three hearts (or minds), because
he knew three languages, Oscan, Greek, and Latin. He per-

4 INTRODUCTION

fected himself in Latin at Rome, whither he was brought
B.C. 204, by Cato, after the Second Punic War, in which
Ennius had displayed executive capacity in a notable degree.
Scipio Africanus also honored him with friendship, and
dying, the bust of Ennius, who was still living, was placed
beside his tomb, probably by Scipio's order.

Here at Rome Ennius supported himself by teacning
Greek and adapting Greek plays for the Latin stage. In
189 B.C. he accompanied the consul, M. Fulvius Nobilior,
into his province of ^tolia, as the historian of his adminis-
tration. As a reward for this service the son of Fulvius se-
cured him Roman citizenship, of which the poet was very
proud.

For material rewards he cared little. Cicero has recorded
that he passed his old age in poverty, but with cheerfulness
and even joviality, being fond of convivial intercourse. He
died of the gout at the age of seventy in B.C. 169.

The Annals, the chief work of Ennius, was an epic
chronicle of Roman legend and history beginning with
^neas. A number of fragments remain of the work, which
justify the esteem in which all the Romans held the author.
The poem gained immediate popularity. Crowds thronged
to hear it recited, and there persisted for several generations
a populus Ennianus, or class devoted to the poet, through
whose style they had been inducted into literature. Indeed,
it was to please this class that the polished Virgil introduced
into his ^neid many lines in the strong onomatopoeic style
of his early predecessors. What this style was may be gath-
ered from the following line by Ennius :

Semper obundantes hastas frangitque quatitque.
" Ever the whelming wave of spears breaks he, off shakes he."

Ennius, like most of the natives of Magna Grascia, was
affected by the philosophy of Pythagoras. Thus he believed
in reincarnation, mentioning in his Annals that the soul of
Homer had migrated into his body. He wrote a work called
Epicharmus, which set forth the Pythagorean doctrines,
which both in metrical form and philosophical purpose was

BEGINNINGS OF LATIN LITERATURE 5

a precursor of the masterpiece of Lucretius, the Nature of
Things. In another similar work, the Euhemerus, he set
forth the mythological views of the same great mystic. That
Ennius was also a practical philosopher is indicated by the
titles of two other works, the Protrepticus, or Art of Life,
and the Hedyphagetica, a treatise on gastronomies. He
wrote Saturae, or "mixed poems" in various meters, and
a number of epigrams; both classes became models in form,
though not in spirit, for those most characteristic kinds of
Latin verse, the satire proper of Persius and Juvenal, and the
biting epigram of Martial.

Ennius also won dramatic laurels (although not the first in
Italy) by his paraphrases of the Greek tragedies, chiefly of
Euripides. They were written in the grandiose style which
always appeals to a people in the first stage of literary apper-
ception, and became greatly popular. Cicero, being an orator
and therefore partial to magniloquence, praised the dramas of
Ennius, quoting a number of passages from them. These
are the chief fragments that remain of Ennius's plays.

THE LATIN DRAMATISTS

BY ANDREW J. BELL, M.A.,
Professor of Latin in the University of Toronto

When we regard the origin of the Latin Drama, we feel
that Horace's description of the play as longorum operum Unis,
" the end of long toils," has a propriety quite unintended. In
241 B.C., the first Punic War ended in what was nearly a
stale-mate for Roman and Phoenician, and in the next year
a Greek slave, Andronicus, afterwards called Livius "from
the name of the master who gave him freedom, exhibited a
play at the Ludi Romani. There were already apparent in
Italy literary sports out of which a native drama might soon
have developed. Italy is the native soil of improvisation, and
already the Fescennine license was in vogue, out of which
Horace, influenced by the nationalist tendencies of his day,
tries to derive the Latin Drama. Nay, in Campania there was
in existence a sort of formal play called the Fabula Atellana,
closely resembling our Christmas pantomimes in its stand-
ing roles.

But Livius was the first to, write a Latin play with a
regular and preconceived plot, taking as Ills model the drama
developed in Athens by Euripides and Menander. When a
mere boy he had been brought captive from Tarentum to
Rome, and after emancipation had earned a living by teaching
Greek to the noble youth at Rome. For this he had used
the Odyssey as a text-book and had been led to attempt a
Latin translation of it to aid his pupils. In this he had used
the native Saturnian metre, probably despairing of writing
.hexameters in Latin, a language which, especially in its older
form, through its tendency to syncope and consequent loss of
short syllables, is little fitted for the dactyllic measure of
Homer. But the iambic trimeter, the ordinary dramatic
metre of the Greeks, showed a freedom in its substitution of

THE LATIN DRAMATISTS 7

spondees for iambi which, when extended to all feet but the
last, made its use easy for a Latin writer.

Livius's activity in letters seems to have won for him the
favor of the Roman senate; for in 207 b.c, when the
monstrous birth at Frunsino had to be expiated, he was com-
missioned to write a hymn in honor of Juno the queen, who
presided over patrician births, to be sung by thrice nine vir-
gins in procession through the streets of Rome. When,
shortly after, the news came of the victory over Hasdrubal,
bringing light to the patient burghers, the right was granted
him of forming a collegium or guild of writers, to have its
assembly room in the shrine of Minerva on the Aventine ; and
Minerva is henceforth the patron of letters of the Romans.

Like Thespis, Andronicus was the chief actor in his plays,
and as such, too, he found favor with the public; for v/hen
his voice, cracked by old age, was no longer equal to singing
the choral parts, a boy was assigned to sing them, while he
made the appropriate gestures, and hence, Livy tells us, arose
the division of the Roman stage between the diverhium or
spoken dialogue, and the caritica or chorus. The few frag-
ments of Livius that have come down to us hardly seem to
justify this favor. He exhibited both tragedies and comedies,
probably mere translations from Greek originals.

Cnaeus Naevius was, like Livius, a writer of epic verse as
well as of tragedies and comedies, but in both their lives and
writings they present a decided contrast. Livius was a Greek
slave ; a pedagogue who turned the Odyssey into halting verse
hardly worth a second reading, thinks Cicero; an actor who
by his subservience to Roman officials won the praise and
favor of the state. Naevius was born in Campania, of
Roman stock, and told the story of the war, in which he had
served in person, in Saturnians so vigorous that Horace
owned that even in his day they dwelt in the readers' minds
as if of yesterday. He ended his career either in prison or in
exile (both stories are told) for daring to assail the Metelli,
in whose continued consulships he foresaw the fate of their
country.

The comedies of Naevius seem to have outnumbered his
tragedies, and they were no servile copies of Greek plays ; for

s Introduction

already he had set the example of contaminatio — the union
in one of two Greek plots, which was the favorite device of
Plautus and Terence to give variety to their plays. Schanz
thinks that in his Tarentine Girl he set the example of a
fabula togata — a play presenting Italian characters, cultivated
later with distinguished success by Afranius. Of the dozen
verses preserved from this play, some show such vivid
elegance as to have induced Theodor Mommsen to attempt
a translation. In the scantier remains of his tragedies,
mostly from his Lycurgus, we find verses whose melody pre-
sents a striking contrast with the limping senarii of Livius;
and one of them,

Laetus sum laudari me abs te, pater, a laudato viro,
" I am glad to be praised by thee, father, a man of renown,"

long remained a winged word on the lips of Romans.

Here, too, Livius showed his constructive power in a
striking way. Not content with translations from the Greek,
he sought in Roman achievements the material appropriate to
Roman tragedy, and created the fabula praetexta, so highly
commended by Horace. We have in this kind the titles of
two of his pieces, one, the Clastidium, celebrating the victory
of Marcellus over the Gauls, the other, the Lupus or Romu-
lus, the tale of the founding of Rome, a play which furnished
Cicero with a telling reproof to youth interfering in state
affairs. The vigor and skill shown in his Bellum Punicum
remind Cicero of a v/ork of Myron, the sinewy strength of
whose Discobulus we all know. To it we owe the first sketch
in Latin of the tale of Aeneas and Dido, which was later
to furnish to the world the crowning glory of ornate poetry.
Horace speaks of his Saturnians as grave virus, " deadly poi-
son," but when we hear his epitaph,

Immortales mortales si foret fas flere
Flerent divae Carmenae Naevium poetam,
" Were it allowed immortals to bewail mortals, the heavenly Muses
would bewail the poet Naevius,"

we feel in them genuine and lofty poetry that appeals with

THE LATIN DRAMATISTS 9

touching majesty to our minds, and with the more force
since their metre and ornament seem closely akin to that of
our modern verse.

The founders of the Roman drama cultivated both
tragedy and comedy, but from this point we may deal with
these separately. The great body of Latin comedy that has
come down to us is attributed to Titus Maccus or Maccius,
an Umbrian from Sarsina, better known by the name Plau-
TUS, the Umbrian word for " flat-footed." He was a contem-
porary of Naevius, and in his Miles Gloriosus he ven-
tures to express sympathy with him in his imprisonment.
Gellius tells us that, when Plautus came to Rome, he found
employment at first as a stage carpenter, and, after losing in
mercantile adventures the money thus won, he found him-
self so involved in debt that he had to give himself up as a
slave to his creditors. He was set to grinding in a mill, but,
in the intervals of his task of propelling the millstone and
pushing a sort of windlass, he ventured on the composition of
comedies, three of which, the Saturio, the Addictus, and
one, the name of which Gellius did not know, found such
acceptance with the public, that he was freed from his task
and became chief writer for the Roman comic stage. So far
did he excel all competitors in the popular estimation that in
course of time all older fabidae palliatae (comedies present-
ing Greek characters and scenes) were attributed to Plautus,
as all older Greek poems were once attributed to Homer,
and in Cicero's day 130 were current as Plautine. These
Varro divided into three classes: (i) those assigned to
Plautus by all authorities, twenty-one in number; (2) those
ascribed to others in some lists, but worthy of Plautus in plot
and diction; (3) doubtful plays. It is interesting to note
that the Saturio and Addictus were not in the first, but
in the second class. As the Palatine MSS. of Plautus give us
twenty plays in alphabetical order, and the Ambrosian Pa-
limpsest, probably the oldest Latin MS. we have, gives
the same tv/enty, with remains of the twenty-first, it seems
reasonable to think that it is the twenty-one plays selected by
Varro as genuine, that have been preserved to us.

Most of these plays show great comic power and the

10 INTRODUCTION

rapid and vigorous development of plot which ancient critics
tell us was characteristic of Plautus. Of these twenty plays,
only two, or perhaps three, were borrowed from Menander,
and in a fourth, the Miles Gloriosus, he used a comedy of
Menander for contamination with one of Diphilus. Three
he borrowed from Diphilus and two from Philemon, not,
thought Studemund, because they surpassed Menander's
work, but because their slighter plots and less elaborated
dialogue left Plautus more room for the display of his own
sparkling wit and vigorous constructive skill. One, the
Amphitryo, called in the prologue a tragi-comedy, alone
among Latin comedies gives us a mythological plot, and was
copied by Moliere in a play that does not surpass the original.
Another, the Aulularia, of which the conclusion is lost,
furnished Moliere with the role of Harpagon. A third, the
Menaechmi, one of the freshest and most vigorous, has no
need to fear comparison with Shakspere's copy in the
Comedy of Errors, The Captivi, perhaps the slowest and
tamest of his plays, wai pHised by Lessing as the finest
comedy evief ptit oh the stage, as that which best fulfilled the
purpose of comedy, and was, moreover, rich in comic orna-
ment. Mackail is charmed by the atmosphere of the
Rudens, which reminds him of Shakspere's Winter's Tale.
In the Pseudolus, in which the Scapin of the piece repeatedly
catches his victim in traps, against which he expressly warns
him, Studemund took especial delight, finding in it the finest
example in literature of skilful adaptation of metre to theme.
And in the Mostellaria, the Menaechmi, and the Tri-
nummus, we have fine examples of the fahula motoria, " bus-
tling play," in which Plautus excels.

Plautus deserves a high place among the world's greatest
comic poets for the quickness and variety of repartee in his
dialogue. Indeed, the very abundance of his wit often
proves a snare to him, leading him to introduce comic con-
ceits that harmonize ill with the plan of his play. While the
flavor of his wit is rather strong at times, one can see plainly
that he is writing for the old Roman farmers, whose rough
strength and genuine moral worth deserved the success they
won. He seems a perfect master of the colloquial Latin of

THE LATIN DRAMATISTS 11

his time, the language used in the street by the citizen of
average culture. The great scholars of the following cen-
tury, Aelius Stilo, and his disciple, Varro, were agreed in
the opinion that, if the Muses spoke Latin, it would be the
Latin of Plautus. In agreement with this is Cicero's praise:
he speaks of Plautus as elegant and polished and abounding
in genius and wit. Horace blames him as loose and careless
in his dramatic art, and Quintilian passes him over lightly,
reserving his praise for the style of Terence. But the praise
of critics so unlike as Cicero and Varro means much, and of
still more weight is the verdict of the modern world, where
his plays were the favorite reading of Martin Luther and
inspired the muse of Moliere and of Shakspere.

Plautus died an old man in 184 B.C., and from this date
till the appearance of Terence, the leading writer for the
Roman comic stage was Statius Caecilius, an Insubrian.
He is mentioned by Quintilian as the favorite with older critics,
is praised by Horace for his dignity, and to him is assigned
the first place among Latin comic writers by Volcatius. This
judgment is often treated as absurd; but Cicero confirms it,
though he cannot praise Caecilius's Latinity, and Gellius' se-
lection of Caecilius for comparison with Menander implies his
primacy. Gellius cites from him at some length to show the
superiority of Menander, but there are critics who feel that
in the first and longest passage cited, the comparison is not
so evidently in Menander's favor. We have less than 300
verses left of his comedies, not enough to base a judgment
upon, especially as his excellence seems to have lain rather in
his composition of plot and in his pathetic skill. According
to Suetonius it was to him, as arbiter of the Latin stage, that
the aediles referred Terence with his first comedy in 166 B.C.
He was a close friend of Ennius, whose lodging he shared,
and Jerome in his chronicle says he died in the year after him,
that is, in 168 b.c. But probably Ritschl is right here in his
idea that in Jerome the numeral quarto (written mi) has
faded out of the MS.

Terence is said to have been a native of Carthage, but ne
was brought very young to Rome, as the slave of a senator,
Terentius Lucanus, who early gave him~ his freedom. He

12 INTRODUCTION

was a favorite in the Hellenizing circle of the Scipios and the
Aemilii, and the purity and elegance of their diction is re-
flected in the Latin of his comedies. Puri sermonis amator,
" lover of pure discourse," is Caesar's judgment about him,
describing the quality in his work that stirs admiration in
modern readers. The Latin of Terence stands so much nearer
to the elegance of Cicero than to the rough and somewhat
uncouth strength of Plautus, that with him we seem to be
emerging from the rude shades of archaic Latinity into the
light of the Golden Age. Not that he is always faultless ; for
there are passages in his comedies where, in his effort to ren-
der accurately his Greek original, he writes what hardly seems
Latin at all. But these are rare.

In i66 B.C. Terence brought his Andria to Caecilius,
v/ho was reclining at dinner and assigned him a stool to sit
on, while he read his play. But soon, charmed by the work
of the swarthy little slave, he took him to his couch to dine
with him, and after dinner heard him finish his play with
expressions of wonder and pleasure. And all who read the
Andria must sympathize with Caecilius. The elegance and
purity of the language is remarkable, the action is vivid and
interesting, and the worst fault of Terence, his servile moral-
ity, seems least glaring in this play. Next year he came
again before the public with his Hecyra or Mother-in-Law.
They drove it from the stage with cries for boxes and rope-
dancers; and no wonder; for it lacks entirely the comic
power v/hich was what specially attracted the Roman public.

Terence did not appear again till 163, when he exhibited
the Heautontimorumenos, or Self Tormentor, a fahida
stataria, or " slow play." In 161 B.C. he won the success
of his life with the Eunuchus, which earned him 8000 ses-
terces— a little over $300. The plot is lively, but marked by
an obscenity which seems to have atoned for the lack of
comic power in Terence and won him this success. In the
same year he exhibited the Phormiq, perhaps of all his plays
that which best shows his standpoint with regard to life and
morals. The plot is interesting, the characters are delineated
with care and skill, and the whole shows a dry humor per-
haps more effective with the modern reader than with the

THE LATIN DRAMATISTS 13

Roman. But probably it is to their aversion to Terence's
standpoint in judging life and character that the dislike felt
for him by the Romans of his day is mainly due. Phormio,
the hero of the play, is a swindling parasite, and, when Plau-
tus brings a parasite on the stage, he does not try to win his
audience to admiration for him, but, however clever he may
be, assigns him a place below the salt. But Terence seems in)
thorough sympathy with the views of his parasite or his slave, )
and makes them out far better judges of w^hat is right and(
fitting than the stupid citizen. No wonder that the Roman,'^
though pleased with the elegance of his diction, and the fine
drawing and balance of his characters, could not find it in his
heart to praise this little African slave with his airs of supe-
riority, but said that it was Scipio or Laelius that had com-
posed his plays.

In 1 60 B.C. Terence exhibited the Adelphoe, one of the
best of his plays, with a simple, well-founded plot, and a
cheerful dialogue, that have made it a general favorite, and
in the same year he found at last an audience for his Hecyra.
Then he left for Greece to study Greek ways and customs,
and in the next year on his way back he died at the age of
twenty-five. He had sent on before by ship his adaptations
of 108 new comedies of Menander, we are told, and the news
that these were lost at sea brought on his last illness. We
know that Plautus and Caecilius had already used many plays
of Menander, and where 108 new comedies of his could be
got has been a puzzle to many. Ritschl thought that the
CVIII was really a mistaken reading of a faded CVM.

As we have noticed, Terence was never a favorite with the
Romans of his day. In after times Varro called him an ex-
ample of mediocrity, and Caesar praised him as a "halved
Menander," who, though rivalHng his model in purity of dic-
tion and construction of character, wholly lacked his comic
power. He has little originality, and still less of Plautus' skill
in handhng metres. But his mastery of pure and elegant dic-
tion has made him the favorite among Roman comic writers
for all later readers; and his cosmopolitan sentiments, little
fitted to win the Roman of his time, appeal to us with a very
different power.

14 INTRODUCTION

Of the Roman comedy there have come down to us twenty
j)lays of Plautus and the six plays of Terence, furnishing iis
watli a goo3'*ic!ea of its strengtirancl weakness; of the tragedy
we have only fragments, and this will justify its briefer treat-
ment here. In ^the year after the death of Naevius, the year
201 B.C., there came to Rome with the elder Cato, of
all men, the Messapian Quinctius Ennius, who was to im-
pose on the Roman epic the form and metre of Homer. He
wrote both tragedies and comedies, but in comedy Volcatius
is led to give him the tenth and last place for his antiquity.
His tragedies, on the contrary, seem to stand in importance
only below his epic — the Annals. He translated mainly from
Euripides, but varied his plays by contamination, joining in
his Iphigenia Euripides's play with one of Sophocles. He fol-
lowed Naevius in writing two prcetextae or Roman tragedies,
one on the Rape of the Sabines and the other on the Capture
of Ambracia by his patron, M. Fulvius Nobilior. Cicero
praises his Medea, and Gellius finds that in his Hecuba he has
given a worthy adaption of Euripides's masterpiece.

Ennius brought with him to Rome his nephew, M. Pacu-
vius of Brundisium, who made his living as a painter and
poet and wrote twelve tragedies. Some fragments of these,
for example :

interea loci
Flucti flaccescunt, silescunt venti, mollitur mare,
" Meanwhile the waves grow slack, the winds fall, thei sea is
smoothed,"

show a facile mastery of poetic effort, surpassing Ennius.
But they also show at times, as in

Nerei repandirostrum, incurvicervicum pecus,
"The broad-beaked, arched-necked flock of Nereus,"

a tendency to emulate the Greeks in forming what seemed to
the best Latin writers unwieldy and uncouth compounds, and
it was probably this as much as his wide reading in Greek
myths that won Pacuvius the epithet of doctus, *' the learned,"
assigned him by Roman critics. He too writes a praetexta
celebrating Paulus' victory at Pydna.

Cicero places Pacuvius at the head of Roman tragic poets

THE LATIN DRAMATISTS 15

in the same judgment in which he hesitatingly assigns the
comic palm to Caecilius, and he gives as his reason the im-
pression his plays make on the hearer, for he cannot praise
Pacuvius's Latinity either. Varro finds in Pacuvius a certain
uhertas or richness of expression that is evident in many of
the fragments.

But best known and most cited of the tragic writers by
later Romans is L. Accius, who was probably still alive in 90
B.C., for Cicero recollects meeting him often in his old age.
Jerome's chronicle makes him a son of a farmer from Pisau-
rum, and in his Didascalica he related that in 140 B.C. he
exhibited a play in competition with Pacuvius, then in his
eightieth year. He was a philologist as well as a poet; for
the Didascalica is one of the oldest histories of literature,
being modeled on Aristotle's collection of didaskalics or dra-
matic indices. It was written partly in prose and partly in
verse. Cicero takes occasion to correct an error made by
Accius in this work, when, confusing the first with the second
capture of Tarentum, he says that Livius was brought to
Rome in 209 B.C. instead of 280 B.C.

Ennius had ventured on a reform of Roman spelling;
when following Greek usage, he introduced into Latin a
doubling of consonants, for example: esse for ese and Bac-
chanal for Bacanal. Accius, following his example, tried to
introduce into Latin a conduplicatio vocalium, or doubling of
vowels to express their length, in use in the Italic dialects.
He seems to have arrived at further conformity with Greek,
too, favoring aggidus for angulus, agcora for ancora, and
Hectora for Hectorem. Some have thought that to him we
owe the K in Kalendae and the qu in equus, which follow-
ing analogy should have been Calendae and ecus,

Accius represents the height of achievement in Roman
tragedy, and we have the titles of forty-five of his plays. Two
were praetextae, one, the Aeneadae, which celebrates the de-
votion of the younger Decius, and probably traced his descent
from a comrade of Aeneas ; the other, called Brutus, relating
the expulsion of the Tarquins. His plays are not slavish
copies of the Greek, but show an impetus and vigor that jus-
tify the epithet of *' lofty," given him by Horace.

16 INTRODUCTION

Accius represents not merely the summit of achievement
in Roman tragedy, but also the end as far as the stage is con-
cerned; and this end was reached before any permanent
theatre was erected in Rome. It was nearly forty years after
the death of Accius, in the year 55 B.C., that Pompey opened
his famous theatre ; and already the writing of plays on lines
familiar to us seems virtually at an end. We do hear of the
production of Varius's Thyestes after Actium, and of the mag-
nificent reward he received from Augustus. But this is only
one swallow. The Medea of Ovid is to be classed with the
Aeneas of Pomponius Secundus, and the Domitius of Curia-
Tius Maternus, as a play written for the reader, not for the
stage. Augustus was eager to revive the drama, and began
to write an Ajax, which he never finished ; when asked one
day how his hero was progressing, he replied that " he had
fallen on his sponge." Nine tragedies attributed to Seneca
have come down to us, presenting in an exaggerated form all
the vices of his prose as well as its characteristic merits.
While they have had much influence on modern drama, espe-
cially in France, we know nothing of their connection with the
Roman stage. The fabula crepidata had flowered in Accius,
and new forms allied to it in kind and effect did not suggest
themselves to the Romans.

For with the Romans, when a literary form had developed
to the height of excellence, the course of advance possible for
the future seemed to be turning to a new or undeveloped
form capable of producing results similar to those won from
the form thus exhausted. And in comedy they showed them-
selves more resourceful. After Terence perfected the palliata,
we read of translations from Menander by Turpilius, of
which the few fragments preserved seem dull enough. But
L. Afranius, a contemporary of Laelius and the younger
Scipio, ventured to leave the path trodden by the Greeks and
set before the Romans on the stage their ov/n domestic doings
in what were called fabulae togatae. Not that he emphasized
what was national in his plays, for he rather seems, like Men-
ander, to have arrived at a picture of human nature on uni-
versal lines, with the virtues and vices incident to it in all
lands. He is reproached by Quintilian for soiling his plots

THE LATIN DRAMATISTS 17

piicroriim foedis amoribus, " foul loves of boys," — not a vice
native in Rome, but rather one of the thefts from Menander,
for which men of his day censured him. The Latinity of the
fragments that we have from him seems to justify the
praise of older critics, who spoke of him rather than of Ter-
ence as the Roman Menander. He had been preceded in the
togatae by Titinius, of whose date or life we know nothing,
but whose work the Romans praise in high terms, ranking it
next to Terence ; but Atta, who follows him, is the example
chosen by Horace of what is most unworthy of praise in the
Roman drama.

Atta died in yy B.C. and already Pomponius and Novius
had attempted to raise the old Atellane fable to a literary
form. This Campanian folk-play seems to have resembled
nothing so much as our own Christmas pantomimes, and
our clown, pantaloon and harlequin have their prototypes in
its clever Dossennus or hump-backed slave, its Bucco with
swollen cheeks inviting the buffet, and its Maccus or love-sick
youth. It was used as an after-play — the English curtain
raiser — and high literary excellence from so slight a form
was scarcely to be expected. The titles and the few frag-
ments left us indicate a descent into gross and shameless
obscenity.

A form that promised less than the Atellan fable was pro-
ductive of nobler and more lasting results, the old Mime or
comic dance, without words at first but pointing its obscene
allusion merely by gestures, shortly came in to supersede it as
an after-play and became used, too, as an interlude in festivals
and games. It must have attained to speech long before this,
for we read of a successful suit brought by Accius against a
mimic actor, who ventured to assail him by name on the
stage. This kind reached its perfection in Caesar's day in
the mimes of Laberius and Publilius Syrus.

Decimus Laberius was a Roman knight, who, though he
could not appear in his pieces without disgrace, was forced
upon the stage by Caesar, when he prefaced his play by the
dignified and graceful prologue which has come down to us.
The fragments of his mimes, though not free from obscenity,
are elegant and pointed in their sarcasms directed against the

18 INTRODUCTION

dictator who was then " leading- the conquered Quirites to his
lash." His answering taunt

Necesse est multos timeat quern multi timent,
" He needs must fear many, whom many fear,"

gives us a taste of his quality.

The knight thus disgraced by Caesar was further mortified
by the victory of his rival, Pxjblilius Syrus, a slave from
Antioch. We know but little of his mimics, not even the title
of more than two of them, though they are said to have held
the stage till Nero's day. But he was noted, like Menander,
for his pithy proverbs and telling maxims. Of these we have
a collection of about looo verses, passing under his name,
and giving him an honorable place in literature.

But already the plehecula Remi had tasted blood in the
amphitheatre; the real tragedies of the arena were more to
its taste than any literary fiction. We read of endeavors to
win their attention under Nero by nailing actors to the cross
in grim earnest; but the drama could not hold its ground
against the gladiators' game where life was the forfeit; and
the old humane entertainment provided by Accius or Plautus
had no charm for the blood-thirsty mob, which it was now a
necessity for the emperors to appease. Nor can we console
ourselves with the reflection that it had already attained the
excellence reached by the Romans in other forms of literary
composition. Roman fertility in dramatic production came
before Latin had developed its golden form, and Quintilian
is justified in acknowledging, when he compares the Latin
drama with the Greek, e^u* levem consequimur umbram, "we
scarcely attain a poor shadow."

THE

COMEDIES OF PLAUTUS

Miles Gloriosus [The Braggart Captain]
Men^chmi [The Twin-Brothers]
Captivi [The Captives]

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE BY
HENRY THOMAS RILEY, M.A.

WITH AN INTRODUCTORY LIFE OF PLAUTUS

BY THE

REV. W. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A.

INTRODUCTION

LIFE OF PLAUTUS

Titus Maccius Plautus — the second would be what we
should call his surname, and the last simply means *' flat-
foot " ^ in the dialect of Umbria, the district in which he was
born — was a man of humble origin, the son, according to
some authorities, of a slave. But little is known with any
certainty on these points. He is said to have made
money in trade, and to have lost it again; to have then
worked as a stage carpenter or machinist, and so perhaps
to have acquired his theatrical taste. These early associ-
ations are taken also, by some critics, as an explanation of
some rudeness and coarseness in his plays; for which, how-
ever, the popular taste is quite as likely to have been account-
able as any peculiar tendencies of the writer. Like that
marvel of dramatic prolificness. Lope de Vega, who quotes
him as an apology, Plautus wrote for the people, and might
have pleaded, as the Spaniard did, that " it was only fair that
the customers should be served with what suited their taste.''
The masses who thronged the Roman theaters had not the fine
intellect of the Commons of Athens. Aristophanes could
never have depended upon them for the appreciation of his
double-edged jests, or appealed to them as critical judges of

^ Literary tradition in some quarters asserted that in his comedy
" Pseudolus," he introduced a sketch — certainly not too flattering —
of his own personal appearance:

" A red-haired man, with round protuberant belly,
Legs with stout calves, and of a swart complexion:
Large head, keen eyes, red face, and monstrous feet."
21

22 INTRODUCTION

humor. The less keen but more poHshed dialogue and didac-
tic moralizing of Menander would have been still less at-
tractive to such an audience as that to which Plautus had to
look for favor. The games of the circus — the wild-beast
fight and the gladiators, the rope-dancers, the merry-andrews,
and the posture-masters — ^were more to their taste than clever
intrigue and brilliant dialogue.

Plautus — we know him now only by his sobriquet — began
his career as a dramatist B.C. 224. He continued to write
for the stage, almost without a rival in popularity, until his
death, forty years later. How many comedies he produced
during his long service of the public we do not know : twenty
remain bearing his name, all which are considered to be genu-
ine. All, with the exception probably of ''Amphitryon," are
taken from Greek originals. It is not necessary here to give
a list of their titles ; the most interesting of them will be no-
ticed in their order. With Greek characters, Greek names,
and Greek scenery, he gives us undoubtedly the Roman man-
ners of his day, which are illustrated more fully in his pages
than in those of the more refined Terence. Let the scene of
the drama lie where it will, we are in the streets of Rome all
the while. Athenians, Thebans, or Ephesians, his dramatis
personce are all of one country, just as they speak one
language; they are no more real Greeks than Shakespeare's
Othello is a Moor, or his Proteus a "gentleman of Verona'*
— except in the bill of the play. So little attempt does he
make to keep up anything like an illusion on this point, that
he even speaks of " triumvirs " at Thebes, builds a '' Capitol "
at Epidaurus, and makes his characters talk about "living
like those Greeks,'' and "drinking like Greeks," utterly care-
less of the fact that they are supposed to be Greeks them-
selves. He is as independent of such historical and geograph-
ical trifles as our own great dramatist when he makes Hector
quote Aristotle, or gives a sea-coast to Bohemia. But he has
the justification which all great dramatists would fairly
plead ; that his characters, though distinctly national in color,
are in a wider sense citizens of the world; they speak, in
whatever language, the sentiments of civilized mankind.

However coarse in many respects the matter and style of

LIFE OF PLAUTUS 23

Plautus may appear to us, it is certain that good judges
amongst those who were more nearly his contemporaries
thought very highly of his diction. It was said of him by
^lius Stolo that '' if the Muses ever spoke Latin, it would be
the Latin of Plautus." Perhaps he was the first who raised
conversational Latin to the dignity of a literary style.

His plays are in most cases introduced by a prologue,
spoken sometimes by one of the characters in the play, and
sometimes by a mythological personage, such as Silenus or
Arcturus. The prologue generally gives an outline of the
plot, and this has been objected to by some critics as destroy-
ing the interest of the action which is to follow. But a sim-
ilar practice has been adopted of late years in our own
theaters, of giving the audience, in the play-bill, a sketch of
the leading scenes and incidents; and this is generally found
to increase the intelligent enjoyment of the play itself. The
prologues of Plautus frequently also contain familiar appeals
on the part of the manager to the audience, and give us a
good deal of information as to the materials of which the
audience was composed. The mothers are requested to leave
their babies at home, for the babies' sakes as well as for the
sake of the people; and the children who are in the theater
are begged not to make a noise. The slaves are desired not
to occupy the seats, which are not intended for them, but to
be content with standing-room; protests are made against
the system of claqueurs — friends of some favorite actor,
who gave their applause unfairly, to the discredit of others:
and the wives are requested not to interrupt the performance
with their chatter, and so annoy their husbands who are come
to see the play. Remarks of this kind, addressed to the
"house," are not confined, however, to the prologue, but
occur here and there in the scene itself; these last are evident
relics of the earlier days of comedy, for we find no such in
the plays of Terence.

'"^

MILES GLORIOSUS

[THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN]

DRAMATIS PERSONS

Pyrgopolinices^ the Braggart Captain.

Artotrogus^ a Parasite.

Periplecomenus, an old gentleman, friend of Pleusicles.

Pleusicles^ a young Athenian.

Pal^strio_, servant of Pyrgopolinices.

Sceledrus, another servant of Pyrgopolinices.

LucRio^ a lad, an under-servant of Pyrgopolinices.

Cario^ cook to Periplecomentis.

A Boy.

Philocomasium, the mistress of Pyrgopolinices.
AcROTELEUTiUM, a Courtcsan.
MiLPHiDippA, her maid.
Slaves.

Scene — Ephesus: a Street before the houses of Peripleco-
menus and Pyrgopolinices, which adjoin each other.

ARGUMENT

Pleusicles, a young Athenian, in love \vith Philocomasium, a Cour-
tesan of Athens, who returns his affection, is sent on public business to
Naupactus. In his absence a certain Captain of Ephesus, Pyrgopolinices
by name, comes to Athens, and ingratiates himself with her mother, in
order to get Philocomasium into his power. Having deceived the mother,
he places the daughter on board ship and carries her off to Ephesus. On
this, Palaestrio, a faithful servant of Pleusicles, embarks for Naupactus,
to tell his master what has happened. The ship being taken by pirates,
he is made captive, and by chance is presented as a gift to Pyrgopo-
linices. He recognises the mistress of Pleusicles in the Captain's house;
but he carefully conceals from the Captain who he himself is. He then
privately writes to Pleusicles, requesting him to come to Ephesus. On
arriving, Pleusicles is hospitably entertained by Periplecomenus, a friend
of his father, an old gentleman who lives next door to the Captain. As
Philocomasium has a private room of her own in the Captain's house, a
hole is made through the partition wall, and by this contrivance she
meets Pleusicles in the house of his entertainer, who gives his sanction
to the plan.

At this juncture, the play begins. A servant of the Captain, named
Sceledrus, in pursuing a monkey along the roof of the house, looks down
the skylight of the house next door, and there sees Pleusicles and Philo-
comasium toying with each other. This espial being discovered, a plan
is arranged, by which Sceledrus shall not only not divulge to the Captain
what he has seen, but shall even be made to believe that he has not
actually seen it himself. Palaestrio, therefore, persuades him that the twin-
sister of Philocomasium has arrived at Ephesus, and with her lover is
staying at their neighbour's house. Palaestrio also makes the Captain
believe that the wife of his neighbour, Periplecomenus, is in love with
him. Through his agency, a Courtesan, named Acroteleutium, pretends
that she is the wife so desperately in love with the Captain. He believes
this story, and, that he may the more conveniently receive her in his
house, by the advice of Palaestrio, he sends Philocomasium away, and
gives her into the charge of Pleusicles, who is disguised in the dress of
a master of a ship. They go to the harbour and set sail, accompanied by
Palaestrio, whom the Captain has given to Philocomasium at her request.
The Captain, then, at the invitation of the maid of Acroteleutium, goes to
the house next door, to visit her mistress. On this, Periplecomenus and
his servants sally forth upon him, and beat and strip him, letting him go,
after they have exacted from him a confession that he has been rightly
served, and a promise that he will molest no one in return for the treat-
ment he has received.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN

ACT THE FIRST

SCENE I

Enter Pyrgopolinices, Artotrogus^ '(the Parasite), and

Soldiers. •

Pyrg. Take ye care that the lustre of my shield is more
bright than the rays of the sun are wont to be at the time
when the sky is clear; that when occasion comes, the battle
being joined, 'mid the fierce ranks right opposite it may dazzle
the eyesight of the enemy. But, I wish to console this sabre
of mine, that it may not lament nor be downcast in spirits,
because I have thus long been wearing it keeping holiday,
which so longs right dreadfully to make havoc of the enemy.
But where is Artotrogus?

Arto. Here he is; he stands close by the hero, valiant
and successful, and of princely form. Mars could not dare to
style himself a warrior so great, nor compare his prowess
with yours.

Pyrg. Him you mean whom I spared on the Gorgonido-
nian plains, where Bumbomachides Clytomestoridysarchides,^
the grandson of Neptune, was the chief commander ?

1 The literal meaning of the name of the swaggering Captain is " the
much-conquering tower." " Artotrogus " means " bread-eater." The
word " Parasite " properly denotes " one person who dines with an-
other." These hangers-on first received that name from Alexis, the
Greek Comedian. Their chief characteristics were flattery, impor-
tunity, love of sensual pleasure, and the desire of getting a good din-
ner without paying for it. It was their method to frequent places
of public resort with the view of obtaining a dinner at the price of
being the butt of their entertainer.

2 These three crackjaw names are mere gibberish, derived from
Greek or Latin words.

28 PLAUTUS

Arto. I remember him; him, I suppose, you mean with
the golden armor, whose legions you puffed away with your
breath just as the wind blows away leaves or the reed-thatched
roof.

Pyrg. That, on my troth, was really nothing at all.

Arto. Faith, that really was nothing at all in comparison
with other things I could mention — (aside) which you never
did. If any person ever beheld a more perjured fellow than
this, or one more full of vain boasting, faith let him have me
for himself, I'll resign myself for his slave; if 'tis not the
fact that my one mess of olive pottage is eaten up by me right
ravenously.

Pyrg. Where are you ? Arto. Lo ! here am I. V troth
in what a fashion it was you broke the fore-leg of even an
elephant, in India, with your fist.

Pyrg. How? — the fore-leg? Arto. I meant to say this
— the thigh.

Pyrg. I struck the blow without an effort.

Arto. Troth, if, indeed, you had put forth your strength,
your arm would have passed right through the hide, the en-
trails, and the frontispiece of the elephant.

Pyrg. I don't care for these things just now.

Arto. I' faith, 'tis really not worth the while for you to
tell me of it, who know right well your prowess. ( Aside.)
'Tis my appetite creates all these plagues. I must hear him
right out with my ears, that my teeth mayn't have time to
grow,^ and whatever lie he shall tell, to it I must agree.

Pyrg. What was it I was saying?

Arto. O, I know what you were going to say just now.
r faith 'twas bravely done; I remember its being done.

Pyrg. What was that ? Arto. Whatever it was you
were going to say.

Pyrg. Have you got your tablets ? ^ Arto. Are you in-
tending to enlist ? I have them, and a pen as well.

^ i. e., as a rodent's, for lack of something to gnaw.
2 The Parasite asks him if he is going to enlist, as the tablets would
be wanted in the Forum, for the purpose of taking down the oaths,
and entering the names the parties were sworn,

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN • 29

Pyrg. How cleverly you do suit your mind to my own
mind.

Arto. 'Tis fit that I should know your inclinations stu-
diously, so that whatever you wish should first occur to me.

Pyrg. What do you remember? Arto. I do remem-
ber this. In Cilicia there were a hundred and fifty men, a
hundred in Cryphiolathronia,^ thirty at Sardis, sixty men of
Macedon, whom you slaughtered altogether in one day.

Pyrg. What is the sum total of those men ?

Arto. Seven thousand. Pyrg. It must be as much;
you keep the reckoning well.

Arto. Yet I have none of them written down ; still, so
I remember it was.

Pyrg. By my troth, you have a right good memory.

Arto. (aside), 'Tis the flesh-pots give it a fillip.

Pyrg. So long as you shall do such as you have done
hitherto, you shall always have something to eat: I will al-
ways make you a partaker at my table.

Arto. Besides, in Cappadocia, you would have killed five
hundred men altogether at one blow, had not your sabre been
blunt.

Pyrg. I let them live, because I was quite sick of fight-
ing.

Arto. Why should I tell you what all mortals know,
that you, Pyrgopolinices, live alone upon the earth, with
valour, beauty, and achievements most unsurpassed? All
the women are in love with you, and that not without reason,
since you are so handsome. Witness those girls that pulled
me by my mantle yesterday.

Pyrg. What was it they said to you?

Arto. They questioned me about you. "Is Achilles
here?" says one to me. **No," says I, "his brother is.'*
Then says the other to me : " By my troth, but he is a hand-
some and a noble man. See how his long hair becomes him.
Certainly the women are lucky who share his favours.'*

Pyrg. And pray, did they really say so?

^This word is mere gibberish; it is compounded of Greek words,
which make it mean "the place of hidden secrecy."

30 PLAUTUS

Arto. They both entreated me to bring you past to-day
by way of a sight to them.

Pyrg. 'Tis really a very great plague to be too handsome
a man.

Arto. They are quite a nuisance to me; they are pray-
ing, entreating, beseeching me, to let them see you; bidding
me be fetched to them; so that I can't give my attention to
your business.

Pyrg. It seems that it is time for us to go to the Forum,
that I may count out their pay to those soldiers whom I have
enlisted of late. For King Seleucus ^ entreated me with most
earnest suit that I would raise and enlist recruits for him.
To that business have I resolved to devote my attention this
day.

Argo. Come, let's be going then. Pyrg. Guards, fol-
low me. (Exeunt.

ACT THE SECOND

SCENE I

The Prologue

Enter Pal^strio.

Pal. To tell the subject of this our play, I have all will-
ingness, if you will but have the kindness to listen to it. But
he who does not wish to listen, let him arise and go out, that
there may be room where he may sit who does wish to listen.
Now I will disclose to you both the subject and the name of
the play which we are just now about to act, and for the sake
of which you are now seated in this mirthful place. ** Alazon "
is the name, in Greek, of this comedy; the same we call in
Latin, "the Braggart'* (Gloriosus).^ This city is Ephesus;
then, the Captain, my master, who has gone off hence to the
Forum, a bragging, impudent, stinking fellow, brimful of
lying and lasciviousness, says that all the women are follow-

^The King of that part of Asia Minor where Ephesus was situate.
2 It is not known who was the Greek author from whom Plautus
took this play, which is one of his best.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 31

ing him of their own accord. Wherever he goes, he is the
laughing-stock of all; and so, the Courtesans here — since
they make wry mouths at him, you may see the greater part
of them with lips all awry. I wish you now to know this,
how I came to be his slave, from him to whom I was servant
before; for 'tis not long that I have been in slavery to him.
Give your attention, for now I will begin the argument. A
very worthy young man at Athens was my master. He was
in love with a Courtesan, brought up at Athens, in Attica,
and she on the other hand loved him; such affection is most
w^orthy to be cherished. In the public service, he was sent to
Naupactus ^ as Ambassador on behalf of that mighty repubhc.
In the meantime, by chance, this Captain came to Athens.
He introduced himself to this lady of my master, began to
cajole her mother with presents of wine, trinkets, and costly
treats; and so the Captain made himself on intimate terms
with the procuress. As soon as ever an opportunity was pre-
sented for this Captain, he tricked this procuress, the mother
of the damsel, whom my master loved. For, unknown to her
mother, he put the daughter on board ship, and carried this
woman, against her will, hither to Ephesus. Soon as I knew
that the lady of my master was carried off from Athens, as
quickly as ever I was able, I procured for myself a ship; I
embarked, that I might carry tidings of this matter to my
master at Naupactus. When we had got out to sea, some
pirates, as they had hoped to do, took that ship on board of
which I was ; thus I was undone before I reached my master,
for whom I had commenced to proceed on my voyage. He
that took me, gave me as a present to this same Captain.
After he had taken me home to his own house, I saw there
that favourite of my master who lived at Athens. When, on
the other hand, she perceived me, she gave me a sign with
her eyes not to address her by name. Afterwards, when
there was an opportunity, the damsel complained to me of her
hard fate. She said that she wished to escape to Athens from
this house, that she was attached to him, that master of mine
v/ho lived at Athens, and that she had never hated any one
more thoroughly than this same Captain. As I discovered

^ A city situate on the sea-coast of -^tolia.

35 PLAUTUS

the feelings of the damsel, I took tablets, sealed them itl
private, and gave them to a certain merchant to carry to him
(my master, I mean, v^ho was at Athens, and who had so
loved her), in order that he might come hither. He did not
slight the message, for he both is come, and is lodging here
next door, with his host, a friend of his father's, a nice old
man. He, too, gives every assistance to his guest in his
amour, and encourages and seconds us with his help and his
advice. Therefore, here (pointing to the Captain's house),
in-doors, I have found a grand contrivance, by which to cause
these lovers, each, to meet the other. For one room, which
the Captain gave to his mistress for no one but herself to set
foot in, in that same room I have dug a hole through the
party-wall, in order that there may secretly be an ingress for
the damsel from the one house to the other. And this I have
done with the knowledge of the old gentleman ; 'twas he that
gave the advice. But my fellow-servant, whom the Captain
has given as a keeper to his mistress, is a person of no great
worth. By clever contrivances and ingenious devices, we will
throw dust in his eyes, and we will make him so as not to see
what he really does see. And that you may not hereafter
make mistakes, this damsel to-day, in this house and in that,
will perform in turn a double part, and will be the same, but
will pretend to be another, person. Thus will the keeper of
the damsel be gulled. But there is a noise at the door here of
the old gentleman our neighbour. 'Tis himself coming out,
'tis he, the nice old man that I was speaking of. (He re-
tires to a distance,)

SCENE II

Enter Periplecomenus from his house.

Perip. (speaking to his servants within). Faith, if you
don't in future smash his ankle-bones for any stranger that
you see on my tiles, I will cut you so with lashes as to make
thongs of your sides. My neighbors, i' faith, are over-
lookers of what is going on in my own house; so often are
they peeping down through the skylight. And now, there-
fore, I give you all notice, whatever person of this Captain's

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 33

household you shall see upon our tiles, except Palasstrlo only,
push him headlong here into the street. Suppose he says that
he is following some hen, or pigeon, or monkey; woe be to
you, if you don't badly maul the fellow even to death. And
so, that they may commit no infringement against the laws
of dice, do you take good care that they keep holiday at home
without any ankle-bones at all.^

Pal. (aside). Something amiss — what, I know not, has
been done him by our family so far as I can hear, inasmuch
as the old man has ordered the ankles of my fellow-servants
to be broken. But he has excepted me; nothing care I what
he does to the rest of them. I'll accost the old man. (Ad-
vances.)

Perip. The person that is coming this way, is he coming
towards me? He comes as if he was coming to me.

Pal. How do you do, Periplecomenus ?

Perip. There are not many men, if I were to wish,
whom I would rather now see and meet with than yourself.

Pal. What's the matter? What disturbance have you
with our family?

Perip. We are done for. Pal. What's the matter?

Perip. The thing's discovered. Pal. What thing's
discovered ?

Perip. Some one just now of your household w^as look-
ing in from the tiles through our skylight at Philocomasium
and my guest as they were toying together.

Pal. What person saw it ?

Perip. Your fellow-servant. Pal. Which person was it ?

Perip. I don't know ; he took himself off so suddenly —
in an instant.

Pal. I suspect I'm ruined. Perip. When he went away,
I cried: "Hallo! you sir!" said I, "what are you doing

1 " Talus " means either a person's " ankle-bone," or the " knuckle-
bone " of an animal, which latter was marked with numbers on four
sides, and used by the Greeks and Romans for dice. The old man
puns on the two meanings, and says, " I'll take care that your ' tali '
(or ankle-bones) are broken, so that you shall not have an oppor-
tunity of infringing the public laws against gambling,"

34 PLAUTUS

upon the tiles ? " As he went away he replied to me in these
terms, that he was following a stray'd monkey.

Pal. Woe to wretched me! that I must be ruined for a
worthless beast. But is Philocomasium there with you even
still?

Perip. When I came out, she was there.

Pal. If she is, then bid her return to our house as soon
as ever she can, that the servants may see that she is at home ;
unless, indeed, she wishes that we, who are slaves, her fellow-
slaves, should all be given up together to tortures by the cross
on account of her courting.

Perip. I bade her do so ; unless you would aught else.

Pal. I would. Tell her this ; that, by my troth, she must
not hesitate at all to bring in play her skill and cleverness.

Perip. In what way ? Pal. That by her words she
may persuade him who saw her here at your house, that he
did not see her. Should he accuse her, on the other hand let
her convince him with her oath. Even though she were seen
a hundred times over, still let her deny it. ( Aside. ) For,
if she is at all inclined to ill, a woman never goes begging to
the gardener for material, she has a garden at home and a
stock of her own for all mischievous contrivances; at home
she has impudence, a lying tongue, perfidiousness, malice, and
boldness, self-conceit, assurance, and deceitfulness — at home
she has wiles — at home captivating contrivances — strata-
gems at home.

Perip. Til tell her this, if she shall be in-doors here
(pointing to his house). But what is it, Palasstrio, that you
are considering with yourself in your mind ?

Pal. Be silent a moment, while I am calling a council in
my mind, and while I am considering what I am to do, what
plan I must contrive, on the other hand, as a match for my
crafty fellow-servant, who has seen her billing here in your
house; so that what was seen may not have been seen.

Perip. Do contrive one ; in the meantime, I'll retire hence
to a distance from you, to this spot. ( He retires to a dis-
tance.) Look at him, please (to the Audience), revolving
his cares with brow severe, how he stands. He strikes his
breast with his fingers. I fancy he's about to call his heart

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 35

outside. See, he shifts his posture; again he places his left
hand upon his left thigh. His right hand is reckoning down
his plans upon his fingers ; in despair he strikes his thigh. His
right hand is moving rapidly; with difficulty does it suggest
what he is to do. He snaps his fingers now; he's striving
hard ; full oft he changes his position. But see how he shakes
his head ; it pleases him not what he has hit upon. Whatever
it is, nothing crude will he bring forth, something well-di-
gested will he produce. But see, he is building ; he has placed
his hand as a pillar beneath his chin. Have done with it ! in
truth, this mode of building pleases me not ; for I have heard
say that the head of a foreign Poet^ is wont to be supported
thus, over whom two guards are ever at all hours keeping
watch. Bravo! how becomingly he stands — i' faith, how
like a very slave, and how faithful to his part. Never, this
day, will he rest, before he has completed that which he is in
search of. He has it, I suspect. Come — to the business
you're about: keep wide awake, think not of sleep; unless,
indeed, you wish to be keeping your watch here all checquered
o'er with stripes. 'Tis I, that am talking to you; schemer,
don't you know that I am speaking to you? Palsestrio!
awake, I say; arouse yourself, I say; 'tis daylight now, I say.
Pal. I hear you. Perip. Don't you see that the enemy
is upon you, and that siege is being laid to your back ? Take
counsel, then; obtain aid and assistance in this matter; the
hastily, not the leisurely, is befitting here. Get the start of
them in some way, and in some direction this moment lead
around your troops. Close round the enemy in siege; pre-
pare the convoy for our side. Cut off the enemy's provision,
secure yourself a passage, by which supplies and provision
may be enabled in safety to reach yourself and your forces.

^ It is generally supposed that Plautus here refers to the Roman poet
Naevius, who had a habit of using this posture, and was, as is
thought, at that moment in prison for having offended, in one of his
Comedies, the family of the Metelli. He was afterwards liberated
on having apologized in his plays, called Hariolus (the Wizard)
and Leo (the Lion), Periplecomenus thinks that this posture bodes
no good, and is ominous of an evil result.

36 PLAUTUS

Look to this business; the emergency is sudden. Invent —
contrive — this instant give us some clever plan; so that that
which has been seen here within, may not have been seen;
that which has been done, may not have been done. There,
my man, you undertake a great enterprise; lofty the defences
which you erect. If you yourself alone but say you under-
take this, I have a certainty that we are able to rout our foes.

Pal. I do say so, and I do undertake it.

Perip. And I do pronounce that you shall obtain that
which you desire.

Pal. May Jupiter kindly bless you then!

Perip. But, friend, do you impart to me the plan which
you have devised.

Pal. Be silent, then, while I am inducting you in the di-
rections of my devices; that you may know as well as my own
self my plans.

Perip. The same you shall receive safe from the same
spot where you have deposited them.

Pal. My master is surrounded with the hide of an ele-
phant, not his own, and has no more wisdom than a stone.

Perip. I myself know the same thing.

Pal. Now, thus I would begin upon my plan ; this con-
trivance I shall act upon. I shall say that her other own twin-
sister has come here from Athens, with a certain person, her
lover, to Philocomasium, as like to her as milk is to milk. I
shall say that they are lodged and entertained here in your
house.

Perip. Bravo! bravo! cleverly thought of. I approve
of your device.

Pal. So that, if my fellow-servant should accuse her be-
fore the Captain, and say that he has seen her here at your
house, toying with another man, I shall assert, on the other
hand, that my fellow-servant has seen the other one, the
sister, at your house, fondling and toying with her own
lover.

Perip. Aye, most excellent. I'll say the same, if the
Captain shall inquire of me.

Pal. But do you say that they are extremely alike; and
this must be imparted in time to Philocomasium, in order

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 37

that she may know; that she mayn't be tripping if the Cap-
tain should question her.

Perip. A very clever contrivance. But if the Captain
should wish to see them both in company together, what shall
we do then ?

Pal. That*s easy enough. Three hundred excuses may
be picked up — she is not at home ; she has gone out walking ;
she is asleep; she is dressing; she is bathing; she is at break-
fast; she is taking dessert; she is engaged; she is enjoying
her rest; in fact, she can't come. There are as many of
these put-offs as you like, if I can only persuade him at the
very outset to believe that to be true which shall be con-
trived.

Perip. I like what you say. Pal. Go in-doors then;
and if the damsel's there, bid her return home directly, and
instruct and tutor her thoroughly in this plan, that she may
understand our scheme, as we have begun it, about the twin-
sister.

Perip. I'll have her right cleverly tutor'd for you. Is
there anything else?

Pal. Only, be off in-doors. Perip. I'm off. ( Exit.

SCENE III
Pal^estrio alone.

Pal. And I'll go home, too; and I'll conceal the fact
that I am giving her my aid in seeking out the man, which
fellow-servant of mine it was, that to-day was following the
monkey. For it cannot be but in his conversation he must
have made some one of the household acquainted about the
lady of his master, how that he himself has seen her next
door here toying with some stranger spark. I know the
habit myself; ** I can't hold my tongue on that which I know
alone." If I find out the person who saw it, I'll plant against
him all my mantelets and covered works. The material is
prepared; 'tis a sure matter that I must take this person by
force, and by thus besieging him. If so I don't find the man,
just like a hound I'll go smelling about, even until I shall have
traced out the fox by his track. But our door makes a noise :

38 PLAUTUS

I'll lower my voice; for here is the keeper of Philocomasium,
my fellow-servant, coming out of doors. ( Stands aside.)

SCENE IV
Enter Sceledrus from the Captain^s house.

ScEL. Unless, in fact, I have been walking this day in
my sleep upon the tiles, i' faith, I know for sure that I have
seen here, at our neighbour's next door, Philocomasium, the
lady of my master, on the high road to mischief to herself.

Pal. (aside). 'Twas he that saw her billing, so far as
I have heard him say.

ScEL. Who's that? Pal. Your fellow-servant How
are you, Sceledrus ?

ScEL. I am glad that I have met you, Palsestrio.

Pal. What now? Or what's the matter? Let me
know.

ScEL. Fm afraid. Pal. What are you afraid of?

ScEL. By my troth, lest, this day, as many domestics as
there are of us here, we shall jump into a most woful punish-
ment by way of torture.

Pal. Jump you alone, please; for I don't at all like this
jumping in and jumping out.

ScEL. Perhaps you don't know what new mischance has
happened at home?

Pal. What mischance is this? Scel. A disgraceful
one.

Pal. Do you then keep it to yourself alone : don't tell it
me ; I don't want to know it.

Scel. But I won't let you not know it. To-day I was
following our monkey upon the tiles, next door there.
(Points to the house.)

Pal. By my troth, Sceledrus, a worthless fellow, you
were following a worthless beast.

Scel. The Gods confound you! Pal. That befits
yourself, since you began the conversation.

Scel. By chance, as it happened, I looked down there
through the skylight, into the next house; and there I saw

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 39

Philocomasium toying with some strange young man, I know-
not whom.

Pal. What scandalous thing is this I hear of you, Scel-
edrus ?

ScEL. r faith, I did see her, beyond a doubt.

Pal. What, yourself? Scel. Yes, I myself, with
these eyes of mine.

Pal. Get away, it isn't likely what you say, nor did you
see her.

Scel. Do I, then, appear to you as if I were purblind?

Pal. 'Twere better for you to ask the doctor about that.
But, indeed, if the Gods only love you, don't you rashly father
this idle story. Now are you breeding thence a fatal dilemma
for your legs and head; for, in two ways, the cause is con-
trived for you to be ruined, unless you put a check upon your
foolish chattering.

Scel. But how, two ways? Pal. I'll tell you. First
then, if you falsely accuse Philocomasium, by that you are
undone; in the next place, if it is true, having been appointed
her keeper, there you are undone.

Scel. What may happen to me, I know not ; I know for
certain that I did see this.

Pal. Do you persist in it, unfortunate wretch?

Scel. What would you have me say to you, but that I
did see her? Moreover, she is in there, next door, at this
very moment.

Pal. What! Isn't she at home?

Scel. Go and see. Go in-doors yourself; for I don't
ask now for any confidence to be put in me.

Pal. I'm determined to do so. Scel. I'll wait here
for you. (Pal^strio goes into the Captain's house.)

SCENE V

ScELEDRUS, alone.

Scel. In this direction will I be on the watch for her,
how soon the heifer may betake herself from the pasture this
way towards her stall. What now shall I do ? The Captain
gave me to her as her keeper. Now, if I make a discovery,

40 PLAUTUS

I'm undone; if I am silent, still I am undone, if this should
be discovered. What is there more abandoned or more dar-
ing than a woman ? While I was upon the tiles, this woman
betook herself out of doors from her dwelling. By my troth,
'twas a brazen act she did. If, now, the captain were to know
of this, i' faith, I believe he would pull down the whole entire
house next door, and me he would send to the gibbet.
Whatever comes of it, i' faith, I'll hold my tongue rather than
come to a bad end. I cannot keep effectual guard on a
woman that puts herself up for sale.

SCENE VI

Enter Pal;estrio from the Captain's hotise.

Pal. Sceledrus, Sceledrus, what one man is there on
earth more impudent than yourself? Who more than your-
self has been born with the Deities hostile and enraged?

ScEL. What's the matter? Pal. Do you want those
eyes of yours gouged out, with which you see what never
existed ?

ScEL. How, what never existed? Pal. I would not
buy your life at the price of a rotten nut.

ScEL. Why, what's the matter? Pal. What's the
matter, do you ask?

ScEL. And why shouldn't I ask? Pal. Why don't
you beg for that tongue of yours to be cut out, that prates
so at random?

ScEL. Why should I beg for that?

Pal. Why, Philocomasium is there at home, she whom
you were saying that you had seen next door kissing and toy-
ing with another man,

ScEL. 'Tis a wonder that you are in the habit of feeding
on darnel,^ with wheat, at so low a price.

Pal. Why so? Scel. Because you are so dim of
sight.

1 The seed of this weed, which grows among wheat, was supposed
not only to cause the person eating to appear as if intoxicated, but
very seriously to affect the eyesight.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 41

Pal. You gallows-bird, 'tis you, indeed, that are blind,
with a vengeance, and not dim of sight; for, sure enough,
there she is at home.

ScEL. How? At home? Pal. At home, i' faith, un-
doubtedly.

ScEL. Be off with you; you are playing with me,
Palasstrio.

Pal. My hands are dirty, then. Scel. How so?

Pal. Because I am playing with dirt.

Scel. A mischief on your head. Pal. Nay rather,
Sceledrus, it shall be on yours, I promise you, unless you
change for fresh your eyes and your talk. But our door
made a noise.

Scel. Well, I shall watch here out of doors ; for there is
no way by which she can pass hence in-doors, except through
the front door.

Pal. But there she is, at home. I don't know, Sceledrus,
what mischief is possessing you?

Scel. I see for my own self, I judge for my own self, I
have especial faith in my own self; no man shall frighten me
out of it, but that she is in that house. (Points to the house
of Periplecomenus.) Here I'll take my stand, that she
may not steal out home without my knowledge.

Pal (aside). This fellow is in my hands; now will I
drive him from his strong hold. (To Sceledrus.) Do you
wish me now to make you own that you don't see correctly?

Scel. Come, do it then. Pal. And that you neither
think aright in your mind, nor yet make use of your eyes?

Scel. I'd have you do it. Pal. Do you say, then, that
the lady of your master is there in that house?

Scel. I assert, as well, that I saw here here in this house
(points to the house of Periplecomenus), toying with a
strange man.

Pal. Don't you know that there is no communication
between our house here and that one?

Scel. I know it. Pal. Neither by the terrace, nor by
the garden, only through the skylight?

Scel. I know it. Pal. What then, if she is now at
home? If I shall make her, so as you may see her, come out

42 PLAUTUS

hence from our house, are you not deserving of many a
lashing ?

ScEL. I am so deserving. Pal. Watch that door, then,
that she may not privily betake herself out thence without
your knowledge and pass here into our house.

ScEL. 'Tis my intention to do so. Pal. Upon her
feet^ will I place her this moment here before you in the
street.

ScEL. Come, then, and do so. (Paljestrio goes into
the Captain's house.) ^

SCENE VII

ScELEDRUS alone,
ScEL. I wish to know, whether I did see that which I
did see, or whether he can do that which he says he can do —
make her to be at home. For, really, Thave eyes of my
own, and I don't ask to borrow them out of doors. But
this fellow is for ever fawning about her; he is always near
her; he is called first to meat, his mess is given to him first.
For this fellow has been, perhaps about three years with us ;
nor fares it better with any other servant in our family than
with him. But it is necessary for me to mind what I am
about; to keep my eye upon this door. If I take my station
here, this way, i' faith, I warrant they will never impose
on me.

SCENE VIII

Enter Pal^strio and Philocomasium from the Captain's

house.

Pal. (speaking to her in a low voice as he enters). Be
sure to remember my instructions.

Phil, (aside). It's strange you should so often remind
me.

Pal. (aside). But I fear you may not prove cunning
enough.

Phil, (aside). Give me even ten scholars, though far
from artful, I could instruct them so as to prove artful; in

i. e., " and not flying with wings, as you seem to expect."

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 43

me alone is there a superabundance of artfulness ; come, then,
now put your plans in force; I'll step aside here. (Steps
aside. )

Pal. What have you to say, Sceledrus?

ScEL. (not lifting up his eyes). I'm about this business
of mine : I have got ears, say what you please.

Pal. I think that in that self-same position ^ you will
have to die outside the gates, when, with hands outstretched,
you will be carrying your cross.

ScEL. For what reason so? Pal. Just look on your
left hand; who is that lady?

ScEL. (looking). O ye immortal Gods, it really is the
lady of my master!

Pal. I' faith, so she seems to me as well. Do then, now,
since so you would have it

ScEL. Do what? Pal. Die this very instant.

Phil, (advancing). Where is this faithful servant, who
has falsely accused me in my innocence of this most heinous
crime ?

Pal. See, here he is; 'tis he that told it me — assuredly
'twas he.

Phil. Villain, did you say that you had seen me next
door here kissing?

Pal. Besides, he said it was with some strange young
man.

ScEL. r faith, I did say so, undoubtedly.

Phil. You, saw me? Scel. Yes, with these self-same
eyes.

Phil. I fancy you will lose those eyes, which see more
than what they really do see.

Scel. By my faith, I shall never be intimidated from
having seen what I really did see.

Phil. In my foolishness I am delaying too long in par-
leying with this madman, whom, by the powers, I'll punish
with death.

Scel. Forbear to threaten me: I know that the cross
will prove my tomb ; there are laid my forefathers, my father,

* Sceledrus is standing before the door with both arms stretched out
that Philocomasium may not come out without his knowing.

44 PLAUTUS

grandfather, great-grandfather, great-great-grandfather. Tis
not in possibiHty, however, for these eyes of mine to be
dug out ^ by your threats. But I want a few words with you ;
prithee, Palsestrio, whence came she hither?

Pal. Whence but from our house? Scel. From our
house ?

Pal. Do you credit me? Scel. I do credit you: but
'tis a thing to be wondered at, how she has been able to re-
turn from that house to ours. For, beyond a doubt, we have
neither a terrace to our house, nor any garden, nor any win-
dow but what is latticed. {To Philocomasium.) But, un-
doubtedly, I did see you in the house next door.

Pal. Do you persist, you rascal, in pretending to accuse
her?

Phil. In good sooth, then, the dream has not turned
out untrue, that I dreamed last night.

Pal. What did you dream? Phil. I'll tell you; but,
I pray you, give attention. Last night, in my sleep, my twin-
sister seemed to have come from Athens to Ephesus with a
certain person, her lover. Both of them seemed to me to be
having their lodgings here next door.

Pal. {to the Audience). The dream that's being related
is Palaestrio's — ^pray, go on.

Phil. I seemed to be delighted because my sister had
come, and on her account I seemed to be incurring a most
grievous suspicion. For, in my sleep, my own servant seemed
to accuse me, as you are now doing, of being caressed by a
strange young man, whereas it was that own twin-sister of
mine, who has been toying with her own friend. Thus did

1 dream that I was wrongfully accused of a crime.

Pal. And isn't just the same thing befalling you when
awake, that you speak of as seen in your sleep? Capital; i'
faith, the dream is verified : go in-doors, and pray.^ I should
recommend that this be told to the Captain.

* That is, " you cannot make me not to have seen what I really
did see."

2 After any ill-omened dream, it was the custom to offer corn and
frankincense to Jupiter Prodigialis, " the disposer of prodigies," and
other of the Deities, in order that evil might be averted.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 45

Phil. I am resolved to do so; nor, in fact, will I allow
myself, with impunity, to be accused of disgraceful conduct.
{Goes into the Captain's house.)

SCENE IX

SCELEDRUS, PaL^STRIO.

ScEt. I fear for the thing I have done ; my back does so
tingle all over.

Pal. Are you not aware that you are done for?

ScEL. Now, indeed, I'm sure she is at home; I am now
resolved to watch our door, wheresoever she may be. {Places
himself at the door,)

Pal. But, prithee, Sceledrus, how very like the dream
she dreamt to what has happened; and how you really did
believe that you had seen her kissing. . . .

ScEL. And do you suppose that I didn't see her?

Pal. r faith, I verily believe you'll come to your senses
when 'tis too late. If this matter should only reach our
master, you certainly are undone.

ScEL. Now, at length, I find out that there was a mist
placed before my eyes.

Pal. I' faith, that really has been plain for some time
now; as she was here in-doors all the while.

ScEL. Not a word of certainty have I to utter; I did not
see her, although I did see her.

Pal. By my troth, through this folly of yours you cer-
tainly have nearly ruined us ; while you have wished to prove
yourself faithful to your master, you have been almost un-
done. But the door of our next neighbour makes a noise; I'll
be silent.

SCENE X

Enter Philocomasium/ dressed in another habit, from the
house of Periplecomenus.

Phil, {to a Servant). Put fire on the altar, that in

^ Sceledrus having been duly prepared, Philocomasium appears as
her twin-sister, who is supposed to have come the day before from

46 PLAUTUS

my joy I may return praise and thanks to Diana of Ephesus,
and that I may send up for her a grateful smoke with odours
of Arabia ; she who has preserved me in the realms of Nep-
tune and amid the boisterous temples/ where with raging
billows I have been so recently dismayed.

ScEL. (discovering her). Palgestrio! O Palaestrio!

Pal. Sceledrus! O Sceledrus! What is it you want?

ScEL. This lady that has come out of that house just
now — is she Philocomasium, our master's lady, or is she not?

Pal. I' faith, I think, it seems to be she. But 'tis a
wondrous thing how she could pass from our house to next
door; if, indeed, it is she.

ScEL. And have you any doubt that this is she?

Pal. It seems to be she. Scel. Let us approach her,
and accost her. Hallo! how's this, Philocomasium? What
is there owing to you in that house? What is your business
there? Why are you silent now? I am speaking to you.

Pal. No, faith, you are talking to yourself; for nothing
at all does she answer.

Scel. I am addressing you, woman, brimful of vicious-
ness and disgrace, who are roaming about among your neigh-
bours.

Phil. To whom are you talking? Scel. To whom
but to yourself.

Phil. What person are you? Or what business have
you with me?

Scel. O, you ask me who I am, do you?

Phil. Why shouldn't I ask that which I don't know?

Pal. Who am I, then, if you don't know him?

Phil. You are an annoyance to me, whoever you are,
both you and he.

Scel. What? don't you know us? Phil. No, neither
of you.

Athens to Ephesus. As the circumstance of the communication be-
tween the houses is known to the Audience, and is not suspected
by Sceledrus, his embarrassment is highly diverting, and very
cleverly depicted.

^Neptune and the inferior Sea Divinities are supposed to have their
temples in the seas and rivers.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 47

ScEL. I very much fear • Pal. What do you fear?

ScEL. Why, that we have lost ourselves somewhere or
other ; for she says that she knows neither you nor me.

Pal. I wish, Sceledrus, to examine into this, whether we
are ourselves, or else some other persons; lest secretly some-
how some one of our neighbours may have transformed us
without our knowing it.

ScEL. For my part, beyond a doubt, I am my own self.

Pal. I' faith, and so am I. Scel. My lady, you are
seeking your destruction. To you I am speaking; hark you,
Philocomasium !

Phil. What craziness possesses you, to be calling me
wrongly by a crackjaw name?

Scel. How now! What are you called, then?

Phil. My name is Glycera. Scel. For a bad purpose,
Philocomasium, you wish to have a wrong name. Away with
you, shocking woman; for most notably are you doing a
wrong to my master.

Phil. I ? Scel. Yes, you.

Phil. I, who arrived from Athens yesterday evening at
Ephesus, with my lover, a young man of Athens ?

Scel. Tell me, what business have you here in Ephesus ?

Phil. I had heard that my own twin-sister is here in
Ephesus; I came here to look for her.

Scel. You're a good-for-nothing woman.

Phil. Yes, i' faith, I am a very foolish one to be parley-
ing with you fellows. I am going.

Scel. I won't let you go. (Catches hold of her.)'

Phil. Let me go. Scel. You are discovered in the
fact. I won't let you go.

Phil. But my hands shall just now sound again against
your cheeks, if you don't let me go.

Scel. (to Pal^strio). Why the plague are you stand-
ing idle ? Why don't you hold her on the other side ?

Pal. I don't choose to bring the business down upon
my back. How do I know but that this is not Philocomasium,
but is some other female that resembles her?

Phil. Will you let me go, or will you not let me go?

Scel. No; by force and against your will, in spite of

48 PLAUTUS

you, I'll drag you home, unless you'll go of your own
accord.

Phil, (pointing to the house of Periplecomenus). This
is my lodging here abroad, at Athens is my home.

ScEL. But your master lives here (poifiting to the Cap-
taints house).

Phil. I have nothing to do with that house, nor do I
know or understand yourselves what persons you are.

ScEL. Proceed against me at law. I'll never let you go,
until you give me your solemn word that you will go in-doors
here (pointing to the Captain^s house) if I let go of you.

Phil. You are compelling me by force, whoever you
are. I give you my word, that if you let go of me, I will
go into that house where you bid me.

ScEL. Then, now I let go of you. Phil. And, as I'm
let go, I'll go in here. (Runs into the house of Peripleco-
menus.)

SCENE XI

SCELEDRUS, PaL^STRIO.

ScEL. She has acted with a woman's honour.

Pal. Sceledrus, you've lost the prey through your
hands; as sure as possible she is the lady of our master.
Do you intend to act in this matter with spirit?

ScEL. How am I to act? Pal. Bring me a sword out
here from in-doors.

ScEL. What will you do with it?

Pal. ril break right into the house; and whatever man
I see in-doors there caressing Philocomasium, I'll behead him
on the spot.

ScEL. And do you think that it was she?

Pal. I' faith, it was she, sure enough. Scel. But how
she did dissemble.

Pal. Go, bring me a sword out here.

ScEL. I'll have it here this moment. (Goes into the
Captain^s house.)

SCENE XII

Pal^strio alone.

Pal. Beyond a doubt, neither any horse nor foot has so

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 49

great a degree of boldness in carrying out anything v/ith as
much confidence as some women. How cleverly and how
skilfully she performed her part in both her characters! —
how her wary keeper, my fellow-servant, is being gulled!
'Tis most fortunate that the passage communicates through
the party-wall.

SCENE xni

Enter Sceledrus from the Captain's house,

ScEL. Hallo! Palsestrio, there's no occasion for the
sword.

Pal. How so? — or what's the matter now?

ScEL. Our master's lady is here, at home.

Pal. What? At home? Scel. She's lying on the
sofa.

Pal. Faith, but youVe certainly brought on yourself a
disagreeable affair, according to what you report.

Scel. How so? Pal. Inasmuch as you have dared to
touch that lady next door here.

Scel. I' faith, I fear it much. But no one shall ever
make her to be any other than her own tv/in-sister.

Pal. 'Twas she, in troth, that you saw toying; and, in
fact, 'tis plain that it is she, as you remark.

Scel. What was there more likely than that I should
have been undone, if I had spoken of it to my master.

Pal. Then, if you're wise, you'll hold your tongue. It
befits a servant to know of more than he speaks. I'm going
to leave you, that I may not at all participate in your designs.
And I shall go to our neighbour here ; these turmoils of yours
don't please me. My master, if he comes, should he inquire
for me, I shall be there; send for me next door. (Goes into
the house of Periplecomenus.)

SCENE XIV ,

Sceledrus alone,

Scel. Well, he's off ; nor cares he any more for his mas-
ter's business than if he were not in his service. For sure she
really is now here in-doors in the house, for I myself found
her just now lying down in our house. I am resolved now

50 PLAUTUS

to employ myself in watching. {Places himself against the
Captain's door.)

SCENE XV

Enter Periplecomenus from his house,

Perip. Faith, but these men here, these servants of my
neighbour the Captain, take me not to be a man, but a woman,
so much do they trifle with me. My lady guest, who came
here yesterday from Athens with the gentleman, my guest, is
she to be mauled about and made fun of here in the street —
a lady, free-born and free?

ScEL. {aside). By my troth, Fm undone. He's coming
in a straight line up towards me. I fear that this matter
may cause me great trouble, so far as I have heard this old
gentleman speak.

Perip. I'll up to this fellow. Was it you, Sceledrus,
source of mischief, that were just now making fun of my lady
guest before the house?

ScEL. Good neighbour, listen, I beg. Perip. I, listen
to you?

ScEL. I wish to clear myself. Perip. You, clear your-
self to me, who have done an action so gross and so unbe-
coming? And because you are soldiers, do you suppose, you
gallows-bird, that you may do what you like with us?

ScEL. May I ? Perip. But so may all the Gods

and Goddesses prosper me, if a punishment with the rod is
not given to you at my request, a long and lasting one, from
morning to evening ; because you have been breaking my gut-
ters and my tiles, while you were following there a monkey
like your own self; because, too, you have been peeping dov/n
from there at my guest in my house, when he was caressing
and fondling his mistress; besides, you have dared to accuse
the chaste lady of your master of criminality, and myself of
a heinous offence; and further, because you have dared to
maul about my lady guest before my house. If the punish-
ment of the whip is not given to you, I will cause your mas-
ter to be more laden with disgrace than the sea is full of
waves in a heavy storm.

ScEL. I am driven to such straits, Periplecomenus, that

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 51

I don't know whether it is fitter for me rather to dispute this
matter with you, or whether, if she is not our lady, and if our
lady was not seen by me, it seems more proper for me to
excuse myself to you; as even now I don't know which I
saw, so like is that guest of yours to our lady — if, indeed,
she is not the same person.

Perip. Go into my house and look ; you'll soon see.

ScEL. May I go? Perip. Why, I command you; go
and examine at your leisure.

ScEL. I am determined to do so. '{Goes into the house
of Periplecomenus.)

SCENE XVI
Periplecomenus.

Perip. {probably looking up to a window in the Captain's
house). Ho! Philocomasium ! pass instantly, with all speed,
into my house; 'tis absolutely necessary. Afterwards, when
Sceledrus shall have come out from my house, pass quickly,
with all haste, back again to your own house. By my troth,
now, I'm afraid she'll be making some blunder. Should he
not see the woman . . . My door opens.

SCENE XVII

Enter Sceledrus from the house of Periplecomenus.

ScEL. O ye immortal Gods! A woman more like, and
more the same, who is not the same, I do not think the Gods
could make.

Perip. What now? Scel. I certainly merit chastise-
ment.

Perip. What then? Is it she? Scel. Although 'tis
she, 'tis not she.

Perip. Have you seen this lady? Scel. I have seen
both her and the gentleman, your guest, caressing and kissing.

Perip. Is it she? Scel. I know not.

Perip. Would you know for certain? Scel. I should
like to.

Perip. Go you this instant into your own house: see
whether your, lady is within.

Scel. Very well : you've advised me rightly. I'll be out

52 PLAUTUS

again to you this instant. {Goes into the Captain's
house. )

Perip. r faith, I never saw any man more cleverly
fooled, and by more singular devices. But here he is coming.

SCENE XVIII

Enter Sceledrus from the Captain's house.

ScEL. Periplecomenus, by Gods and men, and by my own
folly, and by your knees ! I do beseech you

Perip. What now? Scel. Pardon my ignorance and
my folly; now, at length, I know that I am half-witted, blind,
and thoughtless; for, behold! Philocomasium is at home.

Perip. How, then, hang-dog. Have you seen them
both?

Scel. I have seen them. Perip. I wish you to bring
your master to me.

Scel. Indeed, I confess that I deserve a very great pun-
ishment; and I own that I have done a wrong to your lady
guest. But I thought that she was the lady of my master,
to whom the Captain, my master, gave me as a keeper ; for it
is not possible for water ever to be drawn more like to water
from the same well, than is she to this lady guest of yours.
And I will confess, as well, that I did look through the sky-
light into your house.

Perip. Why shouldn't you confess what I saw myself?

Scel. And there saw in your house this lady guest of
yours, kissing.

Perip. You saw her? Scel. I saw her. Why should
I deny what I did see? But I fancied that I had seen
Philocomasium.

Perip. And did you suppose me to be the very vilest of
all men, in allowing, with my own knowledge, such an injury
so glaringly to be done to my neighbour?

Scel. Now, at length, I am of opinion that it was done
foolishly by me, when I come to understand the matter; but
still I did not do it with any ill intent.

Perip. Yes, but 'twas improperly done; for it befits a
person that is a servant to keep his eyes, and hands, and talk,
asleep.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 53

ScEL. Now, if after this day I mutter anything, even
what I know for certain, give me over to torture; I'll give
myself up to you. This time, prithee, do pardon me for
this.

Perip. I shall subdue my feelings, so as to think that it
was not done by you with malicious intent. I will pardon
you in this matter.

ScEL. May the Gods bless you, then!

Perip. Troth now, as the Gods may prosper you, really
do restrain your tongue henceforth; even that which you do
know, don't know, and don't you see what you do see.

ScEL. You counsel me aright; so I'm resolved to do.
Are you quite appeased?

Perip. Away with you. Scel. Is there aught else you
now require of me?

Perip. That you would know me not. (Makes as if he
is departing.)

Scel. (aside). He has been cajoling me. How kindly
he vouchsafed his favour not to be angry. I know what plan
he is upon: that directly the Captain returns home from the
Forum, I may be caught at home. He and Palsestrio to-
gether have me in their power: I have perceived that, and
for some time I've known it. I' faith, never will I be seek-
ing a bait this day from out of that wicker-net. For now
somewhither will I betake myself, and for some days will I
he concealed until this turmoil is hushed and their resentment
is softened. Enough punishment for my unlucky prating
have I already merited. But still, whatever befalls me, I'll
be off hence home. (Goes into the Captain's house.)

SCENE XIX
Periplecomenus,, alone.

Perip. So he has departed hence. V faith, I know right
well, that a dead pig full oft has more relish^ by far than a

^"Sapio" means either "to be wise," or "to have a relishing flavour."
Thus pork smacked of what, living, it lacked. In reference to
Sceledrus, Periplecomenus seems to mean that he will prove of much
more use to their plan now he is bewildered and half deprived of
his senses, than when in full possession of his faculties.

54 PLAUTUS

living one: so bamboozled has he been, that ne did not see
what he really did see. For his eyes, and ears, and thoughts
have come over to us. So far, 'tis right cleverly managed;
the lady has played her part most excellently. I'll go back
again to my Senate;^ for Palgestrio is now at home in my
house, and now Sceledrus is gone from the door. A full
Senate can now be held. I'll go in; lest while I am absent,
there should be a distribution of their parts among them.^
(Goes into his house.)

ACT THE THIRD

SCENE I

Enter Pal.estrio from the house of Periplecomenus.

Pal. (on entering he calls to Pleusicles and Periple-
comenus, zvho are in the house of the latter). Keep your-
selves within doors, yet a moment, Pleusicles. Let me first
look out, that there may be no ambush anywhere, against
that council which we intend to hold. For now we have
need of a safe place from which no enemy can win the spoils
of our counsels. For a well-devised plan is very often filched
away, if the place for deliberating has not been chosen with
care or with caution; and what is well-advised is ill-advised
if it proves of use to the enemy; and if it proves of use to
the enemy, it cannot otherwise than prove a detriment to
yourself. For if the enemy learn your plans, by your own
self-same plans they tie your tongue and bind your hands;
and they do the very same to you that you intended to do to
them. But I'll spy about, lest any one, either in this direc-
tion on the left or on the right, should come like a huntsman
on our counsels with his ears like toils. (Looks about.)
Quite vacant is the prospect hence right to the bottom of the

^ He calls his fellow-plotters in the mischief, namely, Palaestrio,

Philocomasium, and Pleusicles, his Senate, which is now meeting in

consultation.

2 L e., " leaving me off the committees," or with nothing to do.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 55

street. I'll call them out. Hallo! Periplecomenus and
Pleusicles, come out!

SCENE II

Enter Periplecomenus and Pleusicles from the house of

the former,

Perip. Behold us here obedient to your call.

Pal. The sway is easy over the good. But I wish to
know, if we are to carry out the matter on the same plan that
we formed within?

Perip. Why, in fact there's nothing can be more condu-
cive to our purpose. Well, what say you, Pleusicles?

Pleus. Can that displease me which pleases yourselves?
What person is there more my friend than your own self?

Perip. You speak kindly and obligingly. Pal. Faith,
and so he ought to do.

Pleus. But this affair shockingly distresses me, and tor-
ments my very heart and body.

Perip. What is it that torments you? Tell me.

Pleus. That I should cause childish actions in a person
of your years, and that I should require of you deeds that
neither become yourself nor your virtues; and that, with all
your might, for my sake you are striving to aid me in my
passion, and are doing actions of such a kind, as, when done,
these years of yours are wont rather to avoid than follow. I
am ashamed that I cause you this trouble in your old age.

Perip. You are a person in love after a new fashion.
If, in fact, you are ashamed of anything you do, you are
nothing of a lover. You are rather the shadow of those who
are in love, than a true lover, Pleusicles.

Pleus. Ought I to employ these years of yours in sec-
onding my love?

Perip. How say you? Do I seem to you so very much
a subject for Acheron? So much a bier's-man? Do I seem
to you to have had so very long a life? Why, really, I am
not more than four-and-fifty years old; I see clearly with my
eyes, Fm ready with my hands, Tm active with my feet.

Pal. If he is seen by you to have white hair, he is by

56 PLAUTUS

no means an old man in mind ; in him the natural strength of
his mind is unimpaired.

Pleus. By my troth, for my part, I have found it to be
so as you say, Palaestrio; for, in fact, his kindness is quite
that of a young man.

Perip. Yes, my guest, the more you make trial of it, the
more you will know my courtesy towards you in your love.

Pleus. What need to know what's known already?

Perip. I'll show you more amiability on my part than
I'll make mention of . . . that you may have instances
for proving it at home, and not have to seek it out of doors.
For unless one has loved himself, with difficulty he sees into
the feelings of one in love. But I have some little love and
moisture in my body still, and not yet am I dried up for the
pursuits of merriment and pleasure. Either the merry ban-
terer likewise, or the agreeable boon-companion will I be ; no
interrupter of another am I at a feast. I bear in mind how
properly to keep myself from proving disagreeable to my
fellow-guests; and how to take a due share with my conver-
sation, and to be silent as well in my turn, when the discourse
belongs to another. Far from being a spitter or hawker am
I, far from being a dirty-nosed old fellow, too. And never
do I take liberties with any person's mistress when out in
company; I don't snatch up the dainty bits before another,
nor take the cup before my turn ; nor, through wine, do dis-
sensions ever arise on my account at the convivial board. If
there is any one there that is disagreeable, I go off home; I
cut the parley short. Stretched at my ease, I devote myself to
pleasure, love, and mirth. In fine, at Ephesus was I born,
not among the Apulians, not at Animula.^

Pleus. O what a most delightful old man, if he pos-
sesses the qualities he mentions ! Why, troth, surely now, he
was brought up in the very rearing of Venus.

Pal. Why, in fact, you will not find another person who
is of his years, more accomplished in every respect, or who is
more a friend to his friend.

^The people of Apulia, in the south of Italy, were noted for their
clownish manners. Animula was a little town in that country.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 57

Pleus. By my troth, your whole manners really do show-
marks of first-rate breeding. Find me three men of such
manners against a like weight in double-distilled gold.

Perip. I'll make you confess that I really am a youngster
in my manners ; so abounding in kindnesses will I prove my-
self to you in every respect. Should you have need of an
advocate, severe or fierce? I am he. Have you need of one
that is gentle ? You shall say that I am more gentle than the
sea is when hush'd, and something more balmy will I prove
than is the Zephyr breeze. In this same person will I display
to you either the most jovial boon-companion, or the first-
rate trencher-man, and the best of caterers. Then, as for
dancing, there is no ballet-master that is so supple as I.

Pal. (to Pleusicles). What could you wish added to
these accomplishments, if the option were given you?

Pleus. That thanks could be returned by me to him in
degree equal to his deserts, and to yourself, to both of whom
I feel that I am now the cause of extreme anxiety. But it is
grievous to me to be the cause of so great expense to you.

Perip. You are a simpleton. For, if you lay anything
out on a bad wife and upon an enemy, that is an expense;
that which is laid out on a deserving guest and a friend is
gain ; as that, which is expended upon sacred rites, is a profit
to the wise man. By the blessing of the Gods, I have enough,
with which to receive you with hospitality in my house. Eat,
drink, indulge your tastes with me, and surfeit yourself with
enjoyments; my house is at your service, myself likewise do
I wish to be at your service. For, through the blessing of the
Gods, I may say that, by reason of my wealth, I could have
married a dowered wife of the best family; but I don't choose
to introduce an everlasting female barker at me into my
house.

Pleus. Why don't you choose? For 'tis a delightful
thing to be the father of children.

Perip. Troth, 'tis very much sweeter by far to be free^
yourself. For a good wife, if it is possible for her to be mar-

^ There is a play on the word "liber," here, which means either
"a child," or "a free person."

58 PLAUTUS

ried anywhere on earth, where can I find her ? But am I to
take one home who is never to say this to me, " Buy me some
wool, my dear, with which a soft and warm cloak may be
made, and good winter under-clothes, that you mayn't catch
cold this winter- weather ; " such an expression as this you can
never hear from a wife, but, before the cocks crow, she
awakes me from my sleep, and says, ** Give me some money,
my dear, with which to make my mother a present on the
Calends,^ give me some money to make preserves; give me
something to give on the Quinquatrus ^ to the sorceress, to
the woman who interprets the dreams, to the prophetess, and
to the female diviner ; besides, 'tis impossible for me, in civil-
ity, not to fee the expiating woman ; for long has the mattress-
maker been grumbling, because she has received nothing ; be-
sides, the midwife found fault with me, that too little had
been sent for her. What ! arn't you going to send something
to the nurse that brings up the young slaves ? ^ It's a shame
if nothing's sent her; with what a brow she does look at me."
These and many other expenses of the women like to these
frighten me from a wife, to be uttering speeches to me like
to this.

Pal. In good sooth, the Gods are propitious to you ; for
so soon as you lose this liberty, you will not easily reinstate
yourself in the same condition.

Pleus. You are a person who are able to counsel wisely
both for another and for yourself. But 'tis some merit for a
man of noble family and of ample wealth to rear children — a
memorial of his race and of himself.

Perip. Since I have many relations, what need have I of
children? Now I live well and happily, and as I like, and
as contents my feelings. For I shall bequeath my property
to my relations, and divide it among them. These, like chil-

^ The Calends of March were particularly celebrated by the Roman
matrons, who then gave presents to each other, and received them
from their husbands.
2 This festival was sacred to Minerva.

^The reference here may probably be to the evil eye, which, of in-
jurious effect at all times, would be supposed to be particularly so
in the case of a nurse.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 59

dren, pay attentions to me ; they come to see how I do, or what
I want; before it is daybreak they are with me; they make
inquiry how I have enjoyed my sleep in the night. Them will
I have for children who are ever sending presents to me. Are
they sacrificing — they give a greater part of it to me than to
themselves; they take me home with them to share the en-
trails/ they invite me to their houses to breakfast and to
dinner. He thinks himself most unfortunate, who has sent
but very little to me. They vie with one another with their
presents ; I say in a low voice to myself : " They are gaping
after my property ; while, in their emulation, they are nourish-
ing me and loading me with presents."

Pal. Upon right good grounds and right well do you
fully understand yourself and your own interests, and if you
are happy, sons twofold and threefold have you.

Perip. Troth, if I had had them, enough anxiety should
I have had from my children. ... I should have been
everlastingly tormented in mind; but if perchance one had
had a fever, I think I should have died. Or if one, in
liquor, had tumbled anywhere from his horse, I should have
been afraid that he had broken his legs or neck on that
occasion.

Pal. 'Tis right that riches should come, and that long
life should be granted to this man, who both husbands his
property and yet enjoys himself and has kind wishes for his
friends.

Pleus. O what a delightful person! So may the Gods
and Goddesses prosper me, 'twere right the Deities should so
ordain that all should not live after one rule as to the dura-
tion of life. Just as he who is a trusty market-officer^ sets
their prices on the wares ; as that which is good or valuable is
sold according to its excellence, and that which is worthless,
according to the faultiness of the commodity, deprives its
owner of its price; so were it right that the Gods should
portion out the life of man, so as to give to him who is kindly
disposed a long life, and speedily to deprive of existence those

^i. e., of sacrifices, whicH were shared with friends.
2 i. e., public food inspector.

60 PLAUTUS

who are reprobate and wicked. If they had provided this,
bad men would both have been fewer, and with less hardi-
hood would they do their wicked deeds ; and then, those who
were good men, of them there would have been a more
plenteous harvest.

Perip. He who would blame the ordinances of the Gods
must be foolish and ignorant. ... At present we must
at once have an end of these matters ; for now I want to go to
market, that, my guest, according to your own deserts and
mine, I may entertain you hospitably at my house, heartily
and with right hearty cheer.

Pleus. I am content with the expense that I have been
to you already. For no guest can be thus hospitably enter-
tained by a friend, but that when he has been there three days
running, he must now become a bore; but when he is pro-
longing his stay for ten successive days, he is a nuisance to
the household. Although the master willingly allows it, the
servants grumble.

Perip. I have trained up the servants that are in my
service, my guest, not to rule over me, or for me to be obedi-
ent to them. If that is disagreeable to them which is agree-
able to me, I steer my own course ; that which they don't like
must still be done at their peril, and whether they like it or
no. Now, as I intended, I shall go to market.

Pleus. If you are resolved, do cater somewhat within
bounds, at no great expense; anything is enough for me.

Perip. Won't you now have done with that old-
fashioned and antiquated talk? Now surely, guest, you are
using the cant of the vulgar. For they are in the habit of
saying, when they have taken their places, when dinner is
put on table: "What necessity was there for you to go to
this great expense on our account? Surely you were mad,
for this same dinner was enough for ten persons." What
has been provided on their account they find fault with ; they
eat it up, however.

Pal. Troth, in that self -same fashion 'tis generally
done. How clever and shrewd is his discernment.

Perip. But these same people never say, although such
an abundance has been provided, ** Do order that to be taken

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 61

off; do take away this dish; remove this gammon of bacon,
I'll have none of it ; put aside that piece of pork ; this conger's
good when cold ; remove it, take and put it aside." You hear
none of them saying this in earnest, but they stretch them-
selves out, while with half their bodies on the table, they are
indulging their appetite.

Pal. How cleverly the good soul has described their bad
manners.

Perip. I have not said a hundredth part of what I could
have enlarged upon had there been leisure for the matter.

Pal. The business, then, that we are about — to that we
ought first to turn our thoughts. Do you both, now, give me
your attention. I have need, Periplecomenus, of your assist-
ance; for I have hit upon a pleasant trick, how this Captain
with his long locks may be fleeced quite close, and how we
may effect a means for Philocomasium, and this her lover,
that he may carry her off hence, and have her as his own.

Perip. I wish this plan to be imparted to me.

Pal. And I, wish that ring of yours to be imparted to
me.

Perip. For what purpose is it to be used ?

Pal. When I have got it, I will impart the plan of my
devices.

Perip. Take and use it. (Gives him the ring.)

Pal. Take from me in return the plan of my contrivance
that I have hit upon.

Perip. We are listening to you with most attentive ear.

Pal. My master is such a shocking rake among the
women, that I think no one ever was his equal, nor ever
will be.

Perip. I believe the same as well. Pal. He boasts, too,
that his beauty exceeds that of Alexander ;^ and, therefore, he
says that all the women in Ephesus of their own accord are
courting him.

Perip. Aye, faith, many there are who could wish that
you were now telling an untruth about him. But I am con-

* Alexander was one of the names of Paris, the son of Priam, who
was remarkable for his beauty, which captivated Helen.

62 PLAUTUS

vinced full well that it is as you say. For that reason,
Palsestrio, do compress your words in as short a compass as
ever you possibly can.

Pal. Can you, then, find any woman of agreeable per-
son, whose mind and body are full of merriment and subtlety?

Perip. Free by birth, or bondwoman made free?

Pal. I consider that a matter of indifference, so that you
find one who is greedy for gain, who supports her body by
her charms, who has, too, her senses all awake; as for her
heart, that cannot be so, as none of them have one.

Perip. Do you want one that has taken her degrees, or
one as yet a novice in the art ?

Pal. One sober but plump, a juicy bit ; ^ as taking a one
as ever you can find, and one very young.

Perip. Why, I have one, a dependent of mine, a courte-
san, a very young woman. But what is the occasion for her ?

Pal. For you to bring her home at once to your house
as your wife, and, for that reason, to bring her there dressed
out, so that she may wear her locks with her hair arranged,
and fillets after the fashion of matrons, and may pretend that
she is your wife; so you must instruct her.

Perip. I am at a loss what road you are taking.

Pal. Well, you shall know. But what sort of maid
has she ?

Perip. She is a rare clever one. Pal. We have need
of her as well ; so give your instructions to the damsel and her
maid, to pretend that she is your wife and is doting upon this
Captain; and as though she had given this ring to her maid,
then she to me, that I might deliver it to the Captain; and I
must be as though it were a go-between in this matter.

Perip. I hear you; don't stun my ears as if I were deaf.

Pal. I myself will go straightway to him ; I'll say that it
has been brought and delivered to me from your wife, in
order that I might introduce her to him. He'll be distractedly
longing for her at home, a scoundrel that cares for nothing
else whatever but intriguing.

* " Sicca " means dry as well as sober, hence " succidam," " juicy,
is added.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 63

Perip. If you had commissioned the Sun himself to
search them out, he couldn't have found, better than myself,
two more cleverly suited for this business. Be of good cour-
age about it.

Pal. Take you every care then. There is need of de-
spatch. (Exit Periplecomenus.

SCENE III
Pal^strio, Pleusicles.

Pal. Now, do you listen, Pleusicles. Pleus. I am all
attention to you.

Pal. Take care of this. When the Captain comes home,
do you remember not to call Philocomasium by her name.

Pleus. What am I to call her ?

Pal. Glycera. Pleus. The same, you mean, that was
agreed upon a little time since.

Pal. Hush! — Be off. Pleus. I'll remember; but still
I don't know what use it is to keep it in my mind.

Pal. But I will tell you, at the time, when occasion shall
require. Meantime, be quiet; so that, bye and bye, when he
too shall be acting his part,^ you may, on the instant, be mind-
ing your cue.

Pleus. I'll go in then. Pal. Go, and do take care
steadily to follow my instructions. (Pleusicles goes into
the house of Periplecomenus.)

Pal. What mighty turmoils I create! What mighty
engines I do set to work ! This very day I shall take his mis-
tress away from the Captain, if my soldiers are only well
drilled. But I'll call him out. (Goes to the door and calls.)
Hallo! Sceledrus, if you are not busy, come out to the front
of the house ; I, Palsestrio, call you.

SCENE IV

Enter Lucrio from the Captain's house,

LucR. Sceledrus is not at leisure. Pal. Why so?
Lucr. He's fast asleep, gulping. Pal. How, gulping?

^He alludes to Periplecomenus, who has just left him.

64 PLAUTUS

LucR. He's snoring, 'twas that I meant to say : but, be-
cause 'tis very like gulping when you are snoring . . .

Pal. What! Is Sceledrus asleep in-doors?

LucR. Not with his nose, in fact; for with that he is
calling out loud enough.

Pal. He has taken a cup by stealth ; the butler has lately
tapped a cask of nardine^. Oho! you rascal, you are his
deputy-butler. Oho !

LucR. What do you mean? Pal. How has he thought
fit to go to sleep ?

LucR. With his eyes, I suppose. Pal. I don't ask you
that, you vagabond. Step this way: you're undone now,
unless I know the truth. Did you draw the wine for
him?

LucR. I did not draw it. Pal. Do you deny it?

LucR. r faith, I do deny it undoubtedly ; for he charged
me not to tell. I really didn't just draw for him eight half
pints into a pitcher, and, when drawn, he didn't just drink it
hot, at his breakfast.

Pal. And you didn't just drink as well? LucR. The
Gods confound me if I did drink — if I could drink.

Pal. Why so? Lucr. Because, in fact, I only sipped;
for it was too hot ; it burnt my throat.

Pal. Some are gloriously drunk, while others are drink-
ing vinegar-water. The cellar's trusted to an honest butler,
^s well as under-butler.

Lucr. I' faith, you'd be doing the same, if it was en-
trusted to you. Since you can't follow our example, you are
envious now.

Pal. Come, now, did he ever draw any wine before
this? Answer me, you rascal. And, that you may under-
stand it, I give you this notice: if you purposely tell me an
untruth, you shall be put to the torture.

Lucr. Indeed so? That you may inform, forsooth, that
I told you; and then I shall be turned out of my fattening
post in the cellar, that you may find another under-butler to
draw for your own self.

^ The Romans used many articles for flavouring their wines. Spike-
nard, an Eastern aromatic, is here referred to.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 65

Pal. On my honour, I will not; come, speak out boldly
to me.

LucR. By my troth, I never saw him draw any. But thus
was it ; he requested me, and then I drew it.

Pal. Think of that now! very frequently, I guess, the
casks were standing on their heads there.^

LucR. No, faith, the casks would not have stood so very
badly there. But there happened to be in the cellar a bit of a
slippery spot ; a two-pint pot was placed there, near the casks,
in this fashion (shows the way). Frequently, that was filled
ten times in a day. When the pot acted the reveller, the casks
were all tottering.

Pal. Get you gone in-doors. Both of you, I find, are
acting the revellers in the wine-cellar. V faith, I shall fetch
my master home just now from the Forum.

LucR. (aside). I'm ruined. My master, when he comes
home, will have me tortured, when he knows of these doings,
r faith, I'll fly somewhither, and put off this punishment to
another day. (To the Audience.) Don't you tell him, I do
entreat you most earnestly. (He is going.)

Pal. Whither are you betaking yourself? Lucr. I am
sent elsewhere: I'll come back here just now.

Pal. Who has sent you? Lucr. Philocomasium.

Pal. Go; be back directly. Lucr. If it is divided,
prithee do you only take my share of the punishment while
I'm away.

(Exit Lucrio.

SCENE V

Pal^strio, alone.

Pal. So — I understand what scheme the lady is upon.
Because Sceledrus is asleep, she has sent her under-keeper
away out of doors, whilst she may pass from our house to
next door. That's all right. (Looks down the street.) But
Periplecomenus is bringing here a woman of very comely

1 He means to say that the " amphorae," no doubt, were often turned
bottom upwards for the purpose of pouring out their contents.

ee PLAUTus

appearance, her, for whom I commissioned him. By my
faith, the Gods are helping us in this matter. How becom-
ingly drest she struts along, not like a Courtesan. This
business is prospering charmingly in our hands. (Stands
aside.)

SCENE VI

Enter Periplecomenus, with Acroteleutium and

MiLPHIDIPPA.

Perip. (as he advances). I have explained the whole
affair, Acroteleutium, to you, and, Milphidippa, to you as
well. If you don't well understand this device and plan, I
wish you to hear it all over again. If you comprehend it
aright, there is something else that we may speak of in pref-
erence.

AcROT. I' faith, it would be folly, and ignorance, and
foolishness, for me to engage in the service of another, or to
promise you my assistance, if, in its fabrication, I did not
know how to be either mischievous or clever at deceiving.

Perip. But, 'tis better for you to be instructed.

AcROT. Really I don't understand of what great use it
is for a Courtesan to be instructed. How now! have I told
you all in vain, after my ears had drunk in the draughts of
your discourse, in what fashion it was possible for the Captain
to be cajoled?

Perip. But no one, unaided, is sufficiently perfect; for
full oft have I seen many a person lose the road to good
advice before they had found it.

AcROT. If a woman has anything to do mischievously
and maliciously, in that case her memory is immortal at re-
membering it for everlasting; but if anything is to be done
for a good purpose, or honestly, it will fall out that those
same women will become oblivious that instant, and be unable
to remember.

Perip. Therefore do I fear that same, because both those
things happen to be about to be done by us ; for that will be a
benefit to me in which you both will be acting mischievously
towards the Captain.

AcROT. So long as we do anything that's good, not know-

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 67

ing, it don't you fear. No woman is awkward. . .
Have no apprehensions, they are ready for the worst.

Perip. So it befits you. Do you follow me.

Pal. (advancing). Why do I hesitate to go and accost
them?

Perip. Well met, and opportunely, Palsestrio. See, here
they are whom you commissioned me to bring, and in the
very dress.

Pal. Well done : accept my thanks. I am glad that you
have come safe. V faith, you bring them nicely dressed.
Palsestrio salutes Acroteleutium.

AcROT. Prithee, who's this, that calls me so familiarly
by name?

Perip. This is our master-plotter. Acrot. Health to
you, master-plotter.

Pal. And health to you. But, tell me, has he any way
given you full instructions?

Perip. I bring them both thoroughly prepared.

Pal. rd like to hear how. I'm afraid lest you should
be making some mistake.

Perip. I have added to your instructions nothing new of
my own.

AcROT. I suppose you wish the Captain, your master, to
be gulled.

Pal. You've said what's true.

AcROT. Cleverly and skilfully, adroitly and pleasantly,
the whole thing is planned.

Pal. In fact, I wish you to pretend to be his wife.
(Points to Periplecomenus.)

Acrot. That shall be done. Pal. To pretend as
though you had set your affection on the Captain.

Acrot. And so it shall be.

Pal. And as though this affair is managed through me,
as the go-between, and your servant-maid.

Acrot. You might have made a good prophet; for you
tell what is to be.

Pal. As though this maid of yours had conveyed from
you this ring to me, which I was then to deliver to the Cap-
tain, in your name.

68 PLAUTUS

AcROT. You say what's true. Perip. What need is
there to mention these things now, which they remember so
well?

AcROT. Still, it is better. For think of this, my patron ;
when the shipwright is skilful, if he has once laid down the
keel exact to its lines, 'tis easy to build the ship, when
. . . Now this keel of ours has been skilfully laid and
firmly placed; the workmen and the master-builders are not
unskilled in this business. If he who furnishes the timber^
does not retard us in giving what is needed, I know the
adroitness of our ingenuity — soon will the ship be got
ready.

Pal. You know the Captain, my master, then ?

AcROT. 'Tis strange you should ask me. How could I
not know that scorn of the public, that swaggering, frazzle-
headed, perfumed debauchee?

Pal. But does he know you? Acrot. He never saw
me; how, then, should he know who I am?

Pal. 'Tis most excellent what you say. For that reason,
i' faith, the thing will be able to be managed all the more
cleverly.

Acrot. Can you only find me the man, and then be easy
as to the rest? If I don't make a fool of the fellow, do you
lay all the blame on me.

Pal. Well, go you in then ; apply yourselves to this busi-
ness with all your skill.

Acrot. Trust me for that. Pal. Come, Periplecomenus,
do you conduct them at once in-doors. I'm off to the Forum ;
I'll meet him, and give him this ring, and will tell him that it
has been delivered to me from your wife, and that she is dying
for him. As soon as we shall have come from the Forum, do
you send her (points to Milphidippa) to our house as
though she were privately sent to him.

Perip. We'll do so ; trust us for that.

^ The ship is the contrivance for deceiving the Captain ; the keel is
the main-plot and foundation of it; Periplecomenus, Acroteleutium,
and her servant, are the workmen; Palsestrio is the master-ship-
wright; while the Captain himself is the " materiarius," or "person
that supplies the timber."

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 69

Pal. Do you only attend to the business ; I'll now polish
him off with a pretty burden on his back. (Exit.

Perip. Go, with good luck to you, manage the matter
cleverly. (To Acroteleutium.) But now, if I shall man-
age this adroitly, that my guest can this day gain the mistress
of the Captain, and carry her off hence to Athens; if, I say,
this day we shall succeed in this plan, what shall I give you
for a present?

AcROT. ... If now the lady seconds our efforts
on her part, I think it will be right cleverly and adroitly
managed. When a comparison shall be made of our artifices,
I have no fear that I shall not prove superior in the cleverness
of my contrivances.

Perip. Let's go in-doors, then, that we may deeply weigh
these plans, that carefully and cautiously we may carry out
what is to be done, so that, when the Captain comes, there
may be no tripping.

AcROT. You are delaying us with your talk. (They go
into the house of Periplecomenus.)

ACT THE FOURTH

SCENE I

Enter Pyrgopolinices and Pal^strio.

Pyrg. Tis a pleasure what you do, if it succeeds agree-
ably and to your mind. For I this day have sent my Parasite
to King Seleucus, to lead those soldiers, that I have levied,
hence to Seleucus ; in order that they may defend his kingdom
till I have leisure to attend in person.

Pal. Why don't you attend to your own concerns rather
than those of Seleucus? What a charming new proposal is
being offered to you through me as the negotiator.

Pyrg. Well then, I lay all other things aside, and I give
my attention to you. Speak out : my ears, in fact, I surrender
at your disposal.

Pal. Look around, then, that no one here may be an
eavesdropper for our discourse; for this business was en-
trusted me to transact with you in private.

10 PLAUTUS

Pyrg. (looks around). There's no one near. Pal. In
the first place, receive from me this pledge of affection.
(Gives him the ring.)

Pyrg. What's this? Whence comes it?

Pal. From a charming and a handsome lady, one who
loves you, and dotes upon your extreme beauty. Her maid
just now gave me the ring that I might then give it to you.

Pyrg. What ? Is she free born or a freed woman, made
free from a slave by the Praetor's rod ? ^

Pal. Pshaw! Should I presume to be the bearer of a
message to you from a person once a slave, who cannot
sufficiently answer the demands of the free women who are
longing for you?

Pyrg. Is she wife, or is she widow?

Pal. She is both wife and widow.

Pyrg. In what way is it possible for the same woman to
be a wife and a widow?

Pal. Because she is a young woman married to an old
man.

Pyrg. That's good. Pal. She is of genteel and charm-
ing person.

Pyrg. Beware of misrepresenting. Pal. It is alone
worthy to be compared with your own charms.

Pyrg. By my faith, you make her out to be a beauty.
But who is she?

Pal. The wife of that old gentleman, Periplecomenus,
next door. She is dying for you, and wishes to leave him;
she hates the old fellow. Now she has begged me to entreat
and beseech you that you will give her your support and
assistance.

Pyrg. F faith, I'm ready for my part if she desires it.

Pal. Doesn't she long for it?

Pyrg. What shall we do with that mistress of mine, who
is at my house ?

Pal. Why, do you bid her to be gone about her busi-
ness, wherever she chooses ; as her twin-sister has come here
to Ephesus, and her mother, and they are come to fetch her.

^ The Praetor used to lay a rod or wand on the head of a slave when
he was made free.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 71

Pyrg. Ha! what's that you say? Has her mother come
to Ephesus?

Pal. Those say so who know it.

Pyrg. V faith, a charming opportunity for me to turn
the wench out of doors.

Pal. Aye, but do you wish to do the thing handsomely?

Pyrg. Speak out, and give me your advice.

Pal. Do you wish to pack her off forthwith, that she
may quit you with a good grace?

Pyrg. I do so wish. Pal. Then this is the thing you
must do. You have a superabundance of wealth; bid the
woman to keep as a present for herself the gold and trinkets
which you have supplied her with, and to take herself off from
your house wherever she likes.

Pyrg. It pleases me what you say; but yet, only think, if
I should lose her, and the other change her mind ?

Pal. Pshaw! you're over nice; a lady, that loves you as
her own eyes.

Pyrg. Venus befriends me. Pal. Hist! hush! the door
is opening; come this way a little out of sight. (Milphi-
DiPPA comes out of the house of Periplecomenus.) This is
her fly-boat — her go-between, that's coming out there.

Pyrg. How so — fly-boat? Pal. This is her maid that
is coming out of the house, she that brought that ring which
I delivered to you.

Pyrg. F faith, she too is a prettyish wench.

Pal. This one is a little monkey and an owl in compari-
son with the other. Do you see how she hunts around with
her eyes, and goes fowling about with her ears. ( They stand
aside.)

SCENE II

Enter Milphidippa.

Mil. (as she enters). My Circus, then, is before the
house, where my sports are to take place. I'll make pretence,
as though I didn't see them, or knew as yet that they are here.

Pyrg. Hush ! let's quietly listen, whether any mention is
made of me.

MfL. (aloud). Is there no one near at hand here, to at-

n PLAUTUS

tend to another's business rather than his own? — to prowl
after me to see what I'm about? No one who is feeding this
evening at his own expense?^ I dread such men as these,
lest they should now come in the way, or prove an hindrance
somehow, should my mistress privately pass from her house
this way, who is so enamoured of his person, who so dotes
upon this very charming man with his exceeding beauty — the
Captain Pyrgopolinices.

Pyrg. And doesn't she dote upon me, too? She is
praising my beauty.

Pal. I' faith, her language stands in need of no ashes.^

Pyrg. For what reason? Pal. Why, because her
language is clean spoken and far from slovenly. Whatever
she says about yourself, she handles it in no slovenly way.
And, then, besides, she herself is a very pretty and a very
dainty wench.

Pyrg. Troth, indeed, she has made an impression al-
ready, Palaestrio, at first sight.

Pal. What! before you have seen the other with your
eyes?

Pyrg. What I see, in that I have faith for myself; for
this mackerel, in the absence of the mullet, compels me to be
in love with her.

Pal. r faith, you really mustn't be falling in love with
her, she's engaged to me. If the other weds you to-day,
forthwith I shall take this one for my wife.

Pyrg. Why, then, do you delay to accost her ?

Pal. Follow me this way, then.

Pyrg. I am your lackey at your heels.

Mil. (aloud), I wish that I had an opportunity of
meeting him on account of whom I came here out of doors.

Pal. (accosting her). It shall be so, and you shall have
what you so greatly wish; be of good courage, don't fear;
there is a certain person who knows where that is which you
are seeking.

^ She means those who are not out on the hunt for a supper, but
have got one of their own at home, and so have more leisure for
prying into the concerns of other people.
2 i. e., to polish them, as brasses are polished.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 73

Mil. Who's that I hear at hand? Pal. The sharer of
your plans and the partaker of your secrets.

Mil. r faith, then, what I do conceal I don't conceal.

Pal. Aye, but still you don't conceal it this way.

Mil. How so? Pal. From the uninitiated you conceal
them. I am sure and trustworthy to you.

Mil. Give me the sign, if you are one of these votaries.

Pal. a certain lady loves a certain gentleman.

Mil. Faith, many ladies do that indeed. Pal. But not
many ladies send a present from off their fingers.

Mil. Aye, I know now. You've now made the matter
level for me instead of steep. But is there a certain person
here?

Pal. Either he is or he is not.

Mil. Come aside with me alone, in private.

Pal. For a short or for a lengthy conversation?

Mil. For three words only.

Pal. (to Pyrgopolinices). I'll return to you this in-
stant.

Pyrg. What? Shall I be standing here in the mean-
while, with such charms and valorous deeds, thus to no pur-
pose?

Pal. Submit to it and wait; for you am I doing this
service.

Pyrg. Make haste ; I am tortured with waiting.

Pal. You know that commodities of this kind are only
w^ont to be reached step by step.

Pyrg. Well, well ; as is most agreeable to yourself.

Pal. (aside). There is no stone more stupid than this
fellow. I now return to you. (To Milphidippa.) What
would you with me? (Retires with her to a distance.)

Mil. In the way in which I received it of you a short
time since, I bring you back your clever lot; my story is as
though she were dying with love for him.

Pal. That I understand. Do you commend his beauty
and his appearance, and make mention of his prowess.

Mil. For that purpose I am armed at all points, as I
have shown you before already. On the other hand, do you
give all attention, and be on the watch, and take your cue
from my words.

74 PLAUTUS

Pyrg. Prithee do now, in fine, give me some share in the
business ; step this way this instant, I beg.

Pal. (goes up to him). Here I am. If you wish for
aught, give me your commands.

Pyrg. What is she saying to you?

Pal. She is saying that her mistress is lamenting, and, in
tears, is tormenting and afflicting herself because she wishes
for you, and because she possesses you not; for that reason
has she been sent here to you.

Pyrg. Bid her approach. Pal. But do you know how
you are to act? Pretend that you are full of disdain, as
though it pleased you not ; exclaim against me, because I make
you so common to the mob.

Pyrg. I remember, and I'll follow your instructions.

Pal. I'll call her, then, who is inquiring after you.

Pyrg. If she wants anything, let her come.

Pal. Wench, if you want anything, step this way.

Mil. {approaching). Save you, charmer.^ Pyrg. She
makes mention of my surname. May the Gods grant you
whatever you may desire.

Mil. To pass life with you is the wish of •

Pyrg. You are wishing too much. Mil. I am not
speaking of myself, but of my mistress, who is dying for
you.

Pyrg. Many others are wishing for the same thing, who
have not the opportunity.

Mil. By my troth, 'tis not to be wondered at ; you set a
high value on yourself — a person so handsome, and so illus-
trious for his prowess, and so valorous in his deeds ! O ! was
there ever any one more worthy to be a man ?

Pal. {aside), I' faith, the filthy fellow is not a human
being; indeed, I think there is something more human in a
vulture.

Pyrg. {aside). Now I shall make myself of importance,
since she so praises me up. {Struts about.)

Pal. {aside). Do you see the blockhead, how he struts ?

^ "Handsome man." This, as a surname, would not sound so very
absurd in Roman ears, as " Pulcher" was a surname (cognomen) of
a branch of the Claudian family.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 75

{To Pyrgopolinices.) But will you not answer her; she
is the woman that's come from the lady whom I was men-
tioning just now.

Pyrg. But from which one of them? For there are so
many courting me, I cannot remember them all.

Mil. From her who strips her own fingers and adorns
your fingers; for I delivered to him {pointing to Pal^strio)
that ring from her who is sighing for you, and then he to
you.

Pyrg. Tell me, wench, what is it you want then ?

Mil. That you will not despise her who is sighing for
you; who lives now but in your life : whether she is to exist or
not, her hope is in you alone.

Pyrg. What does she want then? Mil. To talk with
you, to embrace you, and to be intimate with you. For unless
you bring her succour, she will soon be quite desponding in her
mind. Come, my Achilles, let that be done which I entreat;
save her, charmer, by your charming ways. Call forth your
kind disposition, stormer of cities, slayer of kings.

Pyrg. O! by my troth, 'tis a vexatious thing! {To
Pal^strio.) How often, whip-scoundrel, have I forbidden
you to make promises of my attention thus common.

Pal. Do you hear that, hussy ? I have told you already,
and I now tell you again, unless a fee is given to this boar-
pig, he cannot possibly throw away his attentions in any
quarter.

Mil. A fee shall be given as large as he shall de-
mand.

Pal. He requires a talent of gold, in Philippean pieces.
Less he will take from no one.

Mil. O, by my troth, but that's too little, surely.

Pyrg. By nature there's no avarice in me ; I have riches
enough. I' faith ! I've more than a thousand measures full of
Philippean gold coins.

Pal. Besides your treasures. Then, of silver, he has
mountains, not ingots ; ^tna is not so high.

Mil. {aside). By the stars! O, what a lie!

Pal. {to Milphidippa, aside). How rarely I am play-
ing him off !

76 PLAUTUS

Mil. {to Pal^strio, aside). And I; how do I do it?
Ain't I gulling him?

Pal. {aside). Rarely. Mil. But, prithee, do let me go
now.

Pal. {to the Captain). But do you give her some
answer, either that you will do it, or that you won't do it.
Why cause this poor lady so much anguish of mind, who has
never deserved any ill of you?

Pyrg. Bid her come to me herself. Tell her that I will
do everything that she requires.

Mil. You now act as it is proper for you to act, since
you wish the same yourself that she is wishing.

Pal. {to himself, aside). No poor faculty of invention
has she.

Mil. Since too you have not scouted your petitioner, and
have suffered me to prevail upon you. {Aside to Pal^s-
TRio.) How now? Haven't I played him off?

Pal. {aside to Milphidippa). Faith, I couldn't refrain
from laughing.

Mil. {aside to Pal^estrio). Yes; and for the same rea-
son I turned in this direction away from you.

Pyrg. By my troth, wench, you don't understand how
great an honour I am now paying her.

Mil. I know, and I shall tell her so.

Pal. To another he could have sold his favours for his
weight in gold.

Mil. r faith, I believe you in that.

Pal. Of those that are parents by him true warriors are
born, and his sons live eight hundred years.

Mil. {aside to Pal^strio). Fie on you for a fibber!

Pyrg. Why, straight on, from age to age, they live for a
thousand years.

Pal. I spoke within limits, for the reason that she
mightn't suppose I was telling lies to her.

Mil. {aside). I burst, I die! {Aloud.) How many
years will he live himself whose sons live so long?

Pyrg. Wench, I was born the day after Jupiter was born
of Ops.

Pal. If he had only been born the day before the other
was, he would have had the realms of heaven.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 77

Mil. (aside to Paljestrio). Now, now, prithee, no
more; do let me get away from you, if I can, alive.

Pal. Why don't you go then, as you have your answer?

Mil. I'll go, and I'll bring her here, on whose behalf I
am employed. Is there aught else you wish?

Pyrg. May I never be more handsome than I am at
present ; so much trouble do my good looks cause me.

Pal. Why do you stay now? Why don't you go?

Mil. I'm going. Pal. (aside to Milphidippa). And
tell her, too, do you hear, cleverly and correctly, what has
passed.

Mil. (to Pal^strio). So that her very heart may leap
for joy.

Pal. (aside to Milphidippa). If Philocomasium is
there, tell her to pass through into our house; that the Cap-
tain is here.

Mil. (to Paljestrio). She is there with my mistress,
for, on the sly, they have been overhearing^ this conversa-
tion.

Pal. (aside to Milphidippa). 'Twas cleverly done;
hereafter they will take their cue the more readily from this
conversation.

Mil. (to Pal^strio). You are delaying me. I'm off.

Pal. (to Milphidippa). I'm not delaying you, nor
touching you, nor^ I'm mum.

Pyrg. Bid her make haste to come out here; we'll give
our first attention to this matter especially. (Milphidippa
goes into the house of Periplecomenus.)

SCENE III
Pyrgopolinices, Pal^strio.

Pyrg. What do you advise me now to do, Palsestrio,
about my mistress? For this lady can by no means be re-
ceived into my house before I have sent the other away.

Pal. Why consult me what you are to do? So far as

^ Probably at the upper window, next door.

2 He is about to say something rude, but checks himself.

78 PLAUTUS

I am concerned, I have told you by what method that can
be effected in the gentlest manner. The gold trinkets and
female clothing with which you have furnished her, let her
keep it all for herself: let her take it, be off, and carry it
away: tell her that it is high time for her to go home; say
that her twin-sister and her mother are come, in company
with whom she may go straight home.

Pyrg. How do you know that they are here?

Pal. Because, with my own eyes, Fve seen her sister
here.

Pyrg. Have you met her ? Pal. I have met her.

Pyrg. And did she seem a brisk wench ?

Pal. You are wishing to have everything.

Pyrg.' Where did the sister say her mother was ?

Pal. The captain that brought them told me that she
was in bed, on board the ship, with sore and inflamed eyes.
This captain of the ship is lodging with them next door.

Pyrg. And he, too, is a very fine fellow ?

Pal. Away with you, if you please. What have you to
do with him? You have your hands quite full enough with
the women. Attend to this for the present.

Pyrg. As to that advice you were giving me, I wish you
to have a few words with her upon that subject. For, really,
a conversation on that subject with her is more becoming for
you.

Pal. What is more advisable than for you to go your-
self, and transact your own concerns? You must say that it
is absolutely necessary for you to marry: that your relations
are persuading, your friends are urging, you.

Pyrg. And do you think so? Pal. Why shouldn't I
think so?

Pyrg. Til go in, then. Do you, in the meantime, keep
watch here before the house, that when the other woman
comes out you may call me out.

Pal. Do you only mind the business that you are upon.

Pyrg. That, indeed, is resolved upon. For if she will
not go out of her own accord, FU turn her out by force.

Pal. Do you take care how you do that; but rather let
her go from your house with a good grace, and give her those

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 79

things that I mentioned.\ The gold trinkets and apparel, with
which you furnished her, let her take away.

Pyrg. By my troth, I wish she would.

Pal. I think you'll easily prevail upon her. But go in-
doors ; don't linger here.

Pyrg. I obey you. (Goes into his house.) Pal. (to
the Audience). Now, does he really appear to be anything
different from what, awhile ago, I told you he Avas, this
wenching Captain? Now it is requisite that Acroteleutium
should come to me, her maid too, and Pleusicles. O Jupiter !
and does not opportunity favour me in every respect? For
those whom I especially wished to see, I perceive at this
moment coming out here from our neighbour's.

SCENE IV

Enter Acroteleutium, Milphidippa, and Pleusicles from
the house of Periplecomenus.

AcROT. Follow me; at the same time look around, that
there may be no overlooker.

Mil. Faith, I see no one, only him whom we want to
meet.

Pal. Just as I want you.

Mil. How do you do, our master-plotter?

Pal. I, the master-plotter? Nonsense.

Mil. How so? Pal. Because, in comparison with
yourself, I am not worthy to fix a beam in a wall.

AcROT. Aye, indeed so. Pal. She's a very fluent and a
very clever hand at mischief. How charmingly she did pol-
ish off the Captain.

Mil. But still, not enough. Pal. Be of good courage ;
all the business is now prospering under our hands. Only
do you, as you have begun, still give a helping hand; for
the Captain himself has gone in-doors, to entreat his mis-
tress to leave his house, with her mother and sister, for
Athens.

1 " Bona gratia " was a legal term used in the case of amicable
divorces with the consent of both parties.

80 PLAUTUS

Pleus. Very good — well done. Pal. Besides, all the
gold trinkets and apparel which he himself has provided for
the damsel, he gives her to keep as a present for herself — so
have I recommended him.

Pleus. Really, it's easily done, if both she wishes it, and
he desires it as well.

Pal. Don't you know that when, from a deep well, you
have ascended up to the top, there is the greatest danger lest
you should thence fall back again from the top. This affair
is now being carried on at the top of the well. If the Captain
should have a suspicion of it, nothing whatever of his will be
able to be carried off. Now, most especially, we have need
of clever contrivances.

Pleus. I see that there is material enough at home for
that purpose — ^three women, yourself the fourth, I am the
fifth, the old gentleman the sixth.

Pal. What an edifice of stratagems has been erected by
us! I know for certain, that any town seems as though it
could be taken by these plans ; only do you lend your assist-
ance.

AcROT. For that purpose are we come to you, to see if
you wish for anything.

Pal. You do what's a propos. Now to you do I assign
this department.

AcROT. General, you shall assign me whatever you please,
so far as I am capable.

Pal. I wish this Captain to be played off cleverly and
adroitly.

AcROT. r faith, you're assigning me what's a pleasure to
me.

Pal. But do you understand how? Acrot. You mean
that I must pretend that I am distracted with love for him.

Pal. Right — you have it. A'crot. And as though by
reason of that love I had foregone my present marriage, long-
ing for a match with him.

Pal. Everything exactly in its due order; except only
this one point; you must say that this house (pointing to the
house of Periplecomenus) was your marriage-portion; that
the old man had departed hence from you after you had car-

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 81

ried out the divorce, lest he should be afraid just now to come
here into the house of another man.

AcROT. You advise me well. Pal. But when he comes
out from in-doors, I wish you — standing at a distance there —
so to make pretence, as though in comparison with his beauty
you despised your own, and as though you were struck with
awe at his opulent circumstances ; at the same time, too, praise
the comeliness of his person, the beauty of his face. Are you
tutored enough?

AcROT. I understand it all. Is it enough that I give you
my work so nicely finished off that you cannot find a fault
with it.

Pal. I'm content. Now (addressing Pleusicles), in
your turn, learn what charge I shall give to you. So soon as
this shall be done, when she shall have gone in, then do you
immediately take care to come here dressed in the garb of a
master of a ship. Have on a broad-brimmed hat of iron-
grey, a woollen shade before your eyes ; have on an iran-grey
cloak (for that is the seaman's colour) ; have it fastened over
the left shoulder, your right arm projecting out,
. . . your clothes some way well girded, up, pretend as
though you are some master of a ship. And all these re-
quisites are at the house of this old gentleman, for he keeps
fishermen.

Pleus. Well, when Tm dressed out, why don't you tell
me what Fm to do then ?

Pal. Come here, and, in the name of her mother, bring
word to Philocomasium, that, if she would return to ^Athens,
she must go with you to the harbour directly, and that she
must order it to be carried down to the ship if she wishes
anything to be put on board; that if she doesn't go, yoju must
weigh anchor, for the wind is favourable.

Pleus. I like your plan much : do proceed.

Pal. The Captain will at once advise her to go speedily
that she may not delay her mother.

Pleus. Every way you are clever. Pal. I shall tell
him that she asks for me as a helper to carry her baggage
down to the harbour. I shall go, and, understand you, I shall
immediately be off with you straight to Athens.

82 PLAUTUS

Pleus. And when you have reached there, I'll never let
you be ashore three days before you're free.

Pal. Be off speedily and equip yourself.

Pleus. Is there anything besides? Pal. Only to re-
member all this.

Pleus. I'm off. (Exit.) Pal. And do you (to
AcROTELEUTiUM and Milphidippa) be off hence in-doors
this instant, for I'm quite sure that he'll just now be coming
out hence from in-doors.

AcROT. With us your command is as good as law.

Pal. Come, then, begone. But see, the door opens op-
portunely. (The women go into the house of Peripleco-

MENUS.)

SCENE V

Enter Pyrgopolinices from his house.

Pyrg. What I wished I have obtained just as I wished,
on kind and friendly terms, that she would leave me.

Pal. For what reason am I to say that you have been so
long in-doors?

Pyrg. I never was so sensible that I was beloved by that
woman as now.

Pal. Why so ? Pyrg. How many words she did utter !
How the matter was protracted! But in the end I obtained
what I wanted, and I granted her what she wanted and what
she asked of me. I made a present of you also to her.

Pal. What — me, too? In what way shall I exist with-
out you?

Pyrg. Come, be of good heart; I'll make you free from
her, too. But I used all endeavours, if I could by any method
persuade her to go away, and not take you with her; she
forced me, however.

Pal. In the Gods and yourself I'll place my trust. Yet
at the last, although it is bitter to me that I must be deprived
of an excellent master, yourself, at least it is a pleasure to me
that, through my means, by reason of the excellence of your
beauty, this has happened to you with regard to this lady
neighbour, whom I am now introducing to you.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 83

Pyrg. What need of words? I'll give you liberty and
wealth if you obtain her for me.

Pal. ril win her. Pyrg. But I'm impatient.

Pal. But moderation is requisite; curb your desires;
don't be over anxious. But see, here she is herself; she is
coming out of doors.

SCENE VI

Enter Acroteleutium and Milphidippa from the house of
Periplecomenus.

Mil. (in a low voice). Mistress, see! the Captain's
near.

AcROT. (in a low voice). Where is he? Mil. Only
look to the left. Eye him askance, that he mayn't perceive
that we are looking at him.

AcROT. I see him. Troth, now's the time, in our mis-
chief, for us to become supremely mischievous.

Mil. 'Tis for you to begin. Acrot. (aloud). Prithee,
did you see him yourself ? (Aside.) Don't spare your voice,
so that he may hear.

Mil. (aloud). By my troth, I talked with his own
self, at my ease, as long as I pleased, at my leisure, at my own
discretion, just as I wished.

Pyrg. (to Pal^strio). Do you hear what she says?

Pal. (to Pyrgopolinices). I hear. How delighted
she is because she had access to you.

Acrot. (aloud). O happy woman that you are!

Pyrg. How I do seem to be loved !

Pal. You are deserving of it. Mil. (aloud). By my
troth, 'tis passing strange what you say, that you had access
to him and prevailed. They say that he is usually addressed,
like a king, through letters or messengers.

Mil. (aloud). But, i' faith, 'twas with difficulty I had
an opportunity of approaching and beseeching him.

Pal. (to Pyrgopolinices). How renowned you are
among the fair.

Pyrg. (to PALyESXRio). I shall submit, since Venus wills
it so.

84 PLAUTUS

AcROT. (aloud). By heavens! I return to Venus grate-
ful thanks, and her I do beseech and entreat, that I may win
him whom I love and whom I seek to win, and that to me he
may prove gentle, and not make a difficulty about w^hat I
desire.

Mil. (aloud). I hope it may be so; although many ladies
are seeking to win him for themselves, he disdains them and
estranges himself from all but you alone.

AcROT. (aloud). Therefore this fear torments me, since
he is so disdainful, lest his eyes, when he beholds me, should
change his sentiments, and his own gracefulness should at
once disdain my form.

Mil. (aloud). He will not do so; be of good heart.

Pyrg. (to Pal^strio). How she does slight herself!

AcROT. (aloud). I fear lest your account may have sur-
passed my looks.

Mil. (aloud). I've taken care of this, that you shall be
fairer than his expectations.

AcROT. (aloud). Troth, if he shall refuse to take me as
his wife, by heavens I'll embrace his knees and entreat him!
If I shall be unable to prevail on him, in some way or other,
I'll put myself to death. I'm quite sure that without him I
cannot live.

Pyrg. (to Pal^strio). I see that I must prevent this
woman's death. Shall I accost her ?

Pal. By no means; for you will be making yourself
cheap if you lavish yourself away of your own accord. Let
her come spontaneously, seek you, court you, strive to win
you. Unless you wish to lose that glory which you have,
please have a care what you do. For I know that this was
never the lot of any mortal, except two persons, yourself and
Phaon of Lesbos,^ to be loved so desperately.

AcROT. (aloud). I'll go indoors — or, my dear Milphi-
dippa, do you call him out of doors.

Mil. (aloud). Aye; let's wait until some one comes out.

^ Sappho, the poetess, was enamoured of Phaon the Lesbian. When
he deserted her, she threw herself from the Leucadian promontory
or Lover's Leap.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 85

AcROT. (aloud). I can't restrain myself from going to
him.

Mil. (aloud). The door's fastened. Acrot. (aloud).
I'll break it in then.

Mil. (aloud). You are not in your senses.

Acrot. (aloud). If he has ever loved, or if he has
wisdom equal to his beauty, whatever I may do through love,
he will pardon me by reason of his compassionate feel-
ings.

Pal. (to Pyrgopolinices) . Prithee, do see how dis-
tracted the poor thing is with love.

Pyrg. (to Pal^strio). 'Tis mutual in us. Pal.
Hush ! Don't you let her hear.

Mil. (aloud). Why do you stand stupefied? ,Why
don't you knock?

Acrot. (aloud). Because he is not within whom I want.

Mil. (aloud). How do you know? Acrot. (aloud).
By my troth, I do know it easily; for my nose would scent
him if he were within.

Pyrg. (to Pal^strio). She is a diviner. Because she
is in love with me, Venus has made her prophesy.

Acrot. (aloud). He is somewhere or other close at
hand whom I do so long to behold. I'm sure I smell him.

Pyrg. (to Pal^strio). Troth, now, she really sees bet-
ter with her nose than with her eyes.

Pal. (to Pyrgopolinices). She is blind from love.
Acrot. (aloud). Prithee, do support me.

Mil. (aloud). Why? Acrot. (aloud). Lest I should
fall.

Mil. (aloud). Why? Acrot. (aloud). Because I can-
not stand ; my senses — ^my senses are sinking so by reason of
my eyes.

Mil. (aloud). Heavens! you've seen the Captain.

Acrot. (aloud). I have. Mil. (aloud), I don't see
him. Where is he?

Acrot. (aloud). Troth, you would see him if you were
in love.

Mil. (aloud). V faith, you don't love him more than I
do myself, with your good leave.

86 PLAUTUS

Pal. (to Pyrgopolinices). No doubt all of the women,
as soon as each has seen you, are in love with you.

Pyrg. (to Pal^strio). I don't know whether you have
heard it from me or not ; I'm the grandson of Venus.

AcROT. (aloud). My dear Milphidippa, prithee do ap-
proach and accost him.

Pyrg. (to Pal^estrio). How she does stand in awe of
me!

Pal. (to Pyrgopolinices). She is coming towards us.

Mil. (advancing) , I wish to speak with you.

Pyrg. And we with you.

Mil. I have brought my mistress out of the house, as
you requested me.

Pyrg. So I see. Mil. Request her, then, to approach.

Pyrg. Since you have entreated it, I have prevailed upon
my mind not to detest her just like other women.

Mil. I' faith she wouldn't be able to utter a word if she
were to come near you; while she was looking at you, her
eyes have in the meantime tied her tongue.

Pyrg. I see that this woman's disorder must be cured.

Mil. See how terrified she is since she beheld you.

Pyrg. Even armed men are the same ; don't wonder at a
woman being so. But what does she wish me to do?

Mil. You to come to her house; she wishes to live and
to pass her life with you.

Pyrg. What! — I come home to her, when she is a mar-
ried woman? Her husband is to be stood in fear of.

Mil. Why — for your sake, she has turned her husband
out of her house.

Pyrg. How? How could she do so?

Mil. The house was her marriage-portion.

Pyrg. Was it so ? Mil. It was so, on my word.

Pyrg. Bid her go home; I'll be there just now.

Mil. Take care, and don't keep her in expectation ; don't
torment her feelings.

Pyrg. Not I, indeed. Do you go then. Mil. We are
going. (AcROTELEUTiuM and Milphidippa go into the house
of Periplecomenus.)

Pyrg. But what do I see ? Pal. What do you see ?

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 87

Pyrg. See here, some one is coming, I know not who,
but in a sailor^s dress.

Pal. He is surely wanting us, now ; really, it is the ship-
master.

Pyrg. He's come, I suppose, to fetch her.

Pal. I fancy so.

SCENE vn

Enter Pleusicles, at a distance, in a Sailor's dress.

Pleus. (to himself). Did I not know that another man-
in other ways has done many a thing unbecomingly on ac-
count of love, I should be more ashamed by reason of love
for me to be going in this garb. But since I have learned
that many persons by reason of love have committed many
actions, disgraceful and estranged from what is good, . . .
for I pass by how Achilles suffered his comrades to be
slain But there's Palsestrio, he's standing with the Cap-
tain. My talk must now be changed for another kind.
Woman is surely born of tardiness itself. For every other
delay, which is a delay just as much, seems a less delay than
that which is on account of a woman. I really think that this
is done merely from habit. But I shall call for this
Philocomasium. I'll knock at the door then. Hallo ! is there
any one here? (Knocks at the Captain^s door.)

Pal. Young man — what is it? What do you want?
Why are you knocking?

Pleus. I'm come to inquire for Philocomasium; I'm
come from her mother. If she's for going, let her set off.
She is delaying us all; we wish to weigh anchor.

Pyrg. Her things have been some "time in readiness.
Hearkye, Palaestrio, take some assistants with you to carry
to the ship her golden trinkets, her furniture, apparel, all her
precious things. All the articles are already packed up which
I gave her.

Pal. I'll go. (Goes into the house.) Pleus. Troth
now, prithee, do make haste.

Pyrg. There shall be no delay. Pray, what is it that
has been done with your eye?

88 PLAUTUS

Pleus. Troth, but I have my eye. (Points to the right
one.)

Pyrg. But the left one I mean.

Pleus. I'll tell you. On account of the sea, I use this
eye less; but if I kept away from the sea,^ I should use the
one like the other. But they are detaining me too long.

Pyrg. See, here they are coming out.

SCENE VIII

Enter Pal^strio and Philocomasium from the Captain's

house.

Pal. (to Philocomasium). Prithee, when will you this
day make an end of your weeping?

Phil. What can I do but weep? I am going away
hence where I have spent my days most happily.

Pal. See, there's the man that has come from your
mother and sister (pointing to Pleusicles).

Phil. I see him. Pyrg. Palaestrio, do you hear ?

Pal. What is your pleasure ? Pyrg. Aren't you order-
ing those presents to be brought out which I gave her?

Pleus. Health to you, Philocomasium. Phil. And
health to you.

Pleus. Your mother and sister bade me give their love
to you.

Phil. Heaven prosper them. Pleus. They beg you
to set out, so that, while the wind is fair, they may set sail.
But if your mother's eyes had been well, she would have
come together with me.

Phil. I'll go; although I do it with regret — duty com-
pels me.

Pleus. You act wisely. Pyrg. If she had not been

^ There is a pun here, which cannot be preserved in the translation.
" Si abstinuissem a mare," " If I kept away from the sea," may also
be read, " Si abstinuissem amare," " If I refrained from loving."
The Captain understands him in a former sense, thinking that he
means that he has got a disease in his eye, which may be increased
by leading a seafaring Ufe.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 89

passing her life with myself, this day she would have been a
blockhead.

Phil. I am distracted at this, that I am estranged from
such a man. For you are able to make any woman whatever
abound in wit; and because I was living with you, for that
reason I was a very lofty spirit. I see that I must lose that
loftiness of mind. (Pretends to cry.)

Pyrg. Don't weep. Phil. I can't help it when I look
upon you.

Pyrg. Be of good courage. Phil. I know what pain
it is to me.

Pal. I really don't wonder now, Philocomasium, if you
were here with happiness to yourself, when I, a servant —
as I look at him, weep because we are parting (pretends to
cry), so much have his beauty, his manners, his valour, cap-
tivated your feelings.

Phil. Prithee, do let me embrace you before I depart?

Pyrg. By all means. Phil, (embracing him). O my
eyes! O my life!

Pal. Do hold up the woman, I entreat you, lest she
should fall. (He takes hold of her, and she pretends to
faint.)

Pyrg. What means this ? Pal. Because, after she had
quitted you, she suddenly became faint, poor thing.

Pyrg. Run in and fetch some water.

Pal. I want no water ; but I had rather you would keep
at a distance. Prithee, don't you interfere till she comes to.

Pyrg. (observing Pleusicles, who is holding Philo-
comasium in his arm). They have their heads too closely in
contact between them I I don't like it ; he is soldering his lips
to hers. What the plague are you about?

Pleus. I was trying whether she was breathing or not.

Pyrg. You ought to have applied your ear then.

Pleus. If you had rather, I'll let her go.

Pyrg. No, I don't care; do you support her.

Pal. To my misery, I'm quite distracted.

Pyrg. Go and bring here from in-doors all the things
that I have given her.

Pal. And even now, household God, do I salute thee

90 PLAUTUS

before I depart; my fellow-servants, both male and female,
all farewell, and happy may you live ; prithee, though absent,
among yourselves bestow your blessings upon me as well.

Pyrg. Come, Palaestrio, be of good courage.

Pal. Alas ! alas ! I cannot but weep since from you I must
depart.

Pyrg. Bear it with patience. Phil, (feigning to re-
cover.) Ha! how's this? What means it? Hail, O light!

Pleus. Are you recovered now? Phil. Prithee, what
person am I embracing? I'm undone. Am I myself?

Pleus. (in a low voice). Fear not, my delight.

Pyrg. What means all this ? Pal. Just now she swooned
away here. ... I fear and dread that this at last may
take place ^ too openly.

Pyrg. What is that you say? Pal. I fear that some
one may turn it to your discredit, while all these things are
being carried after us through the city.

Pyrg. I have given away my own property, and not
theirs. I care but little for other people. Be off then, go
with the blessing of the Gods.

Pal. 'Tis for your sake I say it.

Pyrg. I believe you. Pal. And now farewell !

Pyrg. And heartily farewell to you! Pal. (to Pleu-
siCLES and Philocomasium as they leave.) Go you quickly
on; ril overtake you directly; I wish to speak a few words
with my master. (To Pyrgopolinices.) Although you
have ever deemed others more faithful to yourself than me,
still do I owe you many thanks for all things; and if such
were your feelings, I would rather be a slave to you by far
than be the freedman of another.

Pyrg. Be of good courage. Pal. Ah, me! When it
comes in my mind, how my manners must be changed, how

1 Palaestrio cannot help exclaiming against the indiscreet conduct
of the lovers. The Captain overhears him, and asks him what is
the matter. He adroitly turns it off, by saying, " that if thus openly
. . . the goods and furniture are carried through the city, he very
much fears that his master will be censured for his extreme
prodigality."

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 91

womanish manners must be learnt, and the military ones
forgotten !

Pyrg. Take care and be honest.

Pal. I can be so no longer ; I have lost all inclination.

Pyrg. Go, follow them; don't linger.

Pal. Fare you right well. Pyrg. And heartily fare
you well.

Pal. Prithee,, do remember me; if perchance I should
happen to be made free, I'll send the news to you ; don't you
forsake me.^

Pyrg. That is not my habit.

Pal. Consider every now and then how faithful I have
been to you. If you do that, then at last you'll know who is
honest towards you and who dishonest.

Pyrg. I know it; I have often found that true, as well
before as to-day in especial.

Pal. Do you know it ? Aye, and this day I'll make you
hereafter say still more how true it is.

Pyrg. I can hardly refrain from bidding you to stay.

Pal. Take you care how ^ you do that. They may say
that you are a liar and not truthful, that you have no honour ;
they may say that no one of your slaves is trustworthy except
myself. If, indeed, I thought you could do it with honour, I
should advise you. But it cannot be; take care how you
do so.

Pyrg. Be off ; I'll be content then, whatever happens.

Pal. Then, fare you well. Pyrg. 'Twere better you
should go with a good heart.

Pal. Still, once more, farewell. (Exit.) Pyrg. Be-
fore this affair, I had always thought that he was a most
rascally servant; still, I find that he is faithful to me. When

^He hypocritically entreats his master not to desert him in need,
should he be made free, and be thereby thrown entirely upon his
own resources.

2 There is considerable drollery in his anxiety lest his master should
suddenly change his mind and refuse to let him go. His situation
would, indeed, under such circumstances have proved an unfortu-
nate one.

92 PLAUTUS

I consider with myself, I have done unwisely in parting with
him. ril go hence at once now to my love here: the door,
too, I perceive, makes a noise there.

SCENE IX

Enter a Boy from the house of Periplecomenus.

Boy {to some one within). Don't you be advising me; I
remember my duty; this moment I'll find him. Wherever
on earth he may chance to be, I'll search him out; I'll not
be sparing of my pains.

Pyrg. 'Tis I he is looking for; I'll go and meet this
boy.

Boy. O, I'm looking for you; save you, dearest sir, one
loaded by opportunity with her gifts, and whom before all
others two Divinities do favour.

Pyrg. What two? Boy. Mars and Venus.

Pyrg. A sprightly boy. Boy. She entreats that you
will go in ; she wishes — she longs for you, and while expecting
you, she's dying for you. Do succour one in love. Why do
you stay? Why don't you go in?

Pyrg. Well, I'll go. {Enters the house of Peripleco-
menus.)

Boy. There has he entangled himself at once in the toils.
The snare is prepared: the old gentleman is standing at his
post to attack the letcher, who is so boastful of his good
looks; who thinks that, whatever woman sees him, all are in
love with him ; whom all, both men and women, detest. Now
I will on to the uproar ; I hear a tumult within.

!ACT THE FIFTH

SCENE I

Enter Periplecomenus from his house, with Cario and
other Servants, dragging Pyrgopolinices.

Perip. Bring that fellow along. If he doesn't follow,
drag him, lifted on high, out of doors. Make him to be be-

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 93

tween heaven and earth; cut him in pieces. {They heat
him.)

Pyrg. By my troth, I do entreat you, Periplecomenus.

Perip. By my troth, you do entreat in vain. Take care,
Cario, that that knife of yours is very sharp.

Cario. Why, it's already longing to rip up the stomach
of this letcher. I'll make his entrails hang just as a bauble
hangs from a baby's neck.

Pyrg. I'm a dead man. Perip. Not yet; you say so
too soon.

Cario. Shall I have at this fellow now?

Perip. Aye, — but first let him be thrashed with cudgels.

Cario. True, right lustily. Perip. Why have you
dared, you disgraceful fellow, to seduce another man's wife?

Pyrg. So may the Gods bless me, she came to me of her
own accord.

Perip. It's a lie. Lay on. {They are about to strike.)

Pyrg. Stay, while I tell Perip. Why are you

hesitating ?

Pyrg. Will you not let me speak ?

Perip. Speak, then. Pyrg. I was entreated to come
here.

Perip. How did you dare? There's for you, take that.
{Strikes him.)

Pyrg. O ! O ! I've had enough. Prithee, now.

Cario. Am I to begin cutting him up at once ?

PtRip. As soon as you like. Stretch the fellow out, and
spread out his pinions in opposite ways.

Pyrg. By heavens, prithee, do hear my words before he
cuts me.

Perip. Speak before you're made of no sex.

Pyrg. I supposed that she was a widow; and so her
maid, who was her go-between, informed me.

Perip. Now take an oath that you won't injure any per-
son for this affair, because you have been beaten here to-day,
or shall be beaten hereafter, if we let you go safe hence, you
dear little grandson of Venus.^

^ This is an allusion to the Captain's own boast in Act IV. s. 4, that
he was the grandson of Venus.

94 PLAUTUS

Pyrg. I swear by Dione^ and Mars that I will hurt no
one because I have been beaten here this day ; and I think that
it was rightfully done; and if I don't go hence further in-
jured, I am rightly punished for the offence.

Perip. But what if you don't do so?

Pyrg. Then, may I always have my word not to be
trusted.

Cario. Let him be beaten once more ; after that I think
he may be dismissed.

Pyrg. May the Gods ever bless you, since you so kindly
come as my advocate.

Cario. Give us a golden mina, then.

Pyrg. For what reason? Cario. That we may now let
you go hence unmaimed, you little grandson of Venus ; other-
wise you shall not escape from here; don't you deceive your-
self.

Pyrg. It shall be given you. Cario. You're very wise.
As for your tunic, and your scarf, and sword, don't at all
hope for them; you shan't have them.

A Servant. Shall I beat him again, or do you let him
go?

Pyrg. I'm tamed by your cudgels. I do entreat you.

Perip. Loose him. Pyrg. I return you thanks.

Perip. If I ever catch you here again, I'll insert a dis-
qualifying clause.

Pyrg. Well; I make no objection.

Perip. Let's go in, Cario. (Periplecomenus, Cario,
and Servants, go into his house.)

SCENE II
Enter Sceledrus and other Servants of the Captain.

Pyrg. Here are some of my servants, I see. Tell me, is
Philocomasium off yet?

ScEL. Aye, some time since. Pyrg. Ah me !

ScEL. You would say that still more if you were to know

^ Dione was the mother of Venus ; but the name is much more fre-
quently used to signify Venus herself. Pyrgopolinices appropriately
swears by these guardian Deities of intrigue.

THE BRAGGART CAPTAIN 95

what I know, for that fellow who had the wool before his
eye was no sailor.

Pyrg. ^Who was he, then? Scel. A lover of Philo-
comasium's.

Pyrg. How do you know? Scel. I do know: for
after they had got out of the city gate, they didn't wait a
moment before falling to kissing and embracing each other
at once.

Pyrg. O wretched fool that I am ! I see that I have been
gulled. That scoundrel of a fellow, Palsestrio, it was he that
contrived this plot against me.

Scel. I think it was properly done. If it were so done
to other letchers, there would be fewer letchers here; they
would stand more in awe, and give their attention less to
these pursuits.

Pyrg. Let's go into my house.

An Actor (to the Audience). Give us your applause.

MENiECHMI

[THE TWIN-BROTHERS]

DRAMATIS PERSONS

Men^chmus of Epidamnus.

Men^chmus Sosicles, his twin-brother.

Peniculus, a Parasite.

Messenio, the servant of Menaechmus Sosicles.

Cylindrus, a Cook.

An Old Man, father-in-law of Menaechmus Sosicles.

A Doctor.

The Wife of Men^chmus of Epidamnus.
Erotium, a Courtesan.
Maid-Servant of Erotium.

Scene. — Epidamnus, a city of Illyricum. The house of
Men^chmus of Epidamnus is on one side of the street, and
that of Erotium on the other.

ARGUMENT

Moschus, a merchant of Syracuse, had two twin-sons who
exactly resembled each other. One of these, whose name was
Mensechmus, when a child, accompanied his father to Tarentum, at
which place he was stolen and carried away to Epidamnus, where
in course of time he has married a wealthy wife. Disagreements,
however, arising with her, he forms an acquaintance with the
Courtesan Erotium, and is in the habit of presenting her with clothes
and jewels which he pilfers from his wife. The original name of
the other twin-brother was Sosicles, but on the loss of Menaechmus,
the latter name has been substituted by their grandfather for Sosicles,
in remembrance of the lost child. Menaechmus Sosicles, on growing
to manhood, determines to seek his lost brother. Having wandered
for six years, he arrives at Epidamnus, attended by his servant, Mes-
senio. In consequence of his resemblance to his brother, many
curious and laughable mistakes happen between him and the
Courtesan Erotium, the wife of Menaechmus of Epidamnus, the Cook
Cylindrus, the Parasite Peniculus, the father-in-law of Menaechmus
of Epidamnus, and lastly Messenio himself. At length, through the
agency of the latter, the brothers recognize each other; on which
Messenio receives his liberty, and Menaechmus of Epidamnus resolves
to make sale of his possessions and to return to Syracuse, his na-
tive place.

THE TWIN-BROTHERS

THE PROLOGUE

In the first place now, Spectators, at the commencement,
do I wish heahh and happiness to myself and to you. I
bring you Plautus, with my tongue, not with my hand : I beg
that you will receive him with favouring ears. Now learn the
argument, and give your attention; in as few words as pos-
sible will I be brief. And, in fact, this subject is a Greek
one; still, it is not an Attic, but a Sicilian one. But in their
Comedies the poets do this; they feign that all the business
takes place at Athens, in order that it may appear the more
Grecian to you. I will not tell you that this matter hap-
pened anywhere except where it is said to have happened.
This has been my preface to the subject of this play. Now
will I give the subject, meted out to you, not in a measure,
nor yet in a threefold measure,^ but in the granary itself;
so great is my heartiness in telling you the plot.

There was a certain aged man, a merchant at Syracuse ; ^
to him two sons were born, twins, children so like in appear-
ance that their own foster-mother, who gave the breast, was
not able to distinguish them, nor even the mother herself who
had given them birth ; as a person, indeed, informed me who
had seen the children; I never saw them, let no one of you
fancy so. After the children were now seven years old, the
father freighted a large ship with much merchandise. The
father put one of the twins on board the ship, and took him
away, together with himself, to traffic at Tarentum;* the

^ This was a measure for corn, consisting of three " modii," which
last contained about a peck of English measure.
2 Syracuse was the principal city of Sicily and famed for its com-
merce and opulence.

^ Tarentum was a city of Calabria, in the south of Italy.

100 PLAUTUS

other one he left with his mother at home. By accident, there
were games at Tarentum when he came there : many persons,
as generally happens at the games, had met together ; the child
strayed away there from his father among the people. A cer-
tain merchant of Epidamnus was there; he picked up the
child, and carried it away to Epidamnus/ But its father,
after he had lost the child, took it heavily to heart, and
through grief at it he died a few days after at Tarentum.
Now, after news reached the grandfather of the children at
home about this matter, how that one of the children had been
stolen, the grandfather changed the name of that other twin.
So much did he love that one which had been stolen, that he
gave his name to the one that was at home. That you may
not mistake hereafter, I tell you then this beforehand; the
name of both the twin-brothers is the same. He gave the
same name of Mensechmus to this one as the other had ; and
by the same name the grandfather himself was called. I
remember his name the more easily for the reason that I saw
him cried with much noise.^ Now must I speed back on foot
to Epidamnus, that I may exactly disclose this matter to you.
If any one of you wishes anything to be transacted for him
at Epidamnus, command me boldly and speak out ; but on these
terms, that he give me the means by which it may be trans-
acted for him. For unless a person gives the money, he will
be mistaken (in a lower tone) ; except that he who does give
it will be very much more mistaken. But I have returned to
that place whence I set forth, and yet I am standing in the self-
same spot. This person of Epidamnus, whom I mentioned

^ Epidamnus, or Epidamnum, was a town of Macedonia, situate on
the Adriatic Sea. It was much resorted to for the purpose of transit
to the opposite shores of Italy. It received its original name from
Epidamnus, one of its kings; but on falling into the possession of
the Romans, they changed its name, as we are informed by Pliny
the Elder, into Dyrrachium, from a superstitious notion that when
they were going to " Epidamnum," they were going " to their loss,"
as " damnum^' is the Latin for " loss " or " destruction," and "epL"
is the Greek preposition signifying "to."

2 Probably the word " flagitarier " means that the lost child was
cried publicly by the " praeco," or " crier."

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 101

just now, that stole that other twin child, had no children,
except his wealth. He adopted as his son the child so carried
off, and gave him a well-portioned wife, and made him his
heir when he himself died. ,For as, by chance, he was going
into the country, when it had rained heavily, entering, not
far from the city, a rapid stream, in its rapidity it threw the
ravisher of the child off his legs, and hurried the man away
to great and grievous destruction. And so a very large for-
tune fell to that youth. Here (pointing to the house) does
the stolen twin now dwell. Now that twin, who dwells at
Syracuse, has come this day to Epidamnus with his servant
to make inquiry for this own twin-brother of his. This is
the city of Epidamnus while this play is acting; when an-
other shall be acted, it will become another town ; just as our
companies, too, are wont to be shifted about. The same per-
son now acts the procurer, now the youth, now the old man,
the pauper, the beggar, the king, the parasite, the sooth-
sayer. . . .

ACT THE FIRST

SCENE I

Enter Peniculus

Pen. The young men have given me the name of Penic-
ulus,^ for this reason, because when I eat, I wipe the tables
clean. . . . The persons who bind captives with chains,
and who put fetters upon runaway slaves, act very foolishly,
in my opinion at least. For if bad usage is added to his mis-
fortune for a wretched man, the greater is his inclination to
run away and to do amiss. For by some means or other do
they release themselves from the chains; while thus fettered,
they either wear away a link with a file, or else with a stone
they knock out the nail ; 'tis a mere trifle this. He whom you

^ This word means " a sponge " which was fastened to a stick, and
was used for the purpose of cleansing tables. Colman and Warner,
in their translations of Terence and Plautus, render the word
" dishclout."

102 PLAUTUS

wish to keep securely that he may not run away, with meat
and with drink ought he to be chained ; do you bind down the
mouth of a man to a full table. So long as you give him
what to eat and what to drink at his own pleasure in abun-
dance every day, i' faith he'll never run away, even if he has
committed an offence that's capital ; easily will you secure him
so long as you shall bind him with such chains. So very sup-
ple are these chains of food, the more you stretch them so
much the more tightly do they bind. But now I'm going
directly to Mensechmus ; whither for this long time I have been
sentenced, thither of my own accord I am going, that he may
enchain me. For, by my troth, this man does not nourish
persons, but he quite rears and reinvigorates them; no one
administers medicine more agreeably. Such is this young
man ; himself with a very well-stocked larder, he gives dinners
fit for Ceres ; ^ so does he heap the tables up, and piles so vast
of dishes does he arrange, you must stand on your couch if
you wish for anything at the top. But I have now had an
interval these many days, while I've been lording it at home all
along together with my dear ones ^ — for nothing do I eat or
purchase but what it is most dear. But inasmuch as dear
ones, when they are provided, are in the habit of forsaking us,
I am now paying him a visit. But his door is opening; and
see, I perceive Mensechmus himself; he is coming out of doors.

SCENE II

Enter Men^chmus of Epidamnus, from his house.

Men. (speaking at the door to his Wife within). Unless
you were worthless, unless you were foolish, unless you were
stark wild and an idiot, that which you see is disagreeable to
your husband, you would deem to be so to yourself as well.
Moreover, if after this day you do any such thing to me, I'll
force you, a divorced woman, turned out of my doors to go

1 The Goddess of plenty.

2 It might be supposed that he is meaning his family. The next line
shows that such is not the case. He has had a supply of victuals,
purchased at his own cost, and, these giving out, he is scheming to
dine with Mensechmus.

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 103

visit your father. For as often as I wish to go out of the
house, you are detaining me, caUing me back, asking me ques-
tions ; whither I am going, what matter I am about, what busi-
ness I am transacting, what I am wanting, what I am bringing,
what I have been doing out of doors? I've surely brought
home a custom-house officer as my wife; so much am I
obHged to disclose all my business, whatever I have done and
am doing. I've had you hitherto indulged too much. Now,
therefore, I'll tell you how I am about to act. Since I find
you handsomely in maids, provisions, wool, gold trinkets,
garments, and purple, and you are wanting in nought, you'll
beware of a mischief if you're wise; you'll leave off watching
your husband. {In a lower voice.) And therefore, that you
mayn't be watching me in vain, for your pains I shall find me
a mistress to-day, and invite her to dinner somewhere out of
doors.

Pen. {apart). This fellow pretends that he's upbraiding
his wife, but he's addressing myself; for if he does dine out of
doors, he really is punishing me, not his wife.

Men. {to himself). Hurra! I' troth, by my taunts I've
driven my wife from the door at last. Where now are your
intriguing husbands? Why do they hesitate, all returning
thanks, to bring presents to me who have fought so gallantly ?
This mantle^ of my wife's {taking it from under his cloak)
I've just now stolen from in-doors, and I'm taking it to my
mistress. This way it's proper for a clever trick to be played
this knowing husband-watcher. This is a becoming action,
this is right, this is skilful, this is done in workman-like style;
inasmuch as at my own risk I've taken this from my plague,
this same shall be carried off to destruction.^ With the safety
of my allies^ I've gained a booty from the foe.

Pen. {aloud, at a distance). Harkye! young man; pray
what share have I in that booty ?

^The "palla" was worn indifferently by both sexes among the

Greeks and Romans, and was used for many other purposes than

that of a garment.

2 He calls the Courtesan " damnum," " sheer loss."

^ By these he means the Courtesan Erotium and the Parasite Penic-

ulus, who have run no risk by helping him to filch away the mantle.

104 PLAUTUS

Men. I'm undone; I've fallen into an ambuscade.

Pen. Say a safeguard rather. Don't be afraid.

Men. What person's this ? Pen. 'Tis I. (Coming up
to him.)

Men. O my convenient friend — O my ready occasion,
save you.

Pen. And save you. (They shake hands.) Men.
jWhat are you about ?

Pen. Holding my good Genius in my right hand.

Men. You couldn't have come to me more a propos than
you have come.

Pen. I'm in the habit of doing so; I understand all the
points of ready occasion.

Men. Would you like to be witness of a brilliant exploit?

Pen. What cook has cooked it ? I shall know at once if
he has made any mistake, when I see the remnants.^

Men. Tell me — did you ever see a picture painted on a
wall, where the eagle is carrying off Ganymede, or Venus
Adonis ?

Pen. Many a time. But what are these pictures to me ?

Men. Come, look at me. (He puts on the mantle.) Do
I at all bear any resemblance to them?

Pen. What's this garb of yours?

Men. Pronounce me to be a very clever fellow.

Pen. Where are we to feed? Men. Only do you say
that which I requested you.

Pen. Well, I do say so; very clever fellow.

Men. And don't you venture to add anything of your
own to it ?

Pen. — And very pleasant fellow. Men. Go on.

Pen. I' faith, I really can't go on, unless I know for what
reason. You've had a fall-out with your wife ; on that ground
am I the more strongly on my guard against you.^

Men. While you are interrupting me, you are delaying
yourself.

^ The Parasite wilfully misconstrues the question into an invitation

to dine upon some gastronomic achievement.

^i. e., because of the hopelessness of being invited home to dinner.

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 105

Pen. Knock out my only eye/ Menaechmus, if I speak
one word but what you bid me.

Men. . . . where, unknown to my wife, we will erect
the funeral pile ^ . . and let us consume this day upon it.

Pen. Well, come then, since you request what's fair, how
soon am I to set fire to the pile ? Why, really, the day's half
dead already down to its navel.

Men. Come this way from the door.

Pen. Be it so. (Moves from the door.) Men. Come
still more this way.

Pen. Very well. (Moves.) Men. Even still, step
aside boldly from the lioness's den.

Pen. (still moving). Well done; by my troth, as I fancy,
you really would be an excellent charioteer.

Men. Why so? Pen. That your wife mayn't follow
you, you are looking back ever and anon.

Men. But what say you? Pen. What, I? Why,
whatever you choose, that same do I say, and that same do I
deny.

Men. Could you make any conjecture at all from the
smell, if perchance you were to take a smell at something?

Pen. Were the college of Augurs summoned. . . .

Men. (holds out the skirt of the mantle). Come then,
take a sniff at this mantle that I'm holding. What does it
smell of ? Do you decline ?

Pen. It's as well to smell the top of a woman's garment;
for at this other place the nose is offended with an odour that
can't be washed out.

Men. (holding another part). Take a smell here then,
Peniculus, as you are so daintily nice.

Pen. Very well. (He smells it.) Men. How now?
tWhat does it smell of ? Answer me.

Pen. Theft, a mistress, and a breakfast. . . .

Men. You have spoken. . . . Now it shall be taken
to this mistress of mine, the Courtesan Erotium. I'll order a
breakfast at once to be got ready, for me, you, and her; then
will we booze away even to the morrow's morning star.

^By this it appears that Peniculus has but one eye.

106 PLAUTUS

Pen. Capital. You've spoken out distinctly. Am I to
knock at the door then ?

Men. Knock — or hold, rather. Pen. You've removed ^
the goblet a full mile by that.

Men. Knock gently. Pen. You're afraid, I think, that
the doors are made of Samian crockery. (Goes to knock.)

Men. Hold, prithee, hold, i' faith ; see, she's coming out
herself. (The door of Erotium's house is opened.) Ha!
you behold the sun, is it not quite darkened in comparison
with the bright rays of her person.

SCENE III

'Enter Erotium^ from her house.

Erg. My life, Menaechmus, save you.

Pen. And what for me? Erg. You are out of my
number.

Pen. . . . that same thing is wont to be done for the
other supernumeraries ^ of the legion.

Men. I would order a skirmish to be got ready there at
your house for me to-day.

Erg. To-day it shall be done.

Men. In that skirmish we two shall drink. Him shall
you choose that shall be found there the better warrior with
the goblet; do you make up your mind with which of the
two you'll pass this night. How much, my love, when I look
upon you, do I hate my wife.

Erg. Meantime, however, you cannot help being wrapped
in something of hers. What's this? (Takes hold of the
mantle.)

Men. (taking it off). 'Tis a new dress for you, and a
spoil from my wife, my rosebud.

Erg. You have a ready way of prevailing, so as to be
superior in my eyes to any one of those that pay me suit.
(Embraces him.)

1 Peniculus now loses patience, and reflects that there is many a slip
between the cup and the lip.

2 The reserves could not claim the same advantages as the regular
soldiers; and his own position is likened by the Parasite to theirs.

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 107

Pen. \as%d^). The harlot's coaxing in the meantime,
while she's looking out what to plunder . . . (to Ero-
tium) for if you really loved him, by this his nose ought to
have been off with your teething him/

Men. Take hold of this, Peniculus : I wish to dedicate the
spoil that I've vowed.

Pen. Give it me. (Holds it. while Men^chmus puts if
on.) 'But, i' faith, prithee, do dance afterwards with the man-
tle on in this way.

Men. I — dance? I' faith, you're not in your senses.

Pen. Are you or I the most ? If you won't dance, then
take it off.

Men. (to Erotium). At a great risk I have stolen this
to-day. In my opinion, indeed, Hercules didn't ever carry
off the belt from Hippolyta ^ with danger as great. Take this
for yourself (he takes it oif, and gives her the mantle), since
you are the only one alive that's compliant with my humours.

Erg. IWith such feelings 'tis proper that real lovers should
be animated.

Pen. (aside). Those, indeed, who are making haste to
bring themselves down to beggary.

Men. I purchased that for my wife a year since at the
price of four minae.

Pen. (aside). The four minse are clearly gone for ever,
as the account now stands.

Men. Do you know what I wish you to attend to?

Ero. I don't know; but I'll attend to whatever you do
wish.

Men. Order a breakfast, then, to be provided for us three
at your house, and some dainties to be purchased at the
market; kernels of boars' neck, or bacon off the gammon, or
pig's head, or something in that way, which, when cooked and
placed on the table before me, may promote an appetite like
a kite's : and — forthwith

^ Judging from this remark, perhaps she has accidentally forgotten
to kiss her dupe, Mensechmus.

2 Queen of the Amazons. The feat was one of the twelve labours o£
the hero.

108 PLAUTUS '

Ero. I' faith, I will. Men. We're going to the Forum :
we shall be here just now. While it's cooking, we'll take a
whet in the meantime.

Erg. Come when you like, the things shall be ready.

Men. Only make haste, then. Do you follow me (to
Peniculus).

Pen. By my troth, I certainly shall keep an eye on you,
and follow you. I wouldn't take the wealth of the Gods to
lose you this day. (Exeunt Men^chmus and Peniculus.)

Erg. (speaking at the door of her house). Call Cylin-
drus, the cook, out of doors this moment from within.

SCENE IV
Enter Cylindrus, from the house.

Erg. Take a hand-basket and some money. See, you
have three didrachms here. (Giving him money.)

Cly. I have so. Erg. Go and bring some provisions,
see that there's enough for three ; let it be neither deficient nor
overmuch.

Cyl. What sort of persons are these to be?

Erg. Myself, Mensechmus, and his Parasite.

Cyl. Then these make ten, for the Parasite easily per-
forms the duty of eight persons.

Erg. I've now told you the guests; do you take care of
the rest.

Cyl. Very well. It's cooked already; bid them go and
take their places.

Erg. Make haste back. Cyl. I'll be here directly.
(Exit Cylindrus, and Ergtium goes into her house.

ACT THE SECOND

SCENE I
Enter Men^chmus Sgsicles and Messenig.

Men. Sgs. There's no greater pleasure to voyagers, in my
notion, Messenio, than at the moment when from sea they
espy the land afar.

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 109

Mess. There is a greater, I'll say it without subterfuge —
if on your arrival you see the land that is your own. But,
prithee, why are we now come to Epidamnus? Why, like
the sea, are we going round all the islands?

Men. Sos. To seek for my own twin-brother born.

Mess. Why, what end is there to be of searching for
him ? This is the sixth year that we've devoted our attention
to this business. We have been already carried round the
Istrians, the Hispanians, the Massilians, the Illyrians, all the
Upper Adriatic Sea, and foreign Greece,^ and all the shores of
Italy^ wherever the sea reaches them. If you had been
searching for a needle, I do believe you would, long ere this,
have found the needle, if it were visible. Among the living
are we seeking a person that's dead; for long ago should we
have found him if he had been alive.

Men. Sos. For that reason I am looking for a person to
give me that information for certain, who can say that he
knows that he really is dead; after that I shall never take
any trouble in seeking further. But otherwise I shall never,
while I'm alive, desist ; I know how dear he is to my heart.

Mess. You are seeking a knot in a bulrush.^ Why don't
we return homeward hence, unless we are to write a history?

Men. Sos. Have done with your witty sayings, and be on
your guard against a mischief. Don't you be troublesome;
this matter shan't be done at your bidding.

Mess, (aside). Aye, aye; by that same expression do I
rest assured that I'm a slave ; he couldn't in a few words have
said more in a plain-spoken way. But still I can't restrain
myself from ' speaking. (Aloud.) Do you hear, Mensech-
mus? When I look in the purse, I find, i' faith, we're only

^ The Istrians were a people of the north of Italy, near the Adriatic
Sea, and adjoining to Illyricum. The Illyrians inhabited the country
now called Dalmatia. The Massilians were the natives of the city
of Massilia, now called Marseilles. The Hispani were the inhabitants
of Hispania, now Spain. " Foreign Greece," here mentioned, was
the southern part of Italy, which was also called " Magna Graecia,"
in consequence of the great number of Grecian settlements there.
2 A proverb of impossibility, since the bulrush has a smooth stem.

110 PLAUTUS

equipped for our journey like summer travelers. By my
troth, I guess, if you don't be returning home, while you're
seeking your twin-brother, you'll surely be groaning, when you
have nothing left. For such is this race of people ; among the
men of Epidamnus there are debauchees and very great drink-
ers; swindlers besides, and many wheedlers are living in this
city; then the women in the harlot line are said nowhere in
the world to be more captivating. The name of Epidamnus
was given to this city for the very reason, because hardly any
person sojourns here without some damnable mishap.

Men. Sos. I'll guard against that. Just give me the
purse this way.

Mess. What do you want with it ?

Men. Sos. I'm apprehensive then about yourself, from
your expressions.

Mess. Why are you apprehensive? Men. Sos. Lest
you should cause me some damnable mishap in Epidamnus.
You are a great admirer of the women, Messenio, and I'm a
passionate man, of an unmanageable disposition; of both these
things will I have a care, when I've got the money, that you
shall not commit a fault, and that I shall not be in a passion
with you.

Mess, (giving him the purse). Take and keep it; with all
my heart you may do so.

SCENE II

Enter Cylindrus^ with a basket of provisions.

Cyl. I've catered well, and to my mind. I'll set a good
breakfast before the break f asters. But see, I perceive
Menaechmus. Woe to my back; the guests are now already
walking before the door, before I've returned with the provi-
sions. I'll go and accost him. Save you, Menaechmus.

Men. Sos. The Gods bless you, whoever you are.

Cyl. . . . who I am?

Mess. V faith, not I, indeed. Cyl. Where are the
other guests?

Men. Sos. What guests are you inquiring about?

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 111

Cyl. Your Parasite. Men. Sos. My Parasite? Surely
this fellow's deranged.

Mess. Didn't I tell you that there were many swindlers
here?

Men. Sos. What Parasite of mine, young man, are you
inquiring about ?

Cyl. Peniculus. Men. Sos. . . . Where is my
• • . •

Mess. See, I've got your sponge [Peniculus] all safe in
the wallet.

Cyl. Mensechmus, you've come here too soon for break-
fast; I'm now but returning with the provisions.

Men. Sos. Answer me this, young man : at what price do
pigs sell here, unblemished ones, for sacrifice?

Cyl. At a didrachm apiece.

Men. Sos. (holding out his hand). Receive, then, a
didrachm of me; bid a sacrifice be made for you at my ex-
pense; for, by my faith, I really am sure in very truth that
you are deranged, who are annoying me, a person that's a
stranger, whoever you are.^

Cyl. I am Cylindrus; don't you know my name?

Men. Sos. Whether you are Cylindrus or Caliendrus,*
confound you. I don't know you, and, in fact, I don't want
to know you.

Cyl. Well, your name, however, is Mensechmus, that I
do know.

Men. Sos. You speak like a sane person when you call
me by my name. But where have you known me ?

Cyl. Where have I known you, you who have Erotium,
this mistress of mine (pointing to the house), for your lady?

Men. Sos. By my troth, I have not, nor do I know your-
self what person you are.

Cyl. Not know who I am, who have many a time filled

^ Pigs were sacrificed to the Lares, or household Gods, in behalf of
those who were afflicted with insanity.

2 Cylindrus means " a cylinder " ; also a " rolling-pin." Sosicles plays
upon its resemblance to " caliendrum," a wig. " Whether you are
Rolling Pin or Bowling Pin " would paraphrase the play on words.

112 PLAUTUS

the cups for your own self at our house, when you've been
drinking ?

Mess. Woe to me, that I've got nothing with which to
break this fellow's head.

Men. Sos. Are you in the habit of filling the cups for
me, who, before this day, have never beheld Epidamnus, nor
been there?

Cyl. Do. you deny it? Men. Sos. Upon my honour, I
decidedly do deny it.

Cyl. Don't you live in that house? (Pointing to the
house of Men^chmus of Epidamnus.)

Men. Sos. May the Gods send to perdition those that
live there.

Cyl. Surely, this fellow's mad, who is thus uttering
curses against his own self. Do you hear Mensechmus?

Men. Sos. What do you want? Cyl. If you take my
advice, that didrachm, which you just now promised to give
me — ^you would order, if you were wise, a pig to be procured
iwith it for yourself. For, i' faith, you really for sure are
not in your senses, Menaechmus, who are now uttering curses
against your own self.

Men. Sos. Alas ! By my faith, a very silly fellow, and
an annoyance to me.

Cyl. {to Messenio). He's in the habit of often joking
with me in this fashion. How very droll he is, when his
wife isn't present. How say you ?

Men. Sos. What do you mean, you rascal?

Cyl. {pointing to the basket). Has this that you see been
provided in sufficient quantity for three persons, or am I to
provide still more for yourself and the Parasite and the lady ?

Men. Sos. What ladies — what Parasites are you talking
about ?

Mess. What, you villain, urges you to be an annoyance
to him?

Cyl. Pray, what business have you with me? I don't
know you ; I'm talking to this person, whom I do know.

Men. Sos. By my troth, you are not a person in his right
senses, that I know for sure.

Cyl. I'll have these things cooked directly ; there shall be

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 113

no delay. Don't you be going after this anywhere at a dis-
tance from the house. Do you want anything?

Men. Sos. You to go to utter and extreme perdition.

Cyl. r faith, 'twere better for you to go in-doors at once
and take your place, while I'm subjecting these things to the
fire. I'll go in-doors now, and tell Erotium that you are
standing here, that she may fetch you away hence, rather than
you be standing here out of doors. {He goes into the house.)

SCENE III

Men^chmus Sosicles, Messenio.

Men. Sos. Is he gone then ? iHe is gone. By my faith,
I find by experience that your words are not untrue.

Mess. Do you only be on your guard; for I do believe
that some woman in the harlot line is living here, as, in fact,
this madman said, who has just gone away from here.

Men. Sos. But I wonder how he came to know my name.

Mess. I' ^faith, 'tis far from surprising : courtesans have
this custom; they send servant-boys and servant-girls down
to the harbour; if any foreign ship comes into port, they in-
quire of what country it is, and what its name is ; after that,
at once they set themselves to work, and fasten themselves
upon him ; if they inveigle him, they send him home a ruined
man. Now in this harbour there stands a piratical craft,
against which I really think that we must be on our guard.

Men. Sos. I' troth, you really counsel aright.

Mess. Then, in fine, shall I be sure that I've counselled
aright, if you are rightly on your guard.

Men. Sos. Be silent for a moment, then; for the door
makes a noise. Let's see who's coming out from there.

Mess. Meanwhile, I'll lay this down. {He puts down the
wallet.) Do you keep watch upon these things, if you please,
you sailors.

SCENE! IV

Enter Erotium, from her house.
Erg. Xspeakin'g to her Servants within). Leave the door

114 PLAUTUS

ajar^ thus; begone. I don't want it shut: prepare, attend,
and provide within; what is requisite, let it be done. Lay
down the couches, burn the perfumes; neatness, that is the
charm for the minds of lovers. Our agreeableness is for the
lover's loss, for our own gain. (To herself.) But where is
he whom the Cook said was in front of the house? O, I see
him there — one who is of service to me, and who profits me
very much. And right willingly is such usage shown to him,
as he deserves to be of especial importance in my house. Now
I'll accost him; I'll address him of my own accord. (To
Men^chmus.) My dear life, it seems wonderful to me
that you are standing here out of doors, for whom the door
is wide open, more so than your own house, inasmuch as this
house is at your service. Everything's ready as you requested
and as you desired; nor have you now any delay in-doors.
The breakfast, as you ordered, is prepared here; when you
please, you may go and take your place.

Men. Sos. To whom is this woman addressing herself?

Ero. .Why, I'm talking to yourself.

Men. Sos. What business have I ever had with you, or
have I now?

Ero. Troth, inasmuch as Venus has willed that you sin-
gly above all I should exalt ; and that not without your deserv-
ing it. For, by my faith, you alone make me, by your kind-
nesses, to be thriving.

Men. Sos. For sure this woman is either mad or drunk,
Messenio, that addresses me, a person whom she knows not,
in so familiar a way.

Mess. Didn't I say that these things are in the habit of
occurring here? The leaves are falling now; in comparison
with this, if we shall be here for three days, the trees will be
tumbling upon you. For to such a degree are all these
Courtesans wheedlers out of one's money. But only let me
address her. Harkye, woman, I'm speaking to you.

Ero. What's the matter? Mess. Where have you
yourself known this person?

1 She wishes the "janitor" not to shut the door, as she expects to
return directly with Menaechmus.

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 115

Ero. In that same place where he has known me for this
long time, in Epidamnus.

Mess. In Epidamnus? A man who, until this day, has
never put a foot here inside of this city.

Erg. Heyday! You are making fun, my dear Menaech-
mus. But, prithee, why not go in? There, it will be more
suitable for you.

Men. Sos. I' faith, this woman really does address me
rightly by my name. I wonder very much what's the meaning
of this business.

Mess, (aside). That purse that you are carrying has been
smelt out by her.

Men. Sos. (aside). V faith, and rightly have you put me
in mind. Take it, then; I'll know now whether she loves
myself or the purse most. (Gives him the purse.)

Ero. Let's go in the house to breakfast.

Men. Sos. You invite me kindly ; so far, my thanks.

Erg. Why then did you bid me a while since prepare a
breakfast for you?

Men. Sgs. I, bid you prepare ?

Erg. Certainly you did, for yourself and your Parasite.

Men. Sgs. A plague, what Parasite ? Surely this woman
isn't quite right in her senses.

Erg. Peniculus. Men. Sgs. Who is this Peniculus.
The one with which the shoes are wiped clean?

Erg. Him, I mean, who came with you a while ago, when
you brought me the mantle which you purloined from your
wife.

Men. Sgs. ^What do you mean? I, gave you a mantle,
which I purloined from my wife? Are you in your senses?
Surely this woman dreams standing, after the rnanner of a
gelding.

Erg. Why does it please you to hold me in ridicule, and
to deny to me things that have been done by you?

Men. Sgs. Tell me what it is that I deny after having
done it?

Erg. That you to-day gave me your wife's mantle.

Men. Sos. Even still do I deny it. Indeed, I never had
a wife, nor have I one; nor have I ever set my foot here

116 PLAUTUS

within the city gate since I was born. I breakfasted on board
ship ; thence did I come this way, and here I met you.

Erg. See that now; I'm undone, wretched creature that
I am ! What ship are you now telling me about ?

Men. Sos. A wooden one, weather-beaten full oft,
cracked full oft, many a time thumped with mallets. Just as
the implements of the furrier; so peg is close to peg.

Erg. Now, prithee, do leave off making fun of me, and
step this way with me.

Men. Sgs. . . . for, madam, you are looking for
some other person, I know not whom, not me.

Erg. Don't I know you, Mensechmus, the son of your
father Moschus, who are said to have been born in Sicily, at
Syracuse, where King Agathocles reigned, and after him
Pintia, the third Liparo, who at his death left the kingdom to
Hiero — which Hiero is now king.

Men. Sos. You say, madam, what is not untrue.

Mess. By Jupiter, hasn't this woman come from there,
who knows you so readily? . . .

Men. Sos. (apart). Troth, I think she must not be de-
nied.

Mess, (apart). Don't you do it. You are undone, if you
enter inside her threshold.

Men. Sgs. (apart). But you only hold your tongue.
. . . The matter goes on well. I shall assent to the
woman, whatever she shall say, if I can get some entertain-
ment. Just now, madam (speaking to her in a low voice), I
contradicted you not undesignedly; I was afraid of that fellow,
lest he might carry word to my wife about the mantle and the
breakfast. Now, when you please, let's go in-doors.

Erg. Are you going to wait for the Parasite as well?

Men. Sgs. I'm neither going to wait for him, nor do I
care a straw for him, nor, if he should come, do I want him
to be admitted in-doors.

Erg. By my faith, I shall do that not at all reluctantly.
But do you know what I beg you to do?

Men. Sgs. Only command me what you will.

Erg. For you to take that mantle which you gave me
just now to the embroiderer's, that it may be trimmed again,
and that some work may be added which I want.

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 117

Men. Sos. I' faith, you say what's right; in such a way
shall it be disguised that my wife shan't know that you are
wearing it, if she should see you in the street.

Ero. Then take it away with you just now, when you go
away.

Men. Sos. By all means. Erg. Let's go in-doors.
(Goes into her house.)

Men. Sos. I'll follow you this instant; I only wish to
speak to this person. So, there! Messenio, step to me this
way.

Mess. What's the matter ? Men. Sos. Listen.

Mess. What need for it? Men. Sos. There is need.
I know what you'll say to me

Mess. So much the worse. Men. Sos. Hold your
tongue. . . . I've got some spoil ; thus much of the busi-
ness have I begun upon. Go, and, as quick as you can, take
away those people [the porters] at once to an inn. Then do
you take care to come and meet me before sunset.

Mess. Don't you know that these people are harlots,
master ?

Men. Sos. Hold your tongue, I say, and go you away
from here. It will cost me pain, not you, if I do anything
here that's foolish. This woman is silly and inexperienced.
So far as I've perceived just now, there's some spoil for us
here. (He goes into the house of Erotium.)

Mess. I'm undone. Are you going away then? He is
certainly ruined; the piratical craft is now leading the boat
straight to destruction. But I'm an unreasonable fellow to
wish to rule my master; he bought me to obey his orders,
not to be his commander. (To the Attendants.) Follow
me, that, as I'm ordered, I may come in good time to meet
my master.

ACT THE THIRD

SCENE I

Enter Peniculus.

Pen. More than thirty years have I been born, yet during
that time I never did any more mischievous or more evil trick

118 PLAUTUS

than this day, when, to my misfortune, I thrust myself into
the midst of the assembly; while I was gaping about there,
Mensechmus stole away from me, and went, I suppose, to
his mistress, and didn't want to take me. May all the
Divinities confound that man who first mischievously devised
the holding of an assembly, which keeps men thus engaged.
By my troth, is it not fitting that men who are disengaged
should be chosen for that purpose? These, when they are
cited, if they are not present, let the officers exact the fine
forthwith . . . the senate. . . . Abundance of men
are there who every day eat their victuals alone, who have no
business, who are neither invited nor invite to feast; these
ought to give their attendance to the assembly and the law-
courts. If so it had been, this day I shouldn't have lost my
breakfast; to which I deemed myself as much accustomed,
as to see myself alive. I'll go; even yet the hope of the
scraps comforts my mind. But why do I see Menaechmus
here? He's coming out of doors with a chaplet on? The
banquet is removed ; i' faith, I come just in time to meet him.
I'll watch the fellow, what he's about, then I'll go and accost
him. {He steps aside. )

SCENE II

Enter Men^chmus Sosicles^ from the house of Erotium,
with the mantle on.

Men. Sos. {speaking to Erotium within). Can't you rest
content, if this day I bring it you back in good time, nicely
and properly trimmed? I'll cause you to say it isn't itself,
so much shall it be disguised.

Pen. {apart). He's carrying the mantle to the embroid-
erer's, the breakfast finished and the wine drunk up, and the
Parasite shut out of doors. By my troth, I'm not the person
that I am, if I don't handsomely avenge this injury and my-
self. 'Tis requisite I should watch. . . . I'll give some-
thing.

Men. Sos. {to himself). O ye immortal Gods! on what
man ever have you conferred more blessings in one day, who
hoped for less. I've been breakfasting, drinking, feasting

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 119

with a mistress; and Fve carried off this mantle, of which
she shall no more be owner after this day.

Pen. Isn't he now talking about me, and my share of the
repast ? I can't well hear what he says.

Men. Sos. (to himself). She says that I secretly gave
her this, and that I stole it away from my wife. When I per-
ceived that she was mistaken, at once I began to assent, as
though I really had had acquaintanceship with her. What-
ever the woman said, the same said I. ,What need of many
words? I was never entertained at less expense.

Pen. (apart). I'll accost the fellow; for I quite long to
have a row.

Men. Sos. Who's this that's coming up towards me?
(Takes off the mantle, and hides it.)

Pen. What say you, you fellow lighter than a feather,
most rascally and most abandoned — you disgraceful man — you
cheat, and most worthless fellow ? Why have I deserved this
of you? For what reason should you ruin me? How you
stole yourself away from me just now at the Forum. You've
been performing the funeral of the breakfast in my absence.
Why did you dare to do so, when I was entitled to it in an
equal degree?

Men. Sos Young man, prithee, what business with me
have you, who are thus purposely insulting a person whom
you know not? Do you wish a punishment to be given you
for your abuse?

Pen. Do be quiet; by my faith, I discover that you've
done that already indeed.

Men. Sos. Answer me, young man, I beg ; what is your
name?

Pen. Are you laughing at me, as well, as though you
didn't know my name?

Men. Sos. By my troth, I never saw or knew you, that
I'm aware of, before this day ; but at all events, whoever you
are, if you do what's right, you won't be an annoyance to me.

Pen. Don't you know me? Men. Sos. I shouldn't
deny it if I did know you.

Pen. Mensechmus, awake. Men. Sos. F troth, I really
am awake, so far as I know.

120 PLAUTUS

Pen. Don't you know your own Parasite ?

Men. Sos. Young man, I find that your headpiece isn't
sound.

Pen. Answer me; have you not purloined that mantle
from your wife to-day, and given it to Erotium?

Men. Sos. I' faith I have no wife, nor have I given the
mantle to Erotium, nor have I purloined it.

Pen. Are you really in your senses? . . . This
matter's settled. Did I not see you coming out of doors clad
in a mantle?

Men. Sos. Woe to your head. Do you think that all
people are effeminate rogues because you are one? Do you
declare that I was clothed in a mantle?

Pen. Troth, I really do. Men. Sos. Why don't you go
where you are deserving to go, or else request yourself to be
atoned for, you downright madman?

Pen. By my troth, never shall any one prevail upon me
not to tell your wife the whole matter now, just as it hap-
pened. All these insults shall be retorted upon yourself. I'll
take care that you shan't have devoured the breakfast un^
punished. {He goes into the house of Men^echmus of Epi-
damnus.)

Men. Sos. What's the meaning of this business? Why,
just as I see each person, do they all make fun of me in this
way? But the door makes a noise.

SCENE III

Enter a Maid-Servant, from the house of Erotium.

Maid. Mensechmus, Erotium says that she entreats you
much, that at the same opportunity you'll take this to the
goldsmith's, and add to it an ounce in weight of gold, and or-
der the bracelet to be fashioned anew. {Gives him a hr ace-
let.)

Men. Sos. Tell her that I'll attend both to this and any-
thing else that she shall wish, if she wishes anything else
attended to.

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 121

Maid. Do you know what this bracelet is ?

Men. Sos. I don't know, unless it's of gold.

Maid. This is the same one that you once said that you
had secretly stolen out of the closet from your wife.

Men. Sos. By my troth, 'twas never done.

Maid. Prithee, don't you remember it ?

Men. Sos. Not in the least. Maid. Give it me back
then, if you don't remember it. (Tries to take it.)

Men. Sos. Stop. (Pretends to examine the bracelet.)

0 yes, I really do remember it ; it's the same, I believe, that I
presented to her.

Maid. V faith, it is the same. Men. Sos. Where are the
clasps which I gave her together with them?

Maid. You never gave her any. Men. Sos. Why, faith,

1 gave them together with this .

Maid. Shall I say that you'll attend to it?

Men. Sos. Do say so; it shall be attended to. I'll take
care that the mantle and the bracelet are brought back to-
gether.

Maid. My dear Menaechmus, do, pray, give me some ear-
rings, the pendants to be made two didrachms in weight;
that I may look on you with delight when you come to our
house.

Men. Sos. Be it so. Give me the gold ; I'll find the price
of the workmanship.

Maid. Give it yourself, please; at a future time I'll give
it you back.

Men. Sos. No, give it yourself; at a future time I'll give
it you two fold.

Maid. I haven't any. Men. Sos. But when you have
it, do you give it me, then.

Maid. Do you wish for aught ? Men. Sos. Say that I'll
attend to these things, (aside) to be sold as soon as they can,
and for what they'll fetch. (The Maid-Servant goes into
the house.) Has she now gone off in-doors? She's gone,
and has shut the door. Surely all the Gods are favouring,
amplifying, and prospering me. But why do I delay while
opportunity and time are granted me to get away from these
procurers' dens? Make haste, Menaechmus; pull foot and

122 PLAUTUS

quicken your pace. I'll take off this chaplet/ and throw it
away on the left hand side {throws the chaplet down), that,
if they follow me, they may think I've gone in that direction.
I'll go and meet my servant, if I can, that he may learn from
me these blessings which the Gods confer upon me.

ACT THE FOURTH

SCENE I

Enter, from her house, the Wife of Men^echmus of Epi-
damus, follozved by Peniculus.

Wife. And shall I allow myself to remain in wedlock
here, when my husband secretly pilfers whatever's in the
house, and carries it thence off to his mistress ?

Pen. Why don't you hold your peace? I'll let you now
catch him in the fact ; do you only follow me this way. ( They
go to the opposite side of the stage.) In a state of drunken-
ness, with a chaplet on, he was carrying the mantle to the
embroiderer's, which he purloined from you at home to-day.
But see, here is the chaplet which he had on. (Seeing the
chaplet on the ground.) Now am I saying false? Aha, this
way has he gone, if you wish to trace his footsteps. And, by
my faith, see, here he comes on his way back most oppor-
tunely, but he isn't wearing the mantle.

Wife. What now shall I do to him?

Pen. The same as usual ; abuse him.

Wife. So I am resolved. Pen. Let's step aside this
way and watch him from ambush. ( They retire on one side. )

SCENE II

Enter Henoch mus of Epidamnus.

Men. (to himself). How we do practise a custom here
that is very foolish and extremely troublesome, and how even

1 This he had been wearing at the " prandium," or " breakfast," at
Erotium's house.

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 123

those who are the most worthy and great do follow this
habit: all wish their dependants to be many in number;
whether they are deserving or undeserving, about that they
don't enquire. Their property is more enquired about, than
what the reputation of their clients is for honor. If any
person is poor and not dishonest, he is considered worthless;
but if a rich man is dishonest, he is considered a good client.
Those who neither regard laws nor any good or justice at
all, the same have zealous patrons. What has been entrusted
to them, they deny to have been so entrusted; men full of
litigation, rapacious, and fraudulent ; who have acquired their
property either by usury or by perjury; their whole pleasure
is in litigation. When the day for trial is appointed, at the
same time it is mentioned to their patrons, in order that they
may plead for them, about what they have done amiss. Be-
fore the people, or at law before the Prsetor, or before the
^dile, is the cause tried.^ Just so, this day, a certain de-
pendant has kept me very much engaged, nor was it allowed
me to do what I wished, or in company with whom I wished ;
so fast did he stick to me, so much did he detain me. Before
the ^dile, in behalf of his doings, very many and very dis-
graceful, did I plead his cause; a compromise I obtained,
obscure and perplexed — more than enough I said, and than
I needed to say, that surety for him might end this litigation.
What did he do? Well, what? He gave bail. And never
did I at any time see any person more clearly detected ; three
very adverse witnesses against all his misdeeds were there.
May all the Gods confound him, he has so spoilt this day for
me; and myself as well, who ever this day beheld the Forum
with my eyes. I ordered a breakfast to be prepared; my
mistress is expecting me, I'm sure ; as soon as ever I had the
opportunity, I made haste immediately to leave the Forum.
Now, I suppose, she's angry with me; the mantle, however,
will appease her that I gave her, the one I took away to-day
from m.y wife and carried to Erotium here.

Pen. (apart to the Wife). What say you now?

^ He refers to the three modes of trial ir civil cases among the
Romans.

124 PLAUTUS

Wife {apart). That I'm unfortunately married to a
worthless fellow.

Pen. {apart). Do you perfectly hear what he says?

Wife {apart). Quite well. Men. If I am wise, I shall
be going hence in-doors, where it may be comfortable for me.

Pen. {coming forward). Stop; on the contrary, it shall
be uncomfortable.

Men. . . . she is very sorrowful; this doesn't quite
please me, but I'll speak to her. Tell me, my wife, what is it
amiss with you?

Pen. {to the Wife). The pretty fellow's soothing you.

Men. Can't you cease being annoying to me ? Did I ad-
dress you?

Wife {turning away from Men^chmus). Take your-
self off — away with your caresses from me. Do you persist
in it?

Men. Why are you offended with me ?

Wife. You ought to know. Pen. The rascal knows,
but he pretends not to know.

Men. Has any one of the servants done amiss? Do
either the maid or the men-servants give you saucy answers ?
Speak out; it shan't be done with impunity.

Wife. You are trifling. Men. Surely you are angry
at some one of the domestics?

Wife. You are trifling. Men. Are you angry with
me at all events?

Wife. Now you are not trifling. Men. V faith, I
haven't done wrong in anything.

Wife. Ah! now you are trifling again.

Men. Wife, what's the matter? Wife. Do you ask
me that?

Men. Do you wish me to ask him? {To Peniculus.)
What's the matter?

Wife. The mantle. Men. The mantle?

Wife. A certain person has taken a mantle. ( Men^ch-
Mus starts.)

Pen. {to Men^chmus). Why are you alarmed?

Men. For my part, I'm not alarmed at all — {side) ex-
cept about one thing ; the mantle makes my face mantle.

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 125

Pen. (aside to Men^chmus). But as for me, you
shouldn't have daily devoured the breakfast. (To the Wife.)
Go on against your husband.

Men. (making signs to Peniculus). Won't you hold
your tongue?

Pen. Faith, I really will not hold my tongue. (To the
Wife.) He's nodding to me not to speak.

Men. On my v^ord, I really never did nod to you, or
wink in any way.

Pen. Nothing is more audacious than this man, who
resolutely denies those things which you see.

Men. By Jupiter and all the Gods, I swear, wife, that I
did not nod to him; isn't that enough for you?

Pen. She now believes you about that matter; go back
again there.

Men. Go back where? Pen. Why, to the embroid-
erer, as I suppose. Go and bring the mantle back.

Men. What mantle is it? Pen. Now I hold my
tongue, since he doesn't remember his own business.

Wife. Did you suppose that you could possibly commit
these villanies unknown to me? By heavens, you have as-
suredly taken that away from me at a heavy usury; such is
the return.^ (Shaking her Ust.)

Pen. Such is the return. Do you make haste to eat up
the breakfast in my absence; and then in your drunkenness
make fun of me, with your chaplet on, before the house.

Men. By all the powers, I have neither breakfasted, nor
have I this day set foot inside of that house.

Pen. Do you deny it ? Men. By my troth, I really do
deny it.

Pen. Nothing is there more audacious than this fellow.
Did I not just now see you standing here before the house,
with a chaplet of flowers on, when you were declaring that
my headpiece wasn't sound, and declaring that you didn't
know me, and saying that you were a foreigner?

1 Some commentators will have it, that these words are accompanied
with a slap on the face, in which case they will be equivalent to
" there, take that."

126 PLAUTUS

Men*. On the contrary, as some time since I parted with
you, so I'm now returning home at last.

Pen. I understand you. You didn't think it was in my
power to take vengeance upon you; i' faith, I've told it all
to your wife.

Men. Told her what? Pen. I don't know; ask her
own self.

Men. (turning to his Wife). What's this, wife? Pray,
what has he been telling you? What is it? Why are you
silent? Why don't you say what it is?

Wife. As though you didn't know ? I' faith, I certainly
am a miserable woman.

Men. Why are you a miserable woman? tell me.

Wife. Do you ask me? Men. Faith, I shouldn't ask
you if I knew.

Pen. O the wicked fellow ; how he does dissemble. You
cannot conceal it; she knows the matter thoroughly; by my
faith, I've disclosed everything.

Men. What is it? Wife. Inasmuch as you are not at
all ashamed, and don't wish to confess of your own accord,
listen, and attend to this; I'll both let you know why I'm
sorrowful, and what he has told me. My mantle has been
purloined from me at home.

Men. Mantle purloined from me? Pen. (to the Wife).
D'you see how the rogue is catching you up? (To Me-
n^chmus.) It was purloined from her, not from you; for
certainly if it had been purloined from you, it would now
be safe.

Men. (to Peniculus). I've nothing to do with you.
But (to his Wife) what is it you say?

Wife. A mantle, I say, has been lost from home.

Men. Who has stolen it? Wife. I' faith, he knows
that, who took it away.

Men. What person was it? Wife. A certain Me-
naechmus.

Men. By my troth, 'twas villanously done. Who is this
Mensechmus ?

Wife. You are he, I say. Men. I ?

Wife. You. Men. Who accuses me?

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 127

Wife. I, myself. Pen. I, too; and you carried it off
to Erotium here, your mistress.

Men. I, gave it her? Pen. You, you, I say. Do you
wish for an owl ^ to be brought here, to say " you, you," con-
tinually to you? For we are now quite tired of it.

Men. By Jupiter and all the Gods, I swear, wife (and
isn't that enough for you?), that I did not give it.

Pen. Aye, and I, by all the powers, that we are telling
no untruth.

Men. But I haven't given it away, but just only lent it
to be made use of.

Wife. But, i' faith, for my part, I don't lend either your
scarf or your cloak out of the house, to any one, to be made
use of. 'Tis fair that the woman should lend out of the
house the woman's apparel, the man the man's. But why
don't you bring the mantle home again ?

Men. I'll have it brought back. Wife. For your own
interest you'll do so, as I think ; for you shall never enter the
house to-day unless you bring the mantle with you. I'm
going home.

Pen. (to the Wife). What's there to be for me, who
have given you this assistance ?

Wife. Your assistance shall be repaid, when anything
shall be purloined from your house. (The Wife goes into
the house.)

Pen. Then, by my troth, that really will never be; for
nothing have I at home to lose. May the Gods confound
you, both husband and wife. I'll make haste to the Forum,
for I see clearly that I've quite fallen out with this family.

(Exit,

Men. My wife thinks that she does me an injury when
she shuts me out of doors ; as though I hadn't another better
place to be admitted into. If I displease you, I must endure
it; I shall please Erotium here, who won't be shutting me
out of her house, but will be shutting me up in her house
rather. Now I'll go ; I'll beg her to give me back the mantle

1 He alludes to the note of the owl which to the Romans would seem
to say " tu, tu," " you, you."

128 PLAUTUS

that I gave her a while since. I'll purchase another for her —
a better one. Hallo! is any one the porter here? {Knocks
at Erotium^s door.) Open here, and some one of you call
Erotium before the door.

SCENE III

Enter Erotium, from her house.

Erg. Who's enquiring for me here ?

Men. One that's more of an enemy to his own self than
to yourself.

Ero. My dear Mensechmus ? Why are you standing be-
fore the house? Do follow me in-doors.

Men. Stop. Do you know why it is that I'm come to
you?

Ero. I know well; that you may amuse yourself with
me.

Men. Why no, troth, that mantle which I gave you a
while since, give it me back, I entreat you; my wife has be-
come acquainted with all the transaction, in its order, just
as it happened. I'll procure for you a mantle of twofold
greater value than you shall wish.

Ero. Why, I gave it your own self a little while since,
that you might take it to the embroiderer's, and that bracelet,
too, that you might take it to the goldsmith's that it might
be made anew.

Men. You, gave me the mantle and the bracelet?
You'll find 'twas never done. For, indeed, after I gave it
you a while ago, and went away to the Forum, I'm but just
returning, and now see you for the first time since.

Ero. I see what plan you are upon; that you may de-
fraud me of what I entrusted to you, at that thing you are
aiming

Men. On my word, I do not ask it for the sake of de-
frauding you. But I tell you that my wife has discovered
the matter.

Ero. Nor did I of my own accord beg you to give it
me; of your own accord you yourself brought it me. You
gave it me as a present; now you're asking for the same

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 129

thing back again. I'll put up with it; keep it for yourself;
take it away; make use of it, either yourself or your wife, or
squeeze it into your money-box even. After this day, that
you mayn't be deceived, you shan't set your foot in this
house, since you hold me in contempt, who deserve so well
of you. Unless you bring money, you'll be disappointed;
you can't cajole me. Find some other woman, henceforth,
for you to he disappointing.

Men. By my troth, very angry at last. Hallo! you
stay, I bid you. Come you back. Will you stay now?
Will you even for my sake come back? (Erotium goes into
her house, and shuts the door.) She has gone in-doors, and
shut the house. Now I'm regularly barred out; I have
neither any credit at home now, nor with my mistress. I'll
go and consult my friends on this matter, as to what they
think should be done. (Exit.

ACT THE FIFTH

SCENE I

Enter Henoch mus Sosicles, with the mantle on.

Men. Sos. I did very foolishly a while since, in entrust-
ing my purse to Messenio with the money. I suspect he has
got himself into some bad house or other.

Enter the Wife of Henoch mus of Epidamnus, from the

house.

Wife. I'll look out to see how soon my husband is going
to return home. But here he is; I see him; I'm all right,
he's bringing back the mantle.

Men. Sos. {to himself). I wonder where Messenio can
be walking now.

Wife. I'll go and receive the fellow with such language
as he deserves. {Accosting him.) Are you not ashamed to
come forward in my presence, you disgraceful man, in that
garb?

130 PLAUTUS

Men. Sos. What's the matter ? What thing is troubhng
you, woman?

Wife. Do you dare, you shameless fellow, to utter even
a single word, or to speak to me?

Men. Sos. Pray, what wrong have I committed, that I
shouldn't dare to speak to you?

Wife. Do you ask me? O dear, the impudent audacity
of the fellow!

Men. Sos. Don't you know, madam, for what reason
the Greeks used to say that Hecuba was a bitch?

Wife. I don't know, indeed. Men. Sos. Because
Hecuba used to do the same thing that you are now doing.
She used to heap all kinds of imprecations on every one she
saw; and, therefore, for that reason she was properly begun
to be called a bitch.

Wife. I can't put up with this disgraceful conduct of
yours; for I had rather see my life that of a widow, than
endure this vile conduct of yours that you are guilty of.

Men. Sos. What is it to me, whether you are able to
endure to live in the married state, or whether you will
separate from your husband? Is it thus the fashion here to
tell these stories to a stranger on his arrival?

Wife. What stories? I say, I'll not endure it hence-
forth, but live separate rather than put up with these ways,

Men. Sos. Troth, so far indeed as I'm concerned, do
live separate, even so long as Jupiter shall hold his sway.

Wife. By heavens, I'll certainly now send for my father,
and I'll tell him your disgraceful conduct that you are guilty
of. Go, Decio (calling to a Servant), seek for my father,
that he may come along with you to me ; tell him that occasion
has arisen for it. I'll now disclose to him this disgraceful
conduct of yours.

Men. Sos. Are you in your senses? What disgraceful
conduct of mine?

Wife. When you filch from home my mantle and gold
trinkets, without the knowledge of your wife, and carry them
off to your mistress. Don't I state this correctly?

Men. Sos. O dear! madam, by my faith, you are both
yery bold and very perverse. Do you dare to say (pointing

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 131

at the mantle) that this was stolen from you which another
woman gave me, for me to get it trimmed?

Wife. A little while since you didn't deny that you had
purloined it from me ; do you now hold up that same before
my eyes? Are you. not ashamed?

Men. Sos. By my faith, madam, I entreat you, if you
know, show me what Tm to drink, by means of which I
may put up with your impertinence. What person you are
taking me to be, I don't know; I know you just as well as
Parthaon.^

Wife. If you laugh at me, still, i' troth, you can't do
so at him; my father, I mean, who's coming here. Why
don't you look back. Do you know that person?

Men. Sos. Just as well as Calchas^ do I know him; I
have seen him on that same day on which I have seen your-
self before this present day.

Wife. Do you deny that you know me? Do you deny
that you know my father?

Men. Sos. Troth, I shall say the same thing, if you
choose to bring your grandfather.

Wife. F faith, you do this and other things just in a
like fashion.

SCENE II

Enter an Old Man^ hobblinp with a stick.

Old Man. According as my age permits, and as there is
occasion to do so, I'll push on my steps and make haste to
get along. But how far from easy 'tis for me, I'm not mis-
taken as to that. For my agility forsakes me, and I am beset
with age; I carry my body weighed down; my strength has
deserted me. How grievous a pack upon one's back is age.
For when it comes, it brings very many and very grievous
particulars, were I now to recount all of which, my speech

^ Parthaon was the father of CEneus, King of ^^tona, the father of
Deianira, the wife of Hercules. The name is used to signify a per-
son who lived so long ago that it was impossible to know him.
2 Calchas, the son of Thestor, was a famous soothsayer, who accom-
panied the Grecian army in the expedition against Troy.

132 PLAUTUS

would be too long. But this matter is a trouble to my mind
and heart, what this business can possibly be on account of
which my daughter suddenly requires me to come to her, and
doesn't first let me know what's the matter, what she wants,
or why she sends for me. But pretty nearly do I know now
what's the matter; I suspect that some quarrel has arisen
with her husband. So are these women wont to do, who,
presuming on their portions, and haughty, require their hus-
bands to be obedient to them ; and they as well full oft are not
without fault. But still there are bounds, within which a
wife ought to be put up with. By my troth, my daughter
never sends for her father to come to her except when either
something has been done wrong, or there is a cause for
quarrelling. But whatever it is, I shall now know. And
see, I perceive her herself before the house, and her husband
in a pensive mood. 'Tis the same as I suspected. I'll accost
her.

Wife. I'll go and meet him. May every happiness at-
tend you, my father.

Old Man. Happiness attend you. Do I find you in
good spirits? Do you bid me be fetched in happy mood?
Why are you sorrowful? And why does he (pointing at
Men^chmus) in anger stand apart from you? Something,
I know not what, are you two wrangling about between you.
Say, in few words, which of the two is in fault: no long
speeches, though.

Wife. For my part, I've done nothing wrong ; as to that
point do I at once make you easy, father. But I cannot live
or remain here on any account; you must take me away
hence immediately.

Old Man. Why, what's the matter? Wife. I am
made a laughing-stock of, father.

Old Man. By whom? Wife. By him to whom you
gave me, my husband.

Old Man. Look at that — a quarrel now. How often, I
wonder, have I told you to be cautious, that neither should be
coming to me with your complaints.

Wife. How, my father, can I possibly guard against
that?

Old Man. Do you ask me? . . . unless you don't

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 133

wish. How often have I told you to be compliant to your
husband. Don't be watching what he does, where he goes,
or what matter he's about.

Wife. Why, but he's in love with a courtesan here
close by.

Old Man. He is exceedingly wise: and for this pains-
taking of yours, I would even have him love her the more.

Wife. He drinks there, too. Old Man. And will he
really drink the less for you, whether it shall please him to do
so there or anywhere else? Plague on it, what assurance is
this ? On the same principle, you would wish to hinder him
from engaging to dine out, or from receiving any other per-
son at his own house. Do you want husbands to be your
servants? You might as well expect, on the same principle,
to be giving him out his task, and bidding him sit among the
female servants and card wool.

Wife. Why, surely, father, Fve sent for you not to be
my advocate, but my husband's : on this side you stand,^ on
the other you plead the cause.

Old Man. If he has done wrong in anything, so much
the more shall I censure him than I've censured you. Since
he keeps you provided for and well clothed, and finds you
amply in female servants and provisions, 'tis better, madam,
to entertain kindly feelings.

Wife. But he purloins from me gold trinkets and
mantles from out of the chests at home ; he plunders me, and
secretly carries off my ornaments to harlots.

Old Man. He does wrong, if he does that; if he does
not do it, you do wrong in accusing him when innocent.

Wife. Why at this moment, even, he has got a mantle,
father, and a bracelet, which he had carried off to her; now,
because I came to know of it, he brings them back.

Old Man. I'll know from himself, then, how it hap-
pened. I'll go up to this man and accost him. (Goes up to
Men^chmus.) Tell me this, Menaechmus, what you two
are disputing about, that I may know. Why are you pen-
sive ? And why does she in anger stand apart from you ?

1 It was the custom for the patron, when acting as counsel, to have
his client standing by him while pleading.

134 PLAUTUS

Men. Sos. Whoever you are, whatever is your name, old
gentleman, I call to witness supreme Jove and the Dei-
ties

Old Man. For what reason, or what matter of all mat-
ters?

Men. Sos. That I have neither done wrong to that
woman, who is accusing me of having purloined this (point-
ing to the mantle) away from her at home . . . and
which she solemnly swears Ihat I did take away. If ever I
set foot inside of her house where she lives, I wish that I
may become the most wretched of all wretched men.

Old Man. Are you in your senses to wish this, or to
deny that you ever set foot in that house where you live, you
downright madman?

Men. Sos. Do you say, old gentleman, that I live in this
house? (Pointing at the house.)

Old Man. Do you deny it? Men. Sos. By my faith,
I certainly do deny it.

Old Man. In your fun you are going too far in deny-
ing it; unless you flitted elsewhere this last night. Step this
way, please, daughter. (To the Wife.) What do you say?
Have you removed from this house ?

Wife. To what place, or for what reason, prithee?

Old Man. I' faith, I don't know. Wife. He's surely
making fun of you.

Old Man. Can't you keep yourself quiet? Now, Me-
nsechmus, you really have joked long enough; now do
seriously attend to this matter.

Men. Sos. Prithee, what have I to do with you?
Whence or what person are you? Is your mind right, or
hers, in fact, who is an annoyance to me in every way?

Wife. Don't you see how his eyes sparkle? How a
green colour ^ is arising on his temples and his forehead ; look
how his eyes do glisten . . .

Men. Sos. O me I They say I'm mad, whereas they of
themselves are mad.

^ It was supposed that in madness or extreme anger the countenance
assumed a greenish hue.

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 135

Wife. How he yawns, as he stretches himself. What
am I to do now, my father?

Old Man. Step this way, my daughter, as far as ever
you can from him.

Men. Sos. (aside). What is there better for me than,
since they say Fm mad, to pretend that I am mad, that I
may frighten them away from me? (He dances about.)
Evoe, Bacchus, ho! Bromius,^ in what forest dost thou in-
vite me to the chase? I hear th^e, but I cannot get away
from this spot, so much does this raving mad female cur
watch me on the left side. And behind there is that other
old he-goat, who many a time in his life has proved the de-
struction of an innocent fellow-citizen by his false testimony.

Old Man (shaking his stick at him). Woe to your head.

Men. Sos. Lo! by his oracle, Apollo bids me burn out
her eyes with blazing torches. (He points with his fingers at
her.)

Wife. I'm undone, my father; he's threatening to burn
my eyes out.

Old Man. Hark you, daughter. Wife. What's the
matter? What are we to do?

Old Man. What if I call the servants out here? I'll go
bring some to take him away hence, and bind him at home,
before he makes any further disturbance.

Men. Sos. (aside). So now; I think now if I don't adopt
some plan for myself, these people will be carrying me off
home to their house. (Aloud.) Dost thou forbid me to
spare my fists at all upon her face, unless she does at once
get out of my sight to utter and extreme perdition? I will
do what thou dost bid me, Apollo. (Runs after her.)

Old Man ( to the Wife). Away with you home as soon
as possible, lest he should knock you down.

Wife. I'm off. Watch him, my father, I entreat you,
that he mayn't go anywhere hence. Am I not a wretched
woman to hear these things? (She goes into her house.)

Men. Sos. (aside), I've got rid of her not so badly.

^ Evius and Bromius were two of the names by which the Bac-
chanals addressed Bacchus in their frenzy.

136 PLAUTUS

(Aloud.) Now as for this most filthy, long-bearded, palsied
Tithonus, who is said to have had Cygnus for his father,^ you
bid me break in pieces his limbs, and bones, and members
with that walking-stick which he himself is holding.

Old Man. Punishment shall be inflicted if you touch me
indeed, or if you come nearer to me.

Men. Sos. (shouting aloud). I will do what thou dost
bid me; I will take a two-edged axe, and I will hew this old
fellow to his very bones, and I will chop his entrails into
mince-meat.

Old Man (retreating as far as he can). Why really
against that must I take care and precaution. As he threat-
ens, Fm quite in dread of him, lest he should do me some
mischief.

Men. Sos. (jumping and raising his arms). Many
things dost thou bid me do, Apollo. Now thou dost order
me to take the yoked horses, unbroke and fierce, and to
mount the chariot, that I may crush to pieces this aged, stink-
ing, toothless lion. Now have I mounted the chariot ; now do
I hold the reins ; now is the whip in my hand. Speed onward,
ye steeds, let the sound of your hoofs be heard ; in your swift
course let the rapid pace of your feet be redoubled. (Points
at the Old Man as he pretends to gallop.)

Old Man. Are you threatening me with your yoked
steeds ?

Men. Sos. Lo ! again, Apollo, thou dost bid me to make
an onset against him who is standing here, and to murder
him. But what person is this that is tearing me hence by
the hair down from the chariot? He revokes thy commands
and the decree of Apollo.

Old Man. Alas! a severe and obstinate malady, i'

^ Plautus designedly makes Menaechmus Sosicles be guilty of the
mistake of styling Tithonus the son of Cygnus, as helping to pro-
mote the belief of his madness. Tithonus was the son of Laomedon,
and the brother of Priam. He was beloved by Aurora, and the poets
feigned that he was her husband. Having received the gift of im-
mortality, he forgot to have perpetual youthfulness united with the
gift; and at length, in his extreme old age, he was changed into a
grasshopper.

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 137

faith. By our trust in you, ye Gods . . . even this per-
son who is now mad, how well he was a little time since.
All on a sudden has so great a distemper attacked him. 1*11
go now and fetch a physician as fast as I can. (Exit,

Men. Sos. Prithee, are these persons gone now out of
my sight, who are compelling me by force, while in my wits,
to be mad? Why do I delay to be off to the ship, while I
can in safety? . . . And all of you (?o ^/^^ Spectators),
if the old gentleman should return, I beg not to tell him, now,
by what street I fled away hence. (Exit

ACT THE SIXTH

SCENE I

Enter the Old Man, very slowly.

Old Man. My bones ache with sitting, my eyes with
watching, while waiting for the Doctor, till he returned from
his business. At last the troublesome fellow has with diffi-
culty got away from his patients. He says that he has set
a broken leg for ^sculapius, and an arm for Apollo.^ I'm
now thinking whether Fm to say that Fm bringing a doctor
or a carpenter.^ But, see, here he comes. — Do get on with
your ant's pace.

SCENE II

Enter a Doctor.

DocT. What did you say was his disorder? Tell me,
respected sir. Is he harassed by sprites, or is he frenzied?
Let me know. Is it lethargy, or is it dropsy, that possesses
him?

Old Man. Why, I'm bringing you for that reason, that
you may tell me that, and make him convalescent.

^ Apollo and ^sculapius were the two guardian Divinities of the
medical art.

2 i. e., the Doctor may, for aught he knows, be some carpenter, who
has been patching up the legs of statues.

138 PLAUTUS

DocT. That indeed is a very easy matter. Why, I shall
heal innumerable times as many in the day.

Old Man. I wish him to be treated with great attention.

DocT. That he shall be healed, I promise that on my
word ; so with great attention will I treat him for you.

Old Man. Why, see! here's the man himself.

DocT. Let's watch what matter he's about. (They
stand aside.)

SCENE III
Enter Men^chmus of Epidamnus.

Men, {to himself). By my faith, this day has certainly
fallen out perverse and adverse for me, since the Parasite,
who has filled me full of disgrace and terror, has made that
all known, which I supposed I was doing secretly; my own
Ulysses, who has brought so great evil on his king — a fellow
that, by my troth, if I only live, I'll soon finish his life. But
I'm a fool, who call that his, which is my own. With my
own victuals and at my own expense has he been supported ;
of existence will I deprive the fellow. But the Courtesan has
done this in a way worthy of her, just as the harlot's habit
is : because I ask for the mantle, that it may be returned again
to my wife, she declares that she has given it me. O dear!
By my faith, I do live a wretched man.

Old Man {apart). Do you hear what he says?

DocT. {apart). He declares that he is wretched.

Old Man {apart). I wish you to accost him.

DocT. {going up to him). Save you, Menaechmus.
Prithee, why do you bare your arm? Don't you know how
much mischief you are now doing to that disease of yours?

Men. Why don't you go hang yourself ?

Old Man. What think you now ? Doct. What shouldn't
I think? This case can't be treated with even ointment of
hellebore. But what have you to say, Menaechmus?

Men. What do you want? DocT. Tell me this that I
ask of you; do you drink white wine or dark-coloured?

Men. What need have you to enquire?

Doct. . . .

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 139

Men. Why don't you go to utter perdition ?

Old Man. Troth, he's now beginning to be attacked with
the fit.

Men. Why don't you ask whether I'm wont to eat dark
bread, or purple, or yellow? Or whether I'm wont to eat
birds with scales, or fish with wings ?

Old Man. Dear, dear! {To the Doctor.) Don't you
hear how deliriously he talks ? Why do you delay to give him
something by way of a potion, before his raving overtakes
him?

DocT. Stop a little; I'll question him on some other
matters as well.

Old Man. You are killing me by your prating.

DocT. {to Men.^chmus). Tell me this; are your eyes
ever in the habit of becoming hard?^

Men. What? Do you take me to be a locust, you most
worthless fellow?

DocT. Tell me, now, do your bowels ever rumble that
you know of?

Men. When I'm full, they don't rumble at all ; when I'm
hungry, then they do rumble.

DocT. r faith, he really gave me that answer not like an
insane person. Do you always sleep soundly until daylight?
Do you easily go to sleep when in bed?

Men. I sleep throughout if . . . I go to sleep if
I have paid my money to him to whom I owe it.

DocT. .

Men. {to the Doctor). May Jupiter and all the Divini-
ties confound you, you questioner.

DocT. {aside). Now this person begins to rave. {To the
Old Man.) From those expressions do you take care of your-
self.

Old Man. Why, he's now really quite favourable in his
language, in comparison with what he was a short time since ;
for a little while ago, he was saying that his wife was a
raving cur.

Men. What did I say ? Old Man. You were raving, I
say.

1 This was supposed to be one of the symptoms of madness.

140 PLAUTUS

Men. What, I ? Old Man. You there ; who threatened
as well to ride me down with your yoked steeds.

Men. . . .

Old Man. I myself saw you do this; I myself accuse
you of this.

Men. And I know that you stole the sacred crown of
Jupiter ; and that on that account you were confined in prison ;
and after you were let out, I know that you were beaten with
rods in the bilboes; I know, too, that you murdered your
father and sold your mother. Don't I give this abuse in
answer for your abuse, like a sane person?

Old Man. I' faith. Doctor, whatever you are about to
do, prithee, do it quickly. Don't you see that the man is
raving ?

DocT. Do you know what's the best for you to do ? Have
him taken to my house.

Old Man. Do you think so ? Doct. Why should I not?
There at my own discretion I shall be able to treat the man.

Old Man. Do just as you please. Doct. (to Men^ch-
Mus). I'll make you drink hellebore some twenty days.

Men. But, hanging up, I'll flog you with a whip for
thirty days.

Doct. (to the Old Man). Go fetch some men to take
him off to my house.

Old Man. How many are sufficient?

Doct. Since I see him thus raving, four, no less.

Old Man. They shall be here this instant. Do you keep
an eye on him, Doctor.

Doct. Why, no, I shall go home that the things may be
got ready, which are necessary to be prepared. Bid your ser-
vants carry him to my house.

Old Man. I'll make him be there just now.

Doct. I'm off. Old Man. Farewell.

(Exeunt Old Man and Doctor, separately.

Men. My father-in-law is gone, the Doctor is gone ; I'm
alone. O Jupiter ! Why is it that these people say I'm mad ?
Why, in fact, since I was born, I have never for a single day
been ill. I'm neither mad, nor do I commence strifes or
quarrels. In health myself, I see others well; I know people,

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 141

I address them. Is it that they who falsely say I'm mad, are
mad themselves ? What shall I do now ? I wish to go home ;
but by wife doesn't allow me; and here (pointing to Ero-
tium's house) no one admits me. Most unfortunately has
this fallen out. Here will I still remain ; at night, at least, I
shall be let into the house, I trust. (Stands near his door.\

SCENE IV

Enter Messenio.

Mess, (to himself). This is the proof of a good servant
who takes care of his master's business, looks after it, ar-
ranges it, thinks about it, in the absence of his master dili-
gently to attend to the affairs of his master, as much so as if
he himself were present, or even better. It is proper that his
back^ should be of more consequence than his appetite, his
legs than his stomach, whose heart is rightly placed. Let him
bear in mind, those who are good for nothing, what reward
is given them by their masters — lazy, worthless fellows.
Stripes, fetters, the mill, weariness, hunger, sharp cold ; these
are the rewards of idleness. This evil do I terribly stand in
awe of. Wherefore 'tis sure that to be good is better than
to be bad. Much more readily do I submit to words, stripes
I do detest; and I eat what is ground much more readily
than supply it ground by myself.^ Therefore do I obey the
command of my master, carefully and diligently do I observe
it; and in such manner do I pay obedience, as I think is for
the interest of my back. And that course does profit me. Let
others be just as they take it to be their interest; I shall be
just as I ought to be. If I adhere to that, I shall avoid faulti-
ness ; so that I am in readiness for my master on all occasions,

1 shall not be much afraid. The time is near, when, for these
deeds of mine, my master will give his reward. After I had
deposited the goods and the servants in the inn, as he ordered
me, thus am I come to meet him. (Going to the door of
Erotium's house.) Now I'll knock at the door, that he

^ For the purpose of keeping his back intact from the whip, and his
feet from the fetters.

2 He alludes to the custom of setting refractory slaves to grinding
corn by a handmill.

142 PLAUTUS

may know that I'm here, and that out of this thick wood of
peril I may get my master safe out of doors. But Fm afraid
that I'm come too late, after the battle has been fought.

SCENE V

Enter the Old Man, with Servants.

Old Man (to the Servants). By Gods and men, I tell
you prudently to pay regard to my commands, as to what I
have commanded and do command. Take care that this
person is carried at once upon your shoulders to the surgery,
unless, indeed, you set no value upon your legs or your sides.
Take care each of you to regard as a straw whatever threats
he shall utter. What are you standing for? Why are you
hesitating? By this you ought to have had him carried off
on your shoulders. Til go to the Doctor; I'll be there ready
when you shall come.

(Exit, The Servants gather around Men^chmus.

Men. I'm undone. What business is this? Why are
these men running towards me, pray? What do you want?
What do you seek? Why do you stand around me? (They
seize and drag him.) Whither are you dragging me?
Whither are you carrying me? I'm undone. I entreat your
assistance, citizens, men of Epidamnus, come and help me.
(To the men.) Why don't you let me go?

Mess, (running towards them), O ye immortal Gods, I
beseech you, what do I behold with my eyes? Some fellows,
I know not who, are most disgracefully carrying off my mas-
ter upon their shoulders.

Men. Who is it that ventures to bring me aid?

Mess. I, master, and right boldly. (Aloud.) O shame-
ful and scandalous deed, citizens of Epidamnus, for my mas-
ter, here in a town enjoying peace, to be carried off, in day-
light, in the street, who came to you a free man. Let him go.

Men. Prithee, whoever you are, do lend me your aid,
and don't suffer so great an outrage to be signally committed
against me.

Mess. Aye, I'll give you my aid, and I'll defend you, and
zealously succour you. I'll never let you come to harm; 'tis

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 143

fitter that I myself should come to harm. I'll now make a
sowing on the faces of these fellows, and there FU plant my
fists. I' faith, you're carrying this person off this day at your
own extreme hazard. Let him go. {He lays about him.)

Men. {fighting with them), I've got hold of this fellow's
eye.

Mess. Make the socket of his eye be seen in his head.
You rascals ! you villains ! you robbers !

The Servants {severely). We are undone. Troth,
now, prithee, do

Mess. Let him go then. Men. What business have you
to touch me? Thump them with your fists.

Mess. Come, begone, fly hence to utter perdition with
you. {Three run away.) Here's for you, too {giving the
fourth one a punch) ; because you are the last to yield, you
shall have this for a reward. {They all disappear.) Right
well have I marked his face, and quite to my liking. Troth,
now, master, I really did come to your help just now in the
nick of time.

Men. And may the Gods, young man, whoever you are,
ever bless you. For, had it not been for you, I should never
have survived this day until sunset.

Mess. By my troth, then, master, if you do right, you
will give me my freedom.

Men. I, give you your freedom? Mess. Doubtless:
since, master, I have saved you.

Men. How's this ? Young man, you are mistaken.

Mess. How, mistaken? Men. By father Jove, I sol-
emnly swear that I am not your master.

Mess. Will you not hold your peace ? Men. I'm telling
no lie; nor did any servant of mine ever do such a thing as
you have done for me.

Mess. In that case, then, let me go free, if you deny that
I am your servant.

Men. By my faith, so far, indeed, as I'm concerned, be
free, and go where you like.

Mess. That is, you order me to do so ?

Men. I' faith, I do order you, if I have aught of author-
ity over you.

144 PLAUTUS

Mess. Save you, my patron. Since you seriously give
me my freedom, I rejoice.

Men. I' faith, I really do believe you.

Mess. But, my patron, I do entreat you that you won't
command me any the less now than when I was your servant.
With you will I dwell, and when you go I'll go home together
wnth you. Wait for me here ; I'll now go to the inn, and bring
back the luggage and the money for you. The purse, with
the money for our journey, is fast sealed up in the wallet; I'll
bring it just now here to you.

Men. Bring it carefully. Mess. I'll give it back safe
to you just as you gave it to me. Do you wait for me here.

(Exit Messenio.

Men. Very wonderful things have really happened this
day to me in wonderful ways. Some deny that I am he who
I am, and shut me out of doors ; others say that I am he who
I am not, and will have it that they are my servants. He for
instance, who said that he was going for the money, to w^hom
I gave his freedom just now. Since he says that he will
bring me a purse with money, if he does bring it, I'll say that
he may go free from me where he pleases, lest at a time when
he shall have come to his senses he should ask the money of
me. My father-in-law and the Doctor were saying that T am
mad. Whatever it is, it is a wonderful affair. These things
appear to me not at all otherwise than dreams. Now I'll go
in the house to this Courtesan, although she is angry with me ;
if I can prevail upon her to restore the mantle for me to take
back home. (He goes into Erotium's house.)

SCENE VI

Enter Men^chmus^ Sosicles and Messenio.

Men. Sos. Do you dare affirm, audacious fellow, that I
have ever met you this day since the time when I ordered
you to come here to meet me?

Mess. Why, I just now rescued you before this house,
when four men were carrying you off upon their shoulders.
You invoked the aid of all Gods and men, when I ran up
and delivered you by main force, fighting, and in spite of

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 145

them. For this reason, because I rescued you, you set me at
liberty. When I said that I was going for the money and the
luggage, you ran before to meet me as quickly as you could,
in order that you might deny what you did.

Men. Sos. I, bade you go away a free man ?

Mess. Certainly. Men. Sos. Why, on the contrary, 'tis
most certain that I myself would rather become a slave than
ever give you your freedom.

SCENE vn

Enter Men^chmus of Epidamnus, from Erotium's house.

Men. (at the door, to Erotium within). If you are ready
to swear by your eyes, by my troth, not a bit the more for
that reason, most vile woman, will you make it that I took
away the mantle and the bracelet to-day.

Mess. Immortal Gods, what do I see?

Men. Sos. What do you see ? Mess. Your resemblance
in a mirror.

Men. Sos. What's the matter? Mess. 'Tis your
image ; 'tis as like as possible.

Men. Sos. (catching sight of the other). Troth, it really
is not unlike, so far as I know my own form.

Men. (to Messenio). O young man, save you, you who
preserved me, whoever you are. Mess. By my troth, young
man, prithee tell me your name, unless it's disagreeable.

Men. I' faith, you've not so deserved of me, that it
should be disagreeable for me to tell what you wish. My
name is Mensechmus.

Men. Sos. Why, by my troth, so is mine.

Men. I am a Sicilian, of Syracuse.

Men. Sos. Troth, the same is my native country. •

Men. What is it that I hear of you ?

Men. Sos. That which is the fact.

Mess. (To Men^chmus Sosicles, by mistake). I know
this person myself (pointing to the other Men^chmus) ; he
is my master, I really am his servant; but I did think I be-
longed to this other. (To Men^chmus of Epidamnus, by
mistake.) I took him to be you; to him, too, did I give some

146 PLAUTUS

trouble. {To his master.) Pray, pardon me if I have said
aught foolishly or unadvisedly to you.

Men. Sos. You seem to me to be mad. Don't you re-
member that together with me you disembarked from board
ship to-day ?

Mes. Why, really, you say v^hat's right — ^you are my
master; {to Men^chmus of Epidamnus) do you look out
for a servant. {To his master.) To you my greetings {to
Men^chmus of Epidamnus) to you, farewell. This, I say,
is Mensechmus.

Men. But I say I am. Men. Sos. What story's this?
Are you Mensechmus?

Men. I say that I'm the son of Moschus, wha was my,
father.

Men. Sos. Are you the son of my father?

Men. Aye, I really am, young man, of my own father. I
don't want to claim your father, nor to take possession of
him from you.

Mess. Immortal Gods, what unhoped-for hope do you
bestow on me, as I suspect. For unless my mind misleads me,
these are the two twin-brothers; for they mention alike their
native country and their father. I'll call my master aside —
Mensechmus.

Both of the Men^chmi. What do you want?

Mess. I don't want you both. But which of you was
brought here in the ship with me ?

Men. Not I. Men. Sos. But 'twas I.

Mess. You, then, I want. Step this way. {They go
aside.)

Men. Sos. I've stepped aside now. What's the matter?

Mess. This man is either an impostor, or he is your twin-
brother. But I never beheld one person more like another
person. Neither water, believe me, is ever more like to water,
nor milk to milk, than he is to you, and you likewise to him ;
besides, he speaks of the same native country and father. 'Tis
better for us to accost him and make further enquiries of
him.

Men. Sos. I' faith, but you've given me good advice, and
I return you thanks. Troth, now, prithee, do continue to

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 147

lend me your assistance. If you discover that this is my
brother, be you a free man.

Mess. I hope I shall. Men. Sos. I too hope that it will
be so.

Mess, (to Men^chmus of Epidamnus). How say you?
I think you said that you are called Mensechmus?

Men. I did so indeed. Mess, (pointing to his master).
His name, too, is Mensechmus. You said that you were born
at Syracuse, in Sicily; he was born there. You said that
Moschus was your father; he was his as well. Now both of
you can be giving help to me and to yourselves at the same
time.

Men. You have deserved that you should beg nothing
but what you should obtain that which you desire. Free as
I am, I'll serve you as though you had bought me for money.

Mess. I have a hope that I shall find that you two are
twin-born brothers, born of one mother and of one father on
the same day.

Men. You mention wondrous things. I wish that you
could effect what youVe promised.

Mess. I can. But attend now, both of you, and tell me
that which I shall ask.

Men. Ask as you please, Til answer you. I'll not con-
ceal anything that I know.

Mess. Isn't your name Mensechmus? Men. I own it.

Mess. Isn't it yours as well? Men. Sos. It is.

Mess. Do you say that Moschus was your father?

Men. Truly, I do say so. Men. Sos. And mine as well.

Mess. Are you of Syracuse? Men. Certainly.

Mess. And you ? Men. Sos. Why not the same ?

Mess. Hitherto the marks agree perfectly well. Still
lend me your attention. (To Men^chmus.) Tell me, what
do you remember at the greatest distance of time in your
native country?

Men. When I went with my father to Tarentum to
trafHc; and afterwards how I strayed away from my father
among the people, and was carried away thence.

Men. Sos. Supreme Jupiter, preserve me !

Mess, (to Men^chmus Sosicles). Why do you ex-

148 PLAUTUS

claim? Why don't you hold your peace? {To Men^ch-
Mus. ) How many years old were you when your father took
you from your native country?

Men. Seven years old; for just then my teeth were
changing for the first time. And never since then have I seen
my father.

Mess. Well, how many sons of you had your father
then?

Men. As far as I now remember, two.

Mess. Which of the two was the older — you or the
other?

Men. Both were just alike in age.

Mess. How can that be ? Men. We two were twins.

Men. Sos. The Gods wish to bless me.

Mess, {to Men^chmus Sosicles). li you interrupt, I
shall hold my tongue.

Men. Sos. Rather than that, I'll hold my tongue.

Mess. Tell me, were you both of the same name?

Men. By no means; for my name was what it is now,
Mensechmus ; the other they then used to call Sosicles.

Men. Sos. {embracing his brother), I recognize the
proofs, I cannot refrain from embracing him. My own twin-
brother, blessings on you; I am Sosicles.

Men. How then was the name of Mensechmus after-
wards given to you?

Men. Sos. After word was brought to us that you
. . . and that my father was dead, my grandfather
changed it ; the name that was yours he gave to me.

Men. I believe that it did so happen as you say. But
answer me this.

Men. Sos. Ask it of me. Men. What was the name of
our mother?

Men. Sos. Teuximarcha. Men. That quite agrees.
(^He again embraces him.) O welcome, unhoped-for brother,
whom after many years I now behold.

Men. Sos. And you, whom with many and anxious
labours I have ever been seeking up to this time, and whom I
rejoice at being found.

Mes. {to his master). It was for this reason that this

THE TWIN-BROTHERS 149

Courtesan called you by his name; she thought that you
were he, I suppose, when she invited you to breakfast.

Men. Why, faith, to-day I ordered a breakfast to be got
ready here (pointing to Erotium's house) for me, unknown
to my wife; a mantle which a short time since I filched from
home, to her I gave it.

Men. Sos. Do you say, brother, that this is the mantle
which I'm wearing?

Men. How did this come to you? Men. Sos. The
Courtesan who took me here (pointing to Erotium's house)
to breakfast, said that I had given it to her. I breakfasted
very pleasantly; I drank and entertained myself with my
mistress; she gave me the mantle and this golden trinket.
(Showing the bracelet.) . . .

Men. I' faith, I'm glad if any luck has befallen you on
my account ; for when she invited you to her house, she sup-
posed it to be me.

Mess. Do you make any objection that I should be free
as you commanded ?

Men. He asks, brother, what's very fair and very just.
Do it for my sake.

Men. Sos. (touching Messenio's shoulder). Be thou a
free man.

Men. I am glad, Messenio, that you are free.

Mess. Why, better auspices^ were required that I should
be free for life. . . .

Men. Sos. Since these matters, brother, have turned out
to our wishes, let us both return to our native land.

Men. Brother, I'll do as you wish. I'll have an auction
here, and sell whatever I have. In the meantime, brother,
let's now go in-doors.

Men. Sos. Be it so. Mess. Do you know what I ask of
you?

Men. What? Mess. To give me the place of auc-
tioneer.

^ He alludes to the pretended manumission which he has already re-
ceived from Menaechmus of Epidamnus, when he took him to be his
master.

150 PLAUTUS

Men. It shall be given you. Mess. Would you like the
auction, then, to be proclaimed at once ? For what day ?

Men. On the seventh day hence.

Mess, (coming forward, and speaking in a loud voice).
An auction of the property of Mensechmus will certainly take
place on the morning of the seventh day hence. His slaves,
furniture, house, and farms, will be sold. All will go for
whatever they'll fetch at ready money prices. His wife, too,
will be sold as well, if any purchaser shall come. I think that
by the entire sale Mensechmus will hardly get fifty hundred
thousand sesterces.^ (To the Spectators.) Now, Specta-
tors, fare you well, and give us loud applause.^

^ Over $220,000.

*This Comedy, which is considered to be one of the best, if not the
very best, of all the plays of Plautus, is thought by some to have
been derived from one of Menander's, as there are some fragments
of a play by that Poet, called Didymi, " the Twins." It is, however,
very doubtful if such is the fact. It is rendered doubly famous from
the fact that Shakspeare borrowed the plot of his Comedy of Errors
from it, through the medium of the old translation of the Play, pub-
lished in the year 1595, which is in some parts a strict translation,
though in others only an abridgment of the original work. It is
thought to have been made by William Warner, who wrote a poem
called " Albion's England," which he dedicated to Henry Cary, Lord
Hunsdon, who was Lord Chamberlain to Queen Anne, the wife of
James the First.

CAPTIVI

[THE CAPTIVES]

DRAMATIS PERSONS

Hegio, an y^tolian, father of Philopolemus.

Philocrates^ an Elean, captive in ^tolia.

Tyndarus^ his servant.

Aristophontes, an Elean, captive in ^tolia.

Philopolemus^ an ^toHan, captive in Ehs.

Ergasilus, a Parasite.

Stalagmus, the servant of Hegio.

A Slave of Hegio.

A Lad^ the same.

Scene — A place in ^tolia, before the house of Hegio.

ARGUMENT

Hegio, a wealthy native of ^tolia, had two sons, one of which
was stolen by a slave when four years old, and being carried away to
Elis, was sold there ; the father being unable for many years to learn
what has become of him. A war having commenced between the
Eleans and the ^tolians, Philopolemus, the other son of Hegio, is
taken prisoner by the Eleans. The yEtolians having taken many
Elean prisoners, Hegio commences to traffic in captives, with the
view of thereby redeeming his son from the Eleans, in exchange for
some prisoner of rank. At this conjunction the Play commences.
Among the captives whom Hegio has purchased, Philocrates is one,
having been taken prisoner, together with his servant, Tyndarus.
With the object of deceiving Hegio, Philocrates and Tyndarus change
their clothes, and having exchanged names as well, Philocrates pre-
tends to be the servant of Tyndarus. Hegio being desirous to pro-
cure the exchange of his son, Philocrates (in the character of the
servant of his fellow-captive) is sent to Elis for that purpose.
After his departure, Aristophontes, another captive, accidentally puts
Hegio in the way of discovering the manner in which he has been
deceived. On this, the old man, losing all hope of obtaining the
liberation of his son, sends Tyndarus in chains to the stone-quarries.
Shortly after, Philocrates returns, and brings with him Philopolemus,
the son of Hegio, and Stalagmus, the runaway slave, that had stolen
his other son. It is then discovered that Stalagmus had sold the
child to the father of Philocrates, and that he is no other than
Tyndarus, the slave; on which, Tyndarus is sent for, and is in-
formed that he is the lost son of Hegio. Stalagmus is then con-
demned to the chains from which Tyndarus is liberated.

THE CAPTIVES

THE PROLOGUE

These two captives (pointing to Philocrates and Tyn-
DARUs), whom you see standing here, are standing here be-
cause they are both standing, and are not sitting. That

1 am saying this truly, you are my witnesses. The old man,
who lives here (pointing to Hegio's house), is Hegio — his
father (pointing to Tyndarus). But under what cir-
cumstances he is the slave of his own father, that I will
here explain to you, if you give attention. This old man
had two sons; a slave stole one child when four years
old, and flying hence, he sold him in Elis ^ to the father of his
captive (pointing to Philocrates). Now, do you under-
stand this? Very good. I' faith, that man at a distance
there (pointing) says, no. Come nearer then. If there isn't
room for you to sit down, there is for you to walk; since
you'd be compelling an actor to bawl like a beggar. I'm not
going to burst myself for your sake, so don't you be mis-
taken. You who are enabled by your means to pay your
taxes, listen to the rest ; I care not to be in debt to another.
This runaway slave, as I said before, sold his young master,
whom, when he fled, he had carried off, to this one's father.
He, after he bought him, gave him as his own private slave
to this son of his, because they were of about the same age.
He is now the slave at home of his own father, nor does his
father know it. Verily, the Gods do treat us men just like
footballs. You hear the manner now how he lost one son.
Afterwards, the ^tolians ^ are waging war with the people of

^ Elis was a city of Achaia, in the northwestern part of the Pelo-
ponnesus. Near it the Olympic games were celebrated.

2 ^tolia was a country of Greece, the southern portion of which
was bounded by the Corinthian Gulf; it was opposite to the Elean
territory, from which it was divided by the gulf.

153

154 PLAUTUS

Elis, and, as happens in warfare, the other son is taken pris-
oner. The physician Menarchus buys him there in EHs. On
this, this Hegio begins to traffic in Elean captives, if, per-
chance, he may be able to find one to change for that captive
son of his. He knows not that this one who is in his house
is his own son. And as he heard yesterday that an Elean
knight of very high rank and very high family was taken
prisoner, he has spared no expense to rescue his son. In
order that he may more easily bring him back home, he buys
both of these of the Quaestors out of the spoil.

Now they, between themselves, have contrived this plan,
that, by means of it, the servant may send away hence his
master home. And therefore among themselves they change
their garments and their names. He, there (pointing) ^ is
called Philocrates; this one (pointing), Tyndarus; he this
day assumes the character of this one, this one of him. And
this one to-day will cleverly carry out this plot, and cause
his master to gain his liberty ; and by the same means he will
save his own brother, and without knowing it, will cause him
to return back a free man to his own country to his father,
just as often now, on many occasions, a person has done more
good unknowingly than knowingly. But unconsciously, by
their devices, they have so planned and devised their plot,
and have so contrived it by their design, that this one is living
in servitude with his own father. And thus now, in ignor-
ance, he is the slave of his own father. What poor creatures
are men, when I reflect upon it ! This plot will be performed
by us — a play for your entertainment. But there is, besides,
a thing which, in a few words, I would wish to inform you
of. Really, it will be worth your while to give your atten-
tion to this play. 'Tis not composed in the hackneyed style,
nor yet like other plays, nor are there in it any ribald lines
unfit for utterance : here is neither the perjured procurer, nor
the artful courtesan, nor yet the braggart captain. Don't you
be afraid because I've said that there's war between the
^tolians and the Eleans. There (pointing), at a distance,
beyond the scenes, the battles will be fought. For this were
almost impossible for a Comic establishment, that we should
at a moment attempt to be acting Tragedy. If, therefore.

THE CAPTIVES 155

any one is looking for a battle, let him commence the quarrel ;
if he shall find an adversary more powerful, I'll cause him to
be the spectator of a battle that isn't pleasant to him, so that
hereafter he shall hate to be a spectator of them all. I now
retire. Fare ye well, at home, most upright judges, and in
warfare most valiant combatants.

ACT THE FIRST

SCENE I

Enter Ergasilus.

Erg. The young men have given me the name of *'the
mistress,'' for this reason, because invocated^ I am wont
to attend at the banquet. I know that buffoons ^ say that this
is absurdly said, but I affirm that it is rightly said. For at
the banquet the lover, when he throws the dice, invokes his
mistress.^ Is she then invocated, or is she not? She is,
most clearly. But, i' faith, we Parasites with better reason
are so called, whom no person ever either invites or invokes,
and who, like mice, are always eating the victuals of another
person. When business is laid aside, when people repair to
the country, at that same moment is business laid aside for
our teeth. Just as, when it is hot weather, snails lie hidden in
secret, and live upon their own juices, if the dew doesn't fall;
so, when business is laid aside, do Parasites lie hidden in re-
tirement, and miserably live upon their own juices, while in
the country the persons are rusticating whom they sponge
upon. When business is laid aside, we Parasites are grey-
hounds; when business recommences, like mastiffs, we are
annoying-like and very troublesome-like. And here, indeed,
unless, i' faith, any Parasite is able to endure cuffs with the

^ A play upon the word " invocatus," which means both " called

upon," or invoked, and " not called upon," or not wanted.

2 That particular class of Parasites who earned their dinners by their

repartees and bon-mots.

^ i. e., to bring good luck.

156 PLAUTUS

fist, and pots to be broken about his head, why he may e'en
go with his wallet outside the Trigeminian Gate. That this
may prove my lot, there is some danger. For since my patron
has fallen into the hands of the enemy — (such warfare are
the ^tolians now waging with the Eleans ; for this is ^tolia ;
this Philopolemus has been made captive in Elis, the son of
this old man Hegio who lives here (pointing to the house) — a
house which to me is a house of woe, and which so oft as I
look upon, I weep). Now, for the sake of his son, has he
commenced this dishonorable traffic, very much against his
own inclination. He buys up men that have been made cap-
tives, if perchance he may be able to find some one for whom
to gain his son in exchange. An object which I really do
much desire that he may gain, for unless he finds him, there's
nowhere for me to find myself. I have no hopes in the young
men; they are all too fond of themselves. He, in fine, is a
youth with the old-fashioned manners, whose countenance I
never rendered cheerful without a return. His father is
worthily matched, as endowed with like manners. Now I'll
go to him; — but his door is opening, the door from which
full oft I've sallied forth drunk with excess of cheer. (He
stands aside.)

SCENE II

Enter, from his house, Hegio and a Slave.

Heg. Now, give attention you, if you please. Those two
captives whom I purchased yesterday of the Quaestors out of
the spoil, put upon them chains of light weight ; take off those
greater ones with which they are bound. Permit them to
walk, if they wish, out of doors, or if in-doors, but so that
they are watched with the greatest care. A captive at liberty
is like a bird that's wild; if opportunity is once given for
escaping, 'tis enough; after that, you can never catch him.

Slave. Doubtless we all are free men more willingly
than we live the life of slaves.

Heg. You, indeed, don't seem to think so.^

^ Hegio means to say that the slave does not seem to think liberty
so very desirable, or he would try more to please his master, which

THE CAPTIVES 157

Slave. If I have nothing to give, should you like me to
give myself to flight?

Heg. If you do so give yourself, I shall at once have
something to 4)e giving to you.

Slave. I'll make myself just like the wild bird you were
telling of.

Heg. 'Tis just as you say; for if you do so, I'll be giving
you to the cage. But enough of prating; take you care of
what I've ordered, and be off. (The Slave goes into the
house.) I'll away to my brother's, to my other captives; I'll
go see whether they've been making any disturbance last
night. From there I shall forthwith betake myself home
again.

Erg. (apart). It grieves me that this unhappy old man
is following the trade of a slave-dealer, by reason of the mis-
fortune of his son. But, if by any means he can be brought
back here, I could even endure for him to become an exe-
cutioner.

Heg. (overhearing him). Who is it that's speaking?

Erg. 'Tis I, who am pining at your affliction, growing
thin, waxing old, and shockingly wasting away. Wretched
man that I am, I'm but skin and bone through leanness ; nor
does anything ever do me good that I eat at home; even
that ever so little which I taste out of doors, the same re-
freshes me.

Heg. Ergasilus, save you! Erg. (crying). May the
Gods kindly bless you, Hegio!

Heg. Don't weep. Erg. Must I not weep for him?
Must I not weep for such a young man ?

Heg. I've always known you to be a friend to my son,
and I have understood him to be so to you.

Erg. Then at last do we men know our blessings, when
we have lost those things which we once had in our power.

might end in gaining his liberty. As the slave could generally
ransom himself out of his " peculium," or " savings," if they were
sufficient, the slave here either thinks, or pretends to think, that
Hegio is censuring him for not taking those means, and answers,
accordingly, that he has nothing to offer.

158 PLAUTUS

I, since your son fell into the power of the enemy, knowing
by experience of what value he was, now feel his loss.

Heg. Since you, who are no relation, bear his misfortune
so much amiss, what is it likely that I, a father, should do,
whose only son he is ?

Erg. I, no relation to him ? He, no relation to me ? Oh,
Hegio ! never do say that, nor come to such a belief. To you
he is an only child, but to me he is even more only than an
only one.

Heg. I commend you, in that you consider the affliction
of your friend your own affliction. Now be of good heart.

Erg. (crying). O dear! Heg. (half -aside) . 'Tis this
afflicts him, that the army for guttling is now disbanded.
Meanwhile, have you found no one to command for you the
army that you mentioned as disbanded ?

Erg. What do you think ? All to whom it used to fall
are in the habit of declining that province since your son
Philopolemus was taken prisoner.

Heg. I' faith, 'tisn't to be wondered at, that they are in
the habit of declining that province. You have necessity for
numerous troops, and those of numerous kinds. Well, first
you have need of the Bakerians. Of these Bakerians there
are several kinds. You have need of Roll-makerians, you
have need, too, of Confectionerians, you have need of Poul-
tererians, you have need of Beccaficorians ; ^ besides, all the
maritime forces are necessary for you.

Erg. How the greatest geniuses do frequently lie con-
cealed ! How great a general now is this private individual !

Heg. Only have good courage ; for I trust that in a few
days I shall bring him back home. For see now; there's a
captive here, a young man of Elis, born of a very high fam-
ily, and of very great wealth ; I trust that it will come to pass
that I shall get my son in exchange for him.

Erg. May the Gods and Goddesses grant it so !

Heg. But are you invited out anywhere to dinner?

Erg. Nowhere that I know of. But, pray, why do you
ask me?

^ " Sellers of beccaficos," a delicate bird.

THE CAPTIVES 159

Heg. Because this is my birthday; for that reason I'd
like you to be invited to dinner at my house.

Erg. Tis kindly said. Heg. But if you can be content

to eat a very little

Erg. Aye, even ever so little; for on such fare as that do
I enjoy myself every day at home.

Heg. Come, then, please, set yourself up for sale.

Erg. I'll put myself up for purchase, just like a landed
estate, unless any one shall privately make a better offer that
pleases myself and my friends more, and to my own con-
ditions will I bind myself.

Heg. You are surely selling me a bottomless pit,^ and
not a landed estate. But if you are coming, do so in time.

Erg. Why, for that matter, I'm at leisure even now.

Heg. Go then, and hunt for a hare; at present, in me
you have but a ferret, for my fare it is in the way of fre-
quenting a rugged road.

Erg. You'll never repulse me by that, Hegio, so don't
attempt it. I'll come, in spite of it, with teeth well shod.

Heg. Really, my viands are but a rough sort. Erg.
Are you in the habit of eating brambles?

Heg. Mine is an earthy dinner. Erg. A pig is an
earthy animal.

Heg. Earthy from its plenty of vegetables.

Erg. Treat your sick people at home with that fare?
Do you wish anything else?

Heg. Come in good time. Erg. You are putting in
mind one who remembers quite well. (Exit.

Heg. I'll go in-doors, and in the house I'll make the cal-
culation how little money I have at my banker's ; afterwards
I'll go to my brother's, whither I was saying I would go.
(Goes into his house.)

^He plays upon " fundum," "landed property," and " profundum,"
"a deep cavity," to which he compares the Parasite's stomach.

160 PLAUTUS \

ACT THE SECOND

SCENE I

Enter, from the house, Philocrates, Tyndarus^ and Slaves
and Captives of Hegio

Slave. If the immortal Gods have so willed it that you
should undergo this affliction, it becomes you to endure it
with equanimity; if you do so, your trouble will be lighter.
At home you were free men, I suppose; now if slavery has
befallen you, 'tis a becoming way for you to put up with it,
and by your dispositions to render it light, under a master's
rule. Unworthy actions which a master does must be deemed
worthy ones.

Phil, and Tynd. Alas ! alas ! alas. Slave. There's no
need for waiHng; you cause much injury to your eyes. In
adversity, if you use fortitude of mind, it is of service.

Phil, and Tynd. But we are ashamed, because we are in
bonds.

Slave. But in the result it might cause vexation to our
master, if he were to release you from chains, or allow you to
be loose, whom he has purchased with his money.

Phil, and Tynd. What does he fear from us? We
know our duty, what it is, if he allows us to be loose.

Slave. Why, you are meditating escape. I know what
it is you are devising.

Phil, and Tynd. We, make our escape? Whither
should we escape?

Slave. To your own country. Phil, and Tynd. Out
upon you; it would ill befit us to be following the example of
runaways.

Slave. Why, faith, should there be an opportunity, I
don't advise you not.

Phil, and Tynd. Do you allow us to make one request.

Slave. What is it, pray? Phil, and Tynd. That you
will give us an opportunity of conversing, without these and
yourselves for overlookers.

Slave. Be it so; go you away from here, you people.

THE CAPTIVES 161

Let's step here, on one side. {To the other Captives and
Slaves.) But commence upon a short conversation only.

Phil. O yes, it was my intention so to do. Step aside
this way {to Tyndarus).

Slave {to the other Captives). Stand apart from them.

Tynd. {to the Slave). We are both greatly obliged to
you, by reason of your doing so, since you allow us to obtain
what we are desirous of.

Phil. Step here then, at a distance now, if you think
fit, that no listeners may be enabled to overhear our discourse,
and that this plan of ours mayn't be divulged before them,
for a stratagem is no stratagem, if you don't plan it with art,
but it is a very great misfortune if it becomes disclosed.
For if you are my master, and I represent myself as your
servant, still there's need of foresight, and need of caution,
that this may be carried out discreetly and without over-
lookers, with carefulness and with cautious prudence and
diligence. So great is the matter that has been commenced
upon ; this must not be carried out in any drowsy fashion.

Tynd. Just as you shall desire me to be, I will be.

Phil. I trust so. Tynd. For now you see that for
your precious life I'm setting at stake my own, as dear to me.

Phil. I know it. Tynd. But remember to know it
when you shall be enjoying that which you wish for; for
mostly, the greatest part of mankind follow this fashion;
what they wish for, until they obtain it, they are rightminded ;
but when they have now got it in their power, from being
rightminded they become most deceitful, and most dishonest;
now I do consider that you are towards me as I wish. What
I advise you, I would advise my own father.

Phil. I' faith, if I could venture, I would call you
father ; for next to my own father, you are my nearest father.

Tynd. I understand. Phil. And therefore I remind
you the more frequently, that you may remember it. I am
not your master, but your servant; now this one thing I do
beseech you. Inasmuch as the immortal Gods have dis-
closed to us their wishes, that they desire me to have once
been your master, and now to be your fellow-captive; what
formerly of my right I used to command you, now with en-

162 PLAUTUS

treaties do I beg of you, by our uncertain fortunes, and by
the kindness of my father towards you, and by our common
captivity, which has befallen us by the hand of the enemy,
don't you pay me any greater respect than I did you when
you were my slave; and don't you forget to remember who
you were, and who you now are.

Tynd. I know, indeed, that I now am you, and that you
are I.

Phil. Well, if you are able carefully to remember that,
I have some hope in this scheme of ours.

SCENE II

Enter Hegio, from his house, speaking to those within.

Heg. I shall return in-doors just now, when I shall have
discovered from these people what I want to know. (To
the Slaves). Where are those persons whom I ordered to
be brought out of doors here, before the house?

Phil. By my faith, I find that you have taken due pre-
caution that we shouldn't be missed by you, so walled in
are we with chains and keepers.

Heg. He that takes precaution that he mayn't be de-
ceived, is hardly on his guard, even while he's taking precau-
tion; even when he has supposed that he has taken precau-
tion, full often is this wary man outwitted. Was there not
good reason, indeed, for me to watch you carefully, whom I
purchased with so large a sum of ready money?

Phil. Troth, it isn't fair for us to hold you to blame, be-
cause you watch us closely; nor yet for you us, if we go away
hence, should there be an opportunity.

Heg. As you are here, so is my son a captive there
among your people.

Phil. He, a captive? Heg. Even so.

Phil. We, then, have not proved the only cowards.^

Heg. {to Philocrates^ supposing him to be the Servant

^He alludes to the notion in the heroic times, that it was the duty
of a warrior to conquer or to die, and that it was disgraceful to be
made prisoner.

THE CAPTIVES 163

of the other). Step you aside this way, for there are some
things that I wish to enquire of you in private, on which
subjects I would have you not to be untruthful to me. {They
step aside.)

Phil. I will not be, as to that which I shall know; if I
shall not know anything, that which I don't know I'll tell
you of.

Tynd. {aside). Now is the old fellow in the barber's
shop; now, at this very instant, is Philocrates wielding the
razor. He hasn't cared, indeed, to put on the barber's cloth,^
so as not to soil his dress. But whether to say that he's go-
ing to shave him close, or trim him through the comb, I don't
know; but if he's wise, he'll scrape him right well to the very
quick.

Heg. (to Philocrates). Which would you? Would
you prefer to be a slave, or a free man ? — Tell me.

Phil. That which is the nearest to good, and the furthest
off from evil, do I prefer; although my servitude hasn't
proved very grievous to me, nor has it been otherwise to me
than if I had been a son in the family.

Tynd. (aside). Capital! I wouldn't purchase, at a tal-
ent's price even, Thales the Milesian;^ for compared with
this man's wisdom, he was a very twaddler. How cleverly
has he suited his language to the slave's condition.

Heg. Of what family is this Philocrates born?

Phil. The Polyplusian ; ^ which one family is flourishing
there, and held in highest esteem.

Heg. What is he himself? In what esteem is he held
there ?

Phil. In the highest, and that by the very highest men.

Heg. Since, then, he is held in such great respect among
the Eleans, as you tell of, what substance has he? — Of large
amount ?

^i. e., Philocrates has shown no hesitation in commencing at once
to dupe the old man.

2 Thales of Miletus was one of the seven wise men of Greece.

3 This word is coined by Philocrates to impress Hegio; it means
" very wealthy."

164 PLAUTUS

Phil. Enough for him, even, when an old man, to be
melting out the tallow.

Heg. What is his father? Is he living? Phil. When
we departed thence, we left him alive; whether he's living
now or not, Orcus, forsooth, must know that.

Tynd. (aside). The matter's all right; he's not only
lying, but he's even philosophizing now.

Heg. What's his name ? Phil. Thesaurochrysonicocroe-
sides.^

Heg. That name has been given, I suppose, by reason of
his wealth, as it were.

Phil. Troth, not so, but rather by reason of his avarice
and grasping disposition; for, indeed, he was Theodoromedes
originally by name.

Heg. How say you ? Is his father covetous ?

Phil. Aye, by my faith, he is covetous. Why, that you
may even understand it the better, — when he's sacrificing at
any time to his own Genius,^ the vessels that are needed for
the sacrifice he uses of Samian ware, lest the Genius himself
should steal them; from this, consider how much he would
trust other people.

Heg. (addressing Tyndarus as though Philocrates.)'
Do you then follow me this way. (Aside.) The things that
I desire to know, I'll enquire of him. (Addressing Tyn-
darus.) Philocrates, this person has done as it becomes an
honest man to do. For from him I've learnt of what family
you are sprung; he has confessed it to me. If you are will-
ing to own these same things (which, however, understand
that I already know from him), you will be doing it for
your own advantage.

Tynd. He did his duty when he confessed the truth to
you, although, Hegio, I wished carefully to conceal both my
rank and my wealth ; now, inasmuch as I've lost my country
and my liberty, I don't think it right for him to be dreading
me rather than you. The might of warfare has made my for-

^ This is a name made up of several Greek words, and seems to mean
" a son of Croesus, abounding in treasures of gold."
* His guardian Deity.

THE CAPTIVES 165

tunes on a level with himself. I remember the time when
he didn't dare to do it in word ; now, in deed, he is at liberty
to offend me. But don't you see? Human fortune moulds
and fashions just as she wills. Myself, who was a free man,
she has made a slave, from the very highest the very lowest.
I, who was accustomed to command, now obey the mandates
of another. And indeed, if I meet with a master just such
as I proved the ruler in my own household, I shall not fear
that he will rule me harshly or severely. With this, Hegio,
I wished you to be acquainted, unless perchance you your-
self wish it not.

Heg. Speak boldly out. Tynd. As free a man was I
till lately as your son. As much did a hostile hand deprive me
of my liberty as him of his. As much is he a slave among
my people, as I am now a slave here with yourself. There is
undoubtedly a God, who both hears and sees the things which
we do. Just as you shall treat me here, in the same degree
will he have a care for him. To the well-deserving will he
show favour, to the ill-deserving will he give a like return.
As much as you lament your son, so much does my father
lament me.

Heg. That I am aware of. But do you admit the same
that he has disclosed to me?

Tynd. I confess that my father has very great wealth at
home, and that I am born of a very noble family ; but I entreat
you, Hegio, let not my riches make your mind too prone to
avarice, lest it should seem to my father, although I am his
only son, more suitable that I should be a slave in your house,
bountifully supplied at your expense and with your clothing,
rather than be living the life of a beggar where 'twould be
for from honorable.

Heg. By the favour of the Gods and of my forefathers,
I am rich enough. I don't quite believe that every kind of
gain is serviceable to mankind. I know that gain has already
made many a man famous ; and yet there are occasions when
it is undoubtedly better to incur loss than to make gain. Gold
I detest : many a one has it persuaded to many an evil course.
Now give your attention to this, that you may know as well
what my wishes are. My son, taken prisoner, is in servitude

166 PLAUTUS

at Elis there among your people; if you restore him to me,
don't you give me a single coin besides ; both you and him, your
servant, I'll send back from here ; on no other terms can you
depart hence.

Tynd. You ask v^hat's very right and very just, and
you are the very kindest person of all mankind. But tell me,
v^hether is he in servitude to a private person or to the
public ?

Heg. In private servitude to Menarchus, a physician.

Phil. By my faith, that person's surely his father's de-
pendant. Why really, that's down as pat for you, as the
shower is when it rains.

Heg. Do you then cause this person, my son, to be re-
deemed.

Tynd. I'll do so : but this I beg of you, Hegio

Heg. Whatever you wish, so that you request nothing
against my interest, I'll do.

Tynd. Listen then, and you'll know. I don't ask for my-
self to be released, until he has returned. But I beg of you
to give me him (pointing to Philocrates) with a price set
upon him, that I may send him to my father, that this per-
son, your son, may be redeemed there.

Heg. Why no; I'd rather send another person hence,
when there shall be a truce, to confer with your father there,
and to carry your injunctions which you shall entrust him
with, just as you wish.

Tynd. Biit it's of no use to send to him one that he
doesn't know ; you'd be losing your labour. Send this person ;
he'll have it all completed, if he gets there. And you cannot
send any person to him more faithful, nor one in whom he
places more confidence, nor who is more a servant after his
own mind ; nor, in fact, one to whom he would more readily
entrust your son. Have no fears ; at my own peril I'll make
proof of his fidelity, relying upon his disposition ; because he
is sensible that I'm kindly disposed towards him.

Heg. Well then, I'll send him with a price set upon him,
on the surety of your promise, if you wish it.

Tynd. I do wish it; so soon as ever it can, I want this
matter to be brought to completion.

THE CAPTIVES 167

Heg. What reason is there, then, that if he doesn't
return, you should not pay me twenty minse for him?

Tynd. Yes — very good. Heg. (to the Slaves, who
obey). Release him now forthwith; and, indeed, both of
them. ( On being released, Philocrates goes into the house. )

Tynd. May all the Gods grant you all your desires, since
you have deigned me honor so great, and since you release
me from my chains. Really, this is not so irksome now, since
my neck is free from the collar-chain.

Heg. The kindnesses that are done to the good, thanks
for the same are pregnant with blessings. Now, if you are
about to send him thither, direct, instruct him, give him the
orders which you wish to be carried to your father. Should
you like me to call him to you?

Tynd. Do call him. (Hegio goes to the door, and calls
Philocrates. )

SCENE in

Enter Philocrates, from the house.

Heg. May this affair turn out happily for myself and for
my son, and for yourselves. (To Philocrates.) Your new
master wishes you to pay faithful obedience to your former
owner in what he wishes. For I have presented you to him,
with the price of twenty minse set upon you: and he says
that he is desirous to send you away hence to his father, that
he may there redeem my son, and that an exchange may be
made between me and him for our respective sons.

Phil. My disposition takes its course straight in either
direction, both to yourself and to him; as a wheel you may
make use of me; either this way or that can I be turned,
whichever way you shall command me.

Heg. You yourself profit the most from your own dis-
position, when you endure slavery just as it ought to be
endured. Follow me. (To Tyndarus.) See here's your
man.

Tynd. I return you thanks, since you give me this oppor-
tunity and permission to send this messenger to my parents,
who may relate all the matter in its order to my father,
what I'm doing here, and what I wish to be done. (To

168 PLAUTUS

Philocrates.) Now, Tyndarus, thus is it arranged between
myself and him, that I'm to send you, valued at a fixed price,
to my father in Elis ; so that, if you don't return hither, I'm
to give twenty minse for you.

Phil. I think that you've come to a right understanding.
For your father expects either myself or some messenger to
come from here to him.

Tynd. I wish you, then, to mind what message it is I
want you to carry hence to my country to my father.

Phil. Philocrates, as up to this moment I have done, I
will take all due care to endeavour that which may especially
conduce to your interest, and to pursue the same with heart
and soul, and with my ears.

Tynd. You act just as you ought to act; now I wish you
to give attention. In the first place of all, carry my respects
to my mother and my father, and to my relations, and if
any one else you see ^ell-disposed toward me: say that I
am in health here, and that I am a slave, in servitude to this
most worthy man, who has ever honored me more and more
with his respect, and does so still.

Phil. Don't you be instructing me as to that ; I can, still,
easily bear that in mind.

Tynd. For, indeed, except that I have a keeper, I deem
myself to be a free man. Tell my father on what terms I
have agreed with this party about his son.

Phil. What I remember, it is sheer delay to be putting me
in mind of.

Tynd. To redeem him, and to send him back here in ex-
change for both of us.

Phil. I'll remember it. Heg. But as soon as he can,
that is especially to the interest of us both.

Phil. You are not more anxious to see your son, than he
is to see his.

Heg. My son is dear to myself, and his own to every
man.

Phil, (to Tyndarus). Do you wish any other message
to be carried to your father?

Tynd. Say that I am well here; and do you boldly tell
him, Tyndarus, that we have been of dispositions for unin-

THE CAPTIVES 169

terrtipted harmony between ourselves, and that you have
neither been deserving of censure, nor that I have proved
your enemy; and that still, amid miseries so great, you have
shown implicit obedience to your master, and that you have
never abandoned me, either in deed or in fidelity, amid my
wavering, unprosperous fortunes. When my father shall
know this, Tyndarus, how well-disposed you have proved to-
ward his son and himself, he will never be so avaricious but
that he'll give you your liberty for nothing. And by my own
endeavours, if I return hence. Til make him do so the more
readily. For by your aid and kindness, and good disposition
and prudence, you have caused me to be allowed to return
to my parents once again, inasmuch as to Hegio you have
confessed both my rank and my wealth; by means of which,
through your wisdom, you have liberated your master from
his chains.

Phil. The things which you mention I have done, and I
am pleased that you remember this. Deservedly have they
been done for you by me ; for now, Philocrates, if I, too, were
to mention the things that you have kindly done for me, the
night would cut short the day. For, had you been my slave
even, no otherwise were you always obliging to me.

Heg. Ye Gods, by our trust in you! behold the kindly
disposition of these persons! How they draw the very tears
from me ! See how cordially they love each other, and with
what praises the servant has commended his master.

Phil. I' troth, he hasn't commended me the one hun-
dreth part of what he himself deserves to be commended in
my praises.

Heg. (to Philocrates). Since, then, you have acted
most becomingly, now there's an opportunity to add to your
good deeds in managing this matter with fidelity towards him.

Phil. I am not able more to wish it done, than by my
endeavours to try to bring it about. That you may know this,
Hegio, with praises do I call supreme Jove to witness that I
will not prove unfaithful to Philocrates

Heg. You are a worthy fellow. Phil. And that I will
never in anything act otherwise toward him than toward my
own self.

170 PLAUTUS

Tynd. I wish you to put these speeches to the test, both
by your deeds and your actions ; and inasmuch as I have said
the less about you than I had wished, I wish you the more to
give me your attention, and take you care not to be angry
with me by reason of these words. But, I beseech you, re-
flect that you are sent hence home with a price set upon
you at my risk, and that my life is here left as a pledge for
you. Do not you forget me the very moment that you
have left my presence, since you will have left me here behind
a captive in captivity for yourself, and don't consider your-
self as free, and forsake your pledge, and not use your
endeavours for you to bring his son home again, in return
for me. Understand that you are sent hence valued at
twenty minse. Take care to prove scrupulously faithful; take
care that you show not a wavering fidelity. For my father,
I am sure, will do everything that he ought to do. Preserve
me as a constant friend to you, and find out this person so
lately discovered.^ These things, by your right hand, holding
you with my own right hand, do I beg of you; do not prove
less true to me than I have proved to you. This matter do you
attend to; you are now my master, you my patron, you my
father; to you do I commend my hopes and my fortunes.

Phil. You have given injunctions enough. Are you sat-
isfied if I bring back accomplished what you have enjoined?

Tynd. Satisfied.

Phil, (to Hegio). According to your wishes, and (to
Tyndarus) according to yours, will I return hither provided.
Is there anything else?

Tynd. For you to return back as soon as ever you can.

Phil. The business itself reminds me of that.

Heg. (to Philocrates). Follow me, that I may give you
your expenses for the journey at my banker's; on the same
occasion I'll get a passport from the Praetor.

Tynd. What passport? Heg. For him to take with
him hence to the army, that he may be allowed to go
home from here. (To Tyndarus.) You go in-doors.

^ i. e., " This person whom we have found out to be in the possession
of the physician, Menarchus."

THE CAPTIVES 171

Tynd. Speed you well. Phil. Right heartily, fare-
well. (Tyndarus goes into the house.)

Heg. {aside). V faith, I compassed my design, when I
purchased these men of the Quaestors out of the spoil. I have
released my son from slavery, if so it pleases the Gods; and
yet I hesitated a long time whether I should purchase or
should not purchase these persons. Watch that man in-doors,
if you please, you servants, that he may nowhere move a
foot without a guard. I shall soon make my appearance at
home; now Fm going to my brother's, to see my other cap-
tives; at the same time I'll inquire whether any one knows
this young man. {To Philocrates. ) Do you follow, that
I may despatch you. I wish attention first to be paid to that
matter. reunt.

ACT THE THIRD

SCENE I

Enter Ergasilus.

Erg. Wretched is that man who is in search of some-
thing to eat, and finds that with difficulty ; but more wretched
is he who both seeks with difficulty, and finds nothing at all;
most wretched is he, who, when he desires to eat, has not
that which he may eat. But, by my faith, if I only could, I'd
willingly tear out the eyes of this day; — with such enmity
has it filled all people towards me. One more starved out I
never did see, nor one more filled with hunger, nor one who
prospers less in whatever he begins to do. So much do my
stomach and my throat take rest on these fasting holidays.
Away with the profession of a Parasite to very utter and
extreme perdition ! so much in these days do the young men
drive away from them the needy drolls. They care nothing
now-a-days for these Laconian men of the lowest benches^ —

^The Parasites, when there was not room for them on the couches
at table, were forced to sit on benches at the bottom of the table.
This was like the custom of the Spartans, or Laconians, who, eschew-

172 PLAUTUS

these whipping-posts, who have their clever sayings without
provision and without money. They now-a-days seek those
who, when they've eaten at their pleasure, may give them a
return at their own houses. They go themselves to market,
which formerly was the province of the Parasites. They go
themselves from the Forum to the procurers with face as ex-
posed as the magistrates in court, with face exposed, condemn
those who are found guilty; nor do they now value buffoons
at one farthing ; all are so much in love with themselves. For,
when, just now, I went away from here, I came to some young
men in the Forum : " Good morrow," said I ; " whither are
we going together to breakfast?" On this, they were silent.
" Who says, * here, at my house,' or who makes an offer ? "
said I. Just like dumb men, they were silent, and didn't smile
at me. " Where do we dine ? " said I. On this they declined.
I said one funny saying out of my best bon mots, by which I
formerly used to get feasting for a month ; not an individual
smiled ; at once I knew that the matter was arranged by con-
cert. Not even one was willing to imitate a dog when pro-
voked; if they didn't laugh, they might, at least, have grinned
with their teeth. From them I went away, after I saw that
I was thus made sport of. I went to some others ; then to some
others I came; then to some others — the same result. All
treat the matter in confederacy, just like the oil-merchants
in the Velabrum.^ Now, I've returned thence, since I see
myself made sport of there. In like manner do other Para-
sites walk to and fro, to no purpose, in the Forum. Now,
after the foreign fashion, I'm determined to enforce all my
rights. Those who have entered into a confederacy, by which
to deprive us of food and life, — for them I'll name a day.
I'll demand, as the damages, that they shall give me ten din-
ners at my own option, when provisions are dear : thus will I
do. Now I'll go hence to the harbour. There, is my only

ing the luxury of reclining, sat at meals. The Spartans, also, en-
dured pain with the greatest firmness; a virtue much required by
Parasites, in order to put up with the indignities which they had to
endure from the guests, who daubed their faces, broke pots about
their heads, and boxed their ears.
^ A market street in Rome.

THE CAPTIVES 173

hope of a dinner; if that shall fail me, I'll return here to the
old gentleman, to his unsavoury dinner.

SCENE II

Enter Hegio and Aristophontes.

Heg. (to himself). What is there more delightful than to
manage one's own interests well for the public good, just
as I did yesterday, when I purchased these men. Every per-
son, as they see me, comes to meet me, and congratulates
me on this matter. By thus stopping and detaining unlucky
me, they've made me quite tired. With much ado have I
survived from being congratulated, to my misfortune. At
last, to the Praetor did I get. There, scarcely did I rest
myself. I asked for a passport; it was given me: at once I
delivered it to Tyndarus. He started for home. Thence,
straightway, after that was done, I passed by my house; and
I went at once to my brother's, where my other captives are.
I asked about Philocrates from Elis, whether any one of
them all knew the person. This man (pointing to Aristo-
phontes) called out that he had been his intimate friend; I
told him that he was at my house. At once he besought
and entreated me that I would permit him to see him. Forth-
with I ordered him to be released from chains. Thence have
I come. (To Aristophontes.) Now, do you follow me,
that you may obtain what you have besought of me, the oppor-
tunity of meeting with this person. ( They go into the house. )

SCENE III

Enter Tyndarus, from the house.

Tynd. Now stands the matter so, that I would much
rather that I had once existed, than that I still exist; now do
my hopes, my resources, and my succour, desert me and spurn
themselves. This is that day, when, for my life, no safety
can be hoped; nor yet is death my end; nor hope is there,
in fact, to dispel this fear for me ; nor cloak have I anywhere
for my deceitful stratagems ; nor for my devices or my sub-

174 PLAUTUS

terfuges is there anywhere a screen presented to me. No
deprecating is there for my perfidy; no means of flight for my
offences. No refuge is there anywhere for my trusting; and
no escape for my cunning schemes. What was concealed is
now exposed ; my plans are now divulged. The whole matter
is now laid open; nor is there any ado about this matter,
but that I must perish outright, and meet with destruction,
both on behalf of my master and myself. This Aristophontes
has proved my ruin, who has just now come into the house.
He knows me. He is the intimate friend and kinsman of
Philocrates. Not Salvation herself can save me now, even
if she wishes; nor have I any means of escape, unless, per-
chance, I devise some artifice in my mind. {He meditates.)
Plague on it! — how? What can I contrive? — what can I
think of? Some very great folly and trifling I shall have to
begin with. I'm quite at a loss. {He retires aside.)

SCENE IV

Enter Hegio, Aristophontes, and Slaves, from the house.

Heg. Whither am I to say, now, that this man has be-
taken himself from the house out of doors?

Tynd. {apart). Now, for a very certainty, I'm done for;
the enemies are coming to you, Tyndarus! What shall I
say? — what shall I talk of? What shall I deny, or what
confess? All matters are reduced to uncertainty. How shall
I place confidence in my resources? I wish the Gods had
destroyed you, before you were lost to your own country,
Aristophontes, who, from a plot well concerted, are making
it disconcerted. This plan is ruined outright, unless I find
out for myself some extremely bold device.

Heg. {to Aristophontes). Follow me. See, there is
the man ; go to him and address him.

Tynd. {aside, and turning away). What mortal among
mortals is there more wretched than myself?

Arist. {coming up to him). Why's this, that I'm to say
that you are avoiding my gaze, Tyndarus? And why that
you are slighting me as a stranger, as though you had never
known me? Why, I'm as much a slave as yourself; although

THE CAPTIVES 175

at home I was a free man, you, even from your childhood,
have always served in slavery in Elis.

Heg. r faith, I'm very little surprised, if either he does
avoid your gaze, or if he does shun you, who are calling him
Tyndarus, instead of Philocrates.

Tynd. Hegio, this person was accounted a madman in
Elis. Don't you give ear to what he prates about; for at
home he has pursued his father and mother with spears, and
that malady sometimes comes upon him which is spit out. Do
you this instant stand away at a distance from him.

Heg. (to the Slaves). Away with him further off from
me.

Arist. Do you say, you whipp'd knave, that I am mad,
and do you declare that I have followed my own father with
spears ? And that I have that malady, that it's necessary for
me to be spit upon ?

Heg. Don't be dismayed; that malady afflicts many a
person to whom it has proved wholesome to be spit upon, and
had been of service to them.

Arist. Why, what do you say ? Do you, too, credit him ?

Heg. Credit him in what ? Arist. That I am mad ?

Tynd. Do you see him, with what a furious aspect he's
looking at you? 'Twere best to retire, Hegio; it is as I said,
his frenzy grows apace; have a care of yourself.

Heg. I thought that he was mad, the moment that he
called you Tyndarus.

Tynd. Why, he's sometimes ignorant of his pwn name,
and doesn't know what it is.

Heg. But he even said that you were his intimate friend.

Tynd. So far from that, I never saw him. Why, really,
Alcmseon, and Orestes, and Lycurgus ^ besides, are my friends
on the same principle that he is.

Arist. Villain, and do you dare speak ill of me, as well ?
Do I not know you?

^ Three celebrated men of antiquity that were attacked with frenzy.
Orestes slew his mother, Clytemestra; Alcmaeon killed his mother,
Eriphyle; and Lycurgus, King of Thrace, on slighting the worship
of Bacchus, was afflicted with madness, in a fit of which he hewed
off his own legs with a hatchet.

176 PLAUTUS

Heg. I' faith, it really is very clear that you don't know
him, who are calling him Tyndarus, instead of Philocrates.
Him whom you see, you don't know ; you are addressing him
as the person whom you don't see.

Arist. On the contrary, this fellow's saying that he is
the person who he is not ; and he says that he is not the person
who he really is.

Tynd. You've been found, of course, to excel Philocrates
in truthfulness.

Arist. By my troth, as I understand the matter, you've
been found to brazen out the truth by lying. But i' faith,
prithee, come then, look at me.

Tynd. (looking at him). Well! Arist. Say; now, do
you deny that you are Tyndarus?

Tynd. I do deny it, I say.

Arist. Do you say that you are Philocrates ?

Tynd. I do say so, I say.

Arist. (to Hegio). And do you believe him?

Heg. More, indeed, than either you or myself. For he,
in fact, who you say that he is (pointing to Tyndarus), has
set out hence to-day for Elis, to this person's father.

Arist. What father, when he's a slave?

Tynd. And so are you a slave, and yet you were a free
man ; and I trust that so I shall be, if I restore his son here
to liberty.

Arist. How say you, villain ? Do you say that you were
born a free m.an [liber] ?

Tynd. I really did not say that I am Liber, but that I am
Philocrates.^

Arist. How's this ? How this scoundrel, Hegio, is mak-
ing sport of you now. For he's a slave himself, and, never,
except his own self, had he a slave.

^ " Liber " is also a name of Bacchus, so Tyndarus quibbles, and
says, " I did not assert that I am Liber, but that I am Philocrates."
In consequence of the idiom of the Latin language, his answer (non
equidem me Liberum, sed Philocratem esse aio) may also be read
as meaning, " I did not say that I am a free man, but that Philocrates
is." This double meaning may be rendered in English thus : " I
don't claim to be Freeman, but Philocrates laside"] to be Freeman."

THE CAPTIVES 177

Tynd. Because you yourself are destitute in your own
country, and haven't whereon to live at home, you wish all to
be found like to yourself; you don't do anything surprising.
'Tis the nature of the distressed to be ill-disposed, and to envy
the fortunate.

Arist. Hegio, take you care, please, that you don't per-
sist in rashly placing confidence in this man; for so far as I
see, he is certainly now putting some device in execution, in
saying that he is redeeming your son from captivity; that is
by no means satisfactory to me.

Tynd. I know that you don't wish that to be done ; still I
shall effect it, if the Gods assist me. I shall bring him back
here, and he will restore me to my father, in Elis. For that
purpose have I sent Tyndarus hence to my father.

Arist. Why, you yourself are he; nor is there any slave
in Elis of that name, except yourself.

Tynd. Do you persist in reproaching me with being a
slave — a thing that has befallen me through the fortune of
war?

Arist. Really, now, I cannot contain myself.

Tynd. ( to Hegio ) . Ha ! don't you hear him ? Why don't
you take to flight? He'll be pelting us just now with stones
there, unless you order him to be seized.

Arist. I'm distracted. Tynd. His eyes strike fire;
there's need of a rope, Hegio. Don't you see how his body is
spotted all over with livid spots ? Black bile ^ is disordering
the man.

Arist. And, by my faith, if this old gentleman is wise,
black pitch ^ will be disordering you with the executioner,
and giving a light to your head.

Tynd. He's now talking in his fit of delirium; sprites are
in possession of the man.

Heg. By my troth, suppose I order him to be seized?

^ A superabundance of " melancholia," or black bile was supposed
to be productive of melancholy madness.

2 He alludes to a frightful punishment inflicted upon malefactors by
the Romans. They were either smeared over with burning pitch,
or were first covered with pitch, which was then set fire to. This
punishment was often inflicted upon the early Christians.

178 PLAUTUS

Tynd. You would be acting more wisely.

Arist. I'm vexed that I haven't a stone to knock out the
brains of that whip-scoundrel, who's driving me to madness
by his taunts.

Tynd. Don't you hear that he's looking for a stone?

Arist. I wish to speak with you alone, separately, Hegio.

Heg. Speak from where you are, if you want anything;
though at a distance, I shall hear you.

Tynd. Yes, for, by my faith, if you approach nearer,
he'll be taking your nose off with his teeth.

Arist. By heavens, Hegio, don't you believe that I am
mad, or that I ever was so, or that I have the malady which
that fellow avers. But if you fear anything from me, order
me to be bound ; I wish it, so long as that fellow is bound as
well.

Tynd. Why, really, Hegio, rather let him be bound that
wishes it.

Arist. Now hold your tongue ! I'll make you, you false
Philocrates, to be found out this day to be a real Tyndarus.
Why are you making signs at me?

Tynd. I, making signs at you? {To Hegio.) What
would he do, if you were at a greater distance off?

Heg. What do you say? What if I approach this mad-
man?

Tynd. Nonsense ; you'll be made a fool of ; he'll be pra-
ting stuff, to you, neither the feet nor the head of which will
ever be visible. The dress only is wanting; in seeing this
man, you behold Ajax himself.

Heg. I don't care; still I'll approach him. {Advances to
Aristophontes.)

Tynd. {aside). Now am I utterly undone; now between
the sacrifice and the stone ^ do I stand, nor know I what
to do.

Heg. I lend you my attention, Aristophontes, if there is
anything that you would wish with me.

Arist. From me you shall hear that truth, which now

^ In the most ancient times the animal for sacrifice was; killed by
being struck with a stone.

THE CAPTIVES 179

you think to be false, Hegio. But I wish, in the first place, to
clear myself from this with you — that madness does not pos-
sess me, and that I have no malady, except that I am in
captivity; and, so may the King of Gods and of men make
me to regain my native land, that fellow there is no more
Philocrates than either I or you.

Heg. Come, then, tell me who he is?

Arist. He whom I've told you all along from the begin-
ning. If you shall find him any other than that person, I
show no cause why I shouldn't suffer the loss with you both of
my parents and of my liberty for ever.

Heg. {to Tyndarus). What say you to this?

Tynd. That I am your slave, and you my master.

Heg. I didn't ask that — were you a free man?

Tynd. I was. Arist. But he really wasn't; he is de-
ceiving you.

Tynd. How do you know? Were you, perchance, the
midwife of my mother, since you dare to affirm this so boldly?

Arist. When a boy, I saw yourself, a boy.

Tynd. But, grown up, I now see you grown up; so,
there's for you, in return. If you did right, you wouldn't
be troubling yourself about my concerns; do I trouble myself
about yours?

Heg. Was his father called Thesaurochrysonicocroesides ?

Arist. He was not ; and I never heard that name before
this day. Theodoromedes was the father of Philocrates.

Tynd. {aside). I'm downright undone. Why don't you
be quiet, heart of mine ? Go and be stretched, and hang your-
self; you are throbbing so, that unfortunate I can hardly
stand up for my fear.

Heg. Is a full assurance given me that this was a slave in
Elis, and that he is not Philocrates?

Arist. So fully, that you will never find this to be other-
wise ; but where is he ^ now ?

Heg. Where I the least, and he the most could wish him-
self. In consequence, then, I'm cut asunder, disjointed, to

^ Tyndarus has probably betaken himself to some corner of the
stage, and Aristophontes misses him from his former position.

180 PLAUTUS

my sorrow, by the devices of this scoundrel, who has bam-
boozled me by his tricks just as he has thought fit. But do,
please, have a care that you are right.

Arist. Why, I assure you of this, as an ascertained and
established fact.

Heg. For certain? Arist. Why, nothing, I say, will
you find more certain than this certainty. Philocrates, from
when a boy, has ever since that time been my friend.

Heg. But of what appearance is your friend Phil-
ocrates ?

Arist. Til tell you: with a thin face, sharp nose, light
hair, dark eyes, somewhat ruddy, with hair rather crisp and
curling.

Heg. The description is like. Tynd. (aside). Aye, so
much so, indeed, that Fve this day, much to my sorrow, got
into the midst of this, i' faith. Woe to those unfortunate
rods which this day will be meeting their end upon my back.

Heg. I see that I've been imposed upon.

Tynd. (aside). Why, fetters, do you delay to run
toward me and to embrace my legs, that I may have you in
custody ?

Heg. And have these two rascally captives really de-
ceived me this day with their tricks? The other one pre-
tended that he was the servant, and this one that he himself
was the master. I've lost the kernel; for a security, I've
left the shell. To such a degree have they imposed upon me,
both on this side and that, with their trickeries. Still, this
fellow shall never have the laugh against me. Colaphus,
Cordalio, Co rax ^ (to the Slaves), go you away and bring
out the thongs.

Slave. Are we to be sent to gather faggots ? ^ ( The
Slaves go and bring the thongs from the house.)

^ These are the names of slaves. " Colaphus " means, also, " a blow
with the fist." " Corax " was the Greek name for a " crow," and
was probably given to a black slave.

2 He asks this question because cords, "lora," were necessary for
the purpose of binding up faggots.

THE CAPTIVES 181

SCENE V

Hegio, Tyndarus, Aristophontes, and Slaves.

Heg. (to the Slaves). Put the manacles on this whipp'd
villain.

Tynd. (whilst the Slaves are fastening him). What's
the matter? What have I done wrong?

Heg. Do you ask the question? You weeder and sower
of villanies, and in especial their reaper.

Tynd. Ought you not to have ventured to say the har-
rower first? For countrymen always harrow before they
weed.

Heg. Why, with what assurance he stands before me.

Tynd. It's proper for a servant, innocent and guiltless,
to be full of confidence, most especially before his master.

Heg. (to the Slaves). Bind this fellow's hands tightly,
will you.

Tynd. I am your own — do you command them to be cut
off even. But what is the matter on account of which you
blame me?

Heg. Because me and my fortunes, so far as in you
singly lay, by your rascally and knavish stratagems you have
rent in pieces, and have distracted my affairs and spoiled all
my resources and my plans, in that you've thus robbed me of
Philocrates by your devices. I thought that he was the slave,
you the free man. So did you say yourselves, and in this
way did you change names between you.

Tynd. I confess that all was done so, as you say, and
that by a stratagem he has got away from you, through my
aid and cleverness; and prithee, now, do you blame me for
that, i' faith?

Heg. Why, it has been done with your extreme torture
for the consequence.

Tynd. So I don't die by reason of my misdeeds, I care
but little. If I do die here, then he returns not, as he said
he would; but when I'm dead, this act will be remembered
to my honor, that I caused my captive master to return from
slavery and the foe, a free man, to his father in his native

182 PLAUTUS

land; and that I preferred rather to expose my own life to
peril, than that he should be undone.

Heg. Take care, then, to enjoy that fame at Acheron.

Tynd. He who dies for virtue's sake, still does not
perish.

Heg. When Fve tortured you in the most severe man-
ner, and for your schemes have put you to death, let them
say either that you have perished or that you have died;
so long as you do die, I don't think it matters if they say
you live.

Tynd. V faith, if you do do so, you'll do it not without
retribution, if he shall return here, as I trust that he will
return.

Arist. (aside). O ye immortal Gods! I understand it
now; now I know what the case really is. My friend Phil-
ocrates is at liberty with his father, in his native land. 'Tis
well ; nor have I any person to whom I could so readily wish
well. But this thing grieves me, that I've done this person
a bad turn, who now on account of me and my talking is in
chains.

Heg. (to Tyndarus). Did I not forbid you this day to
utter anything false to me?

Tynd. You did forbid me. Heg. Why did you dare
to tell me lies?

Tynd. Because the truth would have prejudiced him
whom I was serving ; now falsehood has advantaged him.

Heg. But it will prejudice yourself.

Tynd. 'Tis very good. Still, I have saved my master,
whom I rejoice at being saved, to whom my elder master
had assigned me as a protector. But do you think that this
was wrongly done?

Heg. Most wrongfully. Tynd. But I, who disagree
with you, say, rightly. For consider, if any slave of yours
had done this for your son, what thanks you would have
given him. Would you have given that slave his freedom or
not ? Would not that slave have been in highest esteem with
you? Answer me that.

Heg. I think so, Tynd. Why, then, are you angry
with me?

THE CAPTIVES 183

Heg. Because you have proved more faithful to him
than to myself.

Tynd. How now? Did you expect, in a single night
and day, for yourself to teach me — a person made captive, a
recent slave, and in his noviciate — that I should rather con-
sult your interest than his, with whom from childhood I
have passed my life?

Heg. Seek, then, thanks from him for that. \To the
Slaves.) Take him where he may receive weighty and thick
fetters, thence, after that, you shall go to the quarries for
cutting stone. There, while the others are digging out eight
stones, unless you daily do half as much work again, you
shall have the name of the six-hundred-stripe man.

Arist. By Gods and men, I do entreat you, Hegio, not
to destroy this man.

Heg. He shall be taken all care of. For at night, fast-
ened with chains, he shall be watched ; in the daytime, beneath
the ground, he shall be getting out stone. For many a day
will I torture him ; I'll not respite him for a single day.

Arist. Is that settled by you? Heg. Not more settled
that I shall die. {To the Slaves.) Take him away this in-
stant to Hippolytus, the blacksmith ; bid thick fetters to be riv-
eted on him. From there let him be led outside the gate
to my freedman, Cordalus, at the stone-quarries. And tell
him that I desire this man so to be treated, that he mayn't
be in any respect worse off than he who is the most severely
treated.

Tynd. Why, since you are unwilling, do I desire myself
to survive? At your own hazard is the risk of my life.
After death, no evil have I to apprehend in death. Though I
should live even to extreme age, still, short is the space for
enduring what you threaten me with. Farewell and prosper ;
although you are deserving for me to say otherwise. You,
Aristophontes, as you have deserved of me, so fare you ; for
on your account has this befallen me.

Heg. {to the Slaves). Carry him off.

Tynd. But this one thing I beg, that, if Philocrates
should come back here, you will give me an opportunity of
meeting him.

184 PLAUTUS

Heg. {to the Slaves). At your peril, if you don't this
instant remove him from my sight. {The Slaves lay hold
of Tyndarus^ and push him along.)

Tynd. r troth, this really is violence, to be both dragged
and punished at the same time. {He is borne off by the
Slaves.)

SCENE VI

Hegio and Aristophontes.

Heg. He has been led off straight to prison, as he de-
serves. Let no one presume to attempt such an enterprise.
Had it not been for you who discovered this to me, still would
they have been leading me by the bridle with their tricks.
Now am I resolved henceforth never to trust any person in
anything. This once I have been deceived enough; I did
hope, to my sorrow, that I had rescued my son from slavery.
That hope has forsaken me. I lost one son, whom, a child
in his fourth year, a slave stole from me ; and, indeed, never
since have I found either slave or son; the elder one has
fallen in the hands of the enemy. What guilt is this of mine?
As though I had become the father of children for the pur-
pose of being childless. {To Aristophontes.) Follow
this way. I'll conduct you back where you were. I'm deter-
mined to have pity upon no one, since no one has pity upon
me.

Arist. Forth from my chains with evil omen did I
come; now I perceive that with like ill omen to my bonds I
must return. {Exeunt.

ACT THE FOURTH

SCENE I

Enter Ergasilus.^

Erg. Supreme Jove! thou dost preserve me, and dost
augment my means. Plenty, extreme and sumptuous, dost
thou present to me; celebrity, profit, enjoyment, mirth, fes-

^ He has just come from the harbour, where he has seen the son of
Hegio, together with Philocrates and Stalagmus, landing from the

THE CAPTIVES 185

tivity, holidays, sights, provisions, carousings, abundance, joy-
ousness. And to no man have I now determined with my-
self to go a-begging; for I'm able either to profit my friend
or to destroy my enemy, to such extent has this delightful
day heaped delights upon me in its delight fulness. I have
lighted upon a most rich inheritance without incumbrances.
Now will I wend my way to this old gentleman Hegio, to
whom I am carrying blessings as great as he himself prays
for from the Gods, and even greater. Now, this is my deter-
mination, in the same fashion that the slaves of Comedy are
wont, so will I throw my cloak around my neck,^ that from
me, the first of all, he may learn this matter. And I trust
that I, by reason of this news, shall find provision up to the
end.

SCENE II

Enter Hegio^ at a distance.

Heg. (to himself). The more that I revolve this matter
in my breast, the more is my uneasiness of mind increased.
That I should have been duped in this fashion to-day! and
that I wasn't able to see through it! When this shall be
known, then I shall be laughed at all over the city. The very
moment that I shall have reached the Forum, all will be say-
ing, "This is that clever old gentleman, who had the trick
played him." But is this Ergasilus, that I see coming at a
distance? Surely he has got his cloak gathered up; what, I
wonder, is he going to do?

packet-boat. Now, as he speaks still of his intended dinner with
Hegio, to which he had been invited in the earlier part of the Play,
we must conclude, that since then, Philocrates has taken ship from
the coast of ^tolia, arrived in Elis, procured the liberation of
Philopolemus, and returned with him, all in the space of a few hours.
This, however, although the coast of Elis was only about fifteen
miles from that of ^tolia, is not at all consistent with probability.
1 This was done that, when expedition was required, the cloak might
not prove an obstruction to the wearer as he walked. The slaves in
Comedies usually wore the "pallium," and as they were mostly
active, bustling fellows, would have it tucked tightly around them.

186 PLAUTUS

Erg. (advancing, and talking to himself). Throw aside
from you all tardiness, Ergasilus, and speed on this business.
I threaten, and I strictly charge no person to stand in my way,
unless any one shall be of opinion that he has lived long
enough. For whoever does come in my way, shall stop me
upon his face. (He runs along, Nourishing his arms
about.)

Heg. (to himself). This fellow's beginning to box.

Erg. (to himself). I'm determined to do it; so that every
one may pursue his own path, let no one be bringing any of
his business in this street; for my fist is a balista, my arm is
my catapulta, my shoulder a battering-ram; then against
whomsoever I dart my knee, I shall bring him to the ground.
I'll make all persons to be picking up their teeth, whom-
soever I shall meet with.

Heg. (to himself). What threatening is this? For I
cannot wonder enough.

Erg. I'll make him always to remember this day and
place, and myself as well. Whoever stops me upon my road,
I'll make him put a stop to his own existence.

Heg. (to himself). What great thing is this fellow pre-
paring to do, with such mighty threats?

Erg. I first give notice, that no one, by reason of ni-^
own fault, may be caught — keep yourselves in-doors at he .
and guard yourselves from my attack.

Heg. (to himself). By my faith, 'tis strange if he hasn't
got this boldness by means of his stomach. Woe to that
wretched man, through whose cheer this fellow has become
quite swaggering.

Erg. Then the bakers, that feed swine, that fatten their
pigs upon refuse bran, through the stench of which no one
can pass by a baker's shop; if I see the pig of any one of
them in the public way, I'll beat the bran out of the masters'
themselves with my fists.

Heg. (to himself). Royal and imperial edicts does he
give out. The fellow is full; he certainly has his boldness
from his stomach.

Erg. Then the fishmongers, who supply stinking fish to
the public — who are carried about on a gelding, with his

THE CAPTIVES 187

galloping galling pace — the stench of whom drives all the
loungers in the Basilica^ into the Forum, I'll bang their
heads with their bulrush fish-baskets, that they may under-
stand what annoyance they cause to the noses of other
people. And then the butchers, as well, who render the sheep
destitute of their young — who agree with you about killing
lamb, and then offer you lamb at double the age and price —
who give the name of wether mutton to a ram — if I should
only see that ram in the public way, I'll make both ram and
owner most miserable beings.

Heg. (to himself). Well done! He really does give out
edicts fit for an ^dile, and 'tis indeed a surprising thing if the
^tolians haven't made him inspector of markets.

Erg. No Parasite now am I, but a right royal king of
kings ; so large a stock of provisions for my stomach is there
at hand in the harbour. But why delay to overwhelm this
old gentleman Hegio with gladness? With him, not a per-
son among mankind exists equally fortunate.

Heg. (apart). What joy is this, that he, thus joyous, is
going to impart to me ?

Erg. (knocking at Hegio^s door). Hallo, hallo! — where
are you? Is any one coming to open this door?

Heg. (apart). This fellow's betaking himself to my
house to dine.

Erg. Open you both these doors, before I shall with
knocking cause their destruction, piecemeal.

Heg. (apart). I'd like much to address the fellow.
(Aloud. ) Ergasilus !

Erg. Who's calling Ergasilus? Heg. Turn round,
and look at me.

Erg. (not seeing who it is). A thing that Fortune does
not do for you, nor ever will do, you bid me to do. But who
is it?

Heg. Look round at me. 'Tis Hegio.

* The " Basilica " was a building which served as a court of law, and
a place of meeting for merchants and men of business. The loungers
here mentioned were probably sauntering about under the porticos
of the Basilica, when their olfactory nerves were offended by the
unsavoury smell of the fishermen's baskets.

188 PLAUTUS

Erg. (turning round). O me! Best of the very best of
men, as many as exist, you have arrived opportunely.

Heg. YouVe met with some one at the harbour to dine
with ; through that you are elevated.

Erg. Give me your hand. Heg. My hand?

Erg. Give me your hand, I say, this instant.

Heg. Take it. (Giving him his hand.)

Erg. Rejoice. Heg. Why should I rejoice?

Erg. Because I bid you; come now, rejoice.

Heg. r faith, my sorrows exceed my rejoicings.

Erg. 'Tis not so, as you shall find; I'll at once drive
away every spot of sorrow from your body. Rejoice without
restraint.

Heg. I do rejoice, although I don't at all know why I
should rejoice.

Erg. You do rightly; now order Heg. Order

what?

Erg. a large fire to be made.

Heg. a large fire? Erg. So I say, that a huge one it
must be.

Heg. What, you vulture, do you suppose that for your
sake Fm going to set my house on fire ?

Erg. Don't be angry. Will you order, or will you not
order, the pots to be put on, and the saucepans to be washed
out, the bacon and the dainties to be made warm in the heated
cooking-stoves, another one, too, to go purchase the fish?

Heg. This fellow's dreaming while awake.

Erg. Another to buy pork, and lamb, and pullets.

Heg. You understand how to feed well, if you had the
means.

Erg. Gammons of bacon, too, and lampreys, spring
pickled tunny-fish, mackerel, and sting-ray ; large fish, too, and
soft cheese.

Heg. You will have more opportunity, Ergasilus, here at
my house, of talking about these things than of eating them.

Erg. Do you suppose that I'm saying this on my own
account ?

Heg. You will neither be eating nothing to-day, nor
yet much more than usual, so don't you be mistaken. Do you

THE CAPTIVES 189

then bring an appetite to my house for your every-day
fare.

Erg. Why, I'll so manage it, that you yourself shall wish
to be profuse, though I myself should desire you not.

Heg. What, I? Erg. Yes, you.

Heg. Then you are my master. Erg. Yes, and a
kindly disposed one. Do you wish me to make you happy?

Heg. Certainly I would, rather than miserable.

Erg. Give me your hand. Heg. (extending his hand).
Here is my hand.

Erg. All the Gods are blessing you.

Heg. I don't feel it so. Erg. Why, you are not in a
quickset hedge, therefore you don't feel it; but order the
vessels, in a clean state, to be got for you forthwith in readi-
ness for a sacrifice, and one lamb to be brought here with all
haste, a fat one.

Heg. Why? Erg. That you may offer sacrifice.

Heg. To which one of the Gods ?

Erg. To myself, i' faith, for now am I your supreme
Jupiter. I likewise am your salvation, your fortune, your
life, your delight, your joy. Do you at once, then, make
this Divinity propitious to you by cramming him.

Heg. You seem to me to be hungry.

Erg. For myself am I hungry, and not for you.

Heg. I readily allow of it at your own good will.

Erg. I believe you; from a boy you were in the
habit

Heg. May Jupiter and the Gods confound you.

Erg. I' troth, 'tis fair that for my news you should re-
turn me thanks; such great happiness do I now bring you
from the harbour.

Heg. Now you are flattering me. Begone, you simple-
ton ; you have arrived behind time, too late.

Erg. If I had come sooner, then for that reason you
might rather have said that. Now, receive this joyous news
of me which I bring you ; for at the harbour I just now saw
your son Philopolemus in the common fly-boat, alive, safe
and sound, and likewise there that other young man together
with him, and Stalagmus your slave, who fled from your

190 PLAUTUS

house, who stole from you your little son, the child of four
years old.

Heg. Away with you to utter perdition! You are tri-
fling with me.

Erg. So may holy Gluttony^ love me, Hegio, and so
may she ever dignify me with her name, I did see

Heg. My son? Erg. Your son, and my good Genius.

Heg. That Elean captive, too ?

Erg. Yes, by Apollo. Heg. The slave, too? My
slave Stalagmus, he that stole my son ?

Erg. Yes, by Cora. Heg. So long a time ago?

Erg. Yes, by Praeneste! Heg. Is he arrived?

Erg. Yes, by Signia! Heg. For sure?

Erg. Yes, by Phrysinone! Heg. Have a care, if you
please.

Erg. Yes, by Alatrium! Heg. Why are you swearing
by foreign cities ? ^

Erg. Why, because they are just as disagreeable as you
were declaring your fare to be.

Heg. Woe be to you! Erg. Because that you don't
believe me at all in what I say in sober earnestness. But of
what country was Stalagmus, at the time when he departed
thence ?

Heg. a Sicilian. Erg. But now he is not a Sicilian —
he is a Boian; he has got a Boian woman.^ A wife, I sup-
pose has been given to him for the sake of obtaining children.

Heg. Tell me, have you said these words to me in good
earnest ?

Erg. In good earnest. Heg. Immortal Gods, I seem
to be born again, if you are telling the truth.

Erg. Do you say so? Will you still entertain doubts,
when I have solemnly sworn to you? In fine, Hegio, if you
have little confidence in my oath, go yourself to the harbour
and see.

^ The Parasite very appropriately deifies Gluttony : as the Goddess
of Bellyful would, of course, merit his constant worship.
2 They are small places in Campania, the butts of metropolitan wit.
^ " Boia " means either " a collar," which was placed round a
prisoner's neck, or a female of the nation of the Boii in Gaul.

THE CAPTIVES 191

Heg. I'm determined to do so. Do you arrange in-
doors what's requisite. Use, ask for, take from my larder
what you like ; I appoint you cellarman.

Erg. Now, by my troth, if I have not prophesied truly
to you, do you comb me out with a cudgel.

Heg. I'll find you in victuals to the end, if you are tell-
ing me the truth.

Erg. Whence shall it be? Heg. From myself and
from my son.

Erg. Do you promise that? Heg. I do promise it.

Erg. But I, in return, promise you that your son has
arrived.

Heg. Manage as well as ever you can.

Erg. a happy walk there to you, and a happy walk
back. (Exit Hegio.

SCENE III

Ergasilus, alone.

Erg. He has gone away from here, and has entrusted to
me the most important concern of catering. Immortal Gods,
how I shall now be slicing necks off of sides; how vast a
downfall will befall the gammon ; how vast a belabouring the
bacon ! How great a using-up of udders, how vast a bewail-
ing for the brawn ! How great a bestirring for the butchers,
how great a preparation for the porksellers ! But if I were
to enumerate the rest of the things which minister to the
supply of the stomach, 'twould be sheer delay. Now will I
go off to my government, to give laws to the bacon, and,
those gammons that are hanging uncondemned, to give aid
to them. (Goes into the house,)

ACT THE FIFTH

SCENE I
Enter a Lad_, a servant of Hegio.

Lad. May Jupiter and the Deities confound you, Erga-
silus, and your stomach, and all Parasites, and every one
who henceforth shall give a dinner to Parasites. Destruc-
tion and devastation and ruin have just now entered our

192 PLAUTUS

house. I was afraid that he would be making an attack on
me, as though he had been an hungry wolf. And very dread-
fully, upon my faith, was I frightened at him; he made such
a gnashing with his teeth. On his arrival, the whole larder,
with the meat, he turned upside down. He seized a knife,
and first cut off the kernels of the neck from three sides.
All the pots and cups he broke, except those that held a
couple of gallons; of the cook he made enquiry whether the
salting pans could be set on the fire to be made hot. All
the cellars in the house he has broken into, and has laid the
store-closet open. (At the door.) Watch him, servants, if
you please; Fll go to meet the old gentleman. I'll tell him
to get ready some provisions for his own self, if, indeed, he
wishes himself to make use of any. For in this place, as this
man, indeed, is managing, either there's nothing already, or
very soon there will be nothing. (Exit.

SCENE II

Enter Hegio^ Philopolemus^ Philocrates^ and behind
them, Stalagmus.

Heg. To Jove and to the Deities I return with reason
hearty thanks, inasmuch as they have restored you to your
father, and inasmuch as they have delivered me from very
many afflictions, which, while I was obliged to be here with-
out you, I was enduring, and inasmuch as I see that that fel-
low (pointing to Stalagmus) is in my power, and inasmuch
as his word (pointing to Philocrates) has been found true
to me.

Philop. Enough now have I grieved from my very soul,
and enough with care and tears have I disquieted myself.
Enough now have I heard of your woes, which at the harbour
you told me of. Let us now to this business.

Phil. What now, since I've kept my word with you, and
have caused him to be restored back again to freedom?

Heg. Philocrates, you have acted so that I can never re-
turn thanks enough, in the degree that you merit from
myself and my son.

Philop. Nay, but you can, father, and you will be able,

THE CAPTIVES 193

and I shall be able; and the Divinities will give the means
for you to return the kindness he merits to one who deserves
so highly of us ; as, my father, you are able to do to this per-
son who so especially deserves it.

Heg. What need is there of words? I have no tongue
with which to deny whatever you may ask of me.

Phil. I ask of you to restore to me that servant whom
I left here as a surety for myself; who has always proved
more faithful to me than to himself; in order that for his
services I may be enabled to give him a reward.

Heg. Because you have acted thus kindly, the favour
shall be returned, the thing that you ask; both that and
anything else that you ask of me, you shall obtain. And
I would not have you blame me, because in my anger I have
treated him harshly.

Phil. What have you done? Heg. I have confined
him in fetters at the stone-quarries, when I found out that I
had been imposed upon.

Phil. Ah, wretched me! That for my safety misfor-
tunes should have happened to that best of men.

Heg. Now, on this account, you need not give me even
one groat of silver for him. Receive him of me without
cost that he may be free.

Phil. On my word, Hegio, you act with kindness; but
I entreat that you will order this man to be sent for.

Heg. Certainly. {To the attendants, who immediately
obey.) Where are you? Go this instant, and bring Tyn-
darus here. {To Philopolemus and Philocrates.) Do
you go in-doors; in the meantime, I wish to enquire of this
statue for whipping, what was done with my younger son.
Do you go bathe in the meantime.

Philop. Philocrates, follow me this way in-doors.
,, Phil. I follow you. {They go into the house.)

SCENE ni

Hegio and Stalagmus.

Heg. Come you, step this way, you worthy fellow, my
fine slave.

194 PLAUTUS

Stal. What is fitting for me to do, when you, such a
man as you are, are speaking false? I was never a hand-
some, or a fine, or a good person, or an honest one, nor shall
I ever be ; assuredly, don't you be forming any hopes that I
shall be honest.

Heg. You easily understand pretty well in what situa-
tion your fortunes are. If you shall prove truth-telling,
you'll make your lot from bad somewhat better. Speak out,
then, correctly and truthfully; but never yet truthfully or cor-
rectly have you acted.

Stal. Do you think that I'm ashamed to own it, when
you affirm it?

Heg. But I'll make you to be ashamed ; for I'll cause you
to be blushes all over.

Stal. Heyday — you're threatening stripes, I suppose,
to me, quite unaccustomed to them ! Away with them, I beg.
Tell me what you bring, that you may carry off hence what
you are in want of.

Heg. Very fluent indeed. But now I wish this prating
to be cut short.

Stal. As you desire, so be it done.

Heg. (to the Audience). As a boy he was very obedi-
ent; now that suits him not. Let's to this business; now
give your attention, and inform me upon what I ask. If you
tell the truth, you'll make your fortunes somewhat better.

Stal. That's mere trifling. Don't you think that I
know what I'm deserving of?

Heg. Still, it is in your power to escape a small portion
of it, if not the whole.

Stal. A small portion I shall escape, I know ; but much
will befall me, and with my deserving it, because I both ran
away, and stole your son and sold him.

Heg. To what person? Stal. To Theodoromedes
the Polyplusian, in Elis, for six minse.

Heg. O ye immortal Gods! He surely is the father of
this person, Philocrates.

Stal. Why, I know him better than yourself, and have
seen him more times.

Heg. Supreme Jove, preserve both myself and my son

THE CAPTIVES 195

for me. {He goes to the door, and calls aloud.) Philocrates,
by your good Genius, I do entreat you, come out, I want you.

SCENE IV

Enter Philocrates, from the house.

Phil. Hegio, here am I; if you want anything of me,
command me.

Heg. He {pointing to Stalagmus) declares that he sold
my son to your father, in Elis, for six minse.

Phil, {to Stalagmus). How long since did that hap-
pen?

Stal. This is the twentieth year, commencing from it.

Phil. He is speaking falsely. Stal. Either I or you do.
Why, your father gave you the little child, of four years old,
to be your own slave.

Phil. What was his name? If you are speaking the
truth, tell me that, then.

Stal. Paegnium, he used to be called; afterwards, you
gave him the name of Tyndarus.

Phil. Why don't I recollect you? Stal. Because it's
the fashion for persons to forget, and not to know him whose
favour is esteemed as worth nothing.

Phil. Tell me, was he the person whom you sold to my
father, who was given me for my private service?

Stal. It was his son {pointing to Hegio).

Heg. Is this person now living? Stal. I received the
money, I cared nothing about the rest.

Heg. {to Philocrates). What do you say?

Phil. Why, this very Tyndarus is your son, according,
indeed, to the proofs that he mentions. For, a boy himself
together with me from boyhood was he brought up, virtu-
ously and modestly, even to manhood.

Heg. I am both unhappy and happy, if you are telling
the truth. Unhappy for this reason, because, if he is my son,
I have badly treated him. Alas! why have I done both
more and less than was his due. That I have ill-treated him I
am grieved; would that it only could be undone. But see,
he's coming here, in a guise not according to his deserts.

196 PLAUTUS

SCENE V

Enter Tyndarus^ in chains, led in by the Servants.

Tynd. (to himself). I have seen many of the torments
which take place at Acheron often represented in paintings;^
but most certainly there is no Acheron equal to where I have
been in the stone-quarries. There, in fine, is the place where
real lassitude must be undergone by the body in laboriousness.
For when I came there, just as either jackdaws, or ducks, or
quails, are given to Patrician children, for them to play with,
so in like fashion, when I arrived, a crow [-bar] was given me
with which to amuse myself. But see, my master's before the
door ; and lo ! my other master has returned from Elis.

Heg. Hail to you, my much wished-for son.

Tynd. Ha ! how — ^my son ? Aye, aye, I know why you
pretend yourself to be the father, and me to be the son ; it is
because, just as parents do, you give me the means of seeing
the light.

Phil. Hail to you, Tyndarus. Tynd. And to you, for
whose sake I am enduring these miseries.

Phil. But now I'll make you in freedom come to wealth.
For (pointing to Hegio) this is your father; (pointing to
Stalagmus) that is the slave who stole you away from here
when four years old, and sold you to my father for six minse.
He gave you, when a little child, to me a little child for my
own service. He (pointing to Stalagmus) has made a con-
fession, for we have brought him back from Elis.

Tynd. How, where's Hegio's son? Phil. Look now;
in-doors is your own brother.

Tynd. How do you say ? Have you brought that captive
son of his?

Phil. Why, he's in-doors, I say.

Tynd. By my faith, you've done both well and happily.

Phil, (pointing to Hegio). Now this is your own

1 The torments of the infernal regions were frequently represented
in pictures, for the purpose of deterring men from evil actions, by
keeping in view the certain consequences of their bad conduct.

THE CAPTIVES 197

father; (pointing to Stalagmus) this is the thief who stole
you when a Httle child.

Tynd. But now, grown up, I shall give him grown up to
the executioner for his thieving.

Phil. He deserves it. Tynd. I' faith, I'll deservedly
give him the reward that he deserves. (To Hegio.) But
tell me, I pray you, are you my father ?

Heg. I am he, my son. Tynd. Now, at length, I bring
it to my recollection, when I reconsider with myself: troth, I
do now at last recall to memory that I had heard, as though
through a mist, that my father was called Hegio.

Heg. I am he. Phil. I pray that your son may be
lightened of these fetters, and this slave be loaded with them.

Heg. I'm resolved that that shall be the first thing at-
tended to. Let's go in-doors, that the blacksmith may be
sent for, in order that I may remove those fetters from you,
and give them to him. ( They go info the house. )

Stal. To one who has no savings of his own, you'll be
rightly doing so.

The Company of Players coming forward.

Spectators, this play is founded on chaste manners. No
wenching is there in this, and no intriguing, no exposure of a
child, no cheating out of money; and no young man in love
here makes his mistress free without his father's knowledge.
The Poets find but few Comedies^ of this kind, where good
men might become better. Now, if it pleases you, and if we
have pleased you, and have not been tedious, do you give this
sign of it: you who wish chaste manners should have their
reward, give us your applause.

^ He here confesses that he does not pretend to frame the plots of
his Plays himself, but that he goes to Greek sources for them; and
forgetting that "beggars must not be choosers," he complains that
so very few of the Greek Comedies are founded upon chaste man-
ners. Indeed, this Play is justly deemed the most pure and innocent
of all the Plays of Plautus.

COMEDIES OF TERENCE

HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS
[THE SELF-TORMENTOR]

ADELPHI
[THE BROTHERS]

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE

BY HENRY THOMAS RILEY, B.A.

LATE SCHOLAR OF CLARE HALL, CAMBRIDGE

WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY THE REV. W. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A.

INTRODUCTION

LIFE OF TERENCE

By the Rev. W. Lucas Collins, M. A.

A DRAMATIC generation elapsed between Plautus and
Terence; for the latter was only ten years old at the date of
Plautus's death. The great name which filled the interval
in the annals of Roman comedy was that of Csecilius ; but of
his works nothing remains except a few disjointed passages
to be found here and there in the works of other authors.
Horace mentions him with approval, while Cicero accuses
him of bad Latin. Csecilius, too, was a copyist from Menan-
der, and a very indifferent copyist in the opinion of Aulus
Gellius, who gives us an additional testimony to the genius
of the Greek dramatist, when, in comparing a passage from
one of his lost comedies with the imitation of it by Csecilius,
he says that the difference in brilliancy is that of the golden
armour of Glaucus compared with the bronze of Diomed.

Such biographical record as we have of Terence is mainly
derived from a source which is very apocryphal. There is a
"Life" of him, ascribed to Suetonius, but more probably
written by the grammarian Donatus: we do not know what
authority the writer had for his details, and the anecdotes
which it contains have a suspicious colouring.

Though the name by which he is known — Publius Teren-
tius — is Roman, we are told that he was by birth a Carthagin-
ian, whence came his sobriquet of "Afer'' (the African),
and that he was either born in slavery or had become a pris-
oner of war. He was brought up in the household of a Ro-
man senator named Terentius, and, as was not uncommon
among slaves when they obtained their freedom, took the
name of his patron. That under these circumstances he

301

202 INTRODUCTION

should have had a liberal education need not discredit the
story ; for in many Roman families we know that such young
slaves as showed ability were allowed ample opportunities of
instruction. But other opportunities are said to have fallen
to the lot of Terence such as few in his position could have
hoped for. He was admitted, while yet a young man, to an
intimate association with Scipio and Laelius ; and this pair of
accomplished friends were even said to have had a large
share in the composition of the dramas which were brought
out in the name of their humbler associate. There is a story
that Laelius, being one evening busy in his library, and slow
to obey his wife's summons to dinner, excused himself by
saying he had never been in a happier mood for composition :
and forthwith recited, as part of the result, a passage from
what was afterwards known as " The Self-Tormentor " of
Terence. The dramatist himself, perhaps very naturally,
seems partly to have encouraged the popular notion that he
enjoyed such distinguished help; for, though in his prologue
to the comedy which was said to have been really the work
of his aristocratic friend, he speaks of this report as " a weak
invention of the enemy," yet in the prologue to a subsequent
drama, " The Brothers," he evidently treats it as a compliment,
and does not care altogether to refute so flattering an accu-
sation.

For as to that which carping tongues report,
That certain noble friends have lent their hand
To this his work, and shared the poet's toil, —
What they would fling at him as a reproach
He counts an honour, — to be thus approved
By those whom universal Rome approves.^

Cicero thought it probable that his illustrious friends did
help him, though it might have been only by judicious hints
and corrections. It is also more than possible that the dram-
atist may have been indebted for much of the refinement of
his dialogue, directly or indirectly, to the accomplished women
whose society he enjoyed in the household of Laelius. The

^ Prologue to the Adelphi.

THE CONTINENCE OF SCIPIO

Ecole de Fontainchlcau (XVIcme Siecle)

SCIPIO, THE YOUNGER, THE GREAT ROMAN PATRON OF LETTERS HE

WAS A FRIEND OF TeRENCE, THE COMIC DRAMATIST [SEE PAGE 202] —
WAS ALSO A MODEL OF VIRTUE. He IS REPRESENTED IN THE PICTURE
AS A YOUTH, MAKING A CHOICE OF CHASTE LITERATURE IN PREFERENCE
TO LESS WORTHY AMBITIONS OFFERED HIM, SUCH AS MILITARY GLORY,
ART, AND SENSUAL PLEASURE.

should h;
xtorv : for

to th.

TRODUCTION

1 education rf
1 families v

such as few in
1. while
pio and
ere even sai
of the ^
iiumblei
e evening busy

illen

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r of

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drama, "
and does
nation.

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n as "'^

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encouraged tht
f^d help; fo:
!S said to h
he speaks

ther to

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work

t as " a weak

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To this his work, and sha>

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He counts an

By those whom univr

::u diought it prob..... ..^ ^-'ous fdends^dl:

i; him. though it might have been only by judicious hints
-J corrections. It is also more than possible that the dram-

- '■■ ^-^^^wMip^^iimW^^l^^ refinement of

or indirectly, to the accomplished women

^11— r'.MaTiaa io y.o9-^'" ^'.moH TAa«;j sht .aaoviuoY 3ht ,0I4ij2
— f^fctt'^ifq^ias^y ! Hi oiMoo 3HT ,3:>;5a«aT ^o avraiH-i a gAW

'AHJjT'yvi 3HT >ii uaT/.ar-.a>i'i3a r^i sH .suTaiv lo jaaoM a o«ja saw

J)Y.3Lii3^31i<i T/il 3«TJTA«3TTJ 31V,AHJ 10 33I0H3 A OHIXAM .HTIJOY A eA
.YHOJi) YJIATIJIM rt/ II ) l> ,1/1111 a3H3H10 «>!0ITiaMA YHT«OV/ rifiaJ OT

LIFE OF TERENCE 203

ladies of that family were all charming talkers; and Laelia,
the eldest daughter of Scipio's friend, is mentioned by her
son-in-law Crassus, the famous orator, as reminding him, in
the elegance of her language, of the dialogues of Naevius and
Plautus.

It is said that when he offered his first play to the ^diles,
who as the regulators of the public games had to choose the
pieces which were to enjoy the honour of public presenta-
tion, he found the officer to whom he brought it to read seated
at table. The young author was desired to take a stool at a
distance, and begin: but he had scarcely got through the
opening passage of " The Maid of Andros " when the yEdile
motioned him to a seat by his own side, and there the reading
was completed.

The six comedies which are extant were probably all their
author ever put upon the stage. In the midst of his dramatic
career, he left Rome in order to travel in Greece, and is
said during his tour to have employed himself in the transla-
tion of upwards of a hundred of Menander's comedies. He
seems never to have returned, and tradition says that he was
lost at sea on his voyage homeward, and that his precious
manuscripts perished with him. Another story is that he
himself escaped from the wreck, but died of grief for the loss
of his literary treasures.

His plays have far more elegance, but less action, than L.'gljas::^^
those of Plautus. He is perhaps more adapted for the library,
and Plautus for the stage. Very much of the fun of the
latter is broad farce, while Terence seldom descends below
parlour comedy. But the two writers had moved in very dif-
ferent circles: Plautus had been familiar with life in the
Suburra — the St. Giles's of Rome — while Terence had mixed
in the society of the Palatine. Their tastes had thus been
formed in very different schools. It is probable that Terence
gives us a better notion of what Menander was than either
Plautus or Caecilius. A criticism of Caesar has been already
quoted, in which he calls Terence a "half-Menander." In
the same lines he speaks of his " pure diction '* and " smooth-
ness," and regrets his deficiency in that lively humour ("z'w
comica") which Menander seems to have succeeded in com-

204 INTRODUCTION

bining with the Attic elegance of his style. There seems much
justice in this criticism.

The brief prologues with which Terence introduces his
/^^ plays, unlike those of Plautus, contain no kind of explanation
of the plot. They are personal appeals of the poet to his
audience, informing them honestly of the sources from which
he has borrowed his piece (for to the honours of original
invention no Roman dramatist of those days seems to have
thought of aspiring), or defending himself against some
charge of unfair dealing brought against him by his rivals.
In this respect they bear a strong resemblance to the " para-
basis," as it was called, introduced here and there between
what we should call the acts, in the old Attic Comedy of
Aristophanes and Cratinus.

HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS

[THE SELF-TORMENTOR]

DRAMATIS PERSONS

Chremes, an old gentleman, living in the country.
Menedemus, an old gentleman, his neighbour.
Clinia^ son of Menedemus.
Clitipho^ son of Chremes.
Dromo^ servant of Clinia.
Syrus, servant of Clitipho.

SosTRATA_, wife of Chremes.

Antiphila, a young woman beloved by Clinia.

Bacchis, a Courtesan, the mistress of Clitipho.

The Nurse of Antiphila.

Phrygia^ maid-servant to Bacchis.

Scene. — In the country, near Athens; before the houses
of Chremes and Menedemus.

ARGUMENT

Chremes commands his wife, when pregnant, if she is delivered of
a girl immediately to kill the child. Having given birth to a girl, Sostrata
delivers her to an old woman named Philtera to be exposed. Instead of
doing this, Philtera calls her Antiphila, and brings her up as her own.
Clinia, the son of Menedemus, falls in love with her, and treats her as
though his wife. Menedemus, on learning this, is very angry, and by his
harsh language drives away his son from home. Taking this to heart,
and in order to punish himself for his ill-timed severity, Menedemus,
though now an aged man, fatigues himself by labouring at agricultural
pursuits from morning till night. At the period when the Play com-
mences, Clinia has just returned to Attica, but not daring to go to his
father's house, is entertained by Clitipho, the son of Chremes, who is the
neighbour of Menedemus. Clitipho then sends for Antiphila, whose sup-
posed mother has recently died, to come and meet her lover. On the
same day, Chremes learns from Menedemus how anxious he is for his
son's return; and on hearing from his son of the arrival of Clinia, he
defers informing Menedemus of it until the next day. Syrus, the servant
who has been sent to fetch Antiphila, also brings with him Bacchis, an
extravagant Courtesan, the mistress of Clitipho. To conceal the truth
from Chremes, they represent to him that Bacchis is the mistress of
Clinia, and that Antiphila is one of her maids. Next morning Chremes
informs Menedemus of his son's arrival, and of the extravagant conduct
of his mistress, but begs that he will conceal from Clinia his knowledge
of this fact. Bacchis requiring ten minae, Syrus devises a plan for obtain-
ing the money from Chremes, while the latter is encouraging him to think
of a project against Menedemus. Syrus tells him a story, that the mother
of Antiphila had borrowed a thousand drachmae of Bacchis, and being
dead, the girl is left in her hands as a pledge for the money. While
these things are going on, Sostrata discovers in Antiphila her own daugh-
ter. In order to obtain the money which Bacchis persists in demanding,
Syrus suggests to Chremes that it should be represented to Menedemus
that Bacchis is the mistress of Clitipho, and that he should be requested
to conceal her in his house for a few days; it is also arranged that
Clinia shall pretend to his father to be in love with Antiphila, and to beg
her as his wife. He is then to ask for money, as though for the wedding,
which is to be handed over to Bacchis. Chremes does not at first approve
of the plan suggested by Syrus; but he pays down the money for which
he has been informed his daughter is a pledge in the hands of Bacchis.
This, with his kno\yledge, is given to Clitipho, who, as Syrus says, is to
convey it to Bacchis, who is now in the house of Menedemus, to make
the latter more readily believe that she is his mistress. Shortly after this,
the plot is discovered by Chremes, who threatens to punish Clitipho and
Syrus. The Play concludes with Chremes giving his consent to the mar-
riage of Clinia with Antiphila, and pardoning Clitipho, who promises to
abandon the Courtesan, and marry.

THE SELF-TORMENTOR

THE PROLOGUE

Lest it should be a matter of surprise to any one of you,
why the Poet has assigned to an old man a part that belongs
to the young, that I will first explain to you; and then, the
reason for my coming I will disclose. An entire Play from
an entire Greek one, the Heautontimorumenos, I am to-day
about to represent, which from a twofold plot has been made
but one. I have shown that it is new, and what it is : next I
would mention who it was that wrote it, and whose in Greek
it is, if I do not think that the greater part of you are aware.
Now, for what reason I have learnt this part, in a few words

1 will explain. The Poet intended me to be a Pleader, not
the Speaker of a Prologue; your decision he asks, and has
appointed me the advocate ; if this advocate can avail as much
by his oral powers as he has excelled in inventing happily,
who composed this speech which I am about to recite. For as
to malevolent rumours spreading abroad that he has mixed
together many Greek Plays while writing a few Latin ones,
he does not deny that this is the case, and that he does not
repent of so doing; and he affirms that he will do so again.
He has the example of good Poets; after which example he
thinks it is allowable for him to do what they have done.
Then, as to a malevolent old Poet ^ saying that he has sud-
denly applied himself to dramatic pursuits, relying on the
genius of his friends,^ and not his own natural abilities ; on that
your judgment, your opinion, will prevail. Wherefore I do
entreat you all, that the suggestions of our antagonists may
not avail more than those of our favourers. Do you be

^He alludes to his old enemy, Luscus Lavinius,

2 He alludes to a report which had been spread, that his friends
Laelius and Scipio had published their own compositions under his
name.

S07

208 TERENCE

favourable; grant the means of prospering to those who afford
you the means of being spectators of new Plays; those, I
mean, without faults : that he may not suppose this said in his
behalf who lately made the public give way to a slave as he
ran along in the street ; why should he take a madman's part ?
About his faults he will say more when he brings out some
other new ones, unless he puts an end to his cavilling. Attend
with favourable feelings; grant me the opportunity that I
may be allowed to act a quiet Play in silence ; that the servant
everlastingly running about, the angry old man, the glutton-
ous parasite, the impudent sharper, and the greedy procurer,
may not have always to be performed by me with the utmost
expense of voice, and the greatest exertion. For my sake
come to the conclusion that this request is fair, that so some
portion of my labour may be abridged. For now-a-days,
those who write new Plays do not spare an aged man. If
there is any piece requiring exertion, they come running to me ;
but if it is a light one, it is taken to another Company. In the
present one the style is pure. Do you make proof, what, in
each character, my ability can effect. If I have never greed-
ily set a high price upon my skill, and have come to the con-
clusion that this is my greatest gain, as far as possible to be
subservient to your convenience, establish in me a precedent,
that the young may be anxious rather to please you than
themselves.

ACT THE FIRST

SCENE I

Enter Chremes, and Menedemus with a spade in his hand,
zvho falls to digging.

Chrem. Although this acquaintanceship between us is of
very recent date, from the time in fact of your purchasing an
estate here in the neighbourhood, yet either your good quali-
ties, or our being neighbours (which I take to be a sort of
friendship), induces me to inform you, frankly and familiarly,
that you appear to me to labour beyond your years, and
beyond what your affairs require. For, in the name of Gods

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 209

and men, what would you have? What can be your aim?
You are, as I conjecture, sixty years of age, or more. No
man in these parts has a better or a more valuable estate, no
one more servants; and yet you discharge their duties just
as diligently as if there were none at all. However early in
the morning I go out, and however late in the evening I
return home, I see you either digging, or ploughing, or doing
something, in fact, in the fields. You take respite not an
instant, and are quite regardless of yourself. I am very sure
that this is not done for your amusement. But really I am
vexed how little work is done here. If you were to employ
the time you spend in labouring yourself, in keeping your
servants at work, you would profit much more.

Men. Have you so much leisure, Chremes, from your
own affairs, that you can attend to those of others — those
which don't concern you?

Chrem. I am a man, and nothing that concerns a man do
I deem a matter of indifference to me.^ Suppose that I wish
either to advise you in this matter,, or to be informed myself;
if what you do is right, that I may do the same; if it is not,
then that I may dissuade you.

Men. It's requisite for me to do so; do you as it is
necessary for you to do.

Chrem. Is it requisite for any person to torment himself ?

Men. It is for me.

Chrem. If you have any affliction, I could wish it other-
wise. But prithee, what sorrow is this of yours? How
have you deserved so ill of yourself?

Men. Alas! alas! {He begins to weep.)

Chrem. Do not weep, but make me acquainted with it,
whatever it is. Do not be reserved; fear nothing; trust me,
I tell you. Either by consolation, or by counsel, or by any
means, I will aid you.

Men. Do you wish to know this matter ?

Chrem. Yes, and for the reason I mentioned to you.

Men. I will tell you.

^ " Homo sum : humani nihil a me alienum puto." St. Augustine
says, that at the delivery of this sentiment, the Theatre resounded
with applause.

210 TERENCE

Chrem. But still, in the mean time, lay down that rake;
don't fatigue yourself.

Men. By no means.

Chrem. What can be your object? (Tries to take the
rake from him. )

Men. Do leave me alone, that I may give myself no res-
pite from my labour.

Chrem. I v^ill not allow it, I tell you. {Taking the rake
from him.)

Men. Ah ! that's not fair.

Chrem. {poising the rake). Whew! such a heavy one as
this, pray!

Men. Such are my deserts.

Chrem. Now speak. {Laying down the rake.)

Men. I have an only son, — a young man, — alas ! why did
I say — "I have?" — rather I should say, "I had" one,
Chremes : — whether I have him now, or not, is uncertain.

Chrem. Why so?

Men. You shall know: — There is a poor old woman
here, a stranger from Corinth: — ^her daughter, a young
woman, he fell in love with, insomuch that he almost regarded
her as his wife; all this took place unknown to me. When I
discovered the matter, I began to reprove him, not with
gentleness, nor in the way suited to the love-sick mind of a
youth, but with violence, and after the usual method of
fathers. I was daily reproaching him, — " Look, you, do you
expect to be allowed any longer to act thus, myself, your
father, being alive; to be keeping a mistress pretty much as
though your wife? You are mistaken, Clinia, and you don't
know me, if you fancy that. I am willing that you should
be called my son, just as long as you do what becomes you;
but if you do not do so, I shall find out how it becomes me
to act towards you. This arises from nothing, in fact, but
too much idleness. At your time of life, I did not devote
my time to dalliance, but, in consequence of my poverty,
departed hence for Asia, and there acquired in arms both
riches and military glory." At length the matter came to
this, — the youth, from hearing the same things so often, and
with such severity, was overcome. He supposed that I,

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 211

through age and affection, had more judgment and foresight
for him than himself. He went off to Asia, Chremes, to
serve under the king.

Chrem. What is it you say?

Men. He departed without my knowledge — and has been
gone these three months.

Chrem. Both are to be blamed — although I still think
this step shows an ingenuous and enterprising disposition.

Men. When I learnt this from those who were in the
secret, I returned home sad, and with feelings almost over-
whelmed and distracted through grief. I sit down; my ser-
vants run to me; they take off my shoes; then some make
all haste to spread the couches, and to prepare a repast; each
according to his ability did zealously what he could, in order
to alleviate my sorrow. When I observed this, I began to
reflect thus : " What ! are so many persons anxious for my
sake alone, to pleasure myself only? Are so many female
servants to provide me with dress ? Shall I alone keep up such
an expensive establishment, while my only son, who ought
equally, or even more so, to enjoy these things — inasmuch
as his age is better suited for the enjoyment of them — ^him,
poor youth, have I driven away from home by my severity!
Were I to do this, really I should deem myself deserving of
any calamity. But so long as he leads this life of penury,
banished from this country through my severity, I will revenge
his wrongs upon myself, toiling, making money, saving, and
laying up for him." At once I set about it ; I left nothing in
the house, neither movables nor clothing ; everything I scraped
together. Slaves, male and female, except those who could
easily pay for their keep by working in the country, all of them
I set up at auction and sold. I at once put up a bill to sell my
house. I collected somewhere about fifteen talents, and pur-
chased this farm; here I fatigue myself. I have come to
this conclusion, Chremes, that I do my son a less injury,
while I am unhappy; and that it is not right for me to enjoy
any pleasure here, until such time as he returns home safe to
share it with me.

Chrem. I believe you to be of an affectionate disposition
towards your children, and him to be an obedient son, if one

212 TERENCE

were to manage him rightly or prudently. But neither did
you understand him sufficiently well, nor he you — a thing
that happens where persons don't live on terms of frankness
together. You never showed him how highly you valued
him, nor did he ever dare put that confidence in you which
is due to a father. Had this been done, these troubles would
never have befallen you.

Men. Such is the fact, I confess; the greatest fault is
on my side.

Chrem. But still, Menedemus, I hope for the best, and I
trust that he'll be here safe before long.

Men. Oh that the Gods would grant it !

Chrem. They will do so. Now, if it is convenient to
you — the festival of Bacchus is being kept here to-day — I
wish you to give me your company.

Men. I cannot.

Chrem. Why not? Do, pray, spare yourself a little
while. Your absent son would wish you do so.

Men. It is not right that I, who have driven him hence
to endure hardships, should now shun them myself.

Chrem. Is such your determination?

Men. It is.

Chrem. Then kindly fare you wdl.

Men. And you the same. (Goes into his house.)

SCENE II

Chremes alone,

Chrem. (to himself). He has forced tears from me, and
I do pity him. But as the day is far gone, I must remind
Phania, this neighbour of mine, to come to dinner. I'll go
see whether he is at home. (Goes to Phania's door, makes
the enquiry, and returns.) There was no occasion for me to
remind him: they tell me he has been some time already at
my house; it's I myself am making my guests wait. I'll
go in-doors immediately. But what means the noise at the
door of my house? I wonder who's coming out! I'll step
aside here. (He stands aside.)

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 213

SCENE III

Enter Clitipho, from the house of Chremes.

Clit. (at the door, to Clinia within). There is nothing,
Clinia, for you to fear as yet: they have not been long by
any means : and I am sure that she will be with you presently
along with the messenger. Do at once dismiss these causeless
apprehensions which are tormenting you.

Chrem. (apart), iWho is my son talking to? (Makes
his appearance.)

Clit. (to himself). Here comes my father, whom I
wished to see: I'll accost him. Father, you have met me
opportunely.

Chrem. What is the matter?

Clit. Do you know this neighbour of ours, Menedemus ?

Chrem. Very well.

Clit. Do you know that he has a son ?

Chrem. I have heard that he has ; in Asia.

Clit. He is not in Asia, father; he is at our house.

Chrem. What is it you say ?

Clit. Upon his arrival, after he had just landed from
the ship, I immediately brought him to dine with us; for
from our very childhood upwards I have always been on inti-
mate terms with him.

Chrem. You announce to me a great pleasure. How
much I wish that Menedemus had accepted my invitation to
make one of us : that at my house I might have been the first to
surprise him, when not expecting it, with this delight! — and
even yet there's time enough

Clit. Take care what you do; there is no necessity,
father, for doing so.

Chrem. For what reason?

Clit. Why, because he is as yet undertermined what to
do with himself. He is but just arrived. He fears every
thing; his father's displeasure, and how his mistress may
be disposed towards him. He loves her to distraction: on
her account, this trouble and going abroad took place.

Chrem. I know it.

214 TERENCE

Clit. He has just sent a servant into the city to her, and
I ordered our Syrus to go with him.

Chrem. What does Qinia say?

Clit. What does he say? That he is wretched.

Chrem. Wretched? Whom could we less suppose so?
What is there wanting for him to enjoy every thing that
among men, in fact, are esteemed as blessings? Parents, a
country in prosperity, friends, family, relations, riches ? And
yet, all these are just according to the disposition of him who
possesses them. To him who knows how to use them, they
are blessings; to him who does not use them rightly, they
are evils.

Clit. Aye, but he always was a morose old man; and
now I dread nothing more, father, than that in his displeasure
he'll be doing something to him more than is justifiable.

Chrem. What, he? (Aside.) But I'll restrain myself ;
for that the other one should be in fear of his father is of
service to him.^

Clit. What is it you are saying to yourself?

Chrem. I'll tell you. However the case stood, Clinia
ought still to have remained at home. Perhaps his father was
a little stricter than he liked: he should have put up with it.
For whom ought he to bear with, if he would not bear with
his own father? Was it reasonable that he should live after
his son's humour, or his son after his? And as to charging
him with harshness, it is not the fact. For the severities of
fathers are generally of one character, those I mean who are in
some degree reasonable men. They do not wish their sons to
be always wenching; they do not wish them to be always
carousing; they give a limited allowance; and yet all this
tends to virtuous conduct. But when the mind, Clitipho,
has once enslaved itself by vicious appetites, it must of neces-
sity follow similar pursuits. This is a wise maxim, '* to
take warning from others of what may be to your own
advantage."

1 He means that it is to the advantage of Clitipho that Clinia should
be seen to stand in awe of his father.

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 215

Clit. I believe so.

Chrem. I'll now go hence in-doors, to see what we have
for dinner. Do you, seeing what is the time of day, mind
and take care not to be anywhere out of the way. {Goes
into his house, and exit Clitipho.)

ACT THE SECOND

SCENE I

Enter Clitipho.

Clit. {to himself.) What partial judges are all fathers
in regard to all of us young men, in thinking it reasonable for
us to become old men all at once from boys, and not to
participate in those things which youth is naturally inclined
to. They regulate us by their own desires, — such as they
now are, — not as they once were. If ever I have a son,
he certainly shall find in me an indulgent father. For the
means both of knowing and of pardoning his faults shall be
found by me ; not like mine, who by means of another person,
discloses to me his own sentiments. I'm plagued to death,
— when he drinks a little more than usual, what pranks of
his own he does relate to me ! Now he says, " Take warn-
ing from others of what may be to your advantage." How
shrewd! He certainly does not know how deaf I am at the
moment when he's teUing his stories. Just now, the words
of my mistress make more impression upon me. " Give me
this, and bring me that," she cries; I have nothing to say
to her in answer, and no one is there more wretched than
myself. But this Clinia, although he, as well, has cares
enough of his own, still has a mistress of virtuous and modest
breeding, and a stranger to the arts of a courtesan. Mine is
a craving, saucy, haughty, extravagant creature, full of lofty
airs. Then all that I have to give her is — fair words — for
I make it a point not to tell her that I have nothing. This
misfortune I met with not long since, nor does my father as
yet know anything of the matter. {Exit.

216 TERENCE

SCENE II

Enter Clinia from the house of Chremes.

Clin, (to himself.) If my love-affairs had been pros-
perous for me, I am sure she would have been here by this ;
but Vm afraid that the damsel has been led astray here in my
absence. Many things combine to strengthen this opinion
in my mind; opportunity, the place, her age, a worthless
mother, under whose control she is, with whom nothing but
gain is precious.

Enter Clitipho.

Clit. Clinia !

Clin. Alas! wretched me!

Clit. Do, pray, take care that no one coming out of
your father's house sees you here by accident.

Clin. I will do so ; but really my mind presages I know
not what misfortune.

Clit. Do you persist in making up your mind upon that,
before you know what is the fact?

Clin. Had no misfortune happened, she would have
been here by this.

Clit. She'll be here presently;.

Clin. When will that presently be?

Clit. You don't consider that it is a great way from
here. Besides, you know the ways of women, while they are
bestirring themselves, and while they are making prepara-
tions a whole year passes by.

Clin. O Clitipho, I'm afraid

Clit. Take courage. Look, here comes Dromo, to-
gether with Syrus: they are close at hand. (They stand
aside.)

SCENE III

Enter Syrus and Dromo, conversing at a distance.

Syr. Do you say so?

Dro. 'Tis as I told you, — ^but in the meantime, while

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 217

weVe been carrying on our discourse, these women have
been left behind.

Clit. (apart.) Don't you hear, Clinia? Your mistress
is close at hand.

Clin, (apart.) Why yes, I do hear now at last, and I
see and revive, Clitipho.

Dro. No wonder; they are so encumbered; they are
bringing a troop of female attendants with them.

Clin, (apart.) Vm undone! Whence come these fe-
male attendants?

Clit. (apart.) Do you ask me?

Syr. We ought not to have left them; what a quantity
of things they are bringing!

Clin, (apart.) Ah me!

Syr. Jewels of gold, and clothes; it's growing late too,
and they don't know the way. It was very foolish of us to
leave them. Just go back, Dromo, and meet them. Make
haste — why do you delay? (Exit Dromo.

Clin, (apart). Woe unto wretched me! — from what
high hopes am I fallen!

Clit. (apart.) What's the matter? Why, what is it
that troubles you?

Clin, (apart.) Do you ask what it is? Why, don't
you see? Attendants, jewels of gold, and clothes, her too,
whom I left here with only one little servant girl. Whence
do you suppose that they come?

Clit. (apart.) Oh! now at last I understand you. .

Syr. (to himself.) Good Gods! what a multitude there
is! Our house will hardly hold them, I'm sure. How much
they will eat! how much they will drink! what will there
be more wretched than our old gentleman? (Catching sight
of Clinia and Clitipho.) But look, I espy the persons I
was wanting.

Clin, (apart). Oh, Jupiter! Why, where is fidelity
gone? While I, distractedly wandering, have adandoned
my country for your sake, you, in the meantime, Antiphila,
have been enriching yourself, and forsaken me in these
troubles, you for whose sake I am in extreme disgrace, and
have been disobedient to my father; on whose account I am

218 TERENCE

now ashamed and grieved, that he who used to lecture me
about the manners of these women, advised me in vain, and
was not able to wean me away from her: — which, however,
I shall now do; whereas when it might have been advan-
tageous to me to do so, I was unwilling. There is no being
more wretched than I.

Syr. (to himself.) He certainly has been misled by our
words which we have been speaking here. (Aloud.) Clinia,
you imagine your mistress quite different from what she
really is. For both her mode of life is the same, and her
disposition towards you is the same as it always was; so far
as we could form a judgment from the circumstances them-
selves.

Clin. How so, prithee? For nothing in the world
could I rather wish for just now, than that I have suspected
this without reason.

Syr. This, in the first place then (that you may not be
ignorant of anything that concerns her) ; the old woman,
who was formerly said to be her mother, was not so. — She
is dead: this I overheard by accident from her, as we came
along, while she was telling the other one.

Clit. Pray, who is the other one?

Syr. Stay; what I have begun I wish first to relate,
Clitipho; I shall come to that afterwards.

Clit. Make haste, then.

Syr. First of all, then, when we came to the house,
Dromo knocked at the door; a certain old woman came out;
when she opened the door, he directly rushed in; I followed;
the old woman bolted the door, and returned to her wool.
On this occasion might be known, Clinia, or else on none,
in what pursuits she passed her life during your absence;
when we thus came upon a female unexpectedly. For this
circumstance then gave us an opportunity of judging of the
course of her daily life; a thing which especially discovers
what is the disposition of each individual. We found her
industriously plying at the web; plainly clad in a mourning
dress, on account of this old woman, I suppose, who was
lately dead; without golden ornaments, dressed, besides, just
like those who only dress for themselves, and patched up with

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 219

no worthless woman's trumpery/ Her hair was loose, long,
and thrown back negligently about her temples. (To
Clinia.) Do hold your peace.

Clin. My dear Syrus, do not without cause throw me
into ecstasies, I beseech you.

Syr. The old woman was spinning the woof: there was
one little servant girl besides; — she was weaving together
with them, covered with patched clothes, slovenly, and dirty
with filthiness.

Clit. If this is true, Clinia, as I believe it is, who is
there more fortunate than you? Do you mark this girl
whom he speaks of, as dirty and drabbish? This, too, is a
strong indication that the mistress is out of harm's way,
when her confidant is in such ill plight ; for it is a rule with
those who wish to gain access to the mistress, first to bribe
the maid.

Clin, {to Syrus.) Go on, I beseech you; and beware
of endeavouring to purchase favour by telling an untruth.
What did she say, when you mentioned me?

Syr. When we told her that you had returned, and had
requested her to come to you, the damsel instantly put away
the web, and covered her face all over with tears; so that
you might easily perceive that it really was caused by her
affection for you.

Clin. So may the Deities bless me, I know not where
I am for joy. I was so alarmed before.

Clit. But I was sure that there was no reason, Clinia.
Come now, Syrus, tell me, in my turn, who this other lady is.

Syr. Your Bacchis, whom we are bringing.

Clit. Ha! What! Bacchis? How now, you rascal!
whither are you bringing her?

Syr. Whither am I bringing her? To our house, to be
sure.

Clit. What! to my father's?

Syr. To the very same.

Clit. Oh, the audacious impudence of the fellow I

^ i. e., they did not find her painted up with the cosmetics which some
women were in the habit of using.

220 TERENCE

Syr. Hark'ye, no great and memorable action is done
without some risk.

Clit. Look now ; are you seeking to gain credit for your-
self, at the hazard of my character, you rascal, in a point,
where, if you only make the slightest slip, I am ruined?
What would you be doing with her?

Syr. But still

Clit. Why " still " ?

Syr. If you'll give me leave, I'll tell you.

Clin. Do give him leave.

Clit. I give him leave then.

Syr. This affair is now just as though when

Clit. Plague on it, what roundabout story is he begm-
ning to tell me?

Clin. Syrus, he says what's right — do omit digressing;
come to the point.

Syr. Really I cannot hold my tongue. Clitipho, you
are every way unjust, and cannot possibly be endured.

Clin. Upon my faith, he ought to have a hearing. {To
Clitipho.) Do be silent.

Syr. You wish to indulge in your amours; you wish
to possess your mistress ; you wish that to be procured where-
withal to make her presents; in getting this, you do not
wish the risk to be your own. You are not wise to no pur-
pose,— if indeed it is being wise to wish for that which can-
not happen. Either the one must be had with the other, or
the one must be let alone with the other. Now, of these two
alternatives, consider which one you would prefer; although
this project which I have formed, I know to be both a wise
and a safe one. For there is an opportunity for your mis-
tress to be with you at your father's house, without fear of a
discovery; besides, by these self-same means, I shall find the
money which you have promised her — to effect which you
have already made my ears deaf with entreating me. What
would you have more?

Clit. If, indeed, this could be brought about

Syr. If, indeed? You shall know it by experience.

Clit. Well, well, disclose this project of yours. What
is it?

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 221

Syr. We will pretend that your mistress is his (point-
ing to Clinia).

Clit. Very fine! Tell me, what is he to do with his
own? Is she, too, to be called his, as if one was not a suf-
ficient discredit?

Syr. No — she shall be taken to your mother.

Clit. Why there?

Syr. It would be tedious, Clitipho, if I were to tell you
why I do so; I have a good reason.

Clit. Stuff! I see no grounds sufficiently solid why it
should be for my advantage to incur this risk.^ (Turning
as if going,)

Syr. Stay; if there is this risk, I have another project,
which you must both confess to be free from danger.

Clit. Find out something of that description, I beseech
you.

Syr. By all means; I'll go meet her, and tell her to re-
turn home.

Clit. Ha ! what was it you said ?

Syr. I'll rid you at once of all fears, so that you may
sleep at your ease upon either ear.^

Clit. What am I to do now?

Clin. What are you to do? The goods that

Clit. Only tell me the truth, Syrus.

Syr. Dispatch quickly; you'll be wishing just now too
late and in vain. (Going.)

Clin. The Gods provide, enjoy while yet you may; for
you know not

Clit. (calling.) Syrus, I say!

Syr. (moving on.) Go on; I shall still do that which I
said.^

Clin. Whether you may have another opportunity here-
after or ever again.

Clit. F faith, that's true. (Calling.) Syrus, Syrus, I
say, harkye, harkye, Syrus!

^ As to his own mistress.

2 A proverbial expression, implying an easy and secure repose.

* i. e., " Call on just as you please, I shall persist in sending Bacchis

away."

222 TERENCE

Syr. (aside.) He warms a little. (To Clitipho.)
What is it you want?

Clit. Come back, come back.

Syr. (coming back to him.) Here I am; tell me what
you would have. You'll be presently saying that this, too,
doesn't please you.

Clit. Nay, Syrus, I commit myself, and my love, and
my reputation entirely to you; you are the seducer; take
care you don't deserve any blame.

Syr. It is ridiculous for you to give me that caution,
Clitipho, as if my interest was less at stake in this affair
than yours. Here, if any ill luck should perchance befall
us, words will be in readiness for you, but for this individual
blows (pointing to himself). For that reason, this matter
is by no means to be neglected on my part: but do prevail
upon him (pointing to Clinia) to pretend that she is his
own mistress.

Clin. You may rest assured I'll do so. The matter has
now come to that pass, that it is a case of necessity.

Clit. 'Tis with good reason that I love you, Clinia.

Clin. But she mustn't be tripping at all.

Syr. She is thoroughly tutored in her part.

Clit. But this I wonder at, how you could so easily
prevail upon her, who is wont to treat such great people with
scorn.

Syr. I came to her at the proper moment, which in all
things is of the first importance: for there I found a certain
wretched captain soliciting her favours: she artfully man-
aged the man, so as to inflame his eager passions by denial ;
and this, too, that it might be especially pleasing to yourself.
But hark you, take care, will you, not to be imprudently
impetuous. You know your father, how quicksighted he is
in these matters; and I know you, how unable you are to
command yourself. Keep clear of words of double mean-
ing, your sidelong looks,^ sighing, hemming, coughing, tit-
tering.

Clit. You shall have to commend me.

1 i. e., a secret code of words and actions.

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 223

Syr. Take care of that, please.
Clit. You yourself shall be surprised at me.
Syr. But how quickly the ladies have come up with us!
Clit. Where are they? (Syrus stands before him.)
Why do you hold me back?

Syr. For the present she is nothing to you.

Clit. I know it, before my father ; but now in the mean-

time-

Syr. Not a bit the more.
Clit. Do let me.

Syr. I will not let you, I tell you.
Clit. But only for a moment, pray.
Syr. I forbid it.
Clit. Only to salute her.
Syr. If you are wise, get you gone.
Clit. I'm off. But what's he to do. (Pointing at
Clinia.)

Syr. He will stay here.

Clit. O happy man!

Syr. Take yourself off. (Exit Clitipho.

SCENE IV

Enter Bacchis and Antiphila at a distance.

Bacchis. Upon my word, my dear Antiphila, I com-
mend you, and think you fortunate in having made it your
study that your manners should be conformable to those good
looks of yours: and so may the Gods bless me, I do not at
all wonder if every man is in love with you. For your dis-
course has been a proof to me what kind of disposition you
possess. And when now I reflect in my mind upon your
way of life, and that of all of you, in fact, who keep the
public at a distance from yourselves, it is not surprising both
that you are of that disposition, and that we are not; for it
is your interest to be virtuous; those, with whom we are
acquainted, will not allow us to be so. For our lovers,
allured merely by our beauty, court us for that; when that
has faded, they transfer their affections elsewhere; and un-
less we have made provision in the meantime for the future,

224 TERENCE

we live in destitution. Now with you, when you have once
resolved to pass your life with one man whose manners are
especially kindred to your own, he becomes attached to you.
By this kindly feeling, you are truly devoted to each other;
and no calamity can ever possibly interrupt your love.

Anti. I know nothing about other women: I'm sure
that I have, indeed, always used every endeavour to derive
my own happiness from his happiness.

Clin, (apart, overhearing Antiphila.) Ah! 'tis for
that reason, my Antiphila, that you alone have now caused
me to return to my native country; for while I was absent
from you, all other hardships which I encountered were light
to me, save the being deprived of you.

Syr. (apart.) I believe it.

Clin, (apart.) Syrus, I can scarce endure it! Wretch
that I am, that I should not be allowed to possess one of
such a disposition at my own discretion!

Syr. Nay, so far as I understand your father, he will
for a long time yet be giving you a hard task.

Bacch. Why, who is that young man that's looking
at us?

Antl (seeing Clinia.) Ah! do support me, I entreat
you!

Bacch. Prithee, what is the matter with you?

Antl I shall die, alas! I shall die!

Bacch. Why are you thus surprised, Antiphila?

Antl Is it Clinia that I see, or not?

Bacch. Whom do you see?

Clin, (running to embrace Antiphila). Blessings on
you, my life!

Anti. Oh, my long-wished for Clinia, blessings on you !

Clin. How fare you, my love?

Antl I'm overjoyed that you have returned safe.

Clin. And do I embrace you, Antiphila, so passionately
longed for by my soul?

Syr. Go in-doors ; for the old gentleman has been wait-
ing for us some time. (They go into the house of Chremes.)

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 225

ACT THE THIRD
SCENE I

Enter Chremes from his house.

Chrem. (to himself.) It is now daybreak. Why do
I delay to knock at my neighbour's door, that he may learn
from me the first that his son has returned? Although I am
aware that the youth would not prefer this. But when I see
him tormenting himself so miserably about his absence, can
I conceal a joy so unhoped for, especially when there can be
no danger to him from the discovery ? I will not do so ; but
as far as I can I will assist the old man. As I see my son
aiding his friend and year's-mate, and acting as his confidant
in his concerns, it is but right that we old men as well should
assist each other.

Enter Menedemus from his house.

Men. (to himself.) Assuredly I was either born with a
disposition peculiarly suited for misery, or else that saying
which I hear commonly repeated, that " time assuages human
sorrow," is false. For really my sorrow about my son in-
creases daily; and the longer he is away from me, the more
anxiously do I wish for him, and the more I miss him.

Chrem. (apart.) But I see him coming out of his house ;
I'll go speak to him. (Aloud.) Menedemus, good morrow;
I bring you news, which you would especially desire to be
imparted.

Men. Pray, have you heard anything about my son,
Chremes ?

Chrem. He's alive, and well.

Men. Why, where is he, pray?

Chrem. Here, at my house, at home.

Men. My son?

Chrem. Such is the fact.

Men. Come home?

Chrem. Certainly,

226 TERENCE

Men. My son, Clinia, come home?

Chrem. I say so.

Men. Let us go. Lead me to him, I beg of you.

Chrem. He does not wish you yet to know of his re-
turn, and he shuns your presence ; he's afraid that, on account
of that fault, your former severity may even be increased

Men. Did you not tell him how I was affected?

Chrem. No

Men. For what reason, Chremes?

Chrem. Because there you would judge extremely ill
both for yourself and for him, if you were to show yourself
of a spirit so weak and irresolute.

Men. I cannot help it: enough already, enough, have I
proved a rigorous father.

Chrem. Ah Menedemus! you are too precipitate in
either extreme, either with profuseness or with parsimony too
great. Into the same error will you fall from the one side as
from the other. In the first place, formerly, rather than allow
your son to visit a young woman, who was then content with
a very little, and to whom anything was acceptable, you
frightened him away from here. After that, she began, quite
against her inclination, to seek a subsistence upon the town.
Now, when she cannot be supported without a great expense,
you are ready to give anything. For, that you may know
how perfectly she is trained to extravagance, in the first
place, she has already brought with her more than ten female
attendants, all laden with clothes and jewels of gold; if a
satrap had been her admirer, he never could support her ex-
penses, much less can you.

Men. Is she at your house?

Chrem. Is she, do you ask? I have felt it; for I have
given her and her retinue one dinner; had I to give them
another such, it would be all over with me; for, to pass by
other matters, what a quantity of wine she did consume for
me in tasting only,^ saying thus, "This wine is too acid,
respected sir, do please look for something more mellow."

^ And then spitting it out. It seems to have been done by persons
who wished to give themselves airs in the houses of private persons.

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 227

I opened all the casks, all the vessels; she kept all on the
stir: and this but a single night. What do you suppose
will become of you when they are constantly preying upon
you? So may the Gods prosper me, Menedemus, I do pity
your lot.

Men. Let him do what he will ; let him take, waste, and
squander; I'm determined to endure it, so long as I only
have him with me.

Chrem. If it is your determination thus to act, I hold it
to be of very great moment that he should not be aware that
with a full knowledge you grant him this.

Men. What shall I do?

Chrem. Anything, rather than what you are thinking of;
supply him with money through some other person; suffer
yourself to be imposed upon by the artifices of his servant:
although I have smelt out this too, that they are about that,
and are secretly planning it among them. Syrus is always
whispering with that servant of yours [Dromo] ; they impart
their plans to the young men; and it were better for you to
lose a talent this way, than a mina the other. The money is
not the question now, but this — in what way we can supply
it to the young man with the least danger. For if he once
knows the state of your feelings, that you would sooner part
with your life, and sooner with all your money, than allow
your son to leave you ; whew ! what an inlet will you be open-
ing for his debauchery ! aye, and so much so, that henceforth
to live cannot be desirable to you. For we all become worse
through indulgence. Whatever comes into his head, he'll be
wishing for ; nor will he reflect whether that which he desires
is right or wrong. You will not be able to endure your es-
tate and him going to ruin. You will refuse to supply him :
he will immediately have recourse to the means by which he
finds that he has the greatest hold upon you, and threaten
that he will immediately leave you.

Men. You seem to speak the truth, and just what is the
fact.

Chrem. V faith, I have not been sensible of sleep this
night with my eyes, for thinking of this — ^how to restore your
son to you.

228 TERENCE

Men. (taking his hand.) Give me your right hand. I
request that you will still act in a like manner, Chremes.

Chrem. I am ready to serve you.

Men. Do you know what it is I now want you to do ?

Chrem. Tell me.

Men. As you have perceived that they are laying a plan
to deceive me, that they may hasten to complete it. I long
to give him whatever he wants : I am now longing to behold
him.

Chrem. I'll lend my endeavours. This little business is
in my way. Our neighbours Simus and Crito are disputing
here about boundaries; they have chosen me for arbitrator.
I'll go and tell them that I cannot possibly give them my
attention to-day as I had stated I would. I'll be here im-
mediately. (Exit

Men. Pray do. (To himself.) Ye Gods, by our trust
in you ! That the nature of all men should be so constituted,
that they can see and judge of other men's affairs better than
their own ! Is it because in our own concerns we are biassed
either with joy or grief in too great a degree? How much
wiser now is he for me, than I have been for myself !

Re-enter Chremes.

Chrem. I have disengaged myself, that I might lend you
my services at my leisure. Syrus must be found and in-
structed by me in this business. Some one, I know not who,
is coming out of my house: do you step hence home, that they
may not perceive that we are conferring together. (Mene-
DEMUs goes into his house.)

SCENE II

Enter Syrus from the house of Chremes.

Syr. (aloud to himself.) Run to and fro in every direc-
tion ; still, money, you must be found : a trap must be laid for
the old man.

Chrem. (apart, overhearing him.) Was I deceived in
saying that they were planning this ? That servant of Clinia's

. THE SELF-TORMENTOR 229

is somewhat dull; therefore that province has been assigned
to this one of ours.

Syr. (in a low voice.) Who's that speaking? (Catches
sight of Chremes.) I'm undone! Did he hear it, I wonder?

Chrem. Syrus.

Syr. Well

Chrem. What are you doing here?

Syr. All right. Really, I am quite surprised at you,
Chremes, up so early, after drinking so much yesterday.

Chrem. Not too much.

Syr. Not too much, say you ? Really, you've seen the old
age of an eagle,^ as the saying is.

Chrem. Pooh, pooh !

Syr. a pleasant and agreeable woman this Courtesan.

Chrem. Why, so she seemed to me, in fact.

Syr. And really of handsome appearance.

Chrem. Well enough.

Syr. Not like those of former days, but as times are now,
very passable : nor do I in the least wonder that Clinia doats
upon her. But he has a father — a certain covetous, miserable,
and niggardly person — this neighbour of ours (pointing to
the house). Do you know him? Yet, as if he was not
abounding in wealth, his son ran away through want. Are
you aware that it is the fact, as I am saying?

Chrem. How should I not be aware? A fellow that
deserves the mill.

Syr. Who?

Chrem. That servant of the young gentleman, I mean.

Syr. (aside.) Syrus! I was sadly afraid for you.

Chrem. To suffer it to come to this !

Syr. What was he to do?

Chrem. Do you ask the question? He ought to have
found some expedient, contrived some stratagem, by means
of which there might have been something for the young man
to give to his mistress, and thus have saved this crabbed old
fellow in spite of himself.

^ This was a proverbial expression signifying a hale and vigorous
old age.

230 TERENCE

Syr. You are surely joking.

Chrem. This ought to have been done by him, Syrus.

Syr. How now — pray, do you commend servants, who
deceive their masters?

Chrem. Upon occasion — I certainly do commend them.

Syr. Quite right.

Chrem. Inasmuch as it often is the remedy for great
disturbances. Then would this man's only son have staid at
home.

Syr. (aside,) Whether he says this in jest or in earnest,
I don't know; only, in fact, that he gives me additional zest
for longing still more to trick him.

Chrem. And what is he now waiting for, Syrus? Is it
until his father drives him away from here a second time,
when he can no longer support her expenses?^ Has he no
plot on foot against the old gentleman?

Syr. He is a stupid fellow.

Chrem. Then you ought to assist him — for the sake of
the young man.

Syr. For my part, I can do so easily, if you command
me ; for I know well in what fashion it is usually done.

Chrem. So much the better, i' faith.

Syr. 'Tis not my way to tell an untruth.

Chrem. Do it then.

Syr. But hark you! Just take care and remember this,
in case anything of this sort should perchance happen at a
future time, such are human affairs! — ^your son might do
the same.

Chrem. The necessity will not arise, I trust.

Syr. r faith, and I trust so too: nor do I say so now,
because I have suspected him in any way; but in case, none

the more^ You see what his age is; (aside) and truly,

Chremes, if an occasion does happen, I may be able to handle
you right handsomely.

Chrem. (overhearing the remark.) As to that, we'll
consider what is requisite when the occasion does happen.

^ i. e., Bacchis's.

2 " But if anything does happen, don't you blame me.

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 231

At present do you set about this matter. (Goes into his
house. )

Syr. (to himself.) Never on any occasion did I hear my
master talk more to the purpose ; nor at any time could I be-
lieve that I was authorized to play the rogue with greater im-
punity. I wonder who it is coming out of our house ? (Stands
aside.)

SCENE III

Enter Chremes and Clitipho from the house of the former,

Chrem. Pray, what does this mean? What behaviour
is this, Clitipho? Is this acting as becomes you?

Clit. What have I done?

Chrem. Did I not see you just now putting your hand
into this Courtesan's bosom?

Syr. (apart.) It's all up with us — Fm utterly undone!

Clit. What, I?

Chrem. With these selfsame eyes I saw it — don't deny
it. Besides, you wrong him unworthily in not keeping your
hands off: for indeed it is a gross affront to entertain a per-
son, your friend, at your house, and to take liberties with his
mistress. Yesterday, for instance, at wine, how rude you
were

Syr. (apart.) Tis the truth.

Chrem. How annoying you were! So much so, that for
my part, as the Gods may prosper me, I dreaded what in the
end might be the consequence. I understand lovers. They
resent highly things that you would not imagine.

Clit. But he has full confidence in me, father, that I
would not do anything of that kind.

Chrem. Be it so; still, at least, you ought to go some-
where for a little time away from their presence. Passion
prompts to many a thing; your presence acts as a restraint
upon doing them. I form a judgment from myself. There's
not one of my friends this day to whom I would venture,
Clitipho, to disclose all my secrets. With one, his station
forbids it; with another, I am ashamed of the action itself,
lest I may appear a fool or devoid of shame; do you rest
assured that he [Clinia] does the same. But it is our part to

232 TERENCE

be sensible of this; and, when and where it is requisite, to
show due complaisance.

Syr. (coming forward and whispering to Clitipho.)
What is it he is saying ?

Clit. (aside, to Syrus.) Tm utterly undone!

Syr. Clitipho, these same injunctions I gave you. You
have acted the part of a prudent and discreet person [Ironi-
caliyl .

Clit. Hold your tongue, I beg.

Syr. Very good.

Chrem. (approaching them.) Syrus, I am ashamed of
him.

Syr. I believe it; and not without reason. Why, he
vexes myself even.

Clit. (to Syrus.) Do you persist, then?

Syr. I' faith, Fm saying the truth, as it appears to me.

Clit. May I not go near them?

Chrem. How now — ^pray, is there but one way^ of going
near them?

Syr. (aside.) Confusion! He'll be betraying himself
before I've got the money. (Aloud.) Chremes, will you
give attention to me, who am but a silly person?

Chrem. What am I to do?

Syr. Bid him go somewhere out of the way.

Clit. Where am I to go?

Syr. Where you please; leave the place to them; be off
and take a walk.

Clit. Take a walk ! where ?

Syr. Pshaw! Just as if there was no place to walk in.
Why, then, go this* way, that way, where you will.

Chrem. He says right, Fm of his opinion.

Clit. May the Gods extirpate you, Syrus, for thrusting
me away from here.

Syr. (aside to Clitipho.) Then do you for the future
keep those hands of yours within bounds. (Exit Clitipho.)
Really now (to Chremes) , what do you think ? What do you
imagine will become of him next, unless, so far as the Gods

^And that an immodest one.

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 233

afford you the means, you watch him, correct and admonish
him?

Chrem. I'll take care of that.

Syr. But now, master, he must be looked after by you.

Chrem. It shall be done.

Syr. If you are wise, — for now he minds me less and less
every day.

Chrem. What say you? What have you done, Syrus,
about that matter which I was mentioning to you a short
time since? Have you any plan that suits you, or not yet
even ?

Syr. You mean the design upon Menedemus ? I have ; I
have just hit upon one.

Chrem. You are a clever fellow; what is it? Tell me.

Syr. I'll tell you; but, as one matter arises out of
another

Chrem. Why, what is it, Syrus?

Syr. This Courtesan is a very bad woman.

Chrem. So she seems.

Syr. Aye, if you did but know. O shocking! just see
what she is hatching. There was a certain old woman
here from Corinth, — this Bacchis lent her a thousand silver
drachmae.

Chrem. What then?

Syr. She is now dead : she has left a daughter, a. young
girl. She has been left with this Bacchis as a pledge for that
sum.

Chrem. I understand you.

Syr. She has brought her hither along with her, her I
mean who is now with your wife.

Chrem. What then ?

Syr. She is soliciting Clinia at once to advance her this
money; she says, however, that this girl is to be a security,
that, at a future time, she will repay the thousand pieces of
money.

Chrem. And would she really be a security?^

^t. e., of value sufficient to be good security for the thousand
drachmje.

234 TERENCE

Syr. Dear me, is it to be doubted? I think so.

Chrem. What then do you intend doing ?

Syr. What, I? I shall go to Menedemus; I'll tell him
she is a captive from Caria, rich, and of noble family; if he
redeems her, there will be a considerable profit in this trans-
action.

Chrem. You are in an error.

Syr. Why so?

Chrem. Fll now answer you for Menedemus — I will not
purchase her.

Syr. What is it you say? Do speak more agreeably to
our wishes.

Chrem. But there is no occasion.

Syr. No occasion?

Chrem. Certainly not, i' faith.

Syr. How so, I wonder?

Chrem. You shall soon know.

Syr. Stop, stop; what is the reason that there is such a
great noise at our door ? ( They retire out of sight.)

ACT THE FOURTH

SCENE I

Enter Sostrata and a Nurse in haste from the house of
Chremes^ and Chremes and Syrus on the other side of
the stage unperceived.

Sos. {holding up a ring and examining it.) Unless my
fancy deceives me, surely this is the ring which I suspect it
to be, the same with which my daughter was exposed.

Chrem. {apart,) Syrus, what is the meaning of these
expressions ?

Sos. Nurse, how is it? Does it not seem to you the
same?

NuR. As for me, I said it was the same the very instant
that you showed it me.

Sos. But have you now examined it thoroughly, my dear
nurse ?

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 235

NuR. Thoroughly.

Sos. Then go in-doors at once, and if she has now done
bathing, bring me word. I'll wait here in the meantime for
my husband.

Syr. (apart.) She wants you, see what it is she wants;
she is in a serious mood, I don't know why; it is not without
a cause — I fear what it may be.

Chrem. What it may be? F faith, she'll now surely be
announcing some important trifle, with a great parade.

Sos. (turning round.) Ha! my husband!

Chrem. Ha! my wife!

Sos. I was looking for you.

Chrem. Tell me what you want.

Sos. In the first place, this I beg of you, not to believe
that I have ventured to do anything contrary to your com-
mands.

Chrem. Would you have me believe you in this, although
so incredible? Well, I will believe you.

Syr. (aside.) This excuse portends I know not what
offence.

Sos. Do you remember me being pregnant, and yourself
declaring to me, most peremptorily, that if I should bring
forth a girl, you would not have it brought up.

Chrem. I know what you have done, you have brought
it up.

Syr. (aside.) Such is the fact. I'm sure: my young
master has gained a loss^ in consequence.

Sos. Not at all ; but there was here an elderly woman of
Corinth, of no indifferent character; to her I gave it to be
exposed.

Chrem. O Jupiter! that there should be such extreme
folly in a person's mind.

Sos. Alas ! what have I done ?

Chrem. And do you ask the question?

Sos. If I have acted wrong, my dear Chremes, I have
done so in ignorance.

^He alludes to Clitipho, who, by the discovery of his sister, would
not come in for such a large share of his father's property.

236 TERENCE

Chrem. This indeed, I know for certain, even if you
were to deny it, that in everything you both speak and act
ignorantly and fooHshly: how many blunders you disclose in
this single affair! For, in the first place, then, if you had
been disposed to obey my orders, the child ought to have been
dispatched; you ought not in words to have feigned her
death, and in reality to have left hopes of her surviving. But
that I pass over; compassion, maternal affection, I allow it.
But how finely you did provide for the future! What was
your meaning? Do reflect. It's clear, beyond a doubt, that
your daughter was betrayed by you to this old woman, either
that through you she might make a living by her, or that she
might be sold in open market as a slave. I suppose you
reasoned thus : " anything is enough, if only her life is saved :'*
what are you to do with those who understand neither law,
nor right and justice? Be it for better or for worse, be it
for them or against them, they see nothing except just what
they please.

Sos. My dear Chremes, I have done wrong, I own ; I am
convinced. Now this I beg of you; inasmuch as you are
more advanced in years than I, be so much the more ready to
forgive; so that your justice may be some protection for my
weakness.

Chrem. I'll readily forgive you doing this, of course;
but, Sostrata, my easy temper prompts you to do amiss. But,
whatever this circumstance is, by reason of which this was
begun upon, proceed to tell it.

Sos. As we women are all foolishly and wretchedly
superstitious, when I delivered the child to her to be exposed,
I drew a ring from off my finger, and ordered her to expose
it, together with the child; that if she should die, she might
not be without some portion of our possessions^.

Chrem. That was right; thereby you proved the saving
of yourself and her.^

1 The ancients thought themselves guilty of a heinous offence if they
suffered their children to die without having bestowed on them
some of their property ; it was consequently the custom of the women,
before exposing children, to attach to them some jewel or trinket.

2 Had there been no ring or token exposed with the infant, the

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 237

Sos. (holding out the ring.) This is that ring.

Chrem. Whence did you get it ?

Sos. From the young woman whom Bacchis brought
here with her.

Syr. (aside.) Ha!

Chrem. What does she say?

Sos. She gave it me to keep for her, whilst she went to
bathe. At first I paid no attention to it ; but after I looked at
it, I at once recognized it, and came running to you.

Chrem. What do you suspect now, or have you dis-
covered, relative to her?

Sos. I don't know ; unless you enquire of herself whence
she got it, if that can possibly be discovered.

Syr. (aside.) Vm undone! I see more hopes from this
incident than I desire.^ If it is so, she certainly must be ours.

Chrem. Is this woman living to whom you delivered the
child?

Sos. I don't know.

Chrem. What account did she bring you at the time?

Sos. That she had done as I had ordered her.

Chrem. Tell me what is the woman's name, that she may
be enquired after.

Sos. Philtere.

Syr, (aside.) 'Tis the very same. It's a wonder if she
isn't found, and I lost.

Chrem. Sostrata, follow me this way in-doors. '

Sos. How much beyond my hopes has this matter turned
out! How dreadfully afraid I was, Chremes, that you would
now be of feelings as unrelenting as formerly you were on
exposing the child.

Chrem. Many a time a man cannot be such as he would

finder would not have been at the trouble of taking care of it, but
might have left it to perish, never suspecting it would be enquired
after, or himself liberally rewarded for having preserved it.
^ Syrus is now alarmed that Antiphila should so soon be acknowl-
edged as the daughter of Chremes, lest he may lose the opportunity
of obtaining the money, and be punished as well, in case the imposi-
tion is detected, and Bacchis discovered to be the mistress of Clitipho
and not of Clinia.

238 TERENCE

be, if circumstances do not admit of it/ Time has now so
brought it about, that I should be glad of a daughter; for-
merly I wished for nothing less.

(Chremes and Sostrata go into the house,

SCENE II

Syrus alone,

Syr. Unless my fancy deceives me, retribution^ will not
be very far off from me; so much by this incident are my
forces now utterly driven into straits; unless I contrive by
some means that the old man mayn't come to know that this
damsel is his son's mistress. For as to entertaining any hopes
about the money, or supposing I could cajole him, it's useless;

1 shall be sufficiently triumphant, if I'm allowed to escape with
my sides covered.^ I'm vexed that such a tempting morsel
has been so suddenly snatched away from my jaws. What
am I to do ? Or what shall I devise ? I must begin upon my
plan over again. Nothing is so difficult, but that it may be
found out by seeking. What now if I set about it after this
fashion? (He considers.) That's no use. What, if after
this fashion? I effect just about the same. But this I think
will do. It cannot. Yes! excellent. Bravo! I've found out
the best of all — I' faith, I do believe that after all I shall lay
hold of this same runaway money.

SCENE III

Enter Clinia at the other side of the stage,

Clin, (to himself.) Nothing can possibly henceforth be-
fall me of such consequence as to cause me uneasiness ; so ex-
treme is this joy that has surprised me. Now then I shall

^ This he says by way of palliating the cruelty he was guilty of in
his orders to have the child put to death.

2 In the shape of a scourging.

8 He alludes to the custom of tying up the slaves by their hands,
after stripping them naked, when of course their sides would be
exposed, and come in for a share of the lashes.

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 239

give myself up entirely to my father, to be more frugal than
even he could wish.

Syr. (apart.) I wasn't mistaken; she has been discovered,
so far as I understand from these words of his. (Advancing,)
I am rejoiced that this matter has turned out for you so much
to your wish.

Clin. O my dear Syrus, have you heard of it, pray ?

Syr. How shouldn't I hear, when I was present all the
while ?

Clin. Did you ever hear of anything falling out so for-
tunately for any one?

Syr. Never.

Clin. And, so may the Gods prosper me, I do not now
rejoice so much on my own account as hers, whom I know to
be deserving of any honor.

Syr. I believe it: but now, Clinia, come, attend to me
in turn. For your friend's business as well, — it must be
seen to — that it is placed in a state of security, lest the old
gentleman should now come to know anything about his
mistress.

Clin. O Jupiter!

Syr. Do be quiet.

Clin. My Antiphila will be mine.

Syr. Do you still interrupt me thus?

Clin. What can I do? My dear Syrus, I'm transported
with joy! Do bear with me.

Syr. r faith, I really do bear with you.

Clin. We are blest with the life of the Gods.

Syr. I'm taking pains to no purpose, I doubt.

Clin. Speak ; I hear you.

Syr. But still you'll not mind it.

Clin. I will.

Syr. This must be seen to, I say, that your friend's busi-
ness as well is placed in a state of security. For if you now
go away from us, and leave Bacchis here, our old man will
immediately come to know that she is Clitipho's mistress; if
you take her away with you, it will be concealed just as much
as it has been hitherto concealed.

Clin. But still. Syrus, nothing can make more against

240 TERENCE

my marriage than this; for with what face am I to address
my father about it? You understand what I mean?

Syr. Why not ?

Clin. What can I say? What excuse can I make?

Syr. Nay, I don't want you to dissemble; tell him the
whole case just as it really is.

Clin. What is it you say?

Syr. I bid you do this ; tell him that you are in love with
her, and want her for a wife: that this Bacchis is Clitipho's
mistress.

Clin. You require a thing that is fair and reasonable,
and easy to be done. And I suppose, then, you would have
me request my father to keep it a secret from your old man.

Syr. On the contrary; to tell him directly the matter just
as It is.

Clin. What? Are you quite in your senses or sober?
Why, you were for ruining him outright. For how could
he be in a state of security ? Tell me that.

Syr. For my part, I yield the palm to this device. Here
I do pride myself exultingly, in having in myself such ex-
quisite resources, and power of address so great, as to deceive
them both by telling the truth: so that when your old man
tells ours that she is his son's mistress, he'll still not believe
him.

Clin. But yet, by these means you again cut off all hopes
of my marriage ; for as long as Chremes believes that she is
my mistress, he'll not give me his daughter. Perhaps you
care little what becomes of me, so long as you provide for
him.

Syr. What the plague, do you suppose I want this pre-
tence to be kept up for an age? 'Tis but for a single day,
only till I have secured the money: you be quiet; I ask no
more.

Clin. Is that sufficient? If his father should come to
know of it, pray, what then?

Syr. What if I have recourse to those who say, "What
now if the sky were to fall?"^

^ He means those who create unnecessary difficulties in their imagina-
tion.

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 241

Clin. I'm afraid to go about it.

Syr. You, afraid! As if it was not in your power to
clear yourself at any time you like, and discover the whole
matter.

Clin. Well, well; let Bacchis be brought over to our
house.

Syr. Capital! she is coming out of doors.

SCENE IV
Enter Bacchis and Phrygia, from the house of Chremes.

Bacch. (pretending not to see Clinia and Syrus). To a
very fine purpose, upon my faith, have the promises of Syrus
brought me hither, who agreed to lend me ten minse. If now
he deceives me, oft as he may entreat me to come, he shall
come in vain. Or else, when I've promised to come, and fixed
the time, when he has carried word back for certain, and
Clitipho is on the stretch of expectation, I'll disappoint him
and not come. Syrus will make atonement to me with his
back.

Clin, (apart, to Syrus.) She promises you very fairly.

Syr. (to Clinia.) But do you think she is in jest? She'll
do it, if I don't take care.

Bacch. (aside). They're asleep* — I' faith, I'll rouse
them. (Aloud.) My dear Phrygia, did you hear about the
country-seat of Charinus, which that man was showing us
just now?

Phry. I heard of it.

Bacch. (aloud.) That it was the next to the farm here
on the right-hand side.

Phry. I remember.

Bacch. (aloud.) Run thither post haste; the Captain is
keeping the feast of Bacchus at his house.

Syr. (apart.) What is she going to be at?

Bacch. (aloud.) Tell him I am here very much against
my inclination, and am detained; but that by some means or
other I'll give them the slip and come to him. (Phrygia
moves.)

1 This is said figuratively.

242 TERENCE

Syr. (coming forward.) Upon my faith, I'm ruined!
Bacchis, stay, stay; prithee, where are you sending heri
Order her to stop.

Bacch. (to Phrygia.) Be off.

Syr. Why, the money's ready.

Bacch. Why, then I'll stay. (Phrygia returns.)

Syr. And it will be given you presently.

Bacch. Just when you please; do I press you?

Syr. But do you know what you are to do, pray?

Bacch. What?

Syr. You must now go over to the house of Menedemus
and your equipage must be taken over thither.

Bacch. What scheme are you upon, you rascal?

Syr. What, I ? Coining money to give to you.

Bacch. Do you think me a proper person for you to
play upon ?

Syr. It's not without a purpose.

Bacch. (pointing to the house.) Why, have I any busi-
ness then with you here ?

Syr. O no ; I'm only going to give you what's your own.

Bacch. Then let's be going.

Syr. Follow this way. (Goes to the door of Menede-
mus^ and calls. ) Ho there ! Dromo.

Enter Dromo^ from the house.

Dro. Who is it wants me?

Syr. Syrus.

Dro. What's the matter?

Syr. Take over all the attendants of Bacchis to your
house here immediately.

Dro. Why so?

Syr. Ask no questions. Let them take what they
brought here with them. The old gentleman will hope his
expenses are lightened by their departure; for sure he little
knows how much loss this trifling gain will bring him. You,
Dromo, if you are wise, know nothing of what you do know.

Dro. You shall own that I'm dumb. (Clinia, Bacchis,
and Phrygia go into the house of Menedemus^ and Dromo
follows with Bacchis's retinue and baggage.)

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 243

SCENE V
Enter Chremes from his house.

Chrem. (to himself). So may the Deities prosper me, I
am now concerned for the fate of Menedemus, that so great
a misfortune should have befallen him. To be maintaining
that woman with such a retinue! Although I am well aware
he'll not be sensible of it for some days to come, his son was
so greatly missed by him; but when he sees such a vast ex-
pense incurred by him every day at home, and no limit to it,
he'll wish that his son would leave him a second time. See —
here comes Syrus most opportunely.

Syr. (to himself, as he comes forward,) Why delay to
accost him?

Chrem. Syrus.

Syr. Well.

Chrem. How go matters?

Syr. I've been wishing for some time for you to be
thrown in my way.

Chrem. You seem, then, to have effected something, I
know not what, with the old gentleman.

Syr. As to what we were talking of a short time since?
No sooner said than done.

Chrem. In real earnest?

Syr. In real.

Chrem. Upon my faith, I cannot forbear patting your
head for it. Come here, Syrus; I'll do you some good turn
for this matter, and with pleasure. (Patting his head.)

Syr. But if you knew how cleverly it came into my
head

Chrem. Pshaw! Do you boast because it has turned
out according to your wishes?

Syr. On my word, not I, indeed ; I am telling the truth.

Chrem. Tell me how it is.

Syr. Clinia has told Menedemus, that this Bacchis is
your Clitipho's mistress, and that he has taken her thither
with him in order that you might not come to know of it.

Chrem. Very good.

Syr. Tell me, please, what you think of it.

244 TERENCE

Chrem. Extremely good, I declare.

Syr. Why, yes, pretty fair. But listen, what a piece of
policy still remains. He is then to say that he has seen
your daughter — that her beauty charmed him as soon as he
beheld her; and that he desires her for a wife.

Chrem. What, her that has just been discovered?

Syr. The same; and, in fact, he'll request that she may
be asked for.

Chrem. For what purpose, Syrus? For I don't alto-
gether comprehend it.

Syr. O dear, you are so dull.

Chrem. Perhaps so.

Syr. Money will be given him for the wedding — with
which golden trinkets and clothes — do you understand me?

Chrem. To buy them ?

Syr. Just so.

Chrem. But I neither give nor betroth my daughter to
him.

Syr. But why?

Chrem. Why, do you ask me? To a fellow

Syr. Just as you please. I don't mean that in reality you
should give her to him, but that you should pretend it.

Chrem. Pretending is not in my way; do you mix up
these plots of yours, so as not to mix me up in them. Do
you think that I'll betroth my daughter to a person to whom
I will not marry her?

Syr. I imagined so.

Chrem. By no means.

Syr. It might have been cleverly managed ; and I under-
took this affair for the very reason, that a short time since you
so urgently requested it.

Chrem. I believe you.

Syr. But for my part, Chremes, I take it well and good,
either way.

Chrem. But still, I especially wish you to do your best
for it to be brought about ; but in some other way.

Syr. It shall be done; some other method must be
'thought of; but as to what I was telling you of, — about the
money which she owes to Bacchis, — that must now be repaid

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 245

her. And you will not, of course, now be having recourse to
this method; "What have I to do with it? Was it lent to
me? Did I give any orders? Had she the power to pawn
my daughter without my consent ? " They quote that saying,
Chremes, with good reason, " Rigorous law is often rigorous
injustice."

Chrem. I will not do so.

Syr. On the contrary, though others were at liberty, you
are not at liberty ; all think that you are in good and very easy
circumstances.

Chrem. Nay rather, I'll at once carry it to her myself.

Syr. Why no; request your son in preference.

Chrem. For what reason?

Syr. Why, because the suspicion of being in love with
her has been transferred to him with Menedemus.

Chrem. What then?

Syr. Because it will seem to be more like probability
when he gives it her ; and at the same time I shall effect more
easily what I wish. Here he comes too; go, and bring out
the money.

Chrem. I'll bring it. (Goes into his house.)

SCENE VI

Enter Clitipho.

Clit. (to himself.) There is nothing so easy but that it
becomes difficult when you do it with reluctance. As this
walk of mine, for instance, though not fatiguing, it has re-
duced me to weariness. And now I dread nothing more
than that I should be packed off somewhere hence once again,
that I may not have access to Bacchis. May then all the
Gods and Goddesses, as many as exist, confound you, Syrus,
with these stratagems and plots of yours. You are always
devising something of this kind, by means of which to tor-
ture me.

Syr. Will you not away with you — to where you de-
serve ? How nearly had your forwardness proved my ruin !

Clit. Upon my faith, I wish it had been so; just what
you deserve.

246 TERENCE

Syr. Deserve? How so? Really, I'm glad that I've
heard this from you before you had the money which I was
just going to give you.

Clit. What then would you have me say to you ? You've
made a fool of me; brought my mistress hither, whom I'm
not allowed to touch

Syr. Well, I'm not angry then. But do you know where
Bacchis is just now?

Clit. At our house.

Syr. No.

Clit. Where then ?

Syr. At Clinia's.

Clit. I'm ruined!

Syr. Be of good heart; you shall presently carry to her
the money that you promised her.

Clit. You do prate away. — Where from ?

Syr. From your own father.

Clit. Perhaps you are joking with me.

Syr. The thing itself will prove it.

Clit. Indeed, then, I am a lucky man. Syrus, I do love
you from my heart.

Syr. But your father*s coming out. Take care not to
express surprise at anything, for what reason it is done;
give way at the proper moment; do what he orders, and say
but little.

SCENE VII

Enter Chremes from the house, with a hag of money,

Chrem. Where's Clitipho now?

Syr. (aside to Clitipho.) Say — ^here I am.

Clit. Here am I.

Chrem. (to Syrus.) Have you told him how it is?

Syr. I've told him pretty well everything.

Chrem. Take this money, and carry it. (Holding out
the bag.)

Syr. (aside to Clitipho.) Go— why do you stand still,
you stone ; why don't you take it ?

Clit. Very well, give it me. (Receives the bag.)

Syr. (to Clitipho.) Follow me this way directly. (To
Chremes.) You in the meanwhile will wait here for us till

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 247

we return ; for there's no occasion for us to stay there long.
(Clitipho and Syrus go into the house of Menedemus.)

Chrem. {to himself.) My daughter, in fact, has now had
ten minae from me, which I consider as paid for her board;
another ten will follow these for clothes; and then she will
require two talents for her portion. How many things, both
just and unjust, are sanctioned by custom ! Now Fm obliged,
neglecting my business, to look out for some one, on whom
to bestow my property, that has been acquired by my labour.

SCENE VHI

Enter Menedemus from his house.

Men. {to Clinia within.) My son, I now think myself
the happiest of all men, since I find that you have returned
to a rational mode of life.

Chrem. {aside.) How much he is mistaken!

Men. Chremes, you are the very person I wanted; pre-
serve, so far as in you lies, my son, myself, and my family.

Chrem. Tell me what you would have me do.

Men. You have this day found a daughter.

Chrem. What then ?

Men. Clinia wishes her to be given him for a wife.

Chrem. Prithee, what kind of a person are you ?

Men. Why ?

Chrem. Have you already forgotten what passed be-
tween us, concerning a scheme, that by that method some
money might be got out of you?

Men. I remember.

Chrem. That self-same thing they are now about.

Men. What do you tell me, Chremes ? Why surely, this
Courtesan, who is at my house, is Clitipho's mistress.

Chrem. So they say, and you believe it all ; and they say
that he is desirous of a wife, in order that, when I have
betrothed her, you may give him money, with which to
provide gold trinkets and clothing, and other things that
are requisite.

Men. That is it, no doubt; that money will be given to
his mistress.

248 TERENCE

Chrem. Of course it is to be given.

Men. Alas ! in vain then, unhappy man, have I been over-
joyed; still however, I had rather anything than be deprived
of him. What answer now shall I report from you, Chremes,
so that he may not perceive that I have found it out, and take
it to heart?

Chrem. To heart, indeed ! you are too indulgent to him,
Menedemus.

Men. Let me go on ; I have now begun : assist me in this
throughout, Chremes.

Chrem. Say then, that you have seen me, and have
treated about the marriage.

Men. I'll say so — what then?

Chrem. That I will do every thing ; that as a son-in-law
he meets my approbation; in fine, too, if you like, tell him
also that she has been promised him.

Men. Well, that's what I wanted

Chrem. That he may the sooner ask of you, and you
may as soon as possible give him what you wish.

Men. It is my wish.

Chrem. Assuredly, before very long, according as I
view this matter, you'll have enough of him. But, however
that may be, if you are wise, you'll give to him cautiously, and
a little at a time.

Men. I'll do so.

Chrem. Go in-doors and see how much he requires. I
shall be at home, if you should want me for anything.

Men. I certainly do want you ; for I shall let you know
whatever I do. {They go into their respective houses,)

ACT THE FIFTH
SCENE I

Enter Menedemus from his house.

Men. (fo himself). 1 am quite aware that I am not so
overwise, or so very quick-sighted; but this assistant,
prompter, and director of mine, Chremes, out-does me in that.
Any one of those epithets which are applied to a fool is

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 249

suited to myself, such as dolt, post, ass, lump of lead; to him
not one can apply ; his stupidity surpasses them all.

Enter Chremes, speaking to Sostrata within,

Chrem. Hold now, do, wife, leave off dinning the Gods
with thanksgiving that your daughter has been discovered;
unless you judge of them by your own disposition, and think
that they understand nothing, unless the same thing has been
told them a hundred times. But, in the meantime, why does
my son linger there so long with Syrus?

Men. What persons do you say are lingering?

Chrem. Ha! Menedemus, you have come opportunely.
Tell me, have you told Clinia what I said?

Men. Everything.

Chrem. What did he say?

Men. He began to rejoice, just like people do who wish
to be married.

Chrem. (laughing). Ha! ha! ha!

Men. Why are you laughing.

Chrem. The sly tricks of my servant, Syrus, just came
into my mind.

Men. Did they?

Chrem. The rogue can even mould the countenances of
people.^

Men. That my son is pretending that he is overjoyed, is
it that you mean?

Chrem. Just so. (Laughing.)

Men. The very same thing came into my mind.

Chrem. A crafty knave!

Men. Still more would you think such to be the fact, if
you knew more.

Chrem. Do you say so?

Men. Do you give attention then?

Chrem. Just stop — ^first I want to know this, what
money you have squandered ; for when you told your son that
she was promised, of course Dromo would at once throw in

^ He means that Syrus not only lays his plots well, but teaches the
performers to put on countenances suitable to the several parts they
are to act.

250 TERENCE

a word that golden jewels, clothes, and attendants would be
needed for the bride, in order that you might give the money.

Men. No.

Chrem. How, no?

Men. No, I tell you.

Chrem. Nor yet your son himself?

Men. Not in the slightest, Chremes. He was only the
more pressing on this one point, that the match might be
concluded to-day.

Chrem. You say what's surprising. What did my serv-
ant Syrus do? Didn't even he say anything?

Men. Nothing at all.

Chrem. For what reason, I don't know.

Men. For my part, I wonder at that, when you know
other things so well. But this same Syrus has moulded your
son, too, to such perfection, that there could not be even the
slightest suspicion that she is Clinia's mistress!

Chrem. What do you say?

Men. Not to mention, then, their kissing and embrac-
ing ; that I count nothing.

Chrem. What more could be done to carry on the cheat ?

Men. Pshaw !

Chrem. What do you mean?

Men. Only listen. In the inner part of my house there
is a certain room at the back; into this a bed was brought,
and was made up with bed-clothes.

Chrem. What took place after this?

Men. No sooner said than done, thither went Clitipho.

Chrem. Alone ?

Men. Alone.

Chrem. Fm alarmed.

Men. Bacchis followed directly.

Chrem. Alone?

Men. Alone.

Chrem. Fm undone!

Men. When they had gone into the room, they shut the
door.

Chrem. Well — did Clinia see all this going on ?

Men. How shouldn't he? He was with me.

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 251

Chrem. Bacchis is my son's mistress, Menedemus — Fm
undone.

Men. Why so?

Chrem. I have hardly substance to suffice for ten days.

Men. What ! are you alarmed at it, because he is paying
attention to his friend?

Chrem. His "she- friend" rather.

Men. If he really is paying it.

Chrem. Is it a matter of doubt to you? Do you sup-
pose that there is any person of so accommodating and tame a
spirit as to suffer his own mistress, himself looking on, to

Men. (chuckling and speaking ironically). Why not?
That I may be imposed upon the more easily.

Chrem. Do you laugh at me? You have good reason.
How angry I now am with myself ! How many things gave
proof, whereby, had I not been a stone, I might have been
fully sensible of this? What was it I saw? Alas! wretch
that I am! But assuredly they shall not escape my ven-
geance if I live; for this instant

Men. Can you not contain yourself? Have you no
respect for yourself? Am I not a sufficient example to you?

Chrem. For very anger, Menedemus, I am not myself.

Men. For you to talk in that manner ! Is it not a shame
for you to be giving advice to others, to show wisdom abroad
and yet be able to do nothing for yourself?

Chrem. What shall I do?

Men. That which you said I failed to do : make him sen-
sible that you are his father; make him venture to entrust
everything to you, to seek and to ask of you ; so that he may
look for no other resources and forsake you.

Chrem. Nay, I had much rather he would go anywhere
in the world, than by his debaucheries here reduce his father
to beggary! For if I go on supplying his extravagance,
Menedemus, in that case my circumstances will undoubtedly
be soon reduced to the level of your rake.

Men. What evils you will bring upon yourself in this
affair, if you don't act with caution! You'll show yourself
severe, and still pardon him at last ; that too with an ill grace.

Chrem. Ah! you don't know how vexed I am.

252 TERENCE

Men. Just as you please. What about that which I de-
sire— that she may be married to my son? Unless there is
any other step that you would prefer.

Chrem. On the contrary, both the son-in-law and the
connexion are to my taste.

Men. What portion shall I say that you have named for
your daughter ? Why are you silent ?

Chrem. Portion ?

Men. I say so.

Chrem. Alas !

Men. Chremes, don't be at all afraid to speak, if it is
but a small one. The portion is no consideration at all with
us.

Chrem. I did think that two talents were sufficient, ac-
cording to my means. But if you wish me to be saved, and
my estate and my son, you must say to this effect, that I
have settled all my property on her as her portion.

Men. What scheme are you upon?

Chrem. Pretend that you wonder at this, and at the
same time ask him the reason why I do so.

Men. Why really, I can't conceive the reason for your
doing so.

Chrem. Why do I do so? To check his feelings, which
are now hurried away by luxury and wantonness, and to
bring him down so as not to know which way to turn him-
self.

Men. What is your design?

Chrem. Let me alone, and give me leave to have my
own way in this matter.

Men. I do give you leave : is this your desire ?

Chrem. It is so.

Men. Then be it so.

Chrem. And now let your son prepare to fetch the bride.
The other one shall be schooled in such language as befits
children. But Syrus

Men. What of him?

Chrem. What? If I live, I will have him so hand-
somely dressed, so well combed out, that he shall always re-
member me as long as he lives; to imagine that I'm to be

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 253

a laughing-stock and a plaything for him ! So may the Gods
bless me ! he would not have dared to do to a widow-woman
the things which he has done to me. {They go into their
respective houses.)

SCENE II

Enter Menedemus, zvith Clitipho and Syrus.

Clit. Prithee, is it really the fact, Menedemus, that my
father can, in so short a space of time, have cast off all the
natural affection of a parent for me? For what crime?
What so great enormity have I, to my misfortune, com-
mitted? Young men generally do the same.

Men. I am aware that this must be much more harsh
and severe to you, on whom it falls ; but yet I take it no less
amiss than you. How it is so I know not, nor can I account
for it, except that from my heart I wish you well.

Clit. Did not you say that my father was waiting here ?

Enter Chremes from his house.

Men. See, here he is. (Menedemus goes into his house.)

Chrem. Why are you blaming me, Clitipho ? Whatever
I have done in this matter, I had a view to you and your
imprudence. When I saw that you were of a careless dispo-
sition, and held the pleasures of the moment of the first
importance, and did not look forward to the future, I took
measures that you might neither want nor be able to waste
this which I have. When, through your own conduct, it was
not allowed me to give it you, to whom I ought before
all, I had recourse to those who were your nearest relations;
to them I have made aver and entrusted everything. There
you'll always find a refuge for your folly; food, clothing,
and a roof under which to betake yourself.

Clit. Ah me!

Chrem. It is better than that, you being my heir,
Bacchis should possess this estate of mine.

Syr. (apart). I'm ruined irrevocably! — Of what mis-
chief have I, wretch that I am, unthinkingly been the cause?

Clit. Would I were dead! i

254 TERENCE

Chrem. Prithee, first learn what it is to live. When
you know that, if life displeases you, then try the other.

Syr. Master, may I be allowed ?

Chrem. Say on.

Syr. But may I safely?

Chrem. Say on.

Syr. What injustice or what madness is this, that that
in which I have offended, should be to his detriment?

Chrem. It's all over. Don't you mix yourself up in
it; no one accuses you, Syrus, nor need you look out for an
altar, or for an intercessor for yourself.^

Syr. What is your design?

Chrem. I am not at all angry either with you (to
Syrus), or with you (to Clitipho) ; nor is it fair that you
should be so with me for what I am doing. (He goes into
his house.)

Syr. He's gone. I wish I had asked him

Clit. What, Syrus?

Syr. Where I am to get my subsistence; he has so
utterly cast us adrift. You are to have it for the present;
at your sister's, I find.

Clit. Has it then come to this pass, Syrus — that I am
to be in danger even of starving?

Syr. So we only live, there's hope

Clit. What hope?

Syr. That we shall be hungry enough.

Clit. Do you jest in a matter so serious, and not give
me any assistance with your advice?

Syr. On the contrary, I'm both now thinking of that,
and have been about it all the time your father was speaking
just now; and so far as I can perceive

Clit. What?

Syr. It will not be wanting long. (He meditates.)

Clit. What is it, then?

Syr. It is this — I think that you are not their son.

Clit. How's that, Syrus ? Are you quite in your senses ?

^ He alludes to the practice of slaves taking refuge at altars when
they had committed any fault, and then suing for pardon through a
"precator" or "mediator."

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 255

Syr. ril tell you what's come into my mind; be you
the judge. While they had you alone, while they had no other
source of joy more nearly to affect them, they indulged you,
they lavished upon you. Now a daughter has been found,
a pretence has been found in fact on which to turn you
adrift.

Clit. It's very probable.

Syr. Do you suppose that he is so angry on account of
this fault?

Clit. I do not think so.

Syr. Now consider another thing. All mothers are
wont to be advocates for their sons when in fault, and to
aid them against a father's severity; 'tis not so here.

Clit. You say true; what then shall I now do, Syrus?

Syr. Question them on this suspicion; mention the mat-
ter without reserve ; either, if it is not true, you'll soon bring
them both to compassion, or else you'll soon find out whose
son you are.

Clit. You give good advice; I'll do so. (He goes into
the house of Chremes.)

Syr. (to himself.) Most fortunately did this come into
my mind. For the less hope the young man entertains, the
greater the difficulty with which he'll bring his father to
his own terms. I'm not sure even, that he may not take a
wife, and then no thanks for Syrus. But what is this? The
old man's coming out of doors ; FU be off. What has so far
happened, I am surprised at, that he didn't order me to be
carried off from here: now I'll away to Menedemus here,
I'll secure him as my intercessor; I can put no trust in our
old man. (Goes into the house of Menedemus.)

SCENE III

Enter Chremes and Sostrata from the house,

Sos. Really, sir, if you don't take care, you'll be causing
some mischief to your son; and indeed I do wonder at it,
my husband, how anything so foolish could ever come into
your head.

Chrem. Oh, you persist in being the woman? Did I

256 TERENCE

ever wish for any one thing in all my life, Sostrata, but
that you were my contradicter on that occasion? And yet
if I were now to ask you what it is that I have done amiss,
or why you act thus, you would not know in what point you
are now so obstinately opposing me in your folly.

Sos. I, not know?

Chrem. Yes, rather, I should have said you do know;
inasmuch as either expression amounts to the same thing.

Sos. Alas ! you are unreasonable to expect me to be silent
in a matter of such importance.

Chrem. I don't expect it; talk on then, I shall still do
it not a bit the less.

Sos. Will you do it?

Chrem. Certainly.

Sos. Don't you see how much evil you will be causing
by that course ? — He suspects himself to be a foundling.

Chrem. Do you say so?

Sos. Assuredly it will be so.

Chrem. Admit it.

Sos. Hold now — prithee, let that be for our enemies.
Am I to admit that he is not my son who really is?

Chrem. What ! are you afraid that you cannot prove that
he is yours, whenever you please?

Sos. Because my daughter has been found?

Chrem. No; but for a reason why it should be much
sooner believed — ^because he is just like you in disposition,
you will easily prove that he is your child; for he is exactly
like you; why, he has not a single vice left him but you
have just the same. Then besides, no woman could have
been the mother of such a son but yourself. But he's coming
out of doors, and how demure! When you understand the
matter, you may form your own conclusions.

SCENE IV

Enter Clitipho from the house of Chremes.

Clit. If there ever was any time, mother, when I caused
you pleasure, being called your son by your own desire, I
beseech you to remember it, and now to take compassion on

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 257

me in my distress. A thing I beg and request — do discover
to me my parents.

Sos. I conjure you, my son, not to entertain that notion
in your mind, that you are another person's child.

Clit. I am.

Sos. Wretch that I am. (Turning to Chremes.) Was
it this you wanted, pray? (To Clitipho.) So may you
be the survivor of me and of him, you are my son and his;
and, henceforth, if you love me, take care that I never hear
that speech from you again.

Chrem. But I say, if you fear me, take care how I find
these propensities existing in you.

Clit. What propensities?

Chrem. If you wish to know, I'll tell you; being a
trifler, an idler, a cheat, a glutton, a debaucher, a spendthrift,
— Believe me, and believe that you are our son.

Clit. This is not the language of a parent.

Chrem. If you had been born from my head, Clitipho,
just as they say Minerva was from Jove's, none the more on
that account would I suffer myself to be disgraced by your
profligacy.

Sos. May the Gods forbid it.

Chrem. I don't know as to the Gods; so far as I shall
be enabled, I will carefully prevent it. You are seeking that
which you possess — parents; that which you are in want of
you don't seek — in what way to pay obedience to a father,
and to preserve what he acquired by his industry. That you

by trickery should bring before my eyes 1 am ashamed

to mention the unseemly word in her presence (pointing to
Sostrata), but you were not in any degree ashamed to act
thus.

Clit. (aside.) Alas! how thoroughly displeased I now
am with myself! How much ashamed! nor do I know how
to make a beginning to pacify him.

SCENE V
Enter Menedemus from his house.
Men. (to himself.) Why really, Chremes is treating his

258 TERENCE

son too harshly and too unkindly. Vm come out, therefore,
to make peace between them. Most opportunely I see them
both.

Chrem. Well, Menedemus, why don't you order my
daughter to be sent for, and close with the offer of the por-
tion that I mentioned?

Sos. My husband, I entreat you not to do it.

Clit. Father, I entreat you to forgive me.

Men. Forgive him, Chremes; do let them prevail upon
you.

Chrem. Am I knowingly to make my property a present
to Bacchis? Fll not do it.

Men. Why, we would not suffer it.

Clit. If you desire me to live, father, do forgive me.

Sos. Do, my dear Chremes.

Men, Come, Chremes, pray, don't be so obdurate.

Chrem. What am I to do here ? I see I am not allowed
to carry this through, as I had intended.

Men. You are acting as becomes you.

Chrem. On this condition, then, Fll do it ; if he does that
which I think it right he should do.

Clit. Father, Fll do anything ; command.

Chrem. You must take a wife.

Clit. Father

Chrem. I'll hear nothing.

Men. I'll take it upon myself; he shall do so.

Chrem. I don't hear anything from him as yet.

Clit, (aside). I'm undone!

Sos. Do you hesitate, Clitipho?

Chrem. Nay, just as he likes.

Men. He'll do it all.

Sos. This course, while you are making a beginning, is
disagreeable, and while you are unacquainted with it. When
you have become acquainted with it, it will become easy.

Clit. I'll do it, father.

Sos. My son, upon my honour I'll give you that charming
girl, whom you may soon become attached to, the daughter
of our neighbour Phanocrata.

THE SELF-TORMENTOR 259

Clit. What ! that red-haired girl, with cat's eyes, freckled
face, and hooked nose? I cannot, father.

Chrem. Hey-day! how nice he is! You would fancy he
had set his mind upon it.

Sos. I'll name another.

Clit. Why no — since I must marry, I myself have one
that I should pretty nearly make choice of.

Sos. Now, son, I commend you.

Clit. The daughter of Archonides here.

Sos I'm quite agreeable.

Clit. Father, this now remains.

Chrem. What is it?

Clit. I want you to pardon Syrus for what he has done
for my sake.

Chrem. Be it so. {To the Audience,) Fare you well,
and grant us your applause.

ADELPHI

[THE BROTHERS]

DRAMATIS PERSONS

, , * V Brothers, aged Athenians.

Hegio, an aged Athenian, kinsman of Sostrata.

^SCHINUS, son of Demea, adopted by Micio.

Ctesipho, another son of Demea.

Sannio, a Procurer.

Geta, servant of Sostrata.

Parmeno, \

Syrus, V servants of Micio.

Dromo, )

Pamphila, a young woman beloved by ^schinus.
Sostrata, a widow, mother of Pamphila.
Canthara, a Nurse.
A Music-Girl.

Scene. — Athens; before the houses of Micio and Sostrata,

ARGUMENT

Micio and Demea are two brothers of dissimilar tempers. Demea is
married, and lives a country life, while his brother remains single, and
resides in Athens. Demea has two sons, the elder of whom, ^schinus,
has been adopted by Micio. Being allowed by his indulgent uncle to
gratify his inclinations without restraint, ^schinus has debauched Pam-
phila, the daughter of a widow named Sostrata. Having, however,
promised to marry the young woman, he has been pardoned for the
offence, and it has been kept strictly secret. Ctesipho, who lives in the
country with his father under great restraint, on visiting the city, falls
in love with a certain Music-girl, who belongs to the Procurer Sannio.
To screen his brother, ^schinus takes the responsibility of the affair
on himself, and succeeds in carrying off the girl for him. Demea, upon
hearing of this, censures Micio for his ill-timed indulgence, the bad
effects of which are thus exemplified in ^schinus; and at the same
time lauds the steady conduct and frugality of Ctesipho, who has been
brought up under his own supervision. Shortly after this, Sostrata hears
the story about the Music-girl, at the very time that her daughter Pam-
phila is in labour. She naturally supposes that ^schinus has deserted
her daughter for another, and hastens to acquaint Hegio, her kinsman,
with the fact. Meantime Demea learns that Ctesipho has taken part in
carrying off the Music-girl, whereon Syrus invents a story, and screens
Ctesipho for the moment. Demea is next informed by Hegio of the con-
duct of -(Eschinus towards Pamphila. Wishing to find his brother, he is
purposely sent on a fruitless errand by Syrus, on which he wanders all
over the city to no purpose, Micio having now been informed by Hegio,
and knowing that the intentions of yEschinus towards Pamphila are not
changed, accompanies him to the house of Sostrata, whom he consoles
by his promise that ^schinus shall marry her daughter. Demea then
returns from his search, and, rushing into Micio's house, finds his son
Ctesipho there carousing; on which he exclaims vehemently against Micio,
who uses his best endeavours to soothe him, and finally with success. He
now determines to become kind and considerate for the future. At his
request, Pamphila is brought to Micio's house, and the nuptials are cele-
brated. Micio, at the earnest request of Demea and ^schinus, marries
Sostrata; Hegio has a competency allowed him; and Syrus and his wife
Phrygia are made free. The Play concludes with a serious warning from
Demea, who advises his relatives not to squander their means in riotous
living; but, on the contrary^ to bear admonition and to submit to restraint
in a spirit of moderation and thankfulness.

THE BROTHERS

THE PROLOGUE

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 Synapothnescontes ^ is a Comedy of Diphilus;^ 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,* 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 men who come first will disclose it in part; a part
in the representation they will make known. Do you cause

^ Signifying "persons dying together."

2 Diphilus was a Greek Poet, contemporary with Menander.

3 The " Commorientes " of Plautus is lost.

* By the words " in bello," Terence is supposed to refer to his friend
and patron Scipio ; by " in otio," to Furius Publius ; and in the words
" in negotio " to Lselius, who was famed for his wisdom.

263

264 TERENCE

your impartial attention to increase the industry of the Poet
in writing.

ACT THE FIRST

SCENE I

Enter Michio, calling to a servant within.

Mic. Storax! yEschinus has not returned home from
the entertainment last night, nor any of the servants who
went to fetch him. (To himself.) Really, they say it with
reason, if you are absent anywhere, or if you stay abroad 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 in-
clination, 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, 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 upwards,
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 mar-
ried 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
givC' — I overlook; I do not judge it necessary to exert my
authority in everything ; 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

THE BROTHERS 265

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 treat-
ment, 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 reason-
ing; 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 con-
cealed, 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 cannot 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.

SCENE II

Enter Demea.

Dem. Oh, — opportunely met; you are the very man I
was looking for.

Mic. Why are you out of spirits?

Dem. Do you ask me, when we have such a son as
!iEschinus, why I'm out of spirits?

Mic. (aside). Did I not say it would be so? (To
Demea.) What has he been doing?

266 TERENCE

Dem. What has he been doing? He, who is ashamed of
nothing, and fears no one, nor thinks that any law can con-
trol 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, and forced his way
into another person's house, beaten to death the master him-
self, 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 hir^ to
be corrupted.

Mic. Never is there anything 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 anything, Demea, he offends
against me: in that case I shall bear the greater part of the
inconvenience. Does he feast, does he drink, does he smell

THE BROTHERS 267

of perfumes — it is at my cost. Does he intrigue, money
shall be found by m;e, so long as it suits me; when it shall
be no longer convenient, probably he'll be shut out of doors.^
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. Vou 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
entrusted to me.

Dem. Alas, Micio!

Mic. So it seems to me.

Dem. What am I to say to this ? If it please you, hence-
forth— 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 entrusted ? 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 anything more harsh against
him. (Exit,

^ No doubt by his mistress, when she has drained him of his money.

268 TERENCE

SCENE III

Micio alone.

Mic. These things are 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 humour
his anger, I should certainly be as mad as himself. And
yet yEschinus 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; 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,

ACT THE SECOND

SCENE I

Enter JEschinus 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.

uEscH. {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.

^SCH. Though he is a villain, he'll not risk, to-day, get-
ting a second beating.

San. Hear me, ^schinus, that you may not say that you
were in ignorance of my calling ; I am a Procurer.^

^ He says this aloud, and with emphasis, relying upon the laws which
were enacted at Athens in favour of the " lenones," whose occupa-

THE BROTHERS 269

^SCH. 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.

^scH. (to Parmeno). Go first with all despatch and
open the door. (Parmeno opens the door.)

San. But you will avail nothing by this.

^SCH. (to the Girl). Now then, step in.

San. (coming between). But I'll not let her.

^SCH. 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.

^scH. (to Parmeno). Now, then, observe me.

Par. (to Sannio). Let go the woman. (Strikes him.)

San. Oh! scandalous deed!

^scH. He shall repeat it, if you don't take care. (Par-
meno strikes him again.)

San. Oh shocking!

^scH. (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, ^schinus?

^scH. If I had it, you should be exalted for your deserts.

tion brought great profits to the state, from their extensive trading
in slaves. It was forbidden to maltreat them, under pain of being
disinherited.

270 TERENCE

San. What business have you with me?

^scH. None.

San. How then, do you know who I am?

^scH. I don't want to.

San. Have I touched anything of yours?

^SCH. If you had touched it, you'd have got a drubbing.

San. What greater right then have you to take my prop-
erty, for which I paid my money? Answer me that.

^SCH. It were better for you not to be making a dis-
turbance 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 ?

^SCH. So it shall be.

San. Oh, you shameless fellow ! Is this the place where
they say there is equal liberty for all ?

^scH. 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?

^SCH. Leave alone all that, and come to the point.

San. What point? Where am I to come to?

iEscH. 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.

^SCH. Very fine! a Procurer wishing me not to say
what's unfair.

San. I am a Procurer, I confess it — the common bane
of youth — a perjurer, a public nuisance; still, no injury has
befallen you from me.

-^scH. Why, faith, that remains to come

San. Pray, ^schinus, do come back to the point at
which you set out.

^SCH. You bought her for twenty minse ; 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?

-^SCH. By no means.

THE BROTHERS 271

San. I was afraid you would.

^scH. Neither do I think that a woman can be sold who
is free ; for I claim her by action of freedom.^ Now consider
which you choose; take the money, or prepare yourself for
the action. Think of it, Procurer, till I return. {He goes
into the house of Micio.)

SCENE II

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.^ 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 con-
sider 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.

1 " Asserere liberati causa," was to assert the freedom of a person,
with a determination to maintain it at law. The "assertor" laid
hands upon the person, declaring that he or she was free; and till
the cause was tried, the person whose freedom was claimed, re-
mained in the hands of the " assertor."

2 He means, that if he only names a price, ^schinus will suborn wit-
nesses to say that he has agreed to sell her, in which case ^schinus
will carry her off with impunity, and the laws will not allow him to
recover her; as it will then be an ordinary debt, and he will be put
off with all the common excuses used by debtors.

272 TERENCE

SCENE III

Enter Syrus, from the house of Micio.

Syr. (speaking to ^schinus 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 terms 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 little of your right, and had humoured
the young man, that he would not repay you with interest ?

San. I do not pay ready money for hope.

Syr. Then ypu'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
minse were anything 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.

THE BROTHERS 273

Syr. (aside). He is alarmed. IVe brought the fellow
into a fix.

San. (aside). Oh, what villany! — ^Just look at that;
how he has nicked me in the very joint. Several women have
been purchased, and other things as well, for me to take to
Cyprus.^ 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 mat-
ter 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 reckoned up what you calculate
will be your profits?

San. Is this honorable of him? Ought ^schinus to at-
tempt this? Ought he to endeavour 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 to-
gether ten minae 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 anything 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.

^ He alludes to a famous slave-market held in the Isle of Cyprus,
whither merchants carried slaves for sale, after buying them up in
all parts of Greece.

274 TERENCE

Syr. ril 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 httle.

SCENE IV

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 ac-
ceptable, 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 ^schinus?

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
everything 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 -^schinus himself coming out.

SCENE V

Enter ^schinus, from the house of Micio.

^SCH. Where is that villain?

San. (aside). He's looking for me. Is he bringing any-
thing with him? Confusion! I don't see anything.

^scH. (to Ctesipho). Ha! well met; you are the very

THE BROTHERS 275

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 ^Eschinus ! 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.

^SCH. 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.

^scH. Pooh! that is folly, not shame; about such a
trifling matter to be almost flying the country! 'Tis shock-
ing to be mentioned ; I pray the Gods may forbid it !

Ctes. I did wrong.

^SCH. (in a lower voice). What says Sannio to us at
last?

Syr. He is pacified at last.

^scH. I'll go to the Forum to pay him off; you, Ctesi-
pho, step in-doors to her.

San. (aside to Syrus). Syrus, do urge the matter.

Syr. (to -^SCHINUS). Let us be off, for he is in haste
for Cyprus.^

San. Not particularly so; although still, Fm 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

^ This is a piece of malice on the part of Syrus, for the purpose
of teazing Sannio.

276 TERENCE

more angry, by some means or other this matter should reach
my father, and then I should be ruined for ever.

Syr. That shall not happen, be of good heart; mean-
while enjoy yourself in-doors with her, and order the couches
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 ^schinus and Syrus, followed by
Sannio.)

ACT THE THIRD

SCENE I

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 labour
yourself.

Sos. Unfortunate woman that I am! I have not a per-
son at home ; we are quite alone ; Geta too is absent. I have
no one to go for the midwife, or to fetch ^schinus.

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.)

THE BROTHERS 277

SCENE n

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 cannot possibly
extricate ourselves. Violence, poverty, oppression, desertion,
infamy! What an age is this! O shocking villany! O ac-
cursed 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 con-
tent with any punishment, so I might only wreak my ven-
geance 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
piece-meal ! I would snatch him by the middle up aloft, and
dash him head downwards 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 afterwards hurl him head-
long 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

278 TERENCE

Geta. Well — leave me alone/ 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 intreat you, what is the matter.

Geta. Now

Sos. What "now," Geta?

Geta. ^schinus

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 car-
ried 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 ^Eschinus, the very life of us all,
in whom all our hopes and comforts were centered! Who
used to swear he could never live a single day without her I
Who used to say, that he would place the infant on his
father's knees,^ and thus intreat that he might be allowed to
make her his wife!

Geta. Dear mistress, forbear weeping, and rather con-

^ Geta's reply is founded on a frolicsome but ill-natured custom
which prevailed in Greece — to stop the slaves in the streets, and
designedly keep them in chat, so that they might be lashed when they
came home for staying out so long.

2 It was a custom with the Greeks to place the newly born child
upon the knee of its grandfather.

THE BROTHERS 279

sider 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. ril make it known.

Geta. Ha, my dear Sostrata, take care what yoiTdo!

Sos. The matter cannot 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 cannot 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 in-
terest 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.)

280 - TERENCE

SCENE III

Enter Demea.

Dem. (to himself). Utterly undone! I hear that Ctesi-
pho was with ^schinus at the carrying off of this girl. This
sorrow still remains for unhappy me, should ^schinus 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 profli-
gate 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.

SCENE IV

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, entrust it to this fellow.

Syr. (overhearing him). Ha, Demea! I didn't see you;
how goes it?

Dem. How should it go? I cannot 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

THE BROTHERS 281

conger-eel play a little in the water; when I come back it
shall be boned; not before.

Dem. Is profligacy like this

Syr. As for myself, it isn't to my taste, and I often ex-
claim 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 ^schinus will be running away for want, to serve
somewhere or other as a soldier.

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 is 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?

282 TERENCE

Syr. What! — when I saw him part of the way my-
self

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 ^schinus,
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 everything 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 blameable

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

THE BROTHERS 283

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 burnt 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 saucepans as though into a mirror, 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? Ac-
cording as the man is, so must you humour him. Do you
wish anything 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.)

SCENE V

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? If I see right, i' faith, it is he. Ah, a man I
have been friendly with from a child! Good Gods! we cer-
tainly have a great dearth of citizens of that stamp now-a-
days, 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. FU wait here
for him, to ask him how he is, and have some conversation
with him.

SCENE VI

Enter Hegio and Geta, conversing, at a distance,

Heg. Oh immortal Gods! a disgraceful action, Geta!
What is it you tell me?

284 TERENCE

Geta. Such is the fact.

Heg. That so ignoble a deed should come from that
family! Oh ^schinus, 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 centered 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 that, with due regard to the ties of re-
lationship, I could.

Dem. (apart). Til accost him. (Approaches Hegio.)
Hegio, I bid you welcome right heartily.

Heg. (starting). Oh! you are the very man I was look-
ing for. Greetings to you, Demea.

Dem. Why, what's the matter?

Heg. Your eldest son ^schinus, 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 anything 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.^ The affair

^ As his wife.

THE BROTHERS 285

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, the
young woman too; the fact speaks for itself; this Geta, be-
sides, 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, 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, bring aid, save
me, I beseech thee!

Heg. Hold; is she in labour, 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: we
were brought up together from children, we were compan-
ions 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.

Heg. But, Demea, take you care and reflect upon this:

1 In allusion to the method of examining slaves, by binding and tor-
turing them.

286 TERENCE

the more easy you are in your circumstances, the more power-
ful, 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; everything shall be done that is
proper to be done.

Heg. It becomes you to act thus. Geta, shew 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,

SCENE VII

Enter Hegio, from Sostrata's house, and speaking to her

within.

Heg. Be of good heart, Sostrata, and take care and con-
sole 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,

ACT THE FOURTH

SCENE I

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, I warrant —
hard at some work or other.

Ctes. I really wish, provided it be done with no prej-
udice to his health, I wish that he may so effectually tire him-
self, that, for the next three days together, he may be unable
to arise from his bed.

THE BROTHERS 287

Syr. So be it, and anything still better than that, 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 worse — ^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 humour 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 fable"

^ Syrus intends to imply that he should not care if Demea were never
to arise from his bed, but were to die there. Ctesipho, only taking
him heartily to second his own wishes for the old man's absence,
answers affirmatively " ita," " by all means," " exactly so."
2 This was a proverbial expression, tantamount to our saying,
" Talk of the devil, he's sure to appear."

288 TERENCE

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 enquiries, you have seen me no-
where ; do you hear ?

Syr. Can you not be quiet? (They retreat to the door
of Micio's house, and Ctesipho stands in the doorway,)

SCENE II

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 labourer
from the farm; he says that my son is not in the country,
and what to do I know not

Ctes. {apart), Syrus!

Syr. {apart). What's the matter?

Ctes. {apart). Is he looking for me?

Syr. {apart). Yes.

Ctes. {apart). Undone!

Syr. {apart). Nay, do be of good heart.

Dem. {to himself). Plague on it! what ill luck is this?
I cannot really account for it, unless I suppose myself only
born for the purpose of enduring misery. I am the first to
feel our misfortunes; the first to know of them all; then the
first to carry the news; I am the only one, if anything does
go wrong, to take it to heart.

Syr. {apart). I'm amused at him; he says that he is the
first to know of everything, while he is the only one ignorant
of everything.

Dem. {to himself). IVe now come back; and I'll go see
whether perchance my brother has yet returned.

Ctes. {apart). Syrus, pray do take care that he doesn't
suddenly rush in upon us here.

Syr. {apart). Now will you hold your tongue? I'll
take care.

Ctes. {apart). Never this day will I depend on your

THE BROTHERS 289

management for that, upon my faith, for I'll shut myself up
with her in some cupboard — that's the safest. (Goes into the
house.)

Syr. (apart). Do so, still I'll get rid of him.

Dem. (seeing Syrus). But see! there's that rascal,
Syrus.

Syr. (aloud, pretending not to see Demea). Really,
upon my faith, no person can stay here, if this is to be the
case ! For my part, I should like to know how many masters
I have — what a cursed condition this is!

Dem. What's he whining about? What does he mean?
How say you, good sir, is my brother at home?

Syr. What the plague do you talk to me about, "good
sir"? I'm quite distracted!

Dem. What's the matter with you?

Syr. (pretending indignation). Do you ask the question?
Ctesipho has been beating me, poor wretch, and that Music-
girl, almost to death.

Dem. Ha! what is it you tell me?

Syr. Ay, see how he has cut my lip. (Pretends to point
to it.)

Dem. For what reason?

Syr. He says that she was bought by my advice.

Dem. Did you tell me, a short time since, that you had
seen him on his way into the country?

Syr. I did; but he afterwards came back, raving like a
madman; he spared nobody — -ought he not to have been
ashamed to beat an old man? Him whom, only the other
day, I used to carry about in my arms when thus high?
(Showing,)

Dem. I commend him ; O Ctesipho, you take after your
father. Well, I do pronounce you a man.

Syr. Commend him? Assuredly he will keep his hands
to himself in future, if he's wise.

Dem. 'Twas done with spirit.

Syr. Very much so, to be beating a poor woman, and
me, a slave, who didn't dare strike him in return; heyday!
very spirited indeed!

Dem. He could not have done better: he thought the

290 TERENCE

same as I did, that you were the principal in this affair. But
is my brother within ?

Syr. He is not.

Dem. I'm thinking where to look for him.

Syr. I know where he is — but I shall not tell you at
present.

Dem. Ha! what's that you say?

Syr. I do say so.

Dem. Then I'll break your head for you this instant.

Syr. I can't tell the person's name he's gone to, but I
know the place where he lives.

Dem. Tell me the place then.

Syr. Do you know the portico down this way, just by
the shambles? (Pointing in the direction.)

Dem. How should I but know it?

Syr. Go straight along, right up that street; when you
come there, there is a descent right opposite that goes down-
wards, go straight down that; afterwards, on this side (ex-
tending one hand), there is a chapel: close by it is a narrow
lane, where there's also a great wild fig-tree.

Dem. I know it.

Syr. Go through that

Dem. But that lane is not a thoroughfare.

Syr. I' faith, that's true ; dear, dear, would you take me
to be in my senses? I made a mistake. Return to the
portico; indeed that will be a much nearer way, and there is
less going round about : you know the house of Cratinus, the
rich man?

Dem. I know it.

Syr. When you have passed that, keep straight along
that street on the left hand ; when you come to the Temple of
Diana, turn to the right; before you come to the city gate,^
just by that pond, there is a baker's shop, and opposite to it
a joiner's; there he is.

Dem. What is he doing there?

Syr. He has given some couches to be made, with oaken
legs, for use in the open air.

^ Pemea is bein^ sent to the very extremity of the town.

THE BROTHERS 291

Dem. For you to carouse upon! Very fine! But why
do I delay going to him? (Exit.

SCENE ni

Syrus alone.

Syr. Go, by all means. I'll work you to-day, you skele-
ton as you deserve, ^schinus loiters intolerably; the break-
fast's spoiling ; and as for Ctesipho, he's head and ears in love.
I shall now think of myself, for I'll be off at once, and pick
out the very nicest bit, and, leisurely sipping my cups, I'll
lengthen out the day. (Goes into the house.)

SCENE IV

Enter Micio and Hegio.

Mic. I can see no reason here, Hegio, that I should be
so greatly commended. I do my duty; the wrong that has
originated with us I redress. Unless, perhaps, you thought
me one of that class of men who think that an injury is pur-
posely done them if you expostulate about anything they have
done; and yet are themselves the first to accuse. Because I
have not acted thus, do you return me thanks?

Heg. Oh, far from it; I never led myself to believe you
to be otherwise than you are ; but I beg, Micio, that you will
go with me to the mother of the young woman, and repeat
to her the same ; what you have told me, do you yourself tell
the woman, that this suspicion of ^schinus's fidelity was in-
curred on his brother's account, and that this Music-girl was
for him.

Mic. If you think I ought, or if there is a necessity for
doing so, let us go.

Heg. You act with kindness; for you'll then both have
relieved her mind who is now languishing in sorrow and afflic-
tion, and have discharged your duty. But if you think
otherwise, I will tell her myself what you have been saying
to me.

Mic. Nay, I'll go as well.

Heg. You act with kindness; all who are in distressed

2te TERENCE

circumstances are suspicious, to I know not what degree;
they take everything too readily as an affront; they fancy
themselves trifled with on account of their helpless condition ;
therefore it will be more satisfactory for you to justify him to
them yourself. (They go into the house of Sostrata.)

SCENE V

Enter ^schinus.

I am quite distracted in mind! for this misfortune so
unexpectedly to befall me, that I neither know what to do
with myself, or how to act! My limbs are enfeebled through
fear, my faculties bewildered with apprehension; no counsel
is able to find a place within my breast. Alas! how to
extricate myself from this perplexity I know not; so strong
a suspicion has taken possession of them about me; not with-
out some reason too: Sostrata believes that I have purchased
this Music-girl for myself: the old woman informed me of
that. For by accident, when she was sent for the midwife,
I saw her, and at once went up to her. " How is Pamphila ? "
I enquired; *'is her delivery at hand? Is it for that she is
sending for the midwife?" "Away, away, ^schinus," cries
she; "you have deceived us long enough; already have your
promises disappointed us sufficiently." " Ha ! " says I ; " pray
what is the meaning of this ? " " Farewell," she cries ; " keep
to her who is your choice." I instantly guessed what it was
they suspected, but still I checked myself, that I might not
be telling that gossip anything about my brother, whereby it
might be divulged. Now what am I to do? Shall I say
she is for my brother, a thing that ought by no means to be
repeated anywhere? However, let that pass. It is possible
it might go no further. I am afraid they would not believe
it, so many probabilities concur against it: 'twas I myself
carried her off; 'twas I, my own self, that paid the money for
her; 'twas my own house she was carried to. This I confess
has been entirely my own fault. Ought I not to have dis-
closed this affair, just as it happened, to my father? I might
have obtained his consent to marry her. I have been too
negligent hitherto; henceforth, then, arouse yourself.

THE BROTHERS 293

yEschinus. This then is the first thing; to go to them and
clear myself. I'll approach the door. (Advances to the door
of Sostrata's house.) Confusion! I always tremble most
dreadfully when I go to knock at that door. (Knocking and
calling to them within. ) Ho there, ho there ! it is ^schinus ;
open the door immediately, some one. (The door opens.)
Some person, I know not who, is coming out; I'll step aside
here. i^He stands apart.)

SCENE VI

Enter Micio from the house of Sostrata.

Mic. (speaking at the door to Sostrata). Do as I told
you, Sostrata; I'll go find ^schinus, that he may know how
these matters have been settled. (Looking round.) But
who was it knocking at the door ?

-^scH. (apart). Heavens, it is my father! — I am un-
done.

Mic. JEschinus !

^SCH. (aside). What can be his business here?

Mic. Was it you knocking at this door? (Aside.) He
is silent. Why shouldn't I rally him a little ? It would be as
well, as he was never willing to trust me with this secret.
(To ^SCHINUS.) Don't you answer me?

^scH. (confusedly). It wasn't I knocked at that door,
that I know of.

Mic. Just so; for I wondered what business you could
have here. (Apart.) He blushes; all's well.

^SCH. Pray tell me, father, what business have you
there ?

Mic. Why, none of my own; but a certain friend of
mine just now brought me hither from the Forum to give
him some assistance.

^SCH. Why?

Mic. I'll tell you. There are some women living here;
in impoverished circumstances, as I suppose you don't know
them; and, in fact, I'm quite sure, for it is not long since
they removed to this place.

.^SCH. Well, what next?

294 TERENCE

Mic. There is a girl living with her mother.

^SCH. Go on.

Mic. This girl has lost her father ; this friend of mine is
her next of kin ; the law obliges him to marry her.^

^scH. (aside). Undone!

Mic. What's the matter?

^SCH. Nothing. Very well: proceed.

Mic. He has come to take her with him; for he lives
at Miletus.

ufEscH. What! To take the girl away with him?

Mic. Such is the fact.

yEscH. All the way to Miletus/ pray?

Mic. Yes.

^SCH. (aside). I'm overwhelmed with grief. (To
Micio.) But what of them? What do they say?

Mic. What do you suppose they should? Why, noth-
ing at all. The mother has trumped up a tale, that there is
a child by some other man, I know not who, and she does not
state the name; she says that he was the first, and that she
ought not to be given to the other.

-^SCH. Well now, does not this seem just to you after
all?

Mic. No.

^scH. Why not, pray? Is the other to be carrying her
away from here ?

Mic. Why should he not take her ?

^scH. You have acted harshly and unfeelingly, and
even, if, father, I may speak my sentiments more plainly, un-
handsomely.

Mic. Why so?

^scH. Do you ask me? Pray, what do you think must
be the state of mind of the man who was first connected with
her, who, to his misfortune, may perhaps still love her to dis-
traction, when he sees her torn away from before his face.

^It appears to have been a law given by Solon to the Athenians
that the next male relative of suitable age should marry a female
orphan himself, or find her a suitable portion.
2 A colony of Athens, on the coast of Asia Minor.

THE BROTHERS 295

borne off from his sight for ever? An unworthy action,
father!

Mic. On what grounds is it so? Who betrothed her?
Who gave her away? When and to whom was she married?
Who was the author of all this? Why did he connect him-
self with a woman who belonged to another?

yEscH. Was it to be expected that a young woman of her
age should sit at home, waiting till a kinsman of hers should
come from a distance? This, my father, you ought to have
represented, and have insisted on it.

Mic. Ridiculous! Was I to have pleaded against him
whom I was to support? But what's all this, ^schinus, to

us? What have we to do with them? Let us begone:

What's the matter? Why these tears?

^SCH. (weeping). Father, I beseech you, listen to me.

Mic. yEschinus, I have heard and know it all, for I love
you, and therefore everything you do is the more a care
to me.

yEscH. So do I wish you to find me deserving of your
love, as long as you live, my dear father, as I am sincerely
sorry for the offence I have committed, and am ashamed to
see you.

Mic. Upon my word I believe it, for I know your in-
genuous disposition : but I am afraid that you are too incon-
siderate. In what city, pray, do you suppose you live? You
have debauched a virgin, whom it was not lawful for you to
touch. In the first place then that was a great offence;
great, but still natural. Others, and even men of worth, have
frequently done the same. But after it happened, pray, did
you show any circumspection ? Or did you use any foresight
as to what was to be done, or how it was to be done? If you
were ashamed to tell me of it, by what means was I to come
to know it ? While you were at a loss upon these points, ten
months have been lost. So far indeed as lay in your power,
you have perilled both yourself and this poor girl, and the
child. What did you imagine — that the Gods would set these
matters to rights for you while you were asleep, and that she
would be brought home to your chamber without any exer-
tions of your own? I would not have you to be equally

296 TERENCE

negligent in other affairs. Be of good heart, you shall have
her for your wife.

^SCH. Hah !

Mic. Be of good heart, I tell you.

^SCH. Father, are you now jesting with me, pray?

Mic. I, jesting with you! For what reason?

^SCH. I don't know ; but so anxiously do I wish this to
be true, that I am the more afraid it may not be.

Mic. Go home, and pray to the Gods that you may have
your wife; be off.

tEsch. What! have my wife now?

Mic. Now.

^scH. Now?

Mic. Now, as soon as possible.

^SCH. May all the Gods detest me, father, if I do not
love you better than even my very eyes !

Mic. What! better than her?

^SCH. Quite as well.

Mic. Very kind of you!

^SCH. Well, where is this Milesian?

Mic. Departed, vanished, gone on board ship; but why
do you delay?

yEscH. Father, do you rather go and pray to the Gods;
for I know, for certain, that they will rather be propitious
to you, as being a much better man than I am.

Mic I'll go in-doors, that what is requisite may be pre-
pared. You do as I said, if you are wise. (Goes into his
house.)

SCENE VII

^scHiNus alone.

^SCH. What can be the meaning of this ? Is this being
a father, or this being a son? If he had been a brother or
familiar companion, how could he have been more complai-
sant! Is he not worthy to be beloved? Is he not to be im-
printed in my very bosom ? Well then, the more does he im-
pose an obligation on me by his kindness, to take due pre-
caution not inconsiderately to do anything that he may not
wish. But why do I delay going in-doors this instant, that

THE BROTHERS 297

I may not myself delay my own nuptials. {Goes into the
house of Micio.)

SCENE vni

Enter Demea.

I am quite tired with walking: May the great Jupiter
confound you, Syrus, together with your directions! I have
crawled the whole city over ; to the gate, to the pond — where
not? There was no joiner's shop there; not a soul could say
he had seen my brother; but now I'm determined to sit and
wait at his house till he returns.

SCENE IX

Enter Micio from his house.

Mic. {speaking to the people within). I'll go and tell
them there's no delay on our part.

Dem. But see here's the very man : O Micio, I have been
seeking you this long time.

Mic. Why, what's the matter?

Dem. I'm bringing you some new and great enormities
of that hopeful youth.

Mic. Just look at that!

Dem. Fresh ones, of blackest dye.

Mic. There now — at it again.

Dem. Ah, Micio! you little know what sort of person
he is.

Mic. I do.

Dem. O simpleton! you are dreaming that I'm talking
about the Music-girl; this crime is against a virgin and a
citizen.

Mic. I know it.

Dem. So then, you know it, and put up with it!

Mic. Why not put up with it?

Dem. Tell me, pray, don't you exclaim about it? Don't
you go distracted ?

Mic. Not I: certainly I had rather^

1 He means to say that if he had his choice, he would rather it had
not been so.

298 TERENCE

Dem. There has been a child born.

Mic. May the Gods be propitious to it.

Dem. The girl has no fortune.

Mic. So I have heard.

Dem. And he — ^must he marry her without one ?

Mic. Of course.

Dem. What is to be done then?

Mic. Why, what the case itself points out: the young
woman must be brought hither.

Dem. O Jupiter! must that be the way then?

Mic. What can I do else?

Dem. What can you do? If in reality this causes you
no concern, to pretend it were surely the duty of a man.

Mic. But I have already betrothed the young woman to
him; the matter is settled: the marriage takes place to-day.
I have removed all apprehensions. That is rather the duty
of a man.

Dem. But does this affair please you, Micio?

Mic. If I were able to alter it, no; now, as I cannot, I
bear it with patience. The life of man is just like playing
with dice: if that which you most want to throw does not
turn up, what turns up by chance you must correct by art.

Dem. O rare corrector! of course it is by your art that
twenty minse have been thrown away for a Music-girl; who,
as soon as possible, must be got rid of at any price; and if not
for money, why then for nothing.

Mic. Not at all, and indeed I have no wish to sell her.

Dem. What will you do with her then?

Mic. She shall be at my house.

Dem. For heaven's sake, a courtesan and a matron in
the same house!

Mic. Why not?

Dem. Do you imagine you are in your senses?

Mic. Really I do think so.

Dem. So may the Gods prosper me, I now see your
folly; I believe you are going to do so that you may have
somebody to practise music with.

Mic. Why not?

Dem. And the new-made bride to be learning too?

THE BROTHERS 299

Mic. Of course.

Dem. Having hold of the rope/ you will be dancing
with them.

Mic. Like enough ; and you too along with us, if there's
need.

Dem. Ah me! are you not ashamed of this?

Mic. Demea, do, for once, lay aside this anger of yours,
and show yourself as you ought at your son's wedding, cheer-
ful and good-humoured. I'll just step over to them, and
return immediately. {Goes into Sostrata's house,)

SCENE X

Demea alone.

Dem. O Jupiter! here's a life! here are manners! here's
madness! A wife to be coming without a fortune! A
music-wench in the house! A house full of wastefulness!
A young man ruined by extravagance! An old man in his
dotage! — Should Salvation herself desire it, she certainly
could not save this family. {Exit.

ACT THE FIFTH

SCENE I

Enter Syrus, drunk, and Demea, on the opposite side of

the stage.

Syr. Upon my faith, my dear little Syrus, you have taken
delicate care of yourself, and have done your duty^ with
exquisite taste; be off with you. But since I've had my fill
of everything indoors, I have felt disposed to take a walk.

Dem. {apart). Just look at that — there's an instance of
their good training !

^ A dance is alluded to where the person who led off drew a rope or
cord after him, which the rest of the company took hold of as they
danced; which was invented in resemblance of the manner in which
the wooden horse was dragged by ropes into the city of Troy.
2 His duty of providing the viands and drink for the entertainment.

300 TERENCE

Syr. {to himself). But see, here comes our old man.
{Addressing him.) What's the matter? Why out of spirits?

Dem. Oh you rascal !

Syr. Hold now; are you spouting your sage maxims
here?

Dem. If you were my servant

Syr. Why, you would be a rich man, Demea, and improve
your estate.

Dem. I would take care that you should be an example
to all the rest.

Syr. For what reason? What have I done?

Dem. Do you ask me? in the midst of this confusion, and
during the greatest mischief, which is hardly yet set right,
you have been getting drunk, you villain, as though things
had been going on well.

Syr. {aside). Really, I wish I hadn't come out.

SCENE II

Enter Dromo in haste, from the house of Micio.

Dro. Hallo, Syrus! Ctesipho desires you'll come back.

Syr. Get you gone. {Pushes him hack into the house.)

Dem. What is it he says about Ctesipho?

Syr. Nothing.

Dem. How now, you hang-dog, is Ctesipho in the house ?

Syr. He is not.

Dem. Then why does he mention him?

Syr. It's another person; a little diminutive Parasite.
Don't you know him?

Dem. I will know him before long. {Going to the
door.)

Syr. {stopping him.) What are you about? Whither
are you going?

Dem. {struggling). Let me alone.

Syr. {holding him). Don't, I tell you.

Dem. Won't you keep your hands off, whip-scoundrel?
Or would you like me to knock your brains out this instant?
{Rushes into the house.)

Syr. He's gone ! no very pleasant boon-companion, upon

THE BROTHERS 301

my faith, particularly to Ctesipho. What am I to do now?
Why, even get into some corner till this tempest is lulled,
and sleep off this drop of wine. That's my plan. {Goes into
the house, staggering.)

SCENE HI

Enter Micio, from the house of Sostrata.

Mic. (to Sostrata, within). Everything's ready with
us, as I told you, Sostrata, when you like. — Who, I wonder,
is making my door fly open with such fury?

Enter Demea in haste, from the house of Micio.

Dem. Alas! what shall I do? How behave? In what
terms exclaim, or how make my complaint? O heavens!
O earth ! O seas of Neptune !

Mic. (apart). Here's for you! he has discovered all about
the affair; and of course is now raving about it; a quarrel is
the consequence ; I must assist him, however.

Dem. See, here comes the common corruptor of my chil-
dren.

Mic. Pray, moderate your passion, and recover yourself.

Dem. I have moderated it; I am myself; I forbear all
reproaches; let us come to the point: was this agreed upon
between us, — proposed by yourself, in fact, — that you were
not to concern yourself about my son, nor I about yours?
Answer me.

Mic. It is the fact, — I don't deny it,

Dem. Why is he now carousing at your house? Why
are you harbouring my son ? Why do you purchase a mistress
for him, Micio ? Is it at all fair, that I should have any less
justice from you, than you from me? Since I do not concern
myself about your son, don't you concern yourself about mine.

Mic. You don't reason fairly.

Dem. No ?

Mic. For surely it is a maxim of old, that among them-
selves all things are common to friends.

Dem. Smartly said; you've got that speech up for the
occasion.

302 TERENCE

Mic. Listen to a few words, unless it is disagreeable,
Demea. In the first place, if the extravagance your sons
are guilty of distresses you, pray do reason with yourself.
You formerly brought up the two suitably to your circum-
stances, thinking that your own property would have to suf-
fice for them both; and, of course, you then thought that I
should marry. Adhere to that same old rule of yours, — save,
scrape together, and be thrifty for them; take care to leave
them as much as possible, and take that credit to yourself:
my fortune, which has come to them beyond their expectation,
allow them to enjoy ; of your capital there will be no diminu-
tion ; what comes from this quarter, set it all down as so much
gain. If you think proper impartially to consider these mat-
ters in your mind, Demea, you will save me and yourself,
and them, considerable uneasiness.

Dem. I don't speak about the expense ; their morals

Mic. Hold; I understand you; that point I was coming
to. There are in men, Demea, many signs from which a
conjecture is easily formed; so that when two persons do the
same thing, you may often say, this one may be allowed
to do it with impunity, the other may not; not that the
thing itself is different, but that he is who does it. I see
signs in them, so as to feel confident that they will turn out as
we wish. I see that they have good sense and understanding,
that they have modesty upon occasion, and are affectionate
to each other; you may infer that their bent and disposition
is of a pliant nature; at any time you like you may reclaim
them. But still, you may be apprehensive that they will be
somewhat too apt to neglect their interests. O my dear
Demea, in all other things we grow wiser with age ; this sole
vice does old age bring upon men : we are all more solicitous
about our own interests than we need be; and in this respect
age will make them sharp enough.

Dem. Only take care, Micio, that these fine reasonings of
yours, and this easy disposition of yours, do not ruin us in
the end.

Mic. Say no more; there's no danger of that. Now
think no further of these matters. Put yourself to-day into
my hands; smooth your brow.

THE BROTHERS 303

Dem. Why, as the occasion requires it, I must do so : but
to-morrow I shall be off with my son into the country at
daybreak.

Mic. Aye, to-night, for my share; only keep yourself in
good humour for the day.

Dem. I'll carry off that Music-girl along with me as well.

Mic. You will gain your point; by that means you will
keep your son fast there; only take care to secure her.

Dem. I'll see to that; and what with cooking and grind-
ing, I'll take care she shall be well covered with ashes, smoke,
and meal; besides all this, at the very mid-day I'll set her
gathering stubble; I'll make her as burnt and as black as a
coal.

Mic. You quite delight me; now you seem to me to be
wise; and for my part I would then compel my son to go
to bed with her, even though he should be unwilling.

Dem. Do you banter me? Happy man, to have such a
temper! I feel

Mic. Ah ! at it again !

Dem. I'll have done then at once.

Mic. Go indoors then, and let's devote this day to the
object ^ to which it belongs. (Goes into the house.)

SCENE IV

Demea alone,

Dem. Never was there any person of ever such well-
trained habits of life, but that experience, age, and custom are
always bringing him something new, or suggesting something ;
so much so, that what you believe you know you don't know,
and what you have fancied of first importance to you, on
making trial you reject; and this is my case at present: for
the rigid life I have hitherto led, my race nearly run, I now
renounce. Why so ? — I have found, by experience, that there
is nothing better for a man than an easy temper and com-
placency. That this is the truth, it is easy for any one to
understand on comparing me with my brother. He has al-

^ The marriage and its festivities.

304 TERENCE

ways spent his life in ease and gaiety; mild, gentle, offensive
to no one, having a smile for all, he has lived for himself, and
has spent his money for himself; all men speak well of him,
all love him. I, again, a rustic, a rigid, cross, self-denying,
morose and thrifty person, married a wife; what misery I
entailed in consequence! Sons were born — a fresh care.
And just look, while I have been studying to do as much as
possible for them, I have worn out my life and years in sav-
ing; now, in the decline of my days, the return I get from
them for my pains is their dislike. He, on the other hand,
without any trouble on his part, enjoys a father's comforts;
they love him; me they shun; him they trust with all their
secrets, are fond of him, are always with him. I am forsaken ;
they wish him to live ; but my death, forsooth, they are long-
ing for. Thus, after bringing them up with all possible
pains, at a trifling cost he has made them his own; thus I
bear all the misery, he enjoys the pleasure. Well then, hence-
forward let us try, on the other hand, whether I can't speak
kindly and act complaisantly, as he challenges me to it: I
also want myself to be loved and highly valued by my friends.
If that is to be effected by giving and indulging, I will not be
behind him. If our means fail, that least concerns me, as I
am the eldest.^

SCENE V

Enter Syrus.

Syr. Hark you, Demea, your brother begs you will not
go out of the way.

Dem. Who is it? — O Syrus, my friend, save you! how
are you ? How goes it with you ?

Syr. Very well.

Dem. Very good. (Aside.) I have now for the first
time used these three expressions contrary to my nature. — " O
Syrus, my friend, how are you? — how goes it with you?"
(To Syrus.) You show yourself far from an unworthy
servant, and I shall gladly do you a service.

1 And therefore likely to be the first to die, and to avoid seeing such
a time come.

THE BROTHERS 305

Syr. I thank you.

Dem. Yes, Syrus, it is the truth; and you shall be con-
vinced of it by experience before long.

SCENE VI

Enter Geta, from the house of Sostrata.

Geta. (to Sostrata, within). Mistress, I am going to see
after them, that they may send for the damsel as soon as
possible; but see, here's Demea. (Accosting him.) Save
you!

Dem. O, what's your name?

Geta. Geta.

Dem. Geta, I have this day come to the conclusion that
you are a man of very great worth, for I look upon him as
an undoubtedly good servant who has a care for his master;
as I have found to be your case, Geta; and for that reason,
if any opportunity should offer, I would gladly do you a
service. (Aside.) I am practising the affable, and it suc-
ceeds very well.

Geta. You are kind, sir, to think so.

Dem. (aside). Getting on by degrees — I'll first make the
lower classes my own.

SCENE VII

Enter ^schinus, from the house of Micio.

i^scH. (to himself). They really are killing me while too
intent on performing the nuptials with all ceremony; the
whole day is being wasted in their preparations.

Dem. ^Eschinus ! how goes it?

^scH. Ha, my father! are you here?

Dem. Your father, indeed, both by affection and by
nature; as I love you more than my very eyes; but why don't
you send for your wife?

^SCH. So I wish to do ; but I am waiting for the music-
girl and people to sing the nuptial song.

Dem. Come, now, are you willing to listen to an old
fellow like me?

JEscH. What is it?

306 TERENCE

Dem. Let those things alone, the nuptial song, the
crowds, the torches, and the music-girls, and order the stone-
wall in the garden here to be pulled down with all dispatch,
and bring her over that way ; make but one house of the two ;
bring the mother and all the domestics over to our house.

^SCH. With all my heart, kindest father.

Dem. (aside). Well done! now I am called " kind." My
brother's house will become a thoroughfare; he will be bring-
ing home a multitude, incurring expense in many ways : what
matters it to me ? I, as the kind Demea, shall get into favour.
(Aside.) Now then, bid that Babylonian^ pay down his
twenty minse. (To Syrus.) Syrus, do you delay to go and
do it?

Syr. What am I to do ?

Dem. Pull down the wall: and you, Geta, go and bring
them across.

Geta. May the Gods bless you, Demea, as I see you so
sincere a well-wisher to our family. (Geta and Syrus go into
Micio's house.)

Dem. I think they deserve it. What say you, ^schinus,
as to this plan?

^SCH. I quite agree to it.

Dem. It is much more proper than that she, being sick
and lying-in, should be brought hither through the street.

^SCH. Why, my dear father, I never did see anything
better contrived.

Dem. It's my way; but see, here's Micio coming out.

SCENE VIII
Enter Micio, from his house.

Mic. (speaking to Geta, within). Does my brother order
it? Where is he? (To Demea.) Is this your order,
Demea ?

1 In consequence of his profuseness he call his brother a Babylonian,
(just as we call a wealthy man a nabob), and says, "Well, let him,
with all my heart, be paying twenty minae (between $350 and $400)
for a music-girl."

THE BROTHERS 307

Dem. Certainly, I do order it, and in this matter, and in
everything else, wish especially to make this family one with
ourselves, to oblige, serve, and unite them.

^scH. Father, pray let it be so.

Mic. I do not oppose it.

Dem. On the contrary, i' faith, it is what we ought to do :
in the first place, she is the mother of his wife (pointing to

JESCHINUS.)

Mic. She is. What then?

Dem. An honest and respectable woman.

Mic. iSo they say.

Dem. Advanced in years.

Mic. I am aware of it.

Dem. Through her years, she is long past child-bearing;
there is no one to take care of her ; she is a lone woman.

Mic. (aside). What can be his meaning?

Dem. It is right you should marry her; and that you,
^Eschinus, should use your endeavours to effect it.

Mic. I, marry her, indeed?

Dem. You.

Mic. I?

Dem. You, I say.

Mic. You are trifling!

Dem. JEschinus, if you are a man, he'll do it.

^scH. My dear father

Mic. What, ass! do you attend to him?

Dem. 'Tis all in vain ; it cannot be otherwise.

Mic. Are you mad!

-^SCH. Do let me prevail on you, my father.

Mic. Are you out of your senses? Take yourself off.^

Dem. Come, do oblige your son.

Mic. Are you quite in your right mind? Am I, in my
five-and-sixtieth year, to be marrying at last ? A decrepit old
woman too? Do you advise me to do this?

^SCH. Do; I have promised it.^

^^schinus, probably, in his earnestness, has seized hold of him with
his hand, which Micio now pushes away.

2 This is not the truth; the notion has only been started since he
last saw them.

308 TERENCE

Mic. Promised, indeed; be generous at your own cost,
young man.

Dem. Come, what if he should ask a still greater favour?

Mic. As if this was not the greatest!

Dem. Do comply.

^SCH. Don't make any difficulty.

Dem. Do promise.

Mic. Will you not have done?

-^SCH. Not until I have prevailed upon you.

Mic. Really, this is downright force.

Dem. Act with heartiness, Micio.

Mic. Although this seems to me to be wrong, foolish,
absurd, and repugnant to my mode of life, yet, if you so
strongly wish it, be it so.

i/EscH. You act obligingly.

Dem. With reason I love you; but

Mic. What?

Dem. :I will tell you, when my wish has been complied
with.

Mic. What now? What remains to be done?

Dem. Hegio here is their nearest relation; he is a con-
nexion of ours and poor ; we ought to do some good for him.

Mic. Do what?

Dem. There is a little farm here in the suburbs, which
you let out ; let us give it him to live upon.

Mic. But is it a Httle one?

Dem. If it were a large one, still it ought to be done; he
has been as it were a father to her; he is a worthy man, and
connected with us; it would be properly bestowed. In fine,
I now adopt that proverb which you, Micio, a short time ago
repeated with sense and wisdom — it is the common vice of all,
in old age, to be too intent upon our own interests. This
stain we ought to avoid: it is a true maxim, and ought to
be observed in deed.

Mic. What am I to say to this ? Well then, as he desires
it (pointing to .^schinus), it shall be given him.

JEscu. My father!

Dem. Now, Micio, you are indeed my brother, both in
spirit and in body.

THE BROTHERS 309

Mic. I am glad of it.

Dem. (aside). I foil him at his own weapon.^

SCENE IX
Enter Syrus, from the house.

Syr. It has been done as you ordered, Demea.

Dem. You are a worthy fellow. Upon my faith, — in my
opinion, at least, — I think Syrus ought at once to be made
free.

Mic. He free ! For what reason ?

Dem. For many.

Syr. O my dear Demea! upon my word, you are a
worthy man ! I have strictly taken care of both these sons of
yours, from childhood; I have taught, advised, and carefully
instructed them in everything I could.

Dem. The thing is evident; and then, besides all this,
to cater for them, secretly bring home a wench, prepare a
morning entertainment ; ^ these are the accomplishments of no
ordinary person.

Syr. O, what a delightful man !

Dem. Last of all, he assisted to-day in purchasing this
Music-wench — he had the management of it; it is right he
should be rewarded; other servants will be encouraged
thereby; besides, he (pointing to ^schinus) desires it to
be so.

Mic. (to ^scHiNUs). Do you desire this to be done?

^SCH. I do wish it.

Mic. Why, then, if you desire it, just come hither, Syrus,
to me (he touches him on the ear — the ceremony of manu-
mission) ; be a free man.

Syr. You act generously ; I return my thanks to you all ;
— and to you, Demea, in particular.

Dem. I congratulate you.

^SCH. And I. Syr. I believe you. I wish this joy were

^He probably means, by aping the kind feeling which is a part of
Micio's character.

2 A banquet in the early part or middle of the day was considered
by the Greeks a debauch.

310 TERENCE

made complete — that I could see my wife, Phrygia, free as
well.

Dem. Tieally, a most excellent woman.

Syr. And the first to suckle your grandchild, his son, to-
day (pointing to ^schinus.)

Dem. Why, really, in seriousness, if she was the first to
do so, there is no doubt she ought to be made free.

Mic. What, for doing that? Dem. For doing that; in
fine, receive the amount from me at which she is valued.

Syr. May all the Gods always grant you, Demea, all you
desire. Mic. Syrus, you have thrived pretty well to-day.

Dem. If in addition, Micio, you will do your duty, and
lend him a little ready money in hand for present use, he will
soon repay you. Mic. Less than this (snapping his iingers),

^SCH. He is a deserving fellow.

Syr. Upon my word, I will repay it ; only lend it me.

^SCH. Do, father. Mic. I'll consider of it afterwards.

Dem. He'll do it, Syrus. Syr. O most worthy man!

yEscH. O most kind-hearted father ! Mic. How is this?
What has so suddenly changed your disposition, Demea?
What caprice is this? What means this sudden liberality?

Dem. I will tell you: — that I may convince you of this,
Micio, that the fact that they consider you an easy and kind-
hearted man, does not proceed from your real life, nor, in-
deed, from a regard for virtue and justice; but from your
humouring, indulging, and pampering them. Now therefore,
T^schinus, if my mode of life has been displeasing to you,
because I do not quite humour you in every thing, just or
unjust, I have done : squander, buy, do what you please. But
if you would rather have one to reprove and correct those
faults, the results of which, by reason of your youth, you
cannot see, which you pursue too ardently, and are thought-
less upon, and in due season to direct you; behold me ready
to do it for you.

^SCH. Father, we leave it to you; you best know what
ought to be done. But what is to be done about my brother ?

Dem. I consent. Let him have his mistress: with her
let him make an end of his follies.

Mic. That's right, (to Audience.) Grant us your applause.

SENECA

THE PHiEDRA

HIPPOLYTUS

RENDERED INTO ENGLISH PROSE

WATSON BRADSHAW, M.D., R.N.

ARGUMENT

Phaedra, the step-mother of Hippolytus the son of Antiope the
Amazonian Queen, whilst Theseus was away in the infernal regions,
endeavors to overcome the chastity of Hippolytus, who has devoted
his life to celibacy and selected the pursuits of a sportsman.
Phaedra fails in her attempts and when Theseus returned, the un-
chaste step-mother pretends that Hippolytus her son-in-law had
violently attempted to force her to commit adultery. Theseus, be-
lieving her story, invokes the God (Neptune) to visit his absent son
with death, for he had already fled from his immoral home. Theseus
trusts to the third of his vows, into which he had entered, and
Neptune confirming that vow caused a sea Bull to show itself, on
the shore, as Hippolytus was passing — this frightened the horses of
his chariot, and they rushed madly on, and Hippolytus who is driv-
ing them is dragged over rocks and briers precipitately and meets
his death. But when Phaedra was informed of this, conscious of the
mischief she had brought upon him, she confessed to Theseus her
own guilt and the false charge she had made, and then stabs herself
with a sword. Theseus bewailing the misfortunes of his son and
despising himself for the anger he had so unjustly shown, places
together the scattered fragments of Hippolytus collected from every
source to give them becoming burial.

The story of Phaedra has formed the subject of three of the
world's greatest tragedies: the Hippolytus of Euripides; the Phcsdra
of Seneca, and the Phedre of Racine.

PHiEDRA

DRAMATIS PERSONS

HipPOLYTUS. Messenger.

Ph^dra. Nurse.

Theseus. Attendants.

Chorus of Athenian Citizens.

ACT THE FIRST

HIPPOLYTUS

Hippolytus points out the various places eligible for the*
sportsman, and instructs his attendants and fellow lovers
of the chase, in the various functions appertaining to hunt-
ing pursuits, and he invokes the kind interest of the Goddess
of Hunting (Diana).

Set out, my sporting companions; surround the shady
woods with nets, snares and dogs with a keen scent, and as
thou wanderest forth, scour with eager strides the lofty sum-
mits of the Cecropian mountain, and those plains, which lie
at the foot of rocky Parnes, and where the river running in a
rapid stream beats upon the banks of the Thriasian valley,
climb the hills, which are always white with the Riphsean
snows; some go here, others go there, wherever a grove is
seen with its lofty alders — Wherever smiling meadows are
to be found — Where the gentle Zephyr with its dewy breath
favors the growth of the vernal grass — Where, too, the
smooth Ilissus glides slowly along near the barren fields, or
where the Mseander, in its tardy serpentine course, approaches
places of similar character and skims over the sterile sands!
deposited by that sluggish river (throwing up sand instead of

313

314 SENECA

mud) — Wend thy way to where the Marathon to the left of
thee opens out its forests; or in those spots where the wild
animals, having recently brought forth, seek for their nightly
food, accompanied by their little flocks — or turn to that side
where, subjected to the warm South West wind the hardy
Acharnse is able to tone down the severity of the cold (as-
sisted by the rocky mountains near it) — Another detachment
must explore the mountain heights of sweet Hymettus
(famous for its thyme and honey) — and another will take
the small places about Aphidna; but that part has for some
time been exempt from our sporting raids, where the prom-
ontory Sunion stretches out its shores to the winding sea —
If any of you are attracted by the excitement of the chase,
then the woods of Phlyeus will satisfy thee, here, the wild
boar, so well remembered by those who have been wounded
by his tusks, still incites the fears of the natives (husband-
men). But some of you let loose dogs, which do their work
without alarming the game, with their barking or other
canine noises, but thou must hold in with stout thongs the
fierce Mastiff breed and the fiery Cretan hounds. Blood-
hounds will strain even strong chains, which hold them in,
and wear away the hair of their strong necks, with their
energy — but when you are using the Spartan hounds, they
are courageous dogs, and very eager for blood — you must
hold them in with a shortened cord; (give them less latitude)
the time will soon be here, when they will make the hollow
rocks and caves resound again, when they give tongue; after
that, with their noses to the ground, they will catch the scent,
and with their heads verily pressing the earth, they will
search out every spot, even whilst it is yet twilight, and whilst
the dewy surface still retains the imprint of the game, that
have traversed it, another portion of you will carry the larger
nets, a great load, though, for the shoulders! Another will
get ready with the finer sort of nets; large feathers, painted
over with red marks, you will find, have a tendency to shut
in some of the wild animals, frightening them with their
novelty! then will be the time for you to discharge your
arrows — you will at the same time have to aim your blows
vigorously with your broad sword, right and left! Another

PH^DRA 315

division of you will hide in ambush, and scare the wild ani-
mals, in all directions with the human voice (plentiful shout-
ing). Then thou as a conqueror, wilt with thy curved hunt-
ing-knife cut them open and remove the viscera (the thorax
and abdominal contents) — ^behold! Diana! courageous god-
dess, thou art always at hand for a fellow-sportsman, thou
whose assigned territories are in sequestered and solitary
places, by whose never- failing arrows the wild beasts are
sought out and brought to earth wherever they may be found,
whether it be those which slaken their thirst in the cool
Araxis, or those that frisk about on the frozen Danube ; with
thy certain right hand (never failing) thou lay est low the
Libyan Lions, (Gaetulian) — thou, who overtakest the Cretoean
Stag, wilt at one time bring down with thy nimble hand the
swift fallow deer — then the striped tiger will offer its breast
to thy weapon as it advances to the attack — the shaggy bisons
will lend their backs for thy certain aim, and the wild buffaloes
with their wide-spread horns! avail thyself also of anything
that is seeking its food in the deserted plains — Whatever is
noticeable in the country of the poor wandering Garamantes,
or anything which the Arab can offer in his woods, abounding
with spices, or on the summits of the wild Pyrenees, or those
regions which are obscured by the Hyrcanian forests, and
where the wandering Scythian in his uncultivated plains fears
thy quiver! Oh! Mighty Diana! if any grateful hunter, who
invokes thy aid, and if thou art propitiously inclined, ventures
into the forest, the nets he prepares will hold the wild animals
securely confined, no struggling efforts with the feet will break
through the snares, and the spoil is safely borne away on the
creaking waggon — then it is, that the dogs have their noses
freely tinged red with the blood of the animals they had
fastened upon with their teeth, and the rustic party will re-
turn to their cottages with protracted demonstrations of joy
— Behold! the Goddess is favorable to the cause! Hark the
knowing dogs are sending forth a signal for us, they are bark-
ing! We are invited to the woods, this way! Companions,
all this way! our journey will be shortened by taking this
route! (signifying the direction they were to take).

316 SENECA

PH^DRA— NURSE

Phcedra confesses to her nurse — that she is ardently in love
with HippolytuSj and the nurse exhorts her in vain to desist
from such a wicked amour,

Fhjedra

Oh! Crete! thou important ruler of a vast sea, whose in-
numerable ships command the ocean, beating on every shore,
wherever Nereus carves a path for the various tracks of the
navigators as far as the Assyrian shores — Why dost thou
compel me, handed over as a species of hostage to repugnant
household gods, married, tied up, to an absolute enemy, and
doomed to pass my life in misery and tears! Behold! my
exiled husband remains away from me, and Theseus is still
keeping faith with his wife after the old fashion, promising
to come back! As the valiant companion of a venturesome
love-making adulterer Pirithous, he starts off through the
realms of darkness to that relentless river, whence there is no
return (The Styx) in order that he may forcibly abduct
Proserpine from the throne of the King of Hell — the con-
spirator in this mad scheme, and this father of Hippolytus
is on the look-out in the depths of Acheron, for an oppor-
tunity to practise his lustful propensities and to overcome the
chastity of Proserpine — ^But another distress still greater sits
on my troubled mind; — quiet — repose — ^know me not — no
welcome sleep visits me to relieve my oppressed mind, bowed
down by my anxieties; and the mischief is being nursed and
is waxing stronger, and I am burning inwardly, much in the
same way, that the smoke of ^tna is nourished by the flam-
ing caverns below! The knitting and weaving work as
taught by Minerva is completely set aside, and the wools no
sooner than they are taken up, slip from my fingers — It is
not allowed to me to propitiate the Goddess of Chastity in her
temples, and mixing in the company of the Attic Matrons at
the altars, to brandish my guilty torches amidst the Eleusinian
ceremonies, nor to approach with chaste prayers, and pious

PH^DRA 317

observances, the Deity that presides in the realms subject to
her jurisdiction — No! it pleases me more to pursue the ter-
rible wild animals, as they take to flight, in the company of
Hippolytus and to hurl the weighty javelin from my gentle
hand — But why rave I thus. Oh ! my soul? Why do I hanker
so madly after the forests? it calls to my mind the fatal mis-
fortune which befell my miserable mother; our criminal
amours were both conducted in these fatal woods! Oh! my
mother! as thy daughter, have compassion on my crime! for
thou, incited by some criminal passion, wert bold enough to be
enamoured with the fierce leader of the herd (The Bull given
to Minos by Neptune), but though fierce and impatient of
restraint, that practical adulterer, although only the head of
an indomitable flock, was susceptible of the influence of the
fatal passion! What deity art thou, who comest to me in
my misery? Oh what Daedalus will be able to assist me in
restraining the consequences of my ardent passion? No!
even if he were to come to my aid, with all the contrivances
and labyrinths arising out of the Mopsopian skill (Daedalus
hailed from Attica, where Mopsopus was King), although he
did shut up far from mortal gaze the monster that emanated
from our race! Could even he, alas, promise any alleviation
to my miseries? Could even, alas! Venus, assist us? she
who hates the entire progeny of Phoebus and who is only too
ready to avenge herself upon us; as a set-off, for her own
amorous entanglements with Mars, she saddles them with
everything, that is infamous to the whole race of Phoebus
(Phoebus detected Mars and Venus during an amour) and
gives out that no amour of a legitimate character could be
boasted of by any of us, but what was always associated with
some indelible crime!

NuR. Oh! wife of Theseus! illustrious progeny of Jupi-
ter, expel at once all criminal thoughts from thy chaste mind ;
conquer thy ardent passions, and do not give thyself up,
without a struggle, to these wicked desires! Whoever reso-
lutely opposes illicit love, and checks it in the bud what a
happily-secured conqueror that person is! — On the contrary
she who encourages a wicked passion, because it is pleasant
and does her best to deceive herself, and whilst desirous to

318 SENECA

give up the task upon which she has entered, sometimes finds
that it is too late to be easily accomplished — Nor does it es-
cape my conviction, how royal pride inaccessible to usual in-
fluences and unaccustomed to hear the truth at all times, is
anything but willing to be turned into the right path, when
once it had swerved from it! Whatever ending this business
may have, I am willing to subscribe to it (endorse it). Thou
seest, my time is nearly up, my approaching enfranchisement
(freedom) is nigh, and this makes an old woman like myself
speak out! The first step for the honorable mind to en-
courage is to be willing to remove an evil and do not let the
opportunity for so doing slip from thy grasp ; the second stage
of honor would necessarily be, to learn the full extent of
that evil! To what art thou tending in thy miserable frame
of thought? Why dost thou aggravate the evil which still
attaches to thy house (race) ? or art thou endeavouring to
surpass thy mother in crime? thy sin would be greater than
even the " monster " crime ! For thou must put the " mons-
ter " crime down to fate ! thy wickedness thou couldst trace
to nothing but thy own foul inclinations! If thy husband
does not see what is going on in the upper world (Theseus
is away in the Infernal regions), dost thou believe that the
crime could be kept away from his knowledge with any de-
gree of certainty, and that, under any circumstances, that he
would not entertain grave apprehensions as to the true char-
acter of the crime? If thou supposest otherwise, thou art
mistaken: dost thou believe that Theseus will remain hidden
in the depths of Hell, and have to put up with his Stygian
prison for evermore? And what will he say (Minos) who
rules the seas in that wide kingdom, that father who adminis-
ters the laws to hundreds of nations? Will he permit a
crime of such magnitude to remain undiscovered? The prin-
cipal function of a parent is to exercise especial vigilance and
care as regards his offspring, and to take care too, that he
is not in any way the victim of deception ! But we may take
it for granted that we shall never be able to conceal so enor-
mous a crime with any amount of craft or artifices! What
will that maternal grandfather of thine (Phoebus) think of
this crime? He that sheddeth his penetrating rays upon the

PH^DRA 319

things of this world! What, too, will thy fraternal grand-
father (Jupiter) the ruler of all the Gods, think? He that
causes the very universe to tremble, with the lightnings shot
forth from the furnaces of ^^tna, and hurled with a hand
too, of such dazzling brightness? With such grandfathers
as these seeing and knowing all things as they do, dost thou
suppose that this matter can be so managed that thou shouldst
remain undiscovered? Dost thou think, on the contrary, that
a favorable construction will be put upon such abominable
adultery, and the clemency which is always denied to all
other great crimes, should form any exception in the case
of thy adultery? What thy present suffering is, appears
to be the fear of a guilty conscience only, a heart steeped in
criminal desires and dreading the stings of remorse! Any
woman may deem herself safe from punishment for her
adultery, but no woman can reckon on absolute security
against the chances of being found out! I entreat thee,
extinguish the flames of thy impious love — a crime that
has never been known to be committed in lands the most
barbarous — not by any of the Getae, who wander in the plains
— Nor those in the wild steppes of the Taurus, or by the
wandering Scythians! Drive this wicked design out of thy
mind, preserve thy chastity, and think of thy mother's fate,
abhor fresh copulations and such ones! Why! thou art now
meditating an unheard-of medley — sharing the nuptial couch
with father and son! indiscriminately! and about to risk an
inexplicable impregnation for thy adulterous womb ! Go on !
and invert the very course of nature by thy criminal passion!
Why should monsters be done away with? Why should the
labyrinth of thy natural brother go begging for a tenant?
As long as a Cretan woman, I suppose, desires to carry on
an amour, so long must the world be prepared to hear of some
monster's arrival, which it is unaccustomed to behold, and so
long must Nature herself act conformably with her compli-
cations !

Ph. What thou tellest me, Nurse, I know is quite true,
but my infatuation leads me to contemplate even the worst
things, my mind, although I am perfectly aware of what I
am doing, carries me away headlong and it then, as it were,

320 SENECA

sways to and fro, seeking in vain to follow more righteous
counsels, as when the mariner is urging on his heavily-laden
craft, against an adverse sea, his labor is expended in vain,
and his craft is driven astern, in spite of every effort, by the
obstinate tide! What reason suggests, my infatuation over-
comes, and I continue to rage, and a very potent deity it is, I
assure thee, which exercises such perfect dominion over my
mind and its inclinations — the deity I mean is that winged
god, that rules in every land, and sets the feelings of the
great Jupiter himself on fire, with his indomitable power —
and the warlike Mars has also shown his susceptibility to the
fatal passion! That God, Vulcan, the fabricator of the three-
forked lightning, and he, who is always keeping his furnaces
in working order on the summits of ^tna, has himself glowed
again, with the fires inspired by Cupid, whilst Phoebus himself
has been wounded by that Boy (Cupid is always represented
as a boy) who directs his darts with greater precision than he
who has succumbed to darts more powerful than his own
(Jupiter). This little winged boy hovers about the bright
heavens and this dull globe of ours with equal pertinacity !

NuR. It could only have been lust, which always basely
inclines to vicious courses, that originally transformed the
amorous passion into a deity, and in order that there should
be more latitude afforded to the votaries of Venus ! Erycina
(Venus) sends forth her prowling little son, I warrant thee,
through every land, and has dignified him, for the passion,
which he inspires, by investing him with the title of a spurious
Deity! This little son of Venus flying through the heavens,
dares to hurl his dangerous, wanton and insolent darts at the
Gods themselves, with his delicate little hand ! And this little
fellow, although he holds only a certain special power
amongst the gods, the mad ambition of his mother has
awarded him this empty rank and made him her ancillary deity
and armed him with the bow of a god! Whosoever exacts
too much in prosperity and is surrounded with luxury is al-
ways hankering after something fresh — his lustful propensi-
ties, those awful companions of unlimited fortunes, advance
upon him "pari passu." Ordinary food does not satisfy him
— he is not content with a residence of respectable pretensions,

PH^DRA 321

and his viands are objectionable, if they do not cost enough
money! Why then does this pest, criminal love, select and
fasten upon the homes of the opulent, and enter so rarely
the homesteads with impoverished Penates? Why does laud-
able love exist only amidst humble roofs; the common herd
of mankind hold their natural affections in check, avoiding
extremes, and the man with modest means restrains his un-
bridled passions; on the contrary, the wealthy, especially
those who enjoy the additional advantages appertaining to a
kingdom, are always sighing for more than is really right
for them to have! What is not possible they wish to be so,
so thou canst understand, who art desiring too much, what the
obligations are, and what becomes one who is raised to that
royal pinnacle — a throne. Go thou in fear, and dread the
husband who will return to his kingdom !

Ph. I reign in the kingdom of Love, which is at present
a sovereign power with me, and I do not fear any one's re-
turn— He who has been once submerged in that silent abode
of perpetual darkness, has gone whence he will never more
reach the regions above !

NuR. Do not believe that Pluto may have been pleased to
shut him up, as a prisoner in his kingdom, and the Stygian
Dog (Cerberus)' may be guarding the dreadful portals. Has
not Theseus unassisted, already found a way " there " which
is denied to all others ?

Ph. Perhaps he might forgive me for this love affair of
mine.

NuR. But was he not severe enough in his nature, even
towards a chaste wife? Did not the barbarian Antiope ex-
perience his savage nature? but supposing it possible, under
ordinary circumstances, to pacify an angry husband! Who
could expect to subdue a disposition so intractable as that of
Hyppolytus? He avoids women, and hates their very name;
he has dedicated his life, perhaps cruelly towards himself, to
perpetual celibacy; in a word, he eschews marriage entirely:
remember his Amazonian origin!

Ph. It pleases me to follow his haunts, to find him hang-
ing about on the heights of snowy hills, and to see him tramp-
ing along, over the rough rocks with nimble strides, and

322 SENECA

to accompany him over the lofty forests and the mountain
sides.

NuR. Dost thou think that he will stop and abandon him-
self kindly to thy adulterous embraces, and exchange his
chaste habits and ideas for those of a highly immoral love?
He will put thee under the ban of his hatred, the same hatred,
indeed, which he entertains towards all women.

Ph. Could he not be overcome by my soft entreaties ?

NuR. He is fierce and obdurate.

Ph. I have learned the method of overcoming savage-
ness with love (meaning that she has managed Theseus).

NuR. He will fly from thee.

Ph. H he does fly, I will follow him, over the seas, even!

NuR. Remember his father.

Ph. Remember the mother as well.

NuR. He flies from our whole sex.

Ph. I do not fear any meretricious rival.

NuR. But thy husband may return.

Ph. Yes, the confederate of Pirithous!

NuR. Thy father, also may come.

Ph. Oh! the father of Ariadne, he was kind to her?

NuR. By these locks (placing her hands on them) now
grey with old age, as a suppliant I entreat thee by this breast
of mine enfeebled by anxieties, by the nipples at which thou
once didst fly with infantine eagerness — stay thy madness —
lend aid to thy own righteous cause; a great step in the art
of being cured, is to wish for a remedy, and then submit to
the "modus curandi" — the means of cure!

Ph. Every feeling of shame is not quite extinguished
from my natural disposition ! Let me prepare. Nurse, for my
task — a love which cannot be kept under, must be trodden
down. I am not willing that my reputation should be sul-
lied— this is the only way out of my difficulty, the only means
of escaping from my crime — I must join my husband! I
must anticipate crime by death!

NuR. Try and govern, my nurse child, the wild impulses
of thy heart, restrain unholy passions. I conclude from thy
remarks, that thou art more worthy to live, and for this
reason, that thou now considerest thyself more worthy to die.

PH^DRA 323

Ph. I have determined to die, Nurse, but the kind of
death is the next question — Shall I end my life with the noose
(strangulation) or fall upon the sword, or sallying forth
shall I throw myself headlong from the lofty citadel of
Pallas? Ah! happy thought! I will arm my hand as the
means of avenging my chastity.

NuR. Dost thou think that even my old age will ever
permit thee to court an untimely death! I pray thee stay
these insane impulses ; it is not an easy thing for any one to
be brought to life again.

Ph. Then no law can hold good, which forbids any one
to die, whenever he has determined to die, and feels that he
ought to die

NuR. Oh! my mistress! the only solace to my wearied
life, if a mad notion so persistently haunts thy mind I say,
hold reputation in contempt, we know that rumour seldom
inclines to the truth — makes out a better, when one deserves a
worse character and a worse character when one merits a more
favorable one. Let me try what I can do for thy sad unman-
ageable mind — that shall then be my undertaking to seek out
the wild youth, and see whether I can bend the inclinations of
that savage young man !

CHORUS

The Chorus espouses the assumption, that all things should
yield to love, that mankind of every position, every age,
every condition, the Gods above, and the Gods below, and
even dozvn to the dumb creation, all animals zvhether ter-
restrial (brutes), aquatic (fishes), or aerial (birds).

Oh! Goddess (Venus) sprung from the tempestuous waves
whom that double- functioned Cupid (Eros and Anteros, the
latter the divine love, the former the grosser and sensual
passions) calls mother — never flagging in his activity with
the arrows, and reckless, as to the love-inspiring pas-
sions, he brings about. Oh! that lascivious little boy
(Eros) with his deceptive smiles, with what sure effect
does he operate with his ceaseless quiver! His inspiring
power searches out the innermost marrow of our very bones,

324 SENECA

drying up in its progress the coursing veins with his furtive
fires! The wounds which he inflicts, however, present no
very broad external surface! they are deep wounds! but the
germ absorbed therefrom consumes the marrow hidden away
in the recesses of our organism (figuratively neutralizing the
power of resistance) — there is no rest where that little boy
is concerned in his nimble flight, he scatters, far and wide, in
every clime, in every nook, the arrows which he shoots forth
from his restless untiring quiver! Whatever land witnesseth
the rising of the sun, or whatever land lies where the chariot
of Phoebus stops at the end of his Hesperian journey (the
west, the late setting of the Sun), or whatever country is
under the scorching tropic of Cancer, and if there be any
country beneath the frigid Ursa Major, which affords a shelt-
ering resting-place to the hordes of wandering tribes, each
one of these has experienced the effects of the wounds of
Cupid, which equally excite the fierce ardor of impetuous
youth, or coaxingly invite back the died-out passions of the
aged and decrepit! He strikes the hearts of the tender vir-
gins, and evokes a thrill — a passion which they had never felt
before! and he even forces the Gods above, quitting their
celestial homes to visit the Earth below and assume all kinds
of disguises for the furtherance of their love-inspiring de-
signs! Phoebus, originally the shepherd of the Thessalian
flocks, drove the herd, and having laid aside his lyre, called
them together with his pipe made up of variously sized reeds,
and how often has he assumed, as well, the forms of the lower
animals! The great Jupiter, who rules the heavens and the
cloudy firmament, sometimes as a bird, has assumed its wings
and plumage of shining whiteness, and furthered the decep-
tion with a voice sweeter than that of the dying swan — at
another time, as a fierce bull, with a savage visage, he gives
up his back for the amusement of young virgins, and then
travels over a fresh kingdom, his brother Neptune's aquatic
empire (the sea), and overcomes the suspicious element, with
his powerful chest contending against its obstinacy, and fur-
thermore to quiet it (the sea recognizes a new master) imi-
tates the sounds produced by rowers, through certain move-
ments of his feet as he timidly pursues his way with his

PH^DRA 325

capture (Europa) lest she should be submerged! The illus-
trious goddess of the sky, when in darkness (night) forsakes
her nocturnal post and hands over to her brother her brilliant
chariot to be under his guidance after a different manner
(hinting at his mode of driving) — ^he learns, however, to
manage the two-horsed nocturnal chariot of his sister, and to
go by a shorter circuit, but the night does not preserve its
usual duration — it is longer, and as a consequence the day-
light returns with a retarded arrival, whilst the axles of the
chariot seem to give way under their heavier burden
(Phoebus). That son of Alcmena (Hercules) laid aside his
quiver, and that terrifying trophy the skin of the Nemaean
Lion, and permitted his fingers to be bejewelled with emerald
rings, and to have his rough locks perfumed and dressed, and
to be carefully done up according to the prevailing fashion,
and with that huge hand, which hitherto had only wielded a
ponderous club, now and then drew out the threads, in a
mincing, effeminate manner, whilst working away right mer-
rily with the spindle ! — He then fastens to his legs with bands
ornamented with gold, the yellow slippers " Socci " with which
he had inclosed his feet. Persia and Lydia, those fertile coun-
tries, with their rich kingdom, have witnessed the fact of
Hercules throwing down in disgust the lion's skin from his
shoulders on which had aforetime rested the very heavens
with their palaces; and donning a cloak made up of some
flimsy Tyrian-purple fabric. And this is that execrable fire
of Love. Believe in those, that have suffered from its too
terrible effects ! Whatever land is surrounded by the deep sea,
whatever bright stars pursue their course in the ethereal sky,
this insolent pertinacious little boy holds such kingdoms in
his sway — Of whose thrusts the blue water-nymphs, the off-
spring of Nereus and Doris, are susceptible, in the retired
waters even which they inhabit; nor does he, it is perceived,
exempt the sea from his visitations (passions) — the wing-
bearing portion of nature, they feel his fires! and what
terrific battles the bulls, urged on by the venereal oestrum,
will wage for supremacy amongst the rest of the herd; and
the timid stags will stand their ground, when their females
are in danger, and they evince with their loud mewings the

326 SENECA

symptoms of the anger which possesses them — ^then the tawny
Indian dreads the striped tigers more than ever, and then the
wild boar appears to have his teeth sharper than usual by the
cruel wounds he causes, and his jaws are covered with foam;
the Carthaginian lions shake their manes unusually when the
amorous feelings possess them, and then it is, that the forests
resound with their savage roaring — even the huge brutes,
denizens of the sea, (whale, grampus, etc.) learn to love, and
then even the huge pachyderms (the Elephants) — Nature
claims all — everything for herself! Nothing is free! Hatred
vanishes, when love commands — Old animosities yield to the
sacred fire of love! What more shall we sing? It is this!
It overcomes with its persistency, even cruel step-mothers !

ACT THE SECOND

CHORUS—NURSE— PH^DRA

The Nurse complains of love as a disease^ as regards its in-
tolerance and the power it assumes; after which Phcedra
gives herself up to a thorough change of raiments, and
dons the garb of an Amazonian huntress, that she may the
more easily captivate Hippolytus,

Chorus

Nurse, tell us ail thou knowest. In what state of mind is
the queen? Is there any moderation evinced yet in her
wicked passions?

NuR. No hope ! so great an evil cannot be easily got rid
of! there will never be an end of her insane infatuation; she
is literally burnt up with the secret flames that rage within
her bosom, and her madness, though kept within herself to
some extent, shows itself in her very looks and gestures, how-
ever else it might be hidden — ^this secret fire springs up into
her eyes and her drooping eyelids avoid the light — nothing
which might have pleased her formerly, satisfies her capricious
mind now — and her uncertain temper discovers itself in her
very bodily attitudes, in the arms which she throws about,

PH^DRA 327

as the mood varies — sometimes her legs give way, and she
falls down, like one about to die, and her head seems with
difficulty held up by her enfeebled neck ; now, when she retires
to rest, she seems to have no disposition to sleep, but passes
the night in vain wailings — she then orders herself to be
raised up in bed, and for her body to be placed in some other
position (to have her bed and arrangements altered to give
greater ease to her body) ; then all at once she orders her
hair to be let down, and then to be dressed again immediately
after — she is intolerant of her very self; her whole demeanour
has undergone a change, she is careless about her food, and
does not care whether she is ill or well — she walks with a tot-
tering gait, in fact, she is thoroughly spent as regards physical
vigor. There is an absence of all her quondam vivacity, nor
does the rosy tinge show itself upon her once delicate com-
plexion, rivalling the driven snow in its purity — she is wearing
out her body with anxiety — already her steps tremble, and the
delicate, graceful comeliness of her figure has vanished — and
her orbs, which bore the indication of her divine origin
(Phoebus) now shine in no way to remind thee of her high-
born descent, or that of her fathers — Her tears are continu-
ally trickling down her face, and her cheeks are bathed with
perpetual moisture! just in the same mode as the drifting
snow, melted by the warm showers, moistens the surface
earth on the mountain ridges of Taurus — But further, behold
when the palatial portals lie open to the visitor, there is the
queen on her throne lounging languidly on a gilded couch,
where she sits and discards all her usual attire and accessories,
in a most unaccountable frame of mind !

Ph. Take away, slaves, these garments dyed with purple
and ornamented with gold ; remove, I command, the ravishing
colors of the Tyrian dyes which adorn those delicate fabrics,
which the "Seres" in their far-off country gather from the
branches of trees ; let a short girdle encircle my loose garments
giving me free use of my limbs, let my neck be relieved of this
necklace, and let not the earrings with their snow-white
precious stones, dangle any longer from my ears — ^the
stones which trace their original home to the far-off Indian
Seas; let my flowing locks be exempt from the Assyrian per-

328 SENECA

fumes — let my hair carelessly fall down my neck and around
my shoulders — let those dishevelled locks wave to and fro,
just as the wind, whatever humor it is in, pleases to direct
them. Give me the quiver which I shall carry in my left,
whilst my right hand shall brandish the Thessalian spear ! As
the mother of stern Hippolytus, used to be, so I desire to be
just as she was, when she led on the savage Amazonian bat-
talions recruited from the marshy districts near the Tanais
and Mseotis, and when she left behind the countries bounded
by the frigid Euxine ! and when she began to tread the Attic
Soil she still continued to gather up her hair in a knot and let
it fall down on her shoulders, with the shield shaped like a
half-moon protecting her side! In such a guise will I make
my appearance in the forests !

NuR. Dismiss thy grief, vain bewailings do not mitigate
sorrow; invoke the aid of Diana, the virgin Goddess, who
presides over what relates to the chase; the queen of the
forests, who alone inhabits the mountains, and the only god-
dess thou canst worship in those deserted elevated regions.
Change thy sad apprehensions of evil for a more favorable
future! Oh! great goddess who presidest amongst the for-
ests and graves, the brilliant star of heavens and the glory of
night whose dominion is lighted up, in thy alternate capacity
with Phoejbus! Oh thou three-formed Hecate! pray come to
us, with any form thou mayst choose to assume, and favor
our enterprise! Break the adamant heart of this wretched
Hippolytus, let him learn to love, let him reciprocate the pas-
sion that burns in the bosom of another — let him give ear
patiently to our entreaties — soften his hard spirit — ensnare
his heart in the meshes of Love, and let him, the savage, re-
pulsive, retiring Hippolytus turn back his nature, and be
brought into full allegiance to the canons of Venus! Oh!
Use thy utmost power to promote this end! And thus may
thy bright countenance shed its brilliant light upon the earth,
and mayst thou come forth, having dispelled the obscuring
clouds, which hide thy glory, with thy radiance unimpaired!
(with thy "cornua" undimmed that is,) that thy disc may
be distinctly seen — the ("horned" heifer was held sacred to
the Moon) and thus may no Thessalian incantations be able to

PH^DRA 329

draw thee from thy undertaking as thou, handhng the reins,
art ruHng the operations of the nocturnal sky, and may no
future shepherd (Endymion) glorify himself at having re-
ceived favors from thee! Come thou as thou art invoked;
Oh, goddess, be propitious to my prayers — I see Hippolytus!
he is about to offer his accustomed sacrifices ; no one is accom-
panying him, no one at his side ! Why do I hesitate ? Time,
place and opportunity are at my disposal! I must use some
artifice, but I dread the experiment ! It is not always an easy
thing to dare to commit a crime, even when thou art ordered
to do it, but sometimes in the interests of those we fear, of
Kings, for example, and fearing as I do Phaedra, one can
afford to ignore the justice of the cause, and to chase away
every known sentiment of shame from one's breast. But it is
a very sorry sample of virtue, nevertheless, which is the mere
tool of regal power.

HIPPOLYTUS— NURSE

The nurse tries artfully to soften the inflexibility of Hip-
polytus, and to turn his thoughts towards marriage, and
the enjoyments of a city life; unmoved by her persuasions,
he adheres to his resolution of passing his existence in
celibacy and devoting himself to rustic pursuits, which he
ranks as preferable to urban attractions.

Hippolytus

Oh! my faithful nurse, only comest thou hither, thor-
oughly fagged out and advancing with the feeble pace of an
old woman, wearing, too, such a look of sadness in thy face,
and with such a woeful, troubled look? Surely my father,
Theseus, is quite safe, and Phaedra, too, is not she quite well?
For she, thou knowest, is the connecting link of our race,
between myself, I mean, (Antiope, my mother) and my half-
brothers (Demophoon and Antigonus by Phaedra).

NuR. Banish thy fears, the kingdom is in a prosperous
condition and thy illustrious family is in the full enjoyment
of its happy lot — but come thou, I pray, in a mild and happy
mood amongst all our pleasant surroundings, for my regard

330 SENECA

towards thyself, rouses within me certain anxious thoughts,
in that, to thy own injury, thou oppressest thyself with such
heavy self-imposed restrictions — that man whom the fates
hold in their power when such a one is miserable, we reward
with our sympathy! — ^but if any man only too readily gives
himself up as a voluntary recipient of misfortune and so far
perverts his natural tendencies, he richly deserves to be de-
prived of the good things of this world, and which, if he had
them, he would be utterly unable to enjoy ! But thou rather,
as thou shouldst, be mindful of thy vigorous youth, relax the
severity toward thyself — ^brighten up, and pass thy nights in
exhilarating amusements, if necessary, let Bacchus assist thy
endeavours in shaking off dull care! Enjoy thy life, thou art
young — time flies in its nimble course, now is the time for
an assailable mind, now is the time that Venus should be a
welcome goddess to amorous youth, let thy heart leap at the
very thought! Why shouldst thou lie at nights, with no de-
sirable bed-fellow? Throw aside sadness from thy youthful
nature, now fasten upon the enjoyments of life. Throw
aside the reins with which thou hast restrained thyself, pre-
vent the last days of thy life from slipping away from thee —
a beneficent Deity has very wisely prescribed the various duties
of mankind, and he has so planned his programme that life
should pass through well-defined stages ! Joy becomes youth
— thoughtful brow befits old age; why shouldst thou curb
thy nature as thou dost, and blot out thy stage of youth,
the stage through which thou art now passing? The grow-
ing corn will afford a plentiful return to the husbandman for
his labor, and each tender shoot will increase till it becomes a
luxuriant blade, and contributes its individual share towards
producing an abundant harvest ! And the sapling will eventu-
ally look down upon the forest with its lofty branches — ^the
tree, which no greedy hand has attempted to fell, or rob of
its umbrageous investiture — a man's mind — when it is well
regulated, is much more calculated to lead on towards a glori-
ous goal, if seasonable liberty gives scope to generous impulses
— Savage and ignorant of the pleasures of life, and of exclu-
sively sylvestrian ideas, thou art passing thy cheerless youth,
forgoing the pleasures of love! Dost thou think that this

PH^DRA 331

way of passing life was ordained for man? that he should
simply put up with every hardship and privation — that he
should do nothing but break in horses for running races and to
wage cruel wars in honor of sanguinary Mars? No — ^the
chief parent of the universe has provided against such a
contingency! When he said that the hand of Death was
so eager to take away what he had made, in order that he
might replace the losses by producing fresh offsprings, " Come
on," he said, "let love go forth amongst human affairs, and
play its part," and it is that (Love) which fills up the vacan-
cies, and replenishes the races, when they are becoming ex-
hausted! The unattractive earth would remain in an uncul-
tivated condition — the blue sea would rest unvisited by any
noble fleets — the winged aerial denizen of the sky would no
longer be seen, and the wild animal would no more infest for-
ests and the atmosphere would be left only for the use of
Phoebus and ^olus ! What different kinds of death take off
and snap up the human race! — the sea — the sword — the
poisoned cup! But can it be believed that the hand of Des-
tiny is wanting on all this that we should seek willingly the
dark realms of Pluto — that youth should choose a life of
celibacy and not propagate the species — this would be the
state of matters. Wherever thou castest thy eyes, there would
only be one generation of every species of animality and
everything would come to a standstill with their disappear-
ance from the scene ! Therefore, follow the dictates of nature,
the originator of life itself, frequent the cities, and cultivate
the society of the citizens !

Hipp. I do not think there is any life which gives one
more liberty, or one more free from harmful influences, than
that which inclines one to love the forests, the cities being
left out of one's calculation — There, no madness of a covet-
ous nature assails a man who devotes himself, interfering
with no one, to the mountain fastnesses — he is not annoyed
there with popular clamor — No vulgar herd to practise their
treachery upon men of uprightness — no wretched envy — no
questionable kindness — and what is more, he is subject to no
dominations ; but he that hangs about a Kingdom, seeks only
for empty honors, or the amassing of riches — the denizen

332 SENECA

of the forest is exempt from alternating hopes and fears, nor
do the loathsome fangs of wicked and voracious envy inflict
their wounds upon him! Nor has he ever been brought in
contact with such people as he would find there, nor with the
villainy they practise, nor does a troubled conscience cause
him to fear every popular outbreak ! Nor has he to invent ex-
cuses or to tell lies! — like the rich man of the cities he does
not sigh for a palace supported by a thousand columns, nor
in his pride, does he adorn his palatial ceilings with a profu-
sion of golden display — nor do a hundred snow-white bulls
submit their necks to the sacrificial knife, and with the cere-
monial meal thrown over them, to be then served lip as
sacred offerings to the Gods ! But he enjoys the open plains,
and wanders, hurting no one — a free man breathing the free
air ! His only knowledge of deception is setting clever snares
for the wild beasts, and when wearied out with his hunting
exertions, he soothes his tired-out frame by bathing in the
silvery streams of the Ilissus! Sometilnes, he chooses the
banks of the swiftly-flowing Alpheus; at other times, he
pitches upon the densest spot in the lofty forests for the pur-
pose of laying his snares, and then he will shift his scene of
operations to where the cool Lerna is transparent with its
crystal streams; here the noisy birds give forth their various
notes — here behold ancient beeches with their branches trem-
bling, whenever struck by the slightest puff of wind ; or some-
times it pleases him to confine himself to the banks of some
wandering river, or to pass his time in gentle slumber, lying
on the naked sod! or sometimes a tremendous fountain will
pour down its rapid streams, or at other times, a swift mur-
mur would strike the ear, as the water ran in and out
amongst the fresh flowers which line the banks, and the fruit
which falls, blown down by the wind serves to satisfy his
hunger — and the wild strawberries plucked from amongst the
small thickets afford him a very ready means of appeasing his
appetite — ^he is possessed of an invincible desire to fly from
royal luxuries. Kings are at liberty to quaff their wine from
the golden goblet, amidst the uncertainties which surround
royalty, but it delights him to take his draught from the
nearest spring, the hollow of his hand serving him as a drink-

PHJEDRA 333

ing-cup — Sleep steals upon the weary with greater certainty,
those that commit their limbs in security, to a hard bed — The
man of the forest does not require, as a thief, to hide away
his pilferings in some sly corner, or obscure place of conceal-
ment, and who being always in fear of detection, shifts his
resting-place (abode) from one locality to another! Nay!
he seeks only the air and light of heaven and lives openly,
under the canopy of the sky! Indeed, I suppose during the
earlier ages, when men mixed up with the gods, they lived
pretty much in this kind of way. No one, amongst such men
as those, was led headlong by any desire to amass heaps of
gold. No stone, held sacred as the land-mark of proprietor-
ship, parcelled out the lands amongst the people (at that
time). Venturesome crafts had not at such an epoch dared
to risk the dangers of the ocean — Every one knew his own sea
— his own surroundings — they had not at that time encom-
passed their cities and depended the approaches thereto with
\ast walls and numerous towers — no soldier sighed to handle
the ferocious weapons for slaughtering his fellow-man, nor
did the battering-ram, directed against closed portals, break
them open with the enormous stones which it hurled against
them! Nor did the earth demand the necessity for any
ploughman to guide the efforts of the yoked oxen! but the
people demanding nothing but what was necessary for their
existence, with no anxious care about agriculture, subsisted
on what the fields, of their own accord, afforded them.
The forests yielded up their native resources, and ob-
scure grottoes supplied them with habitations ; an impious de-
sire to obtain power then induced them to break treaties, into
which they had solemnly entered, then heedless rage and the
lawless desires which agitated the maddened mind, then en-
sued the sanguinary thirst for power — the weaker man fell a
prey to the stronger one — and instead of law, and justice,
strength became the prevailing arbiter! then, at first, they
fought with the naked fists, and when they began to be more
civilized, stones and rough cudgels (club-law) served them
as weapons with which to conduct their strife. At that time,
there was no cornel stem armed with the slender spear, or
sword with its tapering point attached to the side, or crested

334 SENECA

helmets with their plumes shaken by the agitating breeze —
universal rivalry dictated these various instruments of de-
struction. Then warlike Mars discovered fresh devices and a
thousand different forms of dealing out Death — hence, very
soon, the blood that was shed stained every land, and the sea
was even reddened by it! Then crimes having no bounds,
spread into every dwelling and no crime was committed that
had not a precedent! Brother slew brother, and parent fell
by the right hand of son, husband lay prostrate by the sword
of a wife, and impious mothers destroyed their own offspring
— I will be silent about stepmothers, nothing is less cruel even
amongst the wild beasts! But a woman is the leader of all
mischief — this architect of crimes besieges the minds of man-
kind in consequence of whose adulteries, entire cities have
been noted incestuous and have been burnt to the ground.
Many nations wage war on this account, and kingdoms thus
cast down from their lowest foundations have ruined so many
peoples! Let no mention be made of others, Medea to wit,
the wife of yEgeus, is sufficient to make through her acts the
whole race of womankind detestable!

NuR. Why should the crimes of the few be construed as
the sins of the many?

Hipp. I detest them all, I dread them, I avoid them, I
curse their very existence! Whatever the reason may be,
whether it is my nature to do so, or whether it be some in-
explicable madness (on my part), it nevertheless pleases me
to hate them! Thou mayst attempt to amalgamate fire and
water, or rather reckon upon a favorable voyage for thy
crafts over the treacherous sands of the Syrtes, or rather that
the Hesperian Tethys should expect the god of light
(Phoebus) to reverse his chariot, and cause the sun to rise at
the western extremity of his journey! And the rapacious
wolf will learn to gaze with absolute affection upon the timid
deer — when I am so far subdued as to entertain a mild feeling
toward womankind.

NuR. Love often breaks in obstinate rebellious hearts
and changes their hatred into the tender passion — Think of
thy mother's kingdom, the ferocious Amazonian women feel
the force of love — Thou (a boy) the only remaining male de-
scendant of that race art a living proof !

PH^DRA 335

Hipp. This consolation, the only one I retain for my
having lost my mother, is that I am now able to hate all
women !

NuR. As the rugged rock remains on all sides, obdurate
to the waves beating against it, and repels to a distance the
waters which become fairly weary of their task (making no
impression on the said rocks), so does Hippolytus turn back
(reject) my appeal, but Phaedra impatient of delay abruptly
advances (exclaiming). What chance will bring Hippolytus
here? Where will her mad resolution lead her? On a sud-
den she falls to the ground like a dead person, and a death-
like pallor comes over her face ! Raise thy eyes, look at me,
speak quickly, behold! my nurse-child, thy own Hippolytus!
'Tis Hippolytus himself who holds thee in his arms! (This
is said to rouse Phaedra out of her swoon.)

PH^DRA— HIPPOLYTUS— NURSE— ATTENDANTS

They all try to overcome the virtue of Hippolytus, hut
without success; they have recourse to deceit and
calumny,

Phaedra

Who is It that is restoring me to my old anguish (now
that I am coming to) and is bringing back the dreadful tu-
multuosities which agitate my soul? How well it was, when
my senses had left me (alluding to the swoon and the mental
respite it had afforded). Take courage! oh! my soul; let me
try my utmost! Why do I refuse the welcome arrival of
light, shining as it were on a dark place (alluding to the ar-
rival of Hippolytus who is standing by) ? Let me carry out
the task already determined upon! (To the Nurse.) Cour-
ageous words will often succeed! Whilst they who timidly
appeal, only tacitly ask for a rude repulse! — I am the chief
performer in this drama of crime, and it has already been
half enacted, any reluctant feelings on my part are now too
late for me to be showing! I have chosen to love in a
criminal manner, and if I persevere as I commenced, perhaps!

336 SENECA

who knows? I shall be able to neutralize the crime after all,
with the kindly aid of the marriage knot (that is if Theseus
does not return, Hippolytus may be induced to marry me).
Success we all know some times makes even certain down-
right crimes wear the appearance of glorious deeds ! Now let
me begin. But oh, for the courage to do so! Give me a
hearing, Hippolytus, I pray for a short time! but alone —
if there be any companion or attendant near, let him go
away!

Hipp. Look, here is a spot which is free from any intru-
sive observation.

Ph. But my tongue forbids me to utter what I want
to say, just as I am about to begin — Great assertion enables
me to speak, but a stronger power chokes my utterance — I
call all the heavenly gods to witness this ; do not thou be un-
willing to grant me what I crave.

Hipp. Let not the heart desire anything which cannot find
language to express what is the thing that is sought for !

Ph. Trivial matters are easily spoken of, but those of
overwhelming concern are difficult to approach !

Hipp. Trust thy cares to my ears, mother !

Ph. That name of mother, Hippolytus, is no doubt a
proud one, but from thy lips it sounds too inapplicable for
me, a milder name would represent my love towards thee,
Hippolytus. Call me sister, Phaedra, or slave, any name but
mother — I prefer the word slave — as I will render to thee all
the duties of a slave ; it would not distress me, if thou shouldst
command me to walk in the deepest snows — ^to climb the
frozen mountain sides of Pindus, nor if thou orderest me to
pass through the raging fires and the hostile battalions in
battle array, would I hold back, from presenting this breast of
mine to the pointed sword ! Accept the throne which shall be
handed over to thee, and accept me as a willing slave ! It is
only right that thou shouldst rule the kingdom, and that I
should obey thy commands — it is not a woman's duty to
undertake the sovereign power over the cities. Thou who
art in the very prime of youthful manhood, and vigor, and
brave withal, do thyself govern the citizens in thy father's
Kingdom! Protect me as thy humble suppliant servant,

PHiEDRA 337

whom, I pray thee, to receive into thy bosom (the bosom' of
protection not of love), pity me a widow!

Hipp. May the chief of the Gods avert such a prediction
from being verified (that Phaedra should be a widow) ; my
parent will soon return in safety.

Ph. The monarch of that Kingdom, which keeps a tena-
cious grasp on its subjects, and the ruler of the silent Styx —
has not ordained for them a way back to the earth above,
when once they have quitted it, and it is not likely that he will
release those who meditated the capture of his spouse unless,
indeed, Pluto is indulgent and inclined to connive at the daring
amour of the ravisher !

Hipp. The Gods of heaven, more favorable, however,
will allow him to return, but whilst they may be regarding
his wishes as uncertain, I will take charge of my dear brothers
with that affection which I ought to show them, and let my
reward be, that thou wilt no longer consider thyself a widow,
as I will myself fill up the place of their absent parent.

Ph. Oh! the clinging hope of credulous love! Oh! the
love that is playing with my affection! Have I not declared
myself sufficiently, I will approach thee once more with my
entreaties ! Pity me, listen to the prayers of a heart that dares
not to speak out ! I would speak more plainly but I cannot ! it
grieves me to confess what I feel !

Hipp. What is the evil which troubles thee in this
manner ?

Ph. An evil which thou wouldst scarcely believe could
befall any stepmother ! love for her step-son !

Hipp. Thou throwest out puzzling expressions, in such
ambiguous language too, speak out openly.

Ph. The fire of my passionate love is burning within my
maddened breast, and with its cruel flames it is consuming
the very marrow of my bones, and traverses the innermost
blood-vessels of my body, and that latent fire descends to my
very entrails and courses through the deeply-seated veins,
just as the active flames capriciously ascend, till they reach
the lofty ceilings !

Hipp. Thou art raving now, of course — in consequence
of the chaste love thou hast for Theseus.

338 SENECA

Ph. The fact of the matter, Hippolytus, is this (when I
gaze on thee) I look back with admiration on the face of
Theseus, which he had in days gone by, that face which he
had when a boy, when the incipient beard began to show itself
on his cheeks in the freshness of his youth and innocence,
when he first caught sight of the hidden home of the Gnos-
sian Monster (the Minotaur) and when he gathered up the
clue (the threads) which guided his steps along the winding
paths of the Labyrinth ! How radiant he looked at that time !
Delicate wreaths confined his locks, and carnation hues per-
vaded his tender cheeks, but powerful muscles lay beneath
the soft skin of his arms! Were his features (let me think)
those of thy beloved Phcebe, or of my progenitor Phoebus, or
rather thy own, yes! just thy own, as they were, when he first
found favor with the daughter (Ariadne) of his enemy Minos
— ^just like thee, he posed his lofty head, but there is a natural-
born attractiveness in thee, which shows to greater advantage
(more than what art can supply), but there is all the " father"
nevertheless, about thee, yet some portion of the striking
dignity thou possessest is obviously traceable, equally to thy
savage Queen-Mother Antiope — thy countenance combines
the stern physiognomy of the Scythian with the delicate con-
tour of the Greek! If thou hadst set out for the Cretan Sea,
with thy parent, my sister (Ariadne) could rather have spun
those fatal threads (the clue) for thee! Oh! thou sister of
mine, in whatever part of the starry heavens thou mayst be
shining, I invoke thee to aid my cause so similar to thine own !
One race has wrecked the happiness of two sisters, thou
lovest the father — and I love the son! Behold! the offspring
of a royal line of ancestors suppliantly approaches thee on her
bended knees — contaminated by no crime, my virtue still in-
tact, spotless in purity! I am changed from all this, as re-
gards thee alone ! Confident of my success, I have humiliated
myself by vain entreaties! — This day shall either release me
of this consuming passion or there shall be an end of my
existence. Do pity the loving woman at thy feet !

Hipp. Oh ! great ruler of the Gods, with what slowness
do crimes reach thy ears, with what tardiness dost thou take
cognizance of them! Why wilt thou not send forth thy

PH^DRA 339

lightnings with thy terrible hand, even if it be quite serenely-
disposed at this present moment ? Let the entire sky fall with
the shock of the power and shut out the light with the blackest
of clouds and let the stars, driven back, perform their oblique
functions in an opposite direction! And thou (Phoebus) the
head and chief of the starry throng — thou grand luminary —
wilt thou not take notice of this terrible wickedness in one of
thy race and lest thou shouldst see it, drown the day itself and
retire into thy self-created darkness ! Why, oh ! thou ruler of
the Gods and men, is thy right hand withheld, and why is not
the world set on fire by thy three- forked lightnings! Visit
me with thy lightnings, let me be singled out for thy violent
shocks — let thy swift fires pass through and consume me
forthwith ! I am a guilty wretch and deserve to die — I have
inspired my stepmother with criminal desires ! Behold ! Shall
I live to be regarded as an object for lustful passion and as one
capable of countenancing such horrible impiety? Oh! why
was it that I should have been selected as a ready target for
thy crime? Has my religious austerity, as regards women,
deserved all this? Oh, for that entire female portion of the
universe that subdue mankind by their insidious conquests!
Oh! Crime greater than that committed by Pasiphae, that
monster-bearing mother! Worse art thou than that mother!
She defiled herself with adultery only ! and however the crime
was hidden for a long time, the parturition proclaimed the
shocking deed, in the two- formed being which revealed her
infamy! And an ambiguous infant with the horrible visage
of a bull set the matter at rest! She bore thee in the same
womb! Oh! thrice and four times blessed are those handed
over to a more fortunate fate, whom the hatred and treachery
of stepmothers have wounded, ruined and finally put out of
the world ! Oh ! my father ! I envy thee even ! This crime is
worse than was that of such stepmothers as the Colchian
Medea with the poisoned bowl ! It is a greater calamity this
one (for me) to be ensnared by the mysterious love of a step-
mother !

Ph. And I myself am not unacquainted with the destinies
of our race — we always seek to gain what ought to be
avoided; but although I am not powerful in myself, yet I

340 SENECA

will follow thee through fire, across the tempestuous sea, over
rocks and rivers, which are converted into absolute torrents,
with their impetuosity! Wherever thou wendest thy way, I
shall be madly led on (by my love for thee) and be constantly
at thy side ! Oh ! proud man thou, for the second time I turn
towards thee and cling myself around thy knees !

Hipp. What is this? (retreating a little) Remove the
contact of thy adulterous self from my chaste person! Let
go ! Why, she is actually embracing me ! Let my sword quit
its scabbard, it must exact condign punishment! (seizing
Phgedra) Look, with these curled locks which I am holding
in my left hand, I have bent back thy adulterous head
(Phaedra shows an up-turned face) and never could blood
have been offered at thy altars with greater justification, oh !
quiver-bearing Diana! (This was also an epithet applied to
Apollo.)

Ph. Hippolytus, thou art now making me a participatrix
in thy desires, thou art curing me of my madness, and thy act
exceeds any previous wish of mine: it is this, that I should
die by thy hands, with my chastity unsullied !

Hipp. Go away, live, ask for nothing at my hands, and
this blade of mine after having been in contact merely with
thy adulterous body, shall never more hang from my side,
hitherto innocent of all inchastity! What Tanais (a river in
Scythia) shall purge me of all this? or what marshy Maeotis
stretching with its sluggish waters into the Euxine Sea ? Nor
even the great father himself of the entire ocean world (Nep-
tune) could cleanse me from this foul contamination! Oh!
for the forests then! Oh! for the wild beasts to fall back
upon (as a means of my purification) !

NuR. This criminal plot of ours is completely seen
through by Hippolytus! Why should I hesitate what to do?
Oh! happy thought of mine! I must fasten the crime on
Hippolytus and give out that he on his own accord, made the
lustful advances and importuned Phaedra with his unlawful
love, and our crime must be glossed over by charging him
with it — it is the safest plan we can act upon ; whilst any ap-
prehension has possession of us, we must take the initiative or
we may be the sufferers for this crime ourselves ! When the

PH^DRA 341

crime is more shrouded in secrecy who can possibly appear as
a witness to what he has never seen? (the Nurse then cries
out) Athenians, come hither, ye faithful band of servitors,
help! help! This ravisher, Hippolytus, is intent on commit-
ting a most revolting act of adultery on the Queen — he is
urging his criminal suit, and actually threatens her with the
fear of death — he is intimidating her to yield up her virtue,
with this wicked sword! Look there, he is running away
precipitately, and being somewhat taken aback at the Queen's
determined resistance, has left his sword behind, in his hur-
ried escape ! We must preserve this sword as a memento of
the crime! But first of all let us soothe this sad sufferer!
(meaning Phaedra). (Then addressing the Queen she says).
Let thy locks hang down in a state of disorder, let them re-
main rumpled as they are, as positive indications of such a
criminal outrage (on the part of the ravisher) — Go into the
city, Mistress, and spread the report far and wide, and then
thou canst collect thy faculties somewhat! Why shouldst
thou be tearing away at thyself and avoid the gaze of every
one? It is the consent to do evil that constitutes a woman's
criminality, but not the mere accident of having been exposed
to its danger!

CHORUS

The Chorus prays that Beauty, which has been a source of
destruction to many, should turn out favorably as regards
'Hippolytus, They look forward to the return of Theseus!

Hippolytus flies into the woods, with the velocity of the
angry tempest, more rapidly than any northwest wind gather-
ing together the clouds it meets with and driving them before
it — more quickly than the flash pursuing its way, when a star
disturbed by the storm, shoots forth its light along an ex-
tended tract! Reputation, that ardent admirer of the great
and heroic who figured in bygone times, will compare their
ancient deeds by the side of thine — for example, thy face will
be lauded to the skies, as more beautiful than all others, in
the same proportion as the moon shines more brightly in the
plenitude of her brilliancy, than the minor sources of light

342 SENECA

(the stars) when blushing Phoebe approximates the two ex-
tremities of her luminous disc (in other words, when her
cornua meet and she becomes the full moon) and when reclin-
ing in her hastening chariot she shows her bright visage the
whole night through! nor can the minor stars at that time
maintain their usual brilliance! Just like thy beauty, is the
messenger of night (Hesperus) which ushers in the approach-
ing period of darkness (night) quite lately refreshed by its
near contact with the sea! (The ancients thought that the
stars and heavenly bodies derived nourishment from moisten-
ing influences) and by and bye, under the name of Lucifer,
announces the arrival of bright day (the darkness being then
driven away) — and thou, Bacchus, returned from thy Indian
travels where thou taughtest the people to carry the thyrsus
like thyself, thou, the youth, with his looks perpetually worn
long, scaring the very tigers with thy spear bound around
with vine leaves, and wearing a turban (the oriental headgear)
on thy horn-bearing head, thou wilt never surpass the severe
locks of Hippolytus, and for that reason, do not think too ad-
miringly of thy own appearance! The story has gone forth,
amongst all the peoples, how the sister of Phaedra took a
fancy to Bacchus (Bromius was a surname of Bacchus).
Beauty after all is a very questionable gift from the gods to
us poor mortals, a gift which lasts only a short time! Oh!
Beauty, how quickly thou passest away! With what rapid
steps! Less rapidly, indeed, does the heats of a scorching
summer burn up the meadows which looked — ah ! so inviting
at the coming of spring; not more easily either when the
middle of the day grows oppressive with the sun right over
our heads, and when night is shortened by the changing of the
chariots — not more easily do the lilies fade with their color-
forsaken leaves, nor are the scarce roses (wreaths) more
welcome for the adornation of the heads of the wearers!
How ! beauty which brightens up and vivifies the tender cheek,
is snatched from its possessor in a second! And there is not
a single day of our lives, that does not filch away a portion
of our ephemeral comeliness, of which, too, the body is so
proud! Beauty is a fleeting possession. What wise man
places any dependence on frail beauty only ? while it does last,

PH^DRA 343

however, use it as an advantageous gift! The ravages of
silent time will conquer thee, and each hour that slips along
is followed by another, which perpetuates the process of de-
cay ! Why dost thou go in quest of deserted places ? Beauty
is not more secure against attack, because the places are
lonely and inaccessible! If thou hidest thyself in a shady
wood of the densest grove, for a mid-day snooze, when the
sun has arrived at his Meridian (noon) some lascivious troop
will spy thee out and surround thee with their emulating al-
lurements— the saucy Naiades, who are accustomed to confine
in their streams those who possess youth and beauty, and the
lustful goddesses of the grove (the Dryades) will stealthily
approach thee in thy slumbers and the mountain-roaming
Fauni (Panes, from the God Pan) or some Luminary gazing
at thee with admiration from out of the starry heavens
(Phcebe as she admired Endymion) of newer origin than the
ancient inhabitants of Arcadia, will err in guiding as usual
her silver chariot, and then blush (in her modesty) at the cause
of the interruption ! For no dull cloud was it that interfered
with her bright visage! But we are concerned at the
sight of the dimmed luminary, and thinking that was to be
traced to the Thessalian incantations and that the magicians
had induced her to visit the Earth, we listened for the tink-
lings (the sounds produced by their brass cymbals) — thou
wast the object that attracted her, and the cause of the char-
iot's delay. Whilst the goddess watches thee at night she
slackens her rapid pace! Let the searching cold be more
merciful to such a face, let that face avoid the sun's scorch-
ing rays as much as possible, and it will shine fairer than the
whitest Parian marble — How pleasant to behold is thy stern
face, with thy manly bearing and gravity and majesty of thy
noble brow ! we can really compare thy magnificent and stately
neck with that of Apollo himself. Thy hair, which is never
gathered up, but droops down gracefully over thy shoulders,
which, whilst it adorns it, conceals in some measure the hairy
visage, becomes thee, and thy locks shortened somewhat,
hanging down carelessly and not interfered with by the hands
of Art — it will be possible for thee to put to rout troublesome
and fightable demi-gods with thy strength, and to overcome

344 SENECA

them with thy wonderful expanse of body; although quite a
youth, thou art a match for a Hercules as regards muscles,
and broader than the fighting God Mars about the chest, and
if it pleased thee to mount the courser thou wouldst bring the
Spartan Cyllarus (a horse given to Castor by Jupiter, and
which Neptune had given to Jupiter) into better subjection
and hold the bridle with a more masterful hand than Castor
himself. Stretch the bow-string with thy strong fingers, and
shoot forth the dart with all thy might, and the most skilful
archers of Crete could not hurl the slender arrow, or throw
the javelin, as far as thou couldst; or if it pleased thee to aim
at any object in the sky, after the manner of the Parthians,
thy arrow would impinge its mark and would not descend to
the Earth minus the bird it had struck, the arrow indeed
having searched out its warm entrails ! They will bring thee
a prize home some day from the midst of the clouds — beauty
has been a harmless gift to very few men; however, we shall
see later on — may a propitious deity pass thee over in that
respect, and may thy noble appearance last thee unimpaired
up to the threshold of old age! To what (unattempted ever
before) deed will not the headlong passion of a frenzied
woman lead her? Here a woman devises an abominable
crime should be committed by an innocent youth — oh what
shocking wickedness! she is raving now about his crime (as
she calls it) and expects to be believed with her hair all dis-
hevelled; she disturbs the arrangement of every ornamental
appendage about her head and manages to deluge her false
cheeks with tears ! Every thing calculated to make good her
story is brought into requisition by this woman's cunning!
But hark ! who is that coming with the look of unmistakable
majesty about him, and poising his head with a lofty carriage!
How much he bears the appearance of that companion of his
youth, Prithoiis! But his cheeks are pale with a sickly kind
of whiteness (care-worn pallor), and he stands forth with his
bristly hair and his entire person dirty and repulsive-looking
from neglect! Behold! Theseus himself is here, returned
to the Earth at last !

PILEDRA 345

ACT THE THIRD

THESEUS— NURSE

Theseus having returned from the infernal regions, seeks in-
formation of the nurse respecting the cause of all this
domestic grief: she replies it would he best that he should
he acquainted, with the fact that Phcedra had heen threat-
ened with death hy Hippolytus.

Theseus

I have escaped at last from the regions of eternal night,
and the sombre sky which enshrouds the Manes; with what
difficulty my eyes tolerate the glare of that daylight which I
have so long been wishing to behold: already Eleusis has
yielded the four annual crops to Triptolemus (under the
auspices of Ceres) and Libra the (Balance) has often made
the day and night equal; and the anxious misgivings about
my own uncertain fate have kept me speculating as to the
alternate disadvantages of Life or Death (that is, which un-
der my circumstances would have been the more acceptable).
One part of my vitality, otherwise practically dead, was
spared to me which was the suffering portion of that exist-
ence! Alcides became my deliverer from all these troubles,
who when he had forced the gates of Hell and dragged Cerbe-
rus away from his post as tutelary genius, brought me with
him to these regions above, but my shattered strength lacks its
ancient vigor, and I tremble as I walk along. Ah ! how great
was the exertion required to reach this earthly sky, so far off
as it is from the lowest depths of Phlegethon! flying at one
and the same time from the death which had threatened me,
and to keep pace with Hercules! (alluding to the length of
ground covered by the strides of that hero). What lugu-
brious groaning is it, that assails my ears ? some one ! tell me
quickly; all this bewailing, tears and grief — what is it all
about? A weeping entertainment at one's very door-steps
(threshold) is not altogether a welcome mode of reception
to a guest only just arrived fresh from the Infernal regions.

346 SENECA

NuR. Phaedra adheres to her determined notion about
dying, she spurns all my tearful apprehensions, and is bent
upon death.

Thes. What reason is there for death ? Why should she
be wishing to die, just as her husband has returned, too?

NuR. This cause for her seeking death, has made that
death ripe for being carried into effect.

Thes. I do not know what important thing it is, thy
puzzling language conceals it from my comprehension — Speak
out plainly! What great trouble oppresses the mind of my
wife?

NuR. She tells nobody — sad enough she hides her secret,
and has resolved to keep up the grief, from which she is dying
already, in her own secret bosom — Come now at once — I pray
thee come, there is need for hasty action.

Thes. Unlock the closed portals of the royal chamber.

THESEUS— PH^DRA— SERVANTS

Phcedra first pretends that she would rather die than tell
Theseus what violence had been offered to her, to whom,
when he threatens to punish the nurse, she shows the
sword which Hippolytus had left behind him when he fled.

Theseus

Oh! partner of my nuptial couch, is this the way thou
greetest the arrival of thy husband? and is this the counte-
nance thou assumest on meeting that husband, after having
been so long waiting for his return ? But first of all, rid thy
right hand of that sword, and open thy mind to me freely, and
tell me, whatever it is, that causes thee to wish to die.

Ph. Alas ! Oh ! noble Theseus by the sceptre with which
thou rulest, by thy natural love towards thy offspring, the
sons I have borne thee, and by my own body consumed after
death (ashes) and by thy own joyous return, permit me to
die!

Thes. But what cause compels thee to die?

Ph. If the reason for my desiring death is divulged, the
advantage gained will be lost to me.

PH^DRA 347

Thes. No one else shall hear anything about it, except of
course myself.

Ph. a modest wife hesitates to confide some things even
to the ears of a husband, although such husbands should be
the sole recipients of what she would have to say.

Thes. Speak; I will keep thy secret in my faithful
breast.

Ph. That another should be silent about what one does
not wish to make known, the safe plan is to commence with
silence oneself!

Thes. No opportunity shall be allowed thee for courting
death.

Ph. Death can never be withheld from those desirous of
attaining it.

Thes. Tell me what is the crime thou desirest to be ex-
piated by death ?

Ph. The crime is, that I should live!

Thes. Will my tears not have any effect upon thee?

Ph. The happiest kind of death is to die deservedly
lamented by one's own kith and kin.

Thes. If thou persistest in giving me no reply, that old
woman and nurse of thine shall divulge what she knows and
refuses to disclose, by the aid of stripes and chains; I will
conquer her silence, if need be with the sword, but the force
of stripes will surely draw forth the secrets which she is
keeping back in her own mind !

Ph. I myself will speak : be thou a little patient.

Thes. Why dost thou turn away thy doleful face, and
hide with thy veil the tears that suddenly rise from those eye-
lids of thine.

Ph. Oh thou creator of immortal gods, I invoke thee as
a witness, and thee, thou bright luminary (Phoebus) from
whose extraction our race has sprung, I resisted the urgent
attempts of the seducer, and withstood his entreaties, and my
will did not give way to his threats or his sword, but my body
suffered from his violence, and my blood alone can wash out
that stain on my chastity.

Thes. What? tell me quickly who was the outrager of
our honor?

348 SENECA

Ph. The one thou wouldst suppose to be the least likely
to have been so.

Thes. Who nuay that be? I desire to hear forthwith.

Ph. This sword will tell thee, which the would-be
adulterer left behind him, when he was alarmed by the noise
and feared the arrival of the crowd of neighbours.

Thes. What wickedness ! Alas ! I now see it all ! What
monstrous thing am I now beholding? (And looking at the
ivory handle, exclaims) This ivory indicates its royal owner-
ship ; it is rough to the touch from the ancestral devices carved
on it, and the emblem (golden grasshopper) of the Royal
House of Athens shines brightly on the handle! But to what
place has he escaped?

Ph. These faithful servants saw him as he fled, scared,
running away at a rapid pace.

THESEUS

When Theseus recognises the sword, he sees that he has been
betrayed, and in his anger, prays for the destruction of
his son.

Oh ! for that venerated piety that inculcates the filial duties
of mankind! And Oh! the grand ruler of Heaven (Jupiter)
— Oh! thou governor of the watery deep (Neptune) who
rulest with thy waves the second kingdom of the universe,
from what region has that off-shoot of a wicked race, that
personification of moral turpitude, sprung? Has the soil of
Greece nourished his growth, or the Scythian Taurus, or the
Colchian Phasis ? He has fully confirmed his origin from his
progenitrix Antiope, and his ignoble blood clearly throws
back to his mother's ancestral stock! It quite amounts to a
madness, with that armed race (the Amazons), to hold in
absolute contempt any religious observance connected with
Venus (marriage), after preserving their bodies chaste for a
long time, to prostitute themselves with their subjects in the
end? Oh savage race! ruled by no laws known to civilized
nations! Why, the wild animals avoid unnatural amours
(pair off according to their kind) and their sexual instincts

PH^DRA 349

unconsciously conform with the recognized laws appertain-
ing to their species ! Where is that man's hypocritical face,
with his assumed gravity and repelling demeanour, always
hankering after what was old-fangled and out of date, and
with that austerity, forsooth, in his habits, painful to contem-
plate? Oh! the double-banked deceptiousness of human
nature (life), thou wearest all thy real qualities under a mask,
and with a handsome face thou colorest over a debased dis-
position; assumed modesty conceals bare- faced impudence,
and with a quiet manner thou essayest to do the most auda-
cious things, downright wickedness poses as devoted piety and
so-called truths prove themselves naught but the most blatant
fallacies! And a hard uncompromising nature assumes the
disguise of smirking amiability! And does that wild young
man of the woods, so chaste, so pure, so natural, keep back
his real nature only for the purpose of disgracing me, his own
father? Is this the way in which thou hast thought proper
to induct thyself as a sample of manhood, with so great a
crime, and commencing such practices, too, with thy father's
nuptial bed? Over and over again, I return thanks to the
deities above that Antiope fell struck down by my right hand,
and that when I made my descent to the river Styx, that I
did not leave thy own mother near thee, lest thou mightest
have violated her! As an exile mayst thou wander amongst
unknowtn people — let some land at the extreme ends of the
world serve to remove thee far away, to the countries border-
ing on the most distant ocean, where thou wilt inhabit the
earth directly under our feet (the Antipodes) ; but although
thou mayst penetrate the dreadful regions of the lofty pole
'(Arctic) and be hidden in the innermost and most secret part,
in some far-off corner, and settled far above, where no such
winters as ours exist with their hoar-frosts, when thou mayst
have even left behind the howling storms of cold Boreas rag-
ing at thy back, thou shalt receive punishment for thy crime —
I will follow thee in thy flight, to whatever hiding-place thou
mayst be traced; with untiring perseverance I will travel to
places howlever far off, places shut out from the approach of
man, unsuspected spots! Every variety of place! Inacces-
sible regions! No locality shall stand in my way! Thou

350 SENECA

art aware from what regions I have just returned, an abode
where I was utterly unable to launch my missiles! (his vows)
I will make use of them here : my Oceanic sire has furnished
me to this effect, that it was to ask for three wishes to be
granted me, from that obliging god, and he sanctified those
promises by calling the river Styx to witness ! Behold ! Oh
thou ruler of the sea, grant this favor, sad though it is ! That
Hippolytus shall not see the light of day from henceforth,
and let the youth pass on to the shades below ! however angry
they may be towards a father that decrees it! As a parent,
render at this juncture, as to a son, assistance although it is
a hateful thing to think of! I have not exhausted the three
wishes! I should never have availed myself of this remain-
ing token of thy divine power, unless the direst calamity had
constrained me to do so ! When I was down in the depths of
Tartarus and those dreadful realms of Pluto, and with the
threats of that infernal king always hanging over me, I
reserved this wish! Grant me now the performance of thy
promise. Oh! my father! (Neptune, according to Plutarch,
was the putative father of Theseus.) Why should there be
any delay? Why should the waves be any longer silent?
Overwhelm the night, from this moment, with hurricanes
driving before them the blackest clouds — remove from all
human sight the stars and the firmament itself! Lash into
foam the terrible seas, call up the aquatic herd inhabiting
those seas (the terrible sea-monsters) and summon all the
angriest waves from out of the ocean itself!

CHORUS

The Chorus complains, seeing that the revolutions of the
heavenly bodies and other matters in nature are governed
by certain fixed laws, that human affairs do not conform
likewise to justice and order — why a hard fate awaits a
good man, and a smooth lot is awarded to a bad one.

Oh! nature, thou powerful mother of the gods and thou
ruler of starry Olympus, who maintainest within their ap-
pointed orbits the heavenly bodies scattered around the
quickly-moving firmament, and controllest the erratic course

PH^DRA 351

of the stars, and who regulatest (with mathematical cer-
tainty) the heavens in their rapid revolutions! Why dost
thou take such care that they shall pursue their perennial
paths, through the lofty sky with such unvarying exactness?
How is it that at one time the nipping cold of the snowy
winter denudes the forests of their foliaceous beauty, at an-
other time that the umbrageous adornments should reappear
on these (self -same) trees — at one time, that the heat of the
summer (when the sun is in Leo) should burn up the stand-
ing corn with the excessive heat and that the ensuing autumn
should moderate the force of its destructive temperature?
But w'hy is it that this same power which ordains the govern-
ment of so many things, under whose will the huge masses
of matter are poised around the vast world, and conduct their
revolutions through space, should be so absent as regards the
security afforded to mankind, and allow them to regulate the
movements of their orbits in a very uncertain fashion ! Not
anxious to favor the good or punish the bad ! Fortune rules
human affairs by no defined system, and dispenses her bless-
ings with blind carelessness, and appears for the most part to
lean towards the wicked ! Cruel lust overcomes the virtuous,
wickedness reigns triumphant in the lofty palace! The
rabble delight in lavishing honors upon the unworthy — they
praise and despise the same men at the same time, sorrowful
virtue receives only some inadequate reward as its recompense,
and wretched poverty falls to the lot of the chaste and virtu-
ous but the adulterer reigns still powerful with those very vices
(which have placed him on his throne) ! Oh empty mock-
modesty! Oh! false virtue! But what is the news which
the messenger is bringing, hastening hither with such rapid
steps, and he appears to be copiously bedewing his lugubrious
countenance too, from his sorrowful eyes!

352 SENECA

ACT THE FOURTH

MESSENGER— THESEUS

The Messenger reports to Theseus that Hippolytus has
perished, having been torn to pieces, through his own
horses, which a Marine Monster sent forth by Neptune in
answer to the wish of Theseus, had frightened!

Messenger

Oh! the bitter and ungenial lot of domestic servitude.
Why shouldst thou select me as the messenger of such a
dreadful catastrophe?

Thes. Do not hesitate, man, to speak of this dreadful
catastrophe ; tell me all about it. I possess a heart not unpre-
pared, I assure thee, to listen now to any grievous tale.

Mess. My tongue restrains my speech, it is rendered in-
capable through grief and the mournful news I bring.

Thes. Speak; what dire disaster now invades our
troubled house?

Mess. Hippolytus, ah! me! has met with a horrible
death !

Thes. I the parent know already by thy manner, that
my son has met with some sort of death. Now the ravisher
has disappeared. Tell me, however, the way in which that
death was brought about.

Mess. When Hippolytus as a fugitive with bewildered
strides was leaving the city, he urged on his already quick
retreat, at a hastened pace, but, mounting his chariot, he
easily kept in hand the noble horses attached to that chariot,
and with his tightened reins he held in check the trained
mouths of the horses! Then he talked to himself about
many things, and rather wildly, as I thought; he cursed his
natal soil I know and often spoke of his father in the course
of his ramblings ; and eager to pursue his way, he yields the
lax reins to the horses (gives them their head) so as not to
restrain them, and gently smacks (shakes) his whip, which no

PH^DRA 353

sooner done, than quite on a sudden, a terrific wave, a perfect
sea in itself, swells from the vast ocean, and rises, as it were,
to the very stars, not a breath of wind though was there on
the sea beyond, and not any part of the calm sky gave forth
the slightest semblance of a sound! but the usual weather
(serenity) prevailed, ever the placid sea! Never did a
south wind, however fierce, disturb the Sicilian straits like
this, and never during the very height of a North- Western
did the Ionian sea surge so furiously as this then ! How the
rocks, too, did tremble, to be sure ! and the white foam, which
rose, struck the summit of Leucate, the Acarnanian promon-
tory; the huge sea then swelled itself to the size of an
enormous mountain, and the mass of water which seemed to
be puffed out with something or other marvellous, came with
a grand rush upon the shore. Now, never was a visitation so
severe as this, launched upon the crafts even whilst on the
sea! No! this was evidently designed to terrify the land
only! The waves rolled forwards then, one succeeding an-
other, though not with equal force. I did not know, I
could not guess, what the laboring water was bearing in its
loaded bosom! or what new land was about to make its ap-
pearance for the stars to look down upon ! Surely, I thought,
some fresh Cyclas has arisen to swell the number of the
Cyclades — all the rocks lay hidden from sight, the temple of
the deity of Epidaurus and sacred to ^sculapius, and the
noble rocks, Scirondes', famous on account of the crimes
of Sciron, the celebrated thief of Attica, and also the straits
which are inclosed by the two seas, were rendered invisible!
And whilst utterly stupefied, I became alarmed at these
phenomena, when behold ! the entire sea gave forth a roaring
sound, all the rocks around made a noise, the loftiest peak was
moistened with the spray expelled from the sea; it foamed
and vomited forth columns of water, first one and then the
other, just as the huge whale is carried along the deep seas,
pouring back the waves from its mouth ! At length, this im-
mense mass of water being shaken from within, breaks up,
disperses itself and casts upon the shore a monster greater
than any exaggerated fears of mine could form any concep-
tion of: the sea then rushes upon the shore, and follows its

354 SENECA

Monster, which it had just yielded up; the scare it gave me
made me tremble from head to foot!

Theus. What was the general appearance of this
enormous body (monster) thou didst see?

Mess. Oh ! it was like a tall bull, with a bluish neck, and
it raised its immense mane around its green-tinted head, its
shaggy ears stood out prominently, and the color varied on
the horns (a sort of mixture) one of which reminded me of
what the leader of the fierce herd has on his (the land Bull),
the other color that which we see on the horns of the animal,
a native of the sea, the sea-calf or marine bull. It then began
to vomit flames, and its eyes shone like balls of fire, and its
vast neck, remarkable for a certain blue line on it, supported
its ponderous frame, and its wide-spreading nostrils emitted
a roaring sound as it drew in and out its gaping breath; its
chest and dewlap were green with moss and other sea-weeds
clinging about them, and its side was spotted here and there
with reddish tints ; then its lengthy form, posterior to its back,
terminated like some marine monster, fish-like, and the huge
scaly beast dragged along its immense structure, just like that
enormous marine phenomenon, the pistrix, met with in the
far-off Indian seas, and which swallows up whole entire ships
and vomits them up again.

The earth trembled — the cattle, frightened, fled in all direc-
tions across the fields, nor was there a shepherd amongst
them, who had the slightest thought of following the scat-
tered herds — every wild animal started from the thickets and
groves, which bordered on the shore — every hunter grew pale
and was paralyzed with fear — was horror-stricken! Hippo-
lytus, the only one in fact, was in no sort of fear, and he still
kept firm control of the horses, with the well-handled reins
and encouraged the timid animals with his well-known voice.
There is a steep declivity on the road to Argos, amongst the
broken hills, which leads down to the various spots that are
close to the sea which lies at their feet, and here the monster
seemed to be evincing considerable activity and prepared itself,
as it were, to make up its angry mind. As if it had fore-
shadowed its plan to its satisfaction, it set to work to exert its
rage, and it dashes forth at a rapid rate, scarcely touching the

PH.EDRA 355

highest ground in its hurried advance, and with a savage
glare, it stands before the trembling horses; on the other
hand, though Hippolytus, rising up in a threatening attitude
with a ferocious look, does not change his countenance into
any thing suggestive of timidity, and thundered out in loud
tones : " This empty terror does not daunt my courage, for is
it not the task taught me by my father, that of taming
bulls ? " — Whereupon the horses, disregarding the reins
showed symptoms of rebellion, taking entire charge of the
chariot, and then wandering madly onwards in their precipi-
tate course, wherever their terrified excitement carried them,
scared as they were! They first go this way, then that, till
at length they begin to scamper wildly amongst the rocks,
but like the skilful pilot who keeps his craft head to wind in
a tempestuous sea, and avoids steering it broadside on to the
surging advances of that sea, and thus with s.kilful seaman-
ship baffles the force of the waves, not otherwise does Hippo-
lytus strive to guide the flying horses; at one time he pulls
at their mouths with tightened reins, and at another time he
turns the whips towards their backs to accelerate their speed !
his companion, the Monster, however, pertinaciously follows
him up, one time at an equal pace, side by side, at another
time it veers round and faces him in front, and striking
unspeakable terror from every direction. It does not suit
him (Hippolytus) to proceed too far ahead, for this horrible
horn-bearing monster of the sea comes on with his savage
aspect right in front of the horses! But at last the endur-
ance of the horses is completely broken down through their
fears; they then break through all control whatever, and
struggle to escape from their yoke, and rearing themselves
on their hind-legs, they jolt the chariot, and Hippolytus fall-
ing upon his face, becomes entangled by the reins, which,
however, he still holds tenaciously, and the more he fights
to retain his hold, the more and more does he tighten the reins
about himself. The poor horses seem to have recognized the
disaster, and with the chariot lightened and no driver left to
guide them, in the same way that the horses of the sun, as
they sped through space, perceived that they had not their
usual load Phoebus, and angry that the day was given up to a

356 SENECA

substituted Phoebus, dragged Phaethon through a devious
track! (Jupiter, perceiving the danger, struck Phaethon with
one of his thunderbolts.) The blood of Hippolytus is scat-
tered over the fields far and wide, and his head bounds back
as it strikes on the rocks, and the shrubs through which he is
dragged catch up portions of his locks, and the cruel rocks
rend in pieces his once beautiful countenance, and that beauty,
which was his ruin, disappears with many wounds! Mean-
while, the rapidly revolving wheels roll onwards with his
lifeless limbs, but at length a stake rising from the trunk of
a blasted tree catches him in the middle and holds back the
body, the stake being upright and piercing him in the groin;
the horses stand for a second with the driver thus impaled,
and when they feel themselves kept back on account of the
wound that had transfixed Hippolytus, they break through all
further delay, and drag their driver along, and the thickets
subdivided his body as he is drawn through them, the sharp
briers, and the prickly brambles, and every tree and trunk
appropriating some portion of his mangled remains! Every
one mourning his death — the servants and laborers scrutinize
the tedious path along the various spots where Hippolytus was
torn to pieces, indicated by the marks of his blood, and the
sad dogs, too, on the alert with their powers of scent, trace
the remains of their master, nor as yet does the pressing
search of the mourners, succeed in discovering the body. Is
there nothing remaining of the beauty that once was? He
who till lately, was the bright sharer of his father's glory,
and the direct heir to the kingdom: quite recently he shone
with the refulgence of a star, but now, from all sides, he is
gathered up piece by piece for the funeral pile, and is now
only brought forward to receive the honors shown to the dead !

Thes. Oh! nature! the powerful instincts thou incul-
catest with what firm a hold thou causest a parent to cherish
the ties of blood! Alas! how unwilHngly we regard thy
decrees! For example, I willed to kill Hippolytus, because
his life was hateful to me, and now I have lost him I moan
for the bereavement.

Mess. No man can consistently bewail what he has him-
self desired to bring about.

PH^DRA 357

Thes. Indeed I cannot help thinking that this climax now
arrived at, is greater than all the evils v^hich have happened
before! although some accident does not bring about the
detestable events one has previously been wishing for. (If
any accident should make one repent one's simply detestable
wishes being fulfilled!)

Mess. And if thou still nursest thy hatred, why do thy
eyelids moisten with thy weeping?

Thes. I weep for what I killed, not for what I have got
rid of!

CHORUS

How worthy of nature are the vicissitudes which befall
humanity, and which fickle fortune rotates in her capricious
wheel, how she relaxes the sterness of her decrees towards
her humbler recipients and how a propitious Deity deals
more lightly with those less capable of putting up with her
fickleness! An obscure retreat suits the contented, and a
humble cottage affords old age ample protection. The sharp
East wind makes a target of the roofs of structures run up
to sethereal altitudes, the South Wind visits them with its
full force, and they are in addition, as fully exposed to the
angry storms of rude Boreas, and the rains likewise which
the North- West beats against them. The watered valley suf-
fers but little from the lightning flashes, with which it is
so rarely visited, whilst Caucasus trembles again with the
thunderbolts of Jupiter sounding from above, and the Phry-
gian summits once the abode of the goddess Cybele — ^Jupiter
is jealous of pretentious buildings mounting up to the skies,
and he singles them out for the maximum of his severity,
as they audaciously seek to approach his own kingdom!
(The skies.) The homestead of the humble citizen, on the
other hand, seldom finds his modest proportions invaded by
aerial disturbances! No! the real tangible thunders hover
over kingdoms and palaces ! The fleeting hour flies onwards
with its uncertain wings, that is, we are uncertain as to the
direction those wings are taking, nor does Fortune, as she is
hurrying forwards, ensure anyone especial protection! He,

358 SENECA

for example, Theseus, when he first beheld the bright stars of
the upper world, and the smiling light of day, when he
emerged from the realms of darkness, in a croaking spirit,
bewails his unlucky return, and the hospitable surroundings
of his paternal palace appear less inviting than the kingdom
of Pluto itself! Oh! thou chaste Minerva, tutelary goddess
of the Athenian race, when thy protege, Theseus, again be-
held the heavens, and the upper earth, from the places which
he had just quitted, and when he escaped from the Stygian
lakes, thou oh! goddess! owest nothing to that greedy uncle
now, for he has faithfully recruited his ranks in the infernal
regions! Hippolytus has gone to take the place of Theseus!
Hark! What is that plaintive voice resounding from the
depths of the Palace, and what is Phaedra in her madness
getting ready to do with that drawn sword ?

ACT THE FIFTH

THESEUS— PH^DRA

Phcedra reveals the innocence of Hippolytus and retracts her
calumnious accusations — she then dies by her own hand.
The father, Theseus, not without great grief, performs the
funeral obsequies for his son, but denies them to the step-
mother (Phcedra).

Theseus

What transport of wild passion excites thee now already
smitten as thou art with grief? What is the meaning of that
sword? Or what, this flow of words? what makes thee so
desirous of wailing over a body that was such an object of
hatred to thee ?

Ph. Attack me, me! Oh! thou cruel ruler of the deep
Sea (Neptune), and cast up before me some monster out
of the blue ocean, or whatever the far extremities of Tethys
(the sea) conceals in its lowermost depths — what the Ocean
contains in its wandering waters, and covers with its distant
waves ! Oh ! Theseus ! always cruel ! now that thou hast safely

PH^DRA 359

returned, but not with safety to thy own kindred, thou upset-
test the tranquillity of Home! Always criminal, whether
thou art so from the love of thy wives or thy hatred of them!
Thy son and a father (^geus) have met with death as the
price of thy return ! Oh Hippolytus ! do I behold thy beauti-
ful features brought to this wretched pass ? And I have made
them what they are now! What savage Sinis (a celebrated
robber who used to mangle his victims) or what Procrustes
has scattered thy body in this manner? or what Cretan bi-
formed bull filling with its loud roarings the Daedalean den
(Labyrinth) and fierce with its horn-bearing visage has torn
thee thus? Ah! me! where has thy beauty gone, and those
eyes once my stars? and there thou art, a miserable corpse!
Oh ! may thy spirit come hither for a little while, and hearken
to what I have to say! I will speak of naught that will be
unworthy for thee to hear — I will suffer the punishment
due to me, at my own hands ! and with this sword will I pierce
my criminal breast, and I will do away with Phaedra as she
was, with her life as well as her offence! And as a demented
spirit will I follow thee over every sea, over the lakes of
Tartarus, and over the fiery waves of Phlegethon! I wish
to appease thy Manes, let me remove all vain adornments
from my head, and let me have my locks cut away from
where they now are — it was not our lot to be joined in life,
and surely, the fates will not interdict our union (lying at
one time) by death! Let me die, if I am chaste, for a hus-
band! If I am unchaste! in satisfaction for my ilHcit amour!
Shall I seek the nuptial couch polluted with this enormous
crime of mine? Thanks to the deity, this crime has not been
arrived at! Oh! but how as a virtuous wife should I have
rejoiced to rejoin that couch when I had only vindicated its
honor? Oh! Death! thou art the only sedative, for the
consequences of this wicked passion! Oh! death, thou art
the only chief tribute to atone for tainted chastity! Let me
come to thee, open thy calm bosom to receive me! Listen!
Oh! Athens! and thou also, the father who hast been more
to blame perhaps than the wicked stepmother (for listening
so credulously to a stepmother's charges), I have represented
things falsely, and I have painted in an untrue light, the crime

360 SENECA

which, mad as I was, I have hidden in my own demented
bosom ! Thou, the father, hast punished Hippolytus for that
wath which I accused him falsely, and the virtuous boy hes
there under the charge of inchastity ! an attempt of incest with
myself ! Oh ! pure guileless boy, accept this just proclamation
of thy innocence ! and my impious bosom will now make ready
to receive the sword of justice, and my blood shall serve as a
death-sacrifice to the Infernal Gods ! and thou, the father, learn
from a stepmother what thou art bound to do for the son
that has been snatched away, attend thou to the becoming
obsequies; and as for myself let me be hidden away in the
streams of Acheron !

THESEUS— CHORUS

Theseus

Oh! the pallor-evoking approaches of Avernus! Oh! the
caves of Tsenarus! Oh! the oblivion-inducing streams of
Lethe, so soothing to the miserable. And, oh ye stagnant
lakes, snatch away an impious wretch like myself, and retain
me submerged for my ever-recurring crimes! Now come
forth, thou savage monster of the deep ! — Now approach me,
thou vast overwhelming sea! — Now may Proteus, who at-
tends the sea-cows and other terrible inhabitants of the ocean,
come to my aid with whatever is dreadful, and which thou
concealest down in the lowest recesses of the deep waters, and
hurry me off, just now only exulting over the great crime I
had committed, into the deepest gulf, and thou. Oh! Father!
(Neptune) always the ready instrument for carrying out my
angry desires. I am not deserving of an easy death who have
been the means of scattering my son in divided portions over
the land, in fact, by quite a novel form of death ! And while
I, as a cruel avenger, have been dealing out punishment for a
crime which has never been committed, I have fallen into the
commission of a real crime myself! I have now filled up
with my criminal exploits, the heavens, the infernal regions,
and the seas ! Nothing more is left for me ! the three king-
doms of the universe have been visited with my iniquities ! I
now return to this kingdom. And the way back to the sky

PH^DRA 361

has been laid open to me, for as much as through my own
agencies, I should witness two deplorable deaths, and a dou-
ble funeral in consequence, and because as a bereaved, lonely
celibate, I should light with one torch the funeral pile! and
burn a wife and son at the same time! Oh! Alcides! who
gave me back the light which was painful to behold, restore
me as a present to Pluto, restore to him the Manes which
thou rescuedst from his power ; wicked as I am I pray for that
condition of death, which I left behind when I quitted
Avernus ! And having myself, as the cruel contriver of death,
invented unheard of, terrible modes of destruction for others
(meaning the death of Hippolytus). For that reason let me
inflict upon myself some just punishment! — ^Let the apex of
some pine forced downwards towards the ground cleave me in
twain, as the tree bounds back with me to the skies in resum-
ing its former position ! Or, shall I be hurled headlong over
the Scironian rocks? I have seen terrible things in my time,
what the cruel Phlegethon provides for those who are impris-
oned therein, surrounding the criminal Manes with flaming
streams. I am perfectly aware what punishment awaits me,
and still more the punishment which I am, at the present,
undergoing! Oh! ye criminal Manes, act a friendly part
towards me, let the endless labor now being performed by that
miserable old man the son of ^olus (Sisyphus) — let the rock
which presses so heavily upon his weary hands be placed on
these shoulders of mine, or let the river Eridanus, bringing its
streams close to my mouth, disappoint me in my thirsting
eagerness to partake of them (as they are now doing with
Tantalus) or let the wild vulture, which only leaves Tityus
alone, to fly back again to him, and that my liver may be made
to grow, like his, as a punishment, and to furnish a perpetual
repast to the birds of prey ! Or, thou Ixion, the father of my
dear friend Pirithous, rest from thy labors in my behalf, and
let that w^heel, which never ceases from its eternal revolutions,
receive these limbs of mine to be whirled round by its rapid
movements! Open, Oh! Earth, receive me. Oh! terrible
Chaos, receive me, I pray, this is the only way to the shades,
that can do any sort of justice to a case like mine. I am fol-
lowing my son, and be in no alarm. Oh ! Pluto ! who governest

362 SENECA

the infernal kingdom! I shall come, this time, in a chaster
frame of mind, and not as before, to carry off Proserpine,
accompanied by Pirithous, — when I do come receive me for
ever in thy eternal home and never to come out again! I
find that prayers do not move the Gods! But if I were to
ask them to assist my criminal doings how ready they are
then!

Chor. Oh ! Theseus ! What an eternity of time is taken
up with thy own troubles! Now is the time to do what is
right and just towards a son (a proper funeral) and to hide
away without delay the scattered remains which have been
so shamefully mangled !

Thes. Here, attendants, convey me hither the remains
of the dear corpse — Here (pointing to the disfigured trunk)
is a mass of bodily substance having no defined form; hand
me the different portions, which are so carelessly gathered
together (exclaiming). Here then is Hyppolytus! Oh! I
acknowledge my odious crime I have killed thee, my son, nor
indeed am I the only criminal agent! It is Neptune that
dared to carry out this deed to its bitter end ! I appealed to
that father, I am now in the possession of a father's gift!
Oh! cruel fate. Oh! my sad childlessness, thou snatchest
away my son, when my life is already borne down by age
and troubles! Let me embrace, at all events, the torn limbs,
and whatever else there is left of my son — let me press it
to my sad bosom and cherish it! Oh! unhappy father that
I am! but as a father, let me place in order (in a row) the
torn particles of my son's mangled body, and arrange the
disjointed fragments where they should go ! Ah ! Here ! this
is the part for the left hand to be put, that left hand so
skilful in guiding those fatal reins! I know those marks on
the left side; but how great a part of his body, alas! is as
yet not forthcoming to receive my condolence ! Oh ! my tremu-
lous hands, let me brace up my nerves to perform this tristful
duty. Let my eyelids restrain their tears, and control my
inordinate weeping. (Whilst Theseus is counting and endeav-
ouring to map out something in the shape of a body he solilo-
quises)— What is that which is wanted to complete the for-
mation, as It is mutilated in every part and hideous to behold

PH^DRA 363

from the multitude of wounds (taking up a piece), I am in
doubt, to what part this belongs, but it is a part of thee I am
sure! Here! Here! let me put it aside, not in its own place,
perhaps, but to fill up some vacancy! Here, though, is that
face of his, with an aspect like a fiery star, his eyes reflecting
an angry expression (towards the stepmother) thus! thus!
has beauty fallen! Oh! cruel fate! Oh! maleficent favors
from the willing Neptune! And does he return thus, a son
to his father, as a satisfaction for the third vow! Oh! my
son! receive these last offices of a father (at least for all we
have discovered of thee), thou wilt have to receive several
obsequies yet! in the meantime, the flames (the funeral pile)
shall receive these ! Let me now set open the palace rendered
so mournful through this frightful slaughter, and let all
Athens resound with loud lamentation! (Addressing the
Servants.) Prepare the fire for a royal funeral pile! And
look well, all of you, for any stray remains round about the
fields ! (Pointing to the body of Phsedra.) Cover that body
up in a hole dug in the ground, and let the rank soil rest
heavily upon her impious head !

SENECA ON ANGER

TRANSLATED BY

SIR ROGER UESTRANGE, KNT.

WITH INTRODUCTIONS BY THE SAME ON

SENECA'S LIFE AND DEATH AND SENECA'S

WRITINGS

INTRODUCTION

SENECA'S LIFE AND DEATH

It has been an ancient Custom, to record the Actions and
the Writings of eminent Men, with all their Circumstances;
and it is but a Right that we owe to the Memory of our Fa-
mous Author. Seneca was, by Birth, a Spaniard of Cor-
dova, (a Roman Colony of great Fame and Antiquity).
He was of the Family of Annseus, of the Order of Knights ;
and the Father of Lucius Annseus Seneca, was distinguished
from the Son, by the Name of the Orator. His Mother's
Name was Helvia, a Woman of excellent Qualities. His
Father came to Rome in the Time of Augustus ; and his Wife
and Children soon followed him, our Seneca yet being in his
Infancy. There were three Brothers of them, and never a
Sister. Marcus Annseus Novatus, Lucius Annseus Seneca,
and Lucius Annseus Mela. The first of these changed his
name for Junius Gallio, who adopted him ; to him it was that
Seneca dedicated his Treatise of Anger, whom he calls No-
vatus too; and he also dedicated his Discourses of a Happy
Life to his Brother Gallio. The youngest Brother (Annseus
Mela) was Lucan's Father.

Seneca was about twenty Years of Age in the fifth Year
of Tiberius, when the Jews were expelled from Rome. His
Father trained him up to Rhetoric, but his Genius led him
rather to Philosophy; and he applied his Wit to Morality
and Virtue. He was a great Hearer of the celebrated Men
of those Times; as Attains, Sotion, Papirius, Fabianus, (of
whom he makes often mention), and he was much an Admirer
also of Demetrius the Cynic, whose Conversation he had
afterwards in the Court, and both at Home also, and Abroad,
for they often travelled together. His Father was not at all
pleased with his Humour of Philosophy, but forced him upon

367

368 INTRODUCTION

the Law, and for a while he practised Pleading. After which
he would need put him upon public Employment : And he
came first to be Quaestor, then Praetor, and some will have
it that he was chosen Consul ; but this is doubtful.

Seneca finding that he had ill Offices done him at Court,
and that Nero's Favour began to cool, he went directly and
resolutely to Nero with an Offer to refund all that he had
gotten. Which Nero would not receive; but, however, from
that Time, he changed his Course of Life, received few Visits,
shunned Company, went little Abroad; still pretending to
be kept at Home, either by Indisposition, or by his Study.
Being Nero's Tutor and Governor, all Things went w^ell, so
long as Nero followed his Counsel. Nero's two chief Favour-
ites, were Burrhus, and Seneca, who were both of them excel-
lent in their Ways : Burrhus, in his Care of military Affairs,
and Severity of Discipline ; Seneca for his Precepts and good
Advice in the Matter of Eloquence, and the Gentleness of an
honest Mind: Assisting one another in the slippery Age of
the Prince, (says Tacitus) to invite him, by the Allowance of
lawful Pleasures, to the Love of Virtue.

Seneca had two Wives ; the Name of the first is not men-
tioned; his second was Paulina, whom he often speaks of
with great Passion. By the former he had his Son Marcus.

In the first Year of Claudius he was banished into Cor-
sica, when Julia, the Daughter of Germanicus, was accused
by Messalina of Adultery, and banished too, Seneca being
charged as one of the Adulterers. After a matter of eight
Years, or upwards in Exile, he was called back, and as much
in Favour again as ever. His Estate was partly patrimonial,
but the greatest Part of it was the Bounty of his Prince.
His Gardens, Villas, Lands, Possessions, and incredible Sums
of Money, are agreed upon at all Hands, which drew an
Envy upon him. Dio reports him to have had 250,000 1.
Sterling at Interest in Britany alone, which he called in all
at a Sum.

The Court itself could not bring him to Flattery; and,
for his Piety, Submission, and Virtue, the Practice of his
whole Life witnesses for him. " So soon," says Seneca in
his essay On Anger, " as the Candle is taken away, my Wife,

SENECA'S LIFE AND DEATH 369

that knows my Custom, lies still, without a Word speaking:
And then do I recollect all that I have said, or done that Day,
and take myself to Shrift. And why should I conceal, or
reserve any Thing, or make any Scruple of enquiring into my
Errors, when I can say to myself. Do so no more, and for
this once I will forgive thee ? " And again, What can be
more pious, and self-denying than this Passage, in one of his
Epistles ? *' Believe me now, when I tell you the very Bot-
tom of my Soul: In all the Difficulties and Crosses of my
Life, this is my Consideration; since it is God's Will, I do
not only obey, but assent to it ; nor do I comply, out of Neces-
sity, but Inclination."

" Here follows now," says Tacitus, " the Death of Sen-
eca, to Nero's great Satisfaction: Not so much for any
pregnant proof against him, that he was of Piso's Conspir-
acy; but Nero was resolved to do that by the Sword, which
he could not effect by Poison. For it is reported that Nero
had corrupted Cleonicus, (a Freeman of Seneca's), to give
his Master Poison, which did not succeed : Whether that the
Servant had discovered it to his Master, or that Seneca by
his own Caution and Jealousy had avoided it; for he lived
only upon a simple Diet, as the Fruits of the Earth; and his
Drink was most commonly River- Water.

" Natalis, it seems, was sent upon a Visit to him, (being
indisposed) with a Compliment, That he would not let Piso
come at him; and advising him to the Continuance of their
Friendship and Acquaintance, as formerly. To whom Sen-
eca made Answer, that frequent Meetings and Conferences
betwixt them, could do neither of them any Good; but that
he had a great Interest in Piso's Welfare: Hereupon Gra-
nius Sylvanus a Captain of the Guard, was sent to examine
Seneca upon the Discourse that passed betwixt him and
Natalis, and to return his Answer. Seneca, either by Chance,
or on Purpose, came that Day from Campania, to a Villa of
his own, within four Miles of the City; and thither the Offi-
cer went the next Evening, and beset the Place. He found
Seneca at Supper with his Wife Paulina, and two of his
Friends, and gave him immediately an Account of his
Commission.

370 INTRODUCTION

" Seneca told him, that it was true, that Natalis had been
with him in Piso's Name, with a Complaint, that Piso could
not be admitted to see him : And that he excused himself by
Reason of his Want of Health, and his Desire to be quiet
and private; and that he had no Reason to prefer another
Man's Welfare before his own. Caesar himself, he said, knew
very well, that he was not a Man of Compliment; having
received more Proofs of his Freedom, than of his Flattery.

" This Answer of Seneca's was delivered to Caesar, in
the Presence of Poppsea and Tigellinus, the intimate Confi-
dents of this barbarous Prince: And Nero asked him,
Whether he could gather any Thing from Seneca, as if he
intended to make himself away? The Tribune's Answer was,
That he did not find him one jot moved with the Message:
But that he went on roundly with his Tale, and never so
much as changed Countenance for the Matter. * Go back to
him,' says Nero, *and tell him, That he is condemned to
die.'

" Fabius Rusticus delivers it. That the Tribune did not
return the same Way he came, but went aside to Fenius (a
Captain of that Name) and told him Caesar's Orders, asking
his Advice, whether he should obey them, or not; who bade
him by all Means do as he was ordered. Which Want of
Resolution was fatal to them all; for Silvanus also, that was
one of the Conspirators, assisted now to serve, and to increase
those Crimes, which he had before complotted to revenge.
And yet he did not think fit to appear himself in the Business,
but sent a Centurion to Seneca to tell him his Doom.

" Seneca, without any Surprize or Disorder, calls for his
Will; which being refused him by the Officer, he turned to
his Friends, and told them. That since he was not permitted
to requite them, as they deserved, he was yet at Liberty to
bequeath them the Thing of all others that he esteemed the
most, that is, the Image of his Life: Which should give
them the Reputation both of Constancy and Friendship, if
they would but imitate it; exhorting them to a Firmness of
Mind, sometimes by good Counsel, otherwhiles by Repre-
hension, as the Occasion required.

" Where, says he, is all your Philosophy now ? All your

SENECA'S LIFE AND DEATH 371

premeditated Resolutions against the Violences of Fortune?
Is there any Man so ignorant of Nero's Cruelty, as to expect,
after the Murder of his Mother and Brother, that he should
ever spare the Life of his Governor and Tutor?

"After some general Expressions to this Purpose, Sen-
eca took his Wife into his Arms, and having somewhat for-
tified her against the present Calamity, he besought and con-
jured her to moderate her Sorrows, and betake herself to the
Contemplations and Comforts of a virtuous Life, which would
be a fair and an ample Consolation to her for the Loss of
her Husband.

" Paulina, on the other Side, tells him her Determination
to bear him Company, and wills the Executioner to do his
Office. * Well,' says Seneca, * if after the Sweetness of Life,
as I have represented it to thee, thou hadst rather entertain
an honourable Death, I shall not envy thy Example ' ; con-
sulting at the same Time, the F'ame of the Person he loved,
and his own Tenderness, for Fear of the Injuries that might
attend her when he was gone. * Our Resolution,' says he,
* in this generous Act, may be equal, but thine will be the
greater Reputation.' After this, the Veins of both their Arms
were opened at the same Time. Seneca did not bleed so
freely, his Spirits being wasted with Age and a thin Diet;
so that he was forced to cut the Veins of his Thighs and
elsewhere, to hasten his Dispatch. When he was far spent,
and almost sinking under his Torments, he desired his Wife
to remove into another Chamber, lest the Agonies of the one
might work upon the Courage of the other.

" His Eloquence continued to the last, as appears by the
excellent Things he delivered at his Death, which being taken
in Writing, from his own Mouth, and published in his own
Words, I shall not presume to deliver them in any other.

" Nero, in the mean Time, who had no particular Spite
to Paulina, gave Orders to prevent her Death, for fear his
Cruelty should grow more and more insupportable, and
odious. Whereupon the Soldiers gave all Freedom and
Encouragement to her Servants to bind up her Wounds, and
stop the Blood, which they did accordingly; but whether she
was sensible of it or not, is a Question. For among the com-

372 INTRODUCTION

mon People, who are apt to judge the worst, there were some
of Opinion, that as long as she despaired of Nero's Mercy,
she seemed to court the Glory of dying with her Husband
for Company; but that upon the Likelihood of better Quar-
ter, she was prevailed upon to out live him: And so for
some Years she did survive him, and with all Piety and
Respect to his Memory; but so miserably pale and wan, that
every Body might read the Loss of her Blood and Spirits
in her very Countenance.

" Seneca, finding his Death slow and lingering, desires
Statius Annseus (his old Friend and Physician) to give him
a Dose of Poison, which he had provided beforehand, being
the same Preparation which was appointed for capital Offend-
ers in Athens. This was brought him, and he drank it up,
but to little Purpose; for his Body was already chilled, and
bound up against the Force of it. He went at last into a
hot Bath, and sprinkling some of his Servants that were next
to him, * This,' says he, * is an Oblation to Jupiter the Deliv-
erer.' The Fume of the Bath soon dispatched him, and his
Body was burnt, without any funeral Solemnity, as he had
directed in his Testament; though this Will of his was made
in the Height of his Prosperity, and Power.

" There was a Rumour that Subrius Flavins, in a private
Consultation with the Centurions, had taken up this follow-
ing Resolution (and that Seneca himself was no stranger to
it) that is to say, that after Nero should have been slain by
the Help of Piso, Piso himself should have been killed too;
and the Empire delivered up to Seneca, as one that well
deserved it, for his Integrity and Virtue."

SENECA'S WRITINGS

It appears that our Author had among the Ancients, three
professed Enemies. In the first Place Caligula, who called
his Writings, Sand without Lime; alluding to the Starts of
his Fancy, and the Incoherence of his Sentences. But
Seneca was never the worse for the Censure of a Person that
propounded even the suppressing of Homer himself; and of
casting Virgil and Livy out of all public Libraries.

SENECA'S LIFE AND DEATH 373

The next, was Fabius ; who tasks him with being too bold
with the Eloquence of former Times, and failing in that
Point himself; and likewise for being so quaint and finical
in his Expressions: Which Tacitus imputes, in Part, to the
Freedom of his own particular Inclination, and partly to the
Humour of the Times.

He is also charged by Fabius as no profound Philosopher ;
but with all this, he allows him to be a Man very studious and
learned, of great Wit and Invention, and well read in all
Sorts of Literature ; a severe Reprover of Vice ; most divinely
sententious; and well worth the reading, if it were only for
his Morals; adding, That if his Judgment had been answer-
able to his Wit, it had been much the more for his Reputation ;
but he wrote whatever came next ; so that I would advise the
Reader (says he) to distinguish where he himself did not:
For there are many Things in h'im, not only to be approved,
but admired, and it was great Pity that he that could do what
he would, should not always make the best Choice.

His third Adversary is Agellius, who falls upon him for
his Stile, and a Kind of Tinkling in his Sentences, but yet
commends him for his Piety and good Counsels.

On the other Side Columella calls him a Man of excellent
Wit and Learning; Pliny, the Prince of Erudition; Tacitus
gives him the Character of a wise Man, and a fit Tutor for a
Prince: Dio reports him to have been the greatest Man of
his Age.

Of those Pieces of his that are extant, we shall not need
to give any particular Account: And of those that are lost,
we cannot, any farther than by Lights to them from other
Authors, as we find them cited much to his Honour ; and we
may reasonably compute them to be the greater Part of his
Works. That he wrote several Poems in his Banishment,
may be gathered partly from himself: But more expressly
out of Tacitus, who says, " That he was reproached with his
applying himself to Poetry, after he saw that Nero took
Pleasure in it, out of a Design to curry Favour."

St. Jerom refers to a Discourse of his concerning Matri-
mony. Lactantius takes Notice of his History, and his Books
of Moralities: St. Augustine quotes some Passages of his

374 INTRODUCTION

out of a Book of Superstition: Some References we meet
with, to his Books of Exhortations. Fabius makes mention
of his Dialogues . And he himself speaks of a Treatise of his
own, concerning Earthquakes, which he wrote in his Youth.
But the Opinion of an epistolary Correspondence that he had
with St. Paul, does not seem to have much Colour for it.

Some few Fragments however of those Books of his that
are wanting, are yet preserved in the Writings of other
eminent Authors; sufficient to shew the World how great a
Treasure they have lost, by the Excellency of that little that
is left.

Seneca, says Lactantius, that was the sharpest of all the
Stoicks, How great a Veneration has he for the Almighty?
As for Instance; discoursing of a violent Death: "Do you
not understand," says he, **the Majesty, and the Authority
of your Judge : He is the supreme Governor of Heaven and
Earth, and the God of all your Gods ; and it is upon him that
all those Powers depend which we worship for Deities." More-
over, in his Exhortations. "This God," says he, "when he
laid the Foundations of the Universe, and entered upon the
greatest and the best Work in Nature, in the ordering of the
Government of the World; though he was himself all in all,
yet he substituted other subordinate Ministers, as the Serv-
ants of his Commands." And how many other Things does
this Heathen speak of God, like one of us?

Which the acute Seneca (says Lactantius again) saw in
his Exho.rtations. "We," says he, "have our Dependence
elsewhere, and should look up to that Power, to which we are
indebted for all that we can pretend to that is good."

And again, Seneca says very well in his Morals; "They
worship the Images of the Gods," says he, " kneel to them,
and adore them ; they are hardly ever from them, either ply-
ing them with Offerings or Sacrifices : And yet after all this
Reverence to the Image, they have no Regard at all to the
Workman that made it."

Lactantius again. "An Invective" (says Seneca in his
Exhortations), "is the Master-piece of most of our Phi-
losophers; and if they fall upon the Subject of Avarice, Lust,
Ambition, they lash out into such Excess of Bitterness, as if

SENECA'S LIFE AND DEATH 375

railing were a Mark of their Profession. They make me
think of Galley pots in an Apothecary's Shop, that have
Remedies without and Poison within."

Lactantius still. He that would know all Things, let him
read Seneca; the most lively Describer of public Vices, and
Manners, and the smartest Reprehender of them.

And again: As Seneca has it in the Books of moral
Philosophy: "He is the brave Man, whose Splendor and
Authority is the least Part of his Greatness; that can look
Death in the Face, without Trouble, or Surprize; who if his
Body were to be broken upon the Wheel, or melted Lead to
be poured down his Throat, would be less concerned for the
Pain itself, than for the Dignity of bearing it."

"Let no man," says Lactantius, "think himself the safer
in his Wickedness for Want of a Witness; for God is
omniscient, and to him nothing can be a Secret." It is an
admirable Sentence that Seneca concludes his Exhortation
withal. "God," says he, is a great, (I know not what) an
incomprehensible Power: It is to him that we live; and to
him, that we must approve ourselves. What does it avail us,
that our Consciences are hidden from Men, when our Souls
lie open to God ? " What could a Christian have spoken more
to the Purpose in this Case, than this divine Pagan? And
in the Beginning of the same work, says Seneca " What is it
that we do? To what End is it to stand contriving, and to
hide ourselves? We are under a Guard, and there is no
escaping from our Keeper. One Man may be parted from
another by Travel, Death, Sickness: But there is no divid-
ing us from ourselves. It is to no Purpose to creep into a
Corner where no-body shall see us. Ridiculous Madness!
Make it the Case that no mortal Eye could find us out. He
that has a Conscience, gives Evidence against himself."

It is truly and excellently spoken of Seneca, says Lac-
tantius once again; "Consider," says he, "the Majesty, the
Goodness, and the venerable Mercies of the Almighty; a
Friend that is always at Hand. What Delight can it be to
him, the Slaughter of innocent Creatures, or the Worship of
bloody Sacrifices? Let us purge our Minds, and lead virtuous
and honest Lives. His Pleasure lies not in the Magnificence

376 INTRODUCTION

of Temples, made with Stone, but in the Piety and Devotion
of consecrated Hearts."

In the Book that Seneca wrote against Superstitions,
treating of Images, says St. Austin, he writes thus. "They
represent the holy, the immortal, and the inviolable Gods, in
the basest Manner, and without Life or Motion: In the
Forms of Men, Beasts, Fishes; some of mixed Bodies; and
those Figures they call Deities; which, if they were but ani-
mated, would affright a Man and pass for Monsters." And
then a little farther, treating of natural Theology, after citing
the Opinions of Philosophers, he supposes an Objection
against himself: "Somebody will perhaps ask me, would
you have me then to believe the Heavens, and the Earth to
be God's; and some of them above the Moon, and some be-
low it? shall I ever be brought to the Opinion of Plato, or of
Strato the Peripatetick ? The one of which would have God
to be without a Body, and the other without a Mind?" To
which he replied ; " And, do you give more Credit then to the
Dreams of T. Tatius, Romulus and Hostilius, who caused
among other Deities, even Fear and Paleness to be wor-
shipped? The vilest of human Affections; the one being the
Motion of an affrighted Mind, and the other, not so much the
Disease, as the Colour of a disordered Body. Are these the
Deities that you will rather put your Faith in, and place in
the Heavens?"

And speaking afterward of their abominable Cus-
toms, with what Liberty does he write? "One," says
he, "out of Zeal, makes himself an Eunuch; another
lances his Arms: If this be the Way to please their Gods,
what should a Man do if he had a Mind to anger them? Or
if this be the Way to please them, they do certainly deserve
not to be worshipped at all. What a Phrenzy is this, to
imagine, that the Gods can be delighted with such Cruelties,
as even the worst of Men would make a Conscience to in-
flict? The most barbarous and notorious of Tyrants, some
of them have perhaps done it themselves, or ordered the tear-
ing of Men to Pieces by others ; but they never went so far,
as to command any Man to torment himself. We have heard
of those that have suffered Castration to gratify the Lust of

TEMPT.E OF JUPITER IN ROME

From a painting by Alexander Wagner and J. B'dhlmann

Jupiter was the great god of Rome. Of the city temple, the
Capitol, the central nave was dedicated to him, the right wing

BEING sacred TO MiNERVA AND THE LEFT TO JUNO. TlIE ASCENT TO
IT FROM THE FORUM WAS BY lOO STEPS. On THE CaPITOL WERE SPENT
INCREDIBLE SUMS, THE GILDING ALONE COSTING $25,000,000. LatER,
THE PHILOSOPHERS, LIKE SeNECA, IDENTIFIED JUPITER WITH THE TRUE
AND ONLY God, THE TYPE OF JuSTICE. SeE PaGE 376. _

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SENECA'S LIFE AND DEATH 377

their imperious Masters ; but never any Man that was forced
to act it upon himself. They murder themselves in their very
Temples, and their Prayers are offered up in Blood. Whoso-
ever shall but observe v^hat they do, and what they suffer,
will find it so misbecoming an honest Man, so unworthy of a
free Man, and so inconsistent with the Action of a Man in
his Wits, that he must conclude them all to be mad, if it were
not that there are so many of them; for only their Number is
their Justification, and their Protection.'*

When he comes to reflect, says St. Augustine, upon those
Passages which he himself had seen in the Capitol, he cen-
sures them with Liberty and Resolution : " And no Man will
believe that such Things would be done, unless in Mockery,
or Phrenzy. What Lamentation is there in the Egyptian
Sacrifices for the Loss of Osiris! And then what Joy for
the finding of him again? Which he makes himself Sport
with ; for in Truth it is all a Fiction : And yet those People,
that neither lost any Thing, or found any Thing, must express
their Sorrows, and their Rejoicings, to the highest Degree."

" But there is only a certain Time," says he, " for this
Freak, and once in a Year People may be allowed to be mad.
I came into the Capitol," says Seneca, "where the several
Deities had their several Servants and Attendants, their
Lictors, their Dressers, and all in Posture and Action, as
if they were executing their Oflftces; some to hold the Glass,
others to comb out Juno's and Minerva's Hair; one to tell
Jupiter what o'Clock it is ; some Lasses there are that sit gaz-
ing upon the Image, and fancy Jupiter has a Kindness for
them.

"All these Things," says Seneca, a while after, "a wise
Man will observe for the Law's Sake, more than for the
Gods; and all this Rabble of Deities, which the Superstition
of many Ages has gathered together, we are in such Manner
to adore, as to consider the Worship to be rather Matter of
Custom, than of Conscience." Whereupon St. Augustine
observes, "That this illustrious Senator worshipped what he
reproved, acted what he disliked, and adored what he con-
demned."

ON ANGER

CHAPTER I

^Anger described. It is against Nature, and only to be found

in Men,

We are here to encounter the most outrageous, brutal,
dangerous, and intractible of all Passions; the most loath-
some, and unmannerly ; nay, the most ridiculous too ; and the
subduing of this Monster will do a great deal toward the
Establishment of human Peace. It is the Method of Phy-
sicians, to begin with a Description of the Disease, before they
meddle with the Cure : And I know not why this may not do
as well in the Distempers of the Mind, as in those of the
Body.

The Stoicks will have Anger to be, A Desire of punishing
another for some Injury done. Against which it is objected,
that we are many Times angry with those that never did hurt
us, but possibly may, though the Harm be not as yet done.
But, I say, that they hurt us already in Conceit: And the
very Purpose of it is an Injury in Thought, before it breaks
out into an Act. It is opposed again, that if Anger were a
Desire of Punishing, mean People would not be angry with
great ones, that are out of their Reach : For no Man can be
said to desire any Thing, which he judges impossible to com-
pass. But, I answer to this, That Anger is the Desire, not
the Power and Faculty of Revenge : Neither is any Man so
low, but that the greatest Man alive may, peradventure, lie
at his Mercy.

Aristotle takes Anger to be, a Desire of paying Sorrow
for Sorrow; and of plaguing those that have plagued us. It
is argued against both, that Beasts are angry; though neither
provoked by any Injury, nor moved with a Desire of any
Body's Grief, or Punishment. Nay, though they cause it,

378

ON ANGER 379

they do not design or seek it. Neither is Anger (how un-
reasonable soever in itself) found any where but in reasonable
Creatures. It is true, that Beasts have an Impulse of Rage,
and Fierceness, as they are more affected also than Men with
some Pleasures: But we may as well call them luxurious,
and ambitious as angry. And yet they are not without cer-
tain Images of human Affections. They have their Likings
and their Loathings; but neither the Passions of reasonable
Nature, nor their Virtues, nor their Vices. They are moved
to Fury by some Objects, they are quieted by others; they
have their Terrors and their Disappointments; but without
Reflection: And let them be never so much irritated or af-
frighted, so soon as ever the Occasion is removed, they fall to
their Meat again, and lie down, and take their Rest. Wisdom
and Thought are the Goods of the Mind, whereof Brutes are
wholly incapable ; and we are as unlike them within, as we are
without : They have an odd Kind of Fancy ; and they have
a Voice too; but inarticulate and confused, and incapable of
those Variations which are familiar to us.

Anger is not only a Vice, but a Vice point blank against
Nature, for it divides, instead of joining; and, in some
measure, frustrates the End of Providence in human Society.
One Man was born to help another : Anger makes us destroy
one another; the one unites, the other separates; the one is
beneficial to us, the other mischievous; the one succours even
Strangers, the other destroys even the most intimate Friends :
The one ventures all to save another, the other ruins himself
to undo another. Nature is bountiful, but Anger is perni-
cious: For it is not Fear, but mutual Love that binds up
Mankind.

There are some Motions that look like Anger, which can-
not properly be called so ; as the Passion of the People against
the Gladiators, when they hang off, and will not make so
quick a Dispatch as the Spectators would have them : There
is something in it of the Humour of Children, that if they get
a Fall, will never leave Bawling, until the naughty Ground is
beaten, and then all is well again. They are angry without
any Cause, or Injury; they are deluded by an Imitation of
Strokes, and pacified with counterfeit Tears. A false and a

380 SENECA

childish Sorrow, is appeased with as false and as childish a
Revenge. They take it for a Contempt, if the Gladiators do
not immediately cast themselves upon the Sword's Point.
They look presently about them, from one to another, as who
should say, " Do but see, my Masters, how these Rogues abuse
us.''

To descend to the particular Branches, and Varieties,
would be unnecessary, and endless. There is a stubborn, a
vindictive, a quarrelsome, a violent, a froward, a sullen, a
morose kind of Anger; and then we have this Variation in
Complication too. One goes no farther than Words ; another
proceeds immediately to Blows, without a Word speaking; a
third Sort breaks out into Cursing and reproachful Lan-
guage : And there are, that content themselves with chiding
and complaining. There is a conciliable Anger, and there is
an implacable ; but in what Form or Degree soever it appears,
all Anger, without Exception, is vicious.

CHAPTER II
The Rise of Anger,

The Question will be here, whether Anger takes it Rise
from Impulse, or Judgment? That is, whether it be moved
of its own Accord, or as many other Things are, from within
us, that arise we know not how ? The clearing of this Point
will lead us to greater Matters.

The first Motion of Anger is, in Truth, involuntary, and
only a kind of menacing Preparation towards it. The sec-
ond deliberates; as who should say, "This Injury should not
pass without a Revenge," and there it stops. The third is
impotent; and, right or wrong, resolves upon Vengeance.
The first Motion is not to be avoided, nor indeed the second,
any more than Yawning, for Company: Custom and Care
may lessen it, but Reason itself cannot overcome it. The
third, as it rises upon Consideration, it must fall so too ; for,
that Motion which proceeds with Judgment may be taken
away with Judgment. A Man thinks himself injured, and

ON ANGER 381

hath a mind to be revenged, but for some Reason lets it rest.
This is not properly Anger, but an Affection over-ruled by
Reason: A kind of Proposal disapproved. And, what are
Reason and Affection; but only Changes of the Mind for the
better, or for the v^orse? Reason deliberates before it
judges; but Anger passes Sentence without Deliberation.
Reason only attends the Matter in Hand ; but Anger is startled
at every Accident: It passes the Bounds of Reason; and
carries it away with it. In short. Anger is an Agitation of
the Mind that proceeds to the Resolution of a Revenge, the
Mind assenting to it.

There is no Doubt but Anger is moved by the Species of
an Injury, but whether that Motion be voluntary or involun-
tary, is the Point in debate; though it seems manifest to me,
that Anger does nothing but where the Mind goes along with
it. For, first to take an Offence, and then to meditate a
Revenge; and, after that, to lay both Propositions together,
and say to myself, "This Injury ought not to have been done;
but as the Case stands, I must do myself Right." This Dis-
course can never proceed without the Concurrence of the
,Will. The first Motion indeed is single; but, all the rest is
Deliberation, and Superstructure: There is something un-
derstood, and condemned; an Indication conceived, and a
Revenge propounded. This can never be without the Agree-
ment of the Mind to the Matter in Deliberation.

The End of this Question is, to know the Nature and
Quality of Anger. If it be bred in us, it will never yield to
Reason, for all involuntary Motions are inevitable and in-
vincible; as a kind of Horror and Shrugging upon the
Sprinkling of cold Water; the Hair standing on End at ill
News; Giddiness at the Sight of a Precipice; Blushing at
lewd Discourse. In these Cases Reason can do no Good;
but Anger may undoubtedly be overcome by Caution and
good Counsel; for it is a voluntary Vice, and not of the
Condition of those Accidents that befal us as Frailties of our
Humanity: Amongst which must be reckoned the first Mo-
tions of the Mind, after the Opinion of an Injury received,
which it is not in the Power of human Nature to avoid.

And this is it that affects us upon the Stage, or in a

382 SENECA

Story. Can any man read the Death of Pompey, and not to
be touched with an Indignation? the Sound of a Trumpet
rouses the Spirits and provokes Courage. It makes a Man
sad to see the Shipwreck even of an Enemy ; and we are much
surprised by Fear in other Cases : All these Motions are not
so much Affections, as Preludes to them. The Clashing of
Arms, or the Beating of a Drum, excites a War-horse. Nay,
a Song from Xenophantes would make Alexander take his
Sword in his Hand.

In all these Cases, the Mind rather suffers than acts; and
therefore it is not an Affection, to be moved, but to give way
to that Motion, and to follow willingly what was started by
Chance. These are not Affections, but Impulses of the Body.
The bravest Man in the World may look pale when he puts
on his Armour, his Knees knock, and his Heart works before
the Battle is joined; but these are only Motions; whereas
Anger is an Excursion, and proposes Revenge or Punishment,
which cannot be without the Mind. As Fear flies, so Anger
assaults ; and, it is not possible to resolve, either upon Violence
or Caution, without the Concurrence of the Will.

CHAPTER III
Anger may he suppressed.

It is an idle Thing to pretend, that we cannot govern our
Anger : For some Things that we do, are much harder than
others that we ought to do; the wildest Affections may be
tamed by Discipline, and there is hardly any Thing which the
Mind will do, but it may do. There needs no more Argu-
ment in this Case, than the Instances of several Persons, both
powerful and impatient, that have gotten the absolute Mastery
of themselves in this Point.

Thrasippus, in his Drink, fell foul upon the Cruelties of
Pisistratus ; who, when he was urged by several about him to
make an Example of him, returned this Answer, "Why
should I be angry with a Man that stumbles upon me blind-
fold?" In effect, most of our Quarrels are of our own mak-

ON ANGER 383

ing, either by Mistake, or by Aggravation. Anger comes
sometimes upon us, but we go oftener to it, and instead of re-
jecting it, we call it.

Augustus was a great Master of his Passion: For
Timagines an Historian wrote several bitter Things against
his Person, and his Family; which passed among the People
plausible enough, as Pieces of rash Wit commonly do. Caesar
advised him several Times to forbear, and when that would
not do, forbade him his Roof. After this, Asinius Pollio
gave him Entertainment; and he was so well beloved in the
City, that every Man's House was open to him. Those
Things that he had written in the Honour of Augustus, he
recited and burnt; and publicly professed himself Caesar's
Enemy : Augustus, for all this, never fell out with any Man
that received him; only he once told Pollio, that he had taken
a Snake into his Bosom : And as Pollio was about to excuse
himself; "No" (says Caesar, interrupting him) "make your
best of him " ; and, offering to cast him off at that very Mo-
ment, if Caesar pleased: "Do you think" (says Caesar)
"that I will ever contribute to the parting of you, that made
you Friends?" for PolHo was angry with him before, and
only entertained him now, because Caesar had discarded him.

The Moderation of Antigonus was remarkable; some of
his Soldiers were railing at him one Night where there was
but a Hanging betwixt them ; Antigonus over-heard them, and
putting it gently aside; "Soldiers," says he, "stand a little
farther off, for fear the King should hear you." And we
are to consider, not only violent Examples, but moderate,
where there wanted neither Cause of Displeasure, nor Power
of Revenge: As in the Case of Antigonus, who, the same
Night, hearing his Soldiers cursing him for bringing them
into so foul a Way, he went to them, and without telling them
who he was, helped them out of it. "Now," says he, "you
may be allowed to curse him that brought you into the Mire,
provided you bless him that took you out of it."

It was a notable Story, that of Pedius Pollio, upon his
inviting of Augustus to Supper. One of his Boys happened
to break a Glass ; and his Master, in a Rage, commanded him
to be thrown into a Pond to feed his Lampreys. This Ac-

384 SENECA

tion of his might be taken for Luxury, though in Truth, it
was Cruelty. The Boy was seized, but brake loose, and threw
himself at Augustus his Feet, only desiring that he might
not die that Death ! Caesar, in Abhorrence of the Barbarity,
presently ordered all the rest of the Glasses to be broken ; the
Boy to be released; and the Pond to be filled up, that there
might be no farther Occasion for an Inhumanity of that
Nature. This was an Authority well-employed. Shall the
breaking of a Glass cost a Man his Life? Nothing but a pre-
dominant Fear could ever have mastered his choleric, and
sanguinary Disposition. This Man deserved to die a thou-
sand Deaths, either for eating human Flesh at second Hand,
in his Lampreys, or for keeping of his Fish to be so fed.

It is written of Prsexaspes (a Favourite of Cambyses,
who was much given to Wine) that he took the Freedom to
tell his Prince of his hard Drinking, and to lay before him
the Scandal, and the Inconvenience of his Excesses ; and how
that in those Distempers, he had not the Command of him-
self. **Now " (says Cambyses) "to shew you your Mistake,
you shall see me drink deeper than ever I did, and yet keep
the Use of my Eyes, and of my Hands, as well as if I were
sober." Upon this he drank to a higher Pitch than ordinary,
and ordered Prsexaspes his Son to go out, and stand on the
other Side of the Threshold, with his left Arm over his Head ;
"And" (says he) "if I have a good Aim, have at the Heart
of him." He shot, and upon cutting up the young Man, they
found indeed that the Arrow had struck him through the
Middle of the Heart. "What do you think now" (says
Cambyses) " Is my Hand steady or not ? " " Apollo himself "
(says Prsexaspes) "could not have out-done it." It may be
a Question now, which was the greater Impiety, the Murder
itself, or the Commendation of it; for him to take the Heart
of his Son, while it was yet reeking, and panting under the
Wound for an Occasion of Flattery: Why was there not
another Experiment made upon the Father, to try if Cambyses
could not have yet mended this Shot? This was a most un-
manly Violation of Hospitality, but the Approbation of the
Fact was still worse than the Crime itself.

This Example of Prsexaspes proves sufficiently that a

ON ANGER 385

Man may repress his Anger ; for he returned not one ill Word,
no not so much as a Complaint ; but he paid dear for his good
Counsel. He had been wiser, perhaps, if he had let the King
alone in his Cups, for he had better have drunk Wine than
Blood. It is a dangerous Office to give good Advice to in-
temperate Princes.

Another Instance of Anger suppressed we have in Har-
pagus, who was commanded to expose Cyrus upon a Moun-
tain, but the Child was preserved ; which when Astyages came
afterwards to understand, he invited Harpagus to a Dish of
Meat; and when he had eaten his Fill, he told him it was a
Piece of his Son, and asked him how he liked the Seasoning.
"Whatever pleases your Majesty," says Harpagus, "must
please me : " And he made no more Words of it. It is most
certain that we might govern our Anger, if we would; for the
same Thing that galls us at Home, gives us no Offence at all
Abroad ; and what is the Reason of it, but that we are patient
in one Place, and froward in another.

It was a strong Provocation, that which was given to
Philip of Macedon, the Father of Alexander: The Athe-
nians sent their Ambassadors to him, and they were received
with this Compliment, "Tell me. Gentlemen," says Philip,
" What is there that I can do to oblige the Athenians ? "
Demochares, one of the Ambassadors, told him, that they
would take it for a great Obligation, if he would be pleased
to hang himself. This Insolence gave an Indignation to the
By-standers; but Philip bade them not to meddle with him,
but even to let that foul-mouthed Fellow go as he came.
" And for you, the rest of the Ambassadors," says he, "pray
tell the Athenians, that it is worse to speak such Things, than
to hear and forgive them," This wonderful Patience under
Contumelies was a great Means of Philip's Security.

CHAPTER IV

Anger is a short Madness, and a deformed Vice.

He was much in the right, whoever it was, that first called
Anger a short Madness ; for they have both of them the same

386 SENECA

Symptoms ; and there is so wonderful a Resemblance betwixt
the Transports of Choler and those of Phrenzy, that it is a
hard Matter to know the one from the other. A bold, fierce,
and threatening Countenance, as pale as Ashes, and in the
same Moment as red as Blood: A glaring Eye, a wrinkled
Brow, violent Motions, the Hands restless, and perpetually in
Action, wringing and menacing, snapping of the Joints,
stamping with the Feet, the Hair starting, trembling Lips, a
forced and squeaking Voice; the Speech false and broken,
deep and frequent Sighs, and ghastly Looks ; the Veins swell,
the Heart pants, the Knees knock ; with a hundred dismal Ac-
cidents that are common to both Distempers.

Neither is Anger a bare Resemblance only of Madness,
but many Times an irrecoverable Transition into the Thing
itself. How many Persons have we known, read, and heard
of that have lost their Wits in a passion, and never came to
themselves again? It is therefore to be avoided, not only
for Moderation Sake, but also for Health.

Now if the outward Appearance of Anger be foul, and
hideous, how deformed must that miserable Mind be, that is
harrassed with it? for it leaves no Place either for Counsel,
or Friendship, Honesty, or good Manners; no Place either
for the Exercise of Reason, or for the Offices of Life. If I
were to describe it, I would draw a Tyger bathed in Blood ;
sharp set, and ready to take a Leap at his Prey; or dress it
up as the Poets represent the Furies, with Whips, Snakes,
and Flames : It should likewise be sour, livid, full of Scars,
and wallowing in Gore, raging up and down, destroying, grin-
ning, bellowing, and pursuing; sick of all other Things, and
most of all of itself. It turns Beauty into Deformity, and the
calmest Counsels into Fierceness : It disorders our very Gar-
ments, and fills the Mind with Horror. How abominable is it
in the Soul then, when it appears so hideous even through the
Bones, the Skin, and so many Impediments ? Is not he a Mad-
man that has lost the Government of himself, and is tossed
hither and thither by his Fury, as by a Tempest? The Exe-
cutioner of his own Revenge, both with his Heart and Hand ;
and the Murderer of his nearest Friends ? The smallest Mat-
ter moves it, and makes us insociable, and inaccessible. It

ON ANGER 387

does all Things by Violence, as well upon itself as others:
And it is, in short, the Master of all Passions.

There is not any Creature so terrible, and dangerous by
Nature, but it becomes fiercer by Anger. Not that Beasts have
human Affections, but certain Impulses they have which come
very near them. The Boar foams, champs, and whets his
Tusks ; the Bull tosses his Horns in the Air, bounds, and tears
up the Ground with his Feet. The Lion roars, and swings
himself with his Tail; the Serpent swells, and there is a
ghastly kind of Fellness in the Aspect of a mad Dog.

How great a Wickedness is it now to indulge a Violence,
that does not only turn a Man into a Beast, but makes even
the most outrageous of Beasts themselves to be more dreadful
and mischievous! A Vice that carries along with it neither
Pleasure nor Profit; neither Honour nor Security; but on
the contrary, destroys us to all the comfortable, and glorious
Purposes of our reasonable Being. Some there are, that will
have the Root of it to be Greatness of Mind. And why may
we not as well entitle Impudence to Courage, whereas the one
is proud, the other brave; the one is gracious and gentle, the
other rude and furious? At the same rate we may ascribe
Magnanimity to Avarice, Luxury and Ambition, which are
all but splendid Impotencies, without Measure and Founda-
tion. There is nothing great, but what is virtuous, nor indeed
truly great, but what is also composed and quiet. Anger,
alas! is but a wild impetuous Blast, an empty Tumour, the
very Infirmity of Women and Children ; a brawling clamorous
Evil: And the more Noise the less Courage; as we find it
commonly, that the boldest Tongues have the faintest Hearts.

CHAPTER V

Anger is neither warrantable nor useful.

In the First Place, Anger is unwarrantable, as it is un-
just: For it falls many Times upon the wrong Person, and
discharges itself upon the Innocent, instead of the Guilty:
Beside the Disproportion of making the most trivial Offences

388 SENECA

to be capital, and punishing an inconsiderate Word perhaps
with Torments, Fetters, Infamy, or Death. It allows a Man
neither Time, nor Means for Defence, but judges a Cause
without hearing it, and admits of no Mediation. It flies into
the Face of Truth itself, if it be of the adverse Party; and
turns Obstinacy in an Error, into an Argument of Justice.
It does every Thing with Agitation and Tumult: Whereas
Reason and Equity can destroy whole Families, if there be
Occasion for it, even to the extinguishing of their Names and
Memories, without any Indecency, either of Countenance, or
Action.

Secondly, It is unsociable to the highest Point; for it
spares neither Friend nor Foe; but tears all to Pieces, and
casts human Nature into a perpetual State of War. It dis-
solves the Body of mutual Society, insomuch that our very
Companions and Relations dare not come near us ; it renders
us unfit for the ordinary Offices of Life, so we can neither
govern our Tongues, our Hands, or any Part of our Body.
It tramples upon the Laws of Hospitality, and Nations, leaves
every Man to be his own Carver, and all Things public and
private, sacred and profane, suffer Violence.

Thirdly, It is to no Purpose : " It is a sad Thing,'' we
cry, "to put up those Injuries, and we are not able to bear
them; " as if any Man that can bear Anger, could not bear an
Injury, which is much more supportable. You will say, that
Anger does some Good yet, for it keeps People in Awe, and
secures Man from Contempt; never considering, that it is
more dangerous to be feared than despised. Suppose that
an angry Man could do as much as he threatens; the more
terrible, he is still the more odious; and on the other Side, if
he wants Power, he is the more despicable in his Anger; for
there is nothing more wretched than a choleric Huff, that
makes a Noise and no-body cares for it. If Anger should be
valuable because Men are afraid of it, why not an Adder, a
Toad, or a Scorpion as well? It makes us lead the Life of
Gladiators; we live, and we fight together. We hate the
happy, despise the miserable, envy our Superiors, insult upon
our Inferiors, and there is nothing in the World which we will
not do, either for Pleasure, or Profit.

ON ANGER 389

To be angry at Offenders, is to make ourselves the common
Enemies of Mankind, which is both weak and wicked ; and we
may as well be angry that our Thistles do not bring forth
Apples, or that every Pebble in our Ground is not an oriental
Pearl. If we are angry both with young Men, and with old,
because they do offend; why not with Infants too, because
they will offend? It is laudable to rejoice for any Thing that
is well done; but, to be transported for another Man's doing
ill, is narrow and sordid.

Nor is it for the Dignity of Virtue to be either angry or
sad. It is with a tainted Mind as with an Ulcer, not only
the Touch, but the very Offer at it makes us shrink, and com-
plain; when we come once to be carried off from our Poize,
we are lost. In the Choice of a Sword, we take care that it
be wieldy, and well mounted; and it concerns us as much to
be wary of engaging in the Excesses of ungovernable Pas-
sions. It is not the Speed of a Horse altogether that pleases
us, unless we find that he can stop, and turn at Pleasure. It
is a Sign of Weakness, and a kind of Stumbling, for a Man
to run when he intends only to walk; and it behoves us to
have the same Command of our Mind that we have of our
Bodies. Besides that, the greatest Punishment of an Injury,
is the Conscience of having done it ; and no Man suffers more
than he that is turned over to the Pain of Repentance. How
much better is it to compose Injuries, than to revenge them?
For it does not only spend Time, but the Revenge of one
Injury exposes us to more. In fine, as it is unreasonable to
be angry at a Crime, it is as foolish to be angry without one.

But " May not an honest Man then be allowed to be angry
at the Murder of his Father, or the Ravishing of his Sister
or Daughter before his Face?" No, not at all; I will defend
my Parents, and I will repay the Injuries that are done them;
but it is my Piety, and not my Anger that moves me to it.
I will do my Duty without Fear or Confusion; I will not
rage, I will not weep ; but discharge the Office of a good Man,
without forfeiting the Dignity of a Man. If my Father be
assaulted, I will endeavour to rescue him; if he be killed, I
will do right to his Memory ; and all this not in any Transport
of Passion, but in Honour and Conscience.

390 SENECA

Neither is there any need of Anger where Reason does the
same Thing. A man may be temperate, and yet vigorous,
and raise his Mind according to the Occasion, more or less,
as a Stone is thrown according to the Discretion and Intent
of the Caster. How outrageous have I seen some People for
the Loss of a Monkey, or a Spaniel? And were it not a
Shame to have the same Sense for a Friend that we have for
a Puppy; and to cry like Children, as much for a Bauble, as
for the Ruin of our Country? This is not the Effect of Rea-
son, but of Infirmity. For a Man indeed to expose his Person
for his Prince, or for his Parents or his Friends, out of a
Sense of Honesty, and a Judgment of Duty, it is, without Dis-
pute, a worthy and a glorious Action ; but it must be done then
with Sobriety, Calmness, and Resolution. It is high Time
to convince the World of the Indignity, and Uselessness of
his Passion, when it has the Authority and Recommendation
of no less than Aristotle himself, as an Affection very much
concluding to all heroic Action, that require Heart and
Vigour.

Now, to shew on the other Side, that it is not in any Case
profitable, we shall lay open the obstinate and unbridled Mad-
ness of it: A Wickedness, neither sensible of Infamy, nor of
Glory; without either Modesty, or Fear; and if it passes once
from Anger into a hardened Hatred, it is incurable. It is
either stronger than Reason, or it is weaker. If stronger,
there is no contending with it; if weaker. Reason will do the
Business without it. Some will have it that an angry Man
is good-natured, and sincere; whereas in Truth, he only lays
himself open out of Heedlessness and want of Caution. If
it were in itself Good, the more of it the better; but in this
Case, the more, the worse; and a wise Man does his Duty,
without the Aid of any Thing that is ill. It is objected by
some, that those are the most generous Creatures, which are
most prone to Anger. But first, Reason in Man, is impetuous
in Beasts. Secondly, without Discipline, it runs into Auda-
ciousness, and Temerity ; over and above that the same Thing
does not help all. If Anger helps the Lion, it is Fear that
saves the Stag, Swiftness the Hawk, and Flight the Pigeons:
But Man has God for his Example (who is never angry) and

ON ANGER 391

not the Creatures. And yet it is not amiss sometimes to
counterfeit Anger; as upon the Stage: Nay, upon the Bench,
and in the Pulpit, where the Imitation of it is more effectual,
than the Thing itself. But it is a great Error to take this
Passion either for a Companion, or for an Assistant to
Virtue ; that makes a Man incapable of those necessary Coun-
sels, by which Virtue is to govern herself. Those are false
and inauspicious Powers, and destructive of themselves, which
arise only from the Accession and Fervor of a Disease. Rea-
son judges according to Right : Anger will have every Thing
seem right, whatever it does; and when it has once pitched
upon a Mistake, it is never to be convinced ; but prefers a Per-
tinacy even in the greatest Evil, before the most necessary
Repentance.

Some People are of Opinion, that Anger inflames and
animates the Soldier; that it is a Spur to bold and arduous
Undertakings, and that it were better to moderate it, than
wholly to suppress it, for fear of dissolving the Spirit and
force of the Mind.

To this I answer, That Virtue does not need the Help of
Vice, but where there is an Ardour of Mind necessary, we
may rouse ourselves, and be more or less brisk and vigorous,
as there is Occasion: But all without Anger still. It is a
Mistake to say, that we may make use of Anger as a common
Soldier, but not as a Commander; for if it hears Reason,
and follows Orders, it is not properly Anger; and if it does
not, it is contumacious, and mutinous. By this Argument a
Man must be angry to be valiant ; covetous to be industrious ;
timorous to be safe; which makes our Reason confederate
with our Affections. And it is all one whether Passion be
inconsiderate without Reason, or Reason ineffectual without
Passion; since the one cannot be without the other.

It is true, the less the Passion, the less is the Mischief; for
a little Passion is the smaller Evil. Nay, so far is it from
being of Use or Advantage in the Field, that it is the Place of
all others where it is the most dangerous ; for the Actions of
War are to be managed with Order and Caution, not Pre-
cipitation and Fancy: Whereas Anger is heedless, and heady,
and the Virtue only of barbarous Nations; which, though

392 SENECA

their Bodies were much stronger, and more hardened, were
still worsted by the Moderation, and Discipline of the Romans.
There is not upon the Face of the Earth a bolder, or a more
indefatigable Nation than the Germans : Not a braver upon a
Charge, nor a hardier against Colds and Heats; their only
Delight in Exercise is in Arms, to the utter Neglect of all
Things else: And yet upon the Encounter, they are broken
and destroyed through their own undisciplined Temerity,
even by the most effeminate of Men.

The Huntsman is not angry with the wild Boa^r, when he
either pursues, or receives him; a good Swordsman watches
his Opportunity, and keeps himself upon his Guard, whereas
Passion lays a Man open : Nay, it is one of the prime Lessons
of a Fencing-School, to learn not to be angry. If Fabius had
been choleric, Rome had been lost : And before he conquered
Hannibal, he overcame himself. If Scipio had been angry,
he would never have left Hannibal, and his Army (who
were the proper Objects of his Displeasure) to carry the War
into Afric, and so compass his End by a more temperate way.
Nay, he was so slow, that it was charged upon him for want
of Mettle and Resolution.

And what did the other Scipio (Africanus I mean?)
How much Time did he spend before Numantia, to the com-
mon Grief both of his Country and of himself? Though he
reduced it at last, by so miserable a Famine, that the Inhabit-
ants laid violent Hands upon themselves, and left neither
Man, Woman nor Child to survive the Ruins of it.

If Anger makes a Man fight better, so does Wine, Phrenzy,
nay, and Fear itself; for the greatest Coward in Despair does
the greatest Wonders. No Man is courageous in his Anger
that was not so without it. But put the Case that Anger, by
Accident, may have done some Good, and so have Fevers
removed some Distempers ; but it is an odious kind of Remedy,
that makes us indebted to a Disease for a Cure. How many
Men have been preserved by Poison ; by a Fall from a Preci-
pice; by a Shipwreck; by a Tempest? Does it therefore fol-
low, that we are to recommend the Practice of these Experi-
ments ?

But in case of an exemplary and prostitute Dissolution

ON ANGER 393

of Manners, when Clodius shall be preferred, and Cicero
rejected ; when Loyalty shall be broken upon the Wheel, and
Treason sit triumphant upon the Bench ; is not this a Subject
to move the Choler of any virtuous man?

No, by no Means, Virtue will never allow of the correct-
ing of one Vice by another; or that Anger, which is the
greater Crime of the two, should presume to punish the less.
It is the natural Property of Virtue to make a Man serene
and chearful ; and it is not for the Dignity of a Philosopher,
to be transported either with Grief or Anger; and then the
End of Anger is Sorrow, the constant Effect of Disappoint-
ment and Repentance.

But to my Purpose. If a Man should be angry at Wicked-
ness, the greater the Wickedness is, the greater must be his
Anger; and so long as there is Wickedness in the World, he
must never be pleased. Which makes his Quiet dependent
upon the Humour or Manners of others. There passes not
a Day over our Heads, but he that is choleric, shall have some
Cause or other of Displeasure, either from Men, Accidents,
or Business. He shall never stir out of his House, but he
shall meet with Criminals of all Sorts; prodigal, impudent,
covetous, perfidious, contentious; Children persecuting their
Parents ; Parents cursing their Children ; the Innocent accused,
the Delinquent acquitted, and the Judge practising that in his
Chamber, which he condemns upon the Bench : In fine, wher-
ever there are men, there are Faults ; and upon these Terms,
Socrates himself should never bring the same Countenance
.Home again that he carried out with him.

If Anger were sufferable in any Case, it might be allowed
against an incorrigible Criminal under the Hand of Justice:
But Punishment is not matter of Anger, but of Caution.
The Law is without Passion, and strikes Malefactors as we
do Serpents and venomous Creatures, for fear of greater
Mischief. It is not for the Dignity of a Judge, when he
comes to pronounce the fatal Sentence, to express any Motions
of Anger in his Looks, Words, or Gestures : For he condemns
the Vice, not the Man ; and looks upon the Wickedness without
Anger, as he does upon the Prosperity of wicked Men without
Envy. But though he be not angry, I would have him a

394 SENECA

little moved in Point of Humanity; but yet without any
Offence either to his Place, or Wisdom.

Our Passions vary, but Reason is equal; and it were a
great Folly for that which is stable, faithful, and sound, to
repair for Succour to that which is uncertain, false, and dis-
tempered. If the Offender be incurable, take him out of the
World, that if he will not be good, he may cease to be evil;
but this must be without Anger too. Does any Man hate an
Arm, or a Leg, when he cuts it off ? or reckon that a Passion,
which is only a miserable Cure ? We knock mad Dogs on the
Head, and remove scabbed Sheep out of the Fold: And this
is not Anger still, but Reason; to separate the Sick from the
Sound. Justice cannot be angry; nor is there any need of
an angry Magistrate, for the Punishment of foolish and
wicked Men. The Power of Life and Death, must not be
managed with Passion. We give a Horse the Spur, that is
resty or jadish, and tries to cast his Rider. But this is with-
out Anger too, and only to take down his Stomach, and bring
him by Correction to Obedience.

It is true that Correction is necessary, yet within Reason
and Bounds; for it does not hurt but profits us under an
Appearance of Harm. Ill Dispositions in the Mind are to
be dealt with as those in the Body; the Physician first tries
Purging, and Abstinence; if this will not do, he proceeds to
Bleeding, nay to dismembering rather than fail; for there is
no Operation too severe that ends in Health. The public
Magistrate begins with Persuasion, and his Business is to
beget a Detestation of Vice, and a Veneration for Virtue:
From thence, if need be, he advances to Admonition, and
Reproach, and then to Punishments ; but moderate and revok-
able, unless the Wickedness be incurable, and then the Pun-
ishment must be so too. There is only this Difference, the
Physician, when he cannot save his Patient's Life, endeav-
ours to make his Death easy; but the Magistrate aggravates
the Death of the Criminal with Infamy and Disgrace; not
as delighting in the Severity of it (for no good Man can be
so barbarous) but for Example, and to the End that they
that will do no Good living, may do some dead.

The End of all Correction, is either the Amendment of

ON ANGER 395

wicked Men, or to prevent the Influence of ill Example : For
Men are punished with a Respect to the Future, not to expiate
Offences committed, but for fear of worse to come. Public
Offenders must be a Terror to others; but still all this while,
the Power of Life and Death must not be managed with Pas-
sion. The Medicine, in the mean Time, must be suited to
the Disease: Infamy cures one; Pain another; Exile cures
a third; Beggary a fourth; but there are some that are only
to be cured by the Gibbet. I would be no more angry with
a Thief, or a Traitor, than I am angry with myself when I
open a Vein.

All Punishment is but a moral or civil Remedy. I do
not do any Thing that is very ill, but yet I transgress often.
Try me first with a private Reprehension, and then with a
public; if that will not serve, see what Banishment will do;
if not that neither, load me with Chains, lay me in Prison;
but if I should prove wicked even for Wickedness Sake, and
leave no Hope of reclaiming me, it would be a Kind of
Mercy to destroy me. Vice is incorporated with me; and
there is no Remedy, but the taking of both away together;
but still without Anger.

CHAPTER VI

Anger in general, with the Danger and Effects of it.

There is no surer Argument of a great Mind than not
to be transported to Anger by any Accident. The Clouds
and the Tempests are formed below, but all above is quiet
and serene: Which is the Emblem of a brave, Man, that
suppresses all Provocations, and lives within himself, modest,
venerable, and composed: Whereas Anger is a turbulent
Humour, which at first Dash casts off all Shame, without
any Regard to Order, Measure, or good Manners; trans-
porting a Man into misbecoming Violences, with his Tongue,
his Hands, and every part of his Body. And whoever con-
siders the Foulness, and the Brutality of this Vice, must
acknowledge, that there is no such Monster in Nature, as

396 SENECA

one Man raging against another, and labouring to sink that,
which can never be drowned, but with himself for Company.
It renders us incapable, either of Discourse, or of other com-
mon Duties. It is of all Passions the most powerful : For
it makes a Man that is in Love, to kill his Mistress; the
ambitious Man to trample upon his Honours, and the covetous
to throw away his Fortune.

There is not any Mortal that lives free from the Danger
of it; for it makes even the heavy, and the good-natured to
be fierce and outrageous : It invades us like a Pestilence, the
lusty as well as the weak; and it is not either Strength of
Body, or a good Diet, that can secure us against it; nay the
learnedest, and Men otherwise of exemplary Sobriety, are
infected with it. It is so potent a Passion, that Socrates durst
not trust himself with it. "Sirrah" (says he to his Man),
" now would I beat you, if I were not angry with you."

There is no Age or Sect of Men that escapes it. Other
Vices take us one by one; but this, like an epidemical Con-
tagion, sweeps all : Men, Women, and Children ; Princes, and
Beggars are carried away with it in Shoals, and Troops, as
one Man. It was never seen, that a whole Nation was in
love with one Woman, or unanimously bent upon one Vice:
But here and there, some particular Men are tainted with
some particular Crimes: Whereas in Anger, a single Word
many Times inflames the whole Multitude, and Men betake
themselves presently to Fire and Sword upon it: The Rab-
ble take upon them to give Laws to their Governors; the
common Soldiers to their Officers, to the Ruin not only of
private Families, but of Kingdoms, turning their Arms
against their own Leaders, and chusing their own Generals.
There is no public Counsel ; no putting of Things to the Vote ;
but in a Rage, the Mutineers divide from the Senate, name
their Head, force the Nobility in their own Houses, and put
them to Death with their own Hands. The Laws of Nations
are violated, the Persons of public Ministers affronted, whole
Cities infected with a general Madness, and no Respite
allowed for the Abatement, or discussing, of this public
Tumour. The Ships are crowded with tumultuary Soldiers.
And in this rude, and ill-boding Manner they march, and act

ON ANGER 397

under the Conduct only of their own Passions. Whatever
comes next serves them for Arms, until at last they pay for
their licentious Rashness, with the Slaughter of the whole
Party : This is the Event of a heady, and inconsiderate War.

When Men's Minds are struck with the Opinion of an
Injury, they fall on immediately wheresoever their Passion
leads them, without either Order, Fear, or Caution, provok-
ing their own Mischief; never at Rest, until they come to
Blows; and pursuing their Revenge, even with their Bodies
upon the Points of their Enemies Weapons. So that the
Anger itself, is much more hurtful for us, than the Injury
that provokes it ; for the one is bounded, but where the other
will stop no Man living knows. There are no greater Slaves
certainly, than those that serve Anger, for they improve their
Misfortunes by an Impatience more insupportable than the
Calamity that causes it.

Nor does it rise by Degrees, as other Passions, but flashes
like Gun powder blowing up all in a Moment. Neither does
it only press to the Mark, but overbears every Thing in the
Way to it. Other Vices drive us, but this hurries us head-
long; other Passions stand firm themselves, though perhaps
we cannot resist them ; but this consumes, and destroys itself :
It falls like Thunder, or a Tempest, with an irrevokable Vio-
lence, that gathers Strength in the Passage, and then evapo-
rates in the Conclusion. Other Vices are unreasonable, but
this is unhealthful too ; other Distempers have their Intervals,
and Degrees, but in this we are thrown down, as from a
Precipice: There is not any Thing so amazing to others, or
so destructive to itself; so proud, and insolent if it succeeds;
or so extravagant, if it be disappointed. No Repulse dis-
courages it, and for want of other Matter to work upon, it
falls foul upon itself; and let the Ground be never so trivial,
it is sufficient for the wildest Outrage imaginable.

It spares neither Age, Sex, nor Quality. Some People
would be luxurious perchance, but that they are poor; and
others lazy, if they were not persistently kept at work. The
Simplicity of a Country Life keeps many Men in Ignorance
of the Frauds and Impieties of Courts, and Camps: But,
no Nation, or Condition of Men is exempt from the Impres-

398 SENECA

sions of Anger, and it is equally dangerous, as well in War,
as in Peace. We find that Elephants will be made familiar;
Bulls will suffer Children to ride upon their Backs, and play
with their Horns; Bears and Lions, by good Usage, will be
brought to fawn upon their Masters; how desperate a Mad-
ness is it then for Men, after the reclaiming of the fiercest of
Beasts, and the bringing of them to be tractable, and domes-
tic, to become yet worse than Beasts one to another? Alex-
ander had two Friends, Clytus and Lysimachus; the one he
exposed to a Lion, the other to himself; and he that was
turned loose to the Beast escaped. Why do we not rather
make the best of a short Life, and render ourselves amiable
to all while we live, and desirable when we die?

Let us bethink ourselves of our Mortality, and not squan-
der away the little Time that we have upon Animosities and
Feuds, as if it were never to be at an End. Had we not
better enjoy the Pleasure of our own Life, than be still con-
triving how to gall and torment another's ? In all our Brawl-
ings and Contentions, never so much as dreaming of our
Weakness. Do we not know that these implacable Enmities
of ours lie at the Mercy of a Fever, or any petty Accident or
Disappointment? Our Fate is at Hand, and the very Hour
that we have set for another Man's Death, may peradventure
be prevented by our own. What is it that we make all this
Bustle for, and so needlessly disquiet our Minds? We are
offended with our Servants, our Masters, our Princes, our
Clients : It is but a little Patience, and we shall be all of us
equal; so that there is no Need either of Ambushes, or of
Combats. Our Wrath cannot go beyond Death; and Death
will most undoubtedly come, whether we be peevish or quiet.
It is Time lost to take Pains to do that, which will infallibly
be done without us.

But, suppose that we would only have our Enemy ban-
ished, disgraced, or damaged, let his Punishment be more or
less, it is yet too long, either for him to be inhumanly tor-
mented, or for us ourselves to be most barbarously pleased
with it. It holds in Anger as in Mourning, it must, and will
at last fall of itself; let us look to it then betimes, for when
it is once come to an ill Habit, we shall never want Matter

ON ANGER 399

to feed it; and it is much better to overcome our Passions,
than to be overcome by them.

Some Way or other, either our Parents, Children, Serv-
ants, Acquaintances, or Strangers, will be continually vexing
us. We are tossed hither and thither, by our Affections, like
a Feather in a Storm, and by fresh Provocations the Mad-
ness becomes perpetual. Miserable Creatures! that ever our
precious Hours should be so ill employed! How prone and
eager are we in our Hatred, and how backward in our Love !
Were it not much better now to be making of Friendships;
pacifying of Enemies; doing of good Offices both public and
private, than to be still meditating of Mischief, and design-
ing how to wound one Man in his Fame, another in his For-
tune, a third in his Person? the one being so easy, innocent,
and safe; and the other so difficult, impious, and hazardous.
Nay, take a Man in Chains, and at the Foot of his Oppressor ;
how many are there, who, even in this Case, have maimed
themselves in the Heat of their Violence upon others ?

This untractable Passion is much more easily kept out,
than governed when it is once admitted ; for the stronger will
give Laws to the weaker; and make Reason a Slave to the
Appetite. It carries us headlong, and in the Course of our
Fury, we have no more Command of our Minds, than we
have of our Bodies down a Precipice ; when they are once in
Motion, there is no Stop till they come to the Bottom. Not
but that it is possible for a Man to be warm in Winter, and
not to sweat in Summer, either by the Benefit of the Place,
or the Hardness of the Body; and in Hke Manner we may
provide against Anger. But, certain it is, that Virtue and
Vice can never agree in the same Subject; and one may be
as well a sick Man and a sound at the same Time, as a good
Man, and an angry.

Beside, if we will needs be quarrelsome, it must be either
with our Superior, our Equal, or Inferior. To contend with
our Superior is Folly and Madness; with our Equals it is
doubtful and dangerous; and with our Inferiors, it is base.
For does any Man know but that he that is now our Enemy,
may come hereafter to be our Friend, over and above the Rep-
utation of Clemency, and good Nature. And what can be

400 SENECA

more honourable, or comfortable, than to exchange a Feud for
a Friendship? The People of Rome never had more faithful
Allies, than those that were at first the most obstinate Ene-
mies: Neither had the Roman Empire ever arrived at that
Height of Power, if Providence had not mingled the Van-
quished with the Conquerors. There is an End of the Con-
test, when one Side deserts it : So that the paying of Anger
with benefits puts a Period to the Controversy.

But however if it be our Fortune to transgress, let not
our Anger descend to the Children, Friends, or Relations,
even of our bitterest Enemies. The very Cruelty of Sylla
was heightened by that Instance of incapacitating the Issue
of the Proscribed. It is inhuman to instill the Hatred we
have for the Father upon his Posterity. A good and a wise
Man is not to be an Enemy of wicked Men, but a Reprover
of them ; and he is to look upon all the Drunkards, the lust-
ful, the thankless, covetous, and ambitious, that he meets with,
no otherwise than as a Physician looks upon his Patients;
for he that will be angry with any Man, must be displeased
with all; which were as ridiculous, as to quarrel with a Body
for stumbling in the Dark; with one that is deaf, for not
doing as you bid him; or with a School boy for loving his
Play better than his Book. Democritus laughed, and Hera-
clitus wept at the Folly and Wickedness of the World, but we
never read of an angry Philosopher.

This is undoubtedly the most detestable of Vices, even
compared with the worst of them. Avarice scrapes and gath-
ers together, that which somebody may be the better for:
But Anger lashes out, and no Man comes off gratis. An
angry Master makes one Servant run away, and another
hang himself ; and his Choler causes him a much greater Loss
than he suffered in the Occasion of it. It is the Cause of
Mourning to the Father, and of Divorce to the Husband : It
makes the Magistrate odious, and gives the Candidate a
Repulse. And it is worse than Luxury too, which only aims
at its proper Pleasure ; whereas the other is bent upon another
Body's Pain. The Malevolent and the Envious content them-
selves only to wish another Man miserable ; but it is the Busi-
ness of Anger to make him so; and to wrack the Mischief

ON ANGER 401

itself, not so much desiring the Hurt of another, as to
inflict it.

Among the powerful, it breaks out into open War, and
into a private one with the common People, but without Force
or Arms. It engages us in Treacheries, perpetual Troubles,
and Contentions: It alters the very Nature of a Man, and
punishes itself in the Persecution of others. Humanity
excites us to Love, this to Hatred; that to be beneficial to
others, this to hurt them: Beside that, though it proceeds
from too high a Conceit of ourselves, it is yet in effect but a
narrow and contemptible Affection, especially when it meets
with a Mind that is hard, and impenetrable; and returns the
Dart upon the Head of him that casts it.

To take a farther View now of the miserable Conse-
quences, and sanguinary Effects of this hideous Distemper;
from hence came Slaughters, and Poisons, Wars, and Deso-
lations, the razing, and burning of Cities; the unpeopling of
Nations, and the turning of populous Countries into Desarts ;
public Massacres and Regicides; Princes led in Triumph;
Some murdered in their Bed-chambers ; others stabbed in the
Senate, or cut off in the Security of their Spectacles, and
Pleasures. Some there are that take Anger for a princely
Quality; as Darius, who in his Expedition against the Scyth-
ians, being besought by a Nobleman that had three Sons,
that he would vouchsafe to accept two of them into his Serv-
ice, and leave the third at Home for a Comfort for his
Father. " I will do more for you than that," says Darius,
" for you shall have them all three again " : So he ordered
them to be slain before his Face, and left him their Bodies.

But Xerxes dealt a little better with Pythius, who had
five Sons, and desired only one of them for himself. Xerxes
bade him take his Choice, and he named the Eldest, whom
he immediately commanded to be cut in Halves ; and one Half
of the Body to be laid on each Side of the Way, when his
Army was to pass betwixt them. Undoubtedly a most aus-
picious Sacrifice; but he came afterward to the End that he
deserved ; for he lived to see that prodigious Power scattered,
and broken; and instead of military, and victorious Troops,
to be encompassed with Carcases.

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But, these, you will say, were only barbarous Princes,
that knew neither Civility, nor Letters: And these savage
Cruelties will be imputed perchance to their Rudeness of
Manners and want of Discipline. But what will you say
then of Alexander the Great, that was trained up under the
Institution of Aristotle himself ; and killed Clytus his Favour-
ite and School-fellow, with his own Hand, under his own
Roof, and over the Freedom of a Cup of Wine ? And what
was his Crime? He was loath to degenerate from a Mace-
donian Liberty into a Persian Slavery. That is to say, he
could not flatter. Lysimachus, another of his Friends, he
exposed to a Lion; and this very Lysimachus, after he had
escaped this Danger, was never the more merciful, when he
came to reign himself; for he cut off the Ears and Nose of
his Friend Telesphorus: And when he had disfigured him,
that he had no longer the Face of Man, he threw him into
a Dungeon, and there kept him to be shewed for a Monster,
as a Strange Sight. The Place was so low, that he was fain
to creep upon all four, and his Sides were galled too with
the Straitness of it. In this Misery he lay half-famished in
his own Filth; so odious, so terrible, and so loathsome a
Spectacle, that the Horror of his Condition had even extin-
guished all Pity for him. Nothing was ever so unlike a Man
as the poor Wretch that suffered this, saving the Tyrant that
acted it.

Nor did this merciless Hardness only exercise itself
among Foreigners, but the Fierceness of their Outrages and
Punishments, as well as their Vices broke in upon the Ro-
mans. C. Marius, that had his Statue set up every where,
and was adored as a God; L. Sylla commanded his Bones
to be broken, his Eyes to be put out, his Hands to be cut off ;
and, as if every Wound had been a several Death, his Body
to be torn to Pieces, and Catiline was the Executioner. A
Cruelty, that was only fit for Marius to suffer; Sylla to com-
mand, and Catiline to act; but most dishonourable and fatal
to the Commonwealth, to fall indifferently upon the Swords
Points both of Citizens and of Enemies.

It was a severe Instance that of Piso too. A Soldier that
had Leave to go abroad with his Comrade, came back to

ON ANGER 403

the Camp at his Time, but without his Companion ; Piso con-
demns him to die, as if he had killed him, and appoints a
Centurion to see the Execution. Just as the Headsman was
ready to do his Office, the other Soldier appeared, to the great
Joy of the whole Field, and the Centurion bade the Execu-
tioner hold his Hand: Hereupon Piso, in a Rage, mounts
the Tribunal, and sentences all three to Death: The one,
because he was condemned; the other, because it was for his
Sake that his Fellow soldier was condemned; the Centurion,
for not obeying the Order of his Superior. An ingenious
Piece of Inhumanity, to contrive how to make three Crimi-
nals, where effectually there were none.

There was a Persian King that caused the Noses of a
whole Nation to be cut off, and they were to thank him that
he spared their Heads. And this perhaps would have been
the Fate of the Macrobii (if Providence had not hindered it)
for the Freedom they used to Cambyses's Ambassadors in
not accepting the slavish Terms that were offered them. This
put Cambyses into such a Rage, that he presently listed into
his Service every Man that was able to bear Arms ; and with-
out either Provisions or Guides, marched immediately through
dry and barren Desarts, and where never any Man had passed
before him, to take his Revenge. Before he was a third
Part of the Way, his Provisions failed him ; his Men, at first,
made shift with the Buds of Trees, boiled Leather, and the
like ; but soon after there was not so much as a Root or a Plant
to be gotten, nor a living Creature to be seen; and then, by
Lot, every tenth Man was to die, for a Nourishment to the
rest, which was still worse than the Famine: But yet this
passionate King went so far, till one Part of his Army was
lost, and the other devoured, and till he feared that he him-
self might come to be served with the same Sauce. So that
at last he ordered a Retreat, wanting no Delicacies all this
while for himself ; while his Soldiers were taking their Chance
who should die miserable, or live worse. Here was an Anger
taken up against a whole Nation, that neither deserved any
111 from him, nor was so much as known to him.

404 SENECA

CHAPTER VII
The ordinary Grounds and Occasions of 'Anger.

In this wandering State of Life, we meet with many
Occasions of Trouble, and Displeasure, both great and trivial ;
and not a Day passes, but from Men, or Things, we have
some Cause or other for Offence; as a Man must expect to
be justled, dashed and crowded in a populous City. One
Man deceives our Expectation: Another delays it; and if
every Thing does not succeed to our Wish, we presently fall
out either with the Person, the Business, the Place, our For-
tune, or ourselves. Some Men value themselves upon their
Wit, and will never forgive any one that pretends to lessen
it : Others are inflamed by Wine ; and some are distempered
by Sickness, Weariness, Watchings, Love, Care, &c. Some
prone to it by Heat of Constitution ; but moist, dry and cold
Complexions are most liable to other Affections, as Suspi-
cion, Despair, Fear, Jealousy, &c.

But most of our Quarrels are of our own contriving. One
while we suspect upon Mistake; and another while we make
a great Matter of Trifles. To say the Truth, most of those
Things that exasperate us, are rather Subjects, of Disgust,
than of Mischief : There is a large Difference betwixt oppos-
ing a Man's Satisfaction, and not assisting it ; betwixt taking
away, and not giving; but we reckon upon denying and
deferring, as the same Thing; and interpret another's being
for himself, as if he were against us. Nay, we do many
Times entertain an ill Opinion of Well-doing, and a good
one of the contrary : And we hate a Man for doing that very
Thing which we should hate him for on the other Side, if he
did not do it. We take it ill to be opposed when there is a
Father perhaps, a Brother, or a Friend in the Case against
us; when we should rather love a Man for it; and only wish
that he could be honestly of our Party. We approve of the
Fact, and detest the Doer of it. It is a base Thing to hate
the Person whom we cannot but commend; but it is a great

ON ANGER 405

deal worse yet, if we hate him for the very Thing- that
deserves Commendation.

The Things that we desire, if they be such as cannot be
given to one, without being taken away from another, must
needs set those People together by the Ears that desire the
same Thing. One Man has a Design upon my Mistress;
another upon mine Inheritance: And that which should
make Friends, makes Enemies; our being all of a Mind.

The general Cause of Anger, is the Sense, or Opinion of
an Injury; that is, the Opinion either of an Injury simply
done, or of an Injury done which we have not deserved.
Some are naturally given to Anger, others are provoked to
it by Occasion; the Anger of Women and Children, is com-
monly sharp, but not lasting; old Men are rather querelous,
and peevish. Hard Labour, Diseases, Anxiety of Thought,
and whatsoever hurts the Body, or the Mind, disposes a
Man to be froward, but we must not add Fire to Fire.

He that duly considers the Subject Matter of all our
Controversies, and Quarrels, will find them low, and mean,
not worth the Thought of a Generous Mind ; but the greatest
Noise of all is about Money. This is it, that sets Fathers
and Children together by the Ears; Husbands and Wives;
and makes Way for Sword and Poison: This it is that tries
our Courts of Justice, enrages Princes, and lays Cities in the
Dust, to seek for Gold and Silver in the Ruins of them. This
is it that finds Work for the Judge, to determine which Side
is least in the wrong ; and whose is the most plausible Avarice,
the Plaintiff, or the Defendant's : And what is it that we con-
tend for all this while, but those Baubles that make us cry,
when we should laugh ? To see a rich old Cuss, that has no-
body to leave his Estate to, break his Heart for a Handful of
Dirt ; and a gouty Usurer that has no other Use of his fingers
left him, but to count withal; to see him, I say, in the Ex-
tremity of his Fit, wrangling for the odd Money in his Inter-
est: If all that is precious in Nature were gathered into

one Mass, it were not worth the Trouble of a sober Mind.

It were endless to run over all those ridiculous Passions
that are moved about Meats, and Drinks, and the Matter of
our Luxury; nay, about Words, Looks, Actions, Jealousies,

406 SENECA

Mistakes, which are all of them as contemptible Fooleries, as
those very Baubles that Children scratch and cry for. There
is nothing great, or serious in all that which we keep such a
Clutter about; the Madness of it is, that we set too great a
Value upon Trifles. One Man flies out upon a Salute, a Let-
ter, a Speech, a Question, a Gesture, a Wink, a Look. An
Action moves one Man ; a Word affects another : One man is
tender of his Family; another of his Person; one sets up for
an Orator, another for a Philosopher: This Man will not
bear Pride, nor that Man Opposition. He that plays the
Tyrant at Home, is as gentle as a Lamb Abroad. Some take
Offence if a Man ask a Favour of them, and others if he does
not. Every Man has his weak Side; let us learn which that
is, and take Care of it; for the same Thing does not work
upon all Men alike. We are moved like Beasts, at the idle
Appearances of Things; and the fiercer the Creature, the
more it is startled. The Sight of a red Coat enrages a Bull;
a Shadow provokes the Asp; nay, so unreasonable are some
Men, that they take moderate Benefits for Injuries ; and squab-
ble about it with their nearest Relations : " They have done
this and that for others," they cry ; " and they might have
dealt better with us if they had pleased." Very good! And
if it be less than we looked for, it may be yet more than we
deserve.

Of all unquiet Humours, this is the worst, that will never
suffer any Man to be happy, so long as he sees a happier Man
than himself. I have known some Men so weak, as to think
themselves contemned, if a Horse did not play the Jade with
them, that is yet obedient to another Rider. A brutal Folly
to be offended at a mute Animal; for no Injury can be
done us without the Concurrence of Reason. A Beast may
hurt us, as a Sword, or a Stone, and no otherwise. Nay,
there are, that will complain of foul Weather, or raging Sea,
a biting Winter, as if it were expressly directed to them; and
this they charge upon Providence, whose Operations are all of
them so far from being injurious, that they are beneficial to us.

How vain and idle are many of those Things that make
us stark mad! A resty Horse, the overturning of a Glass,
the falling of a Key, the Dragging of a Chair, a Jealousy, a

ON ANGER 407

Misconstruction. How shall that Man endure the Extremi-
ties of Hunger, and Thirst, that flies out into Rage for put-
ting of a little too much Water in his Wine? What Haste
is there to lay a Servant by the Heels, or break a Leg or an
Arm immediately for it; as if he were not to have the same
Power over him an Hour after, that he has at that Instant?
The Answer of a Servant, a Wife, a Tenant, puts some People
out of all Patience ; and yet they can quarrel with the Govern-
ment for not allowing them the same Liberty in Public, which
they themselves deny to their own Families. If they say
nothing, it is Contumacy: If they speak, or laugh, it is Inso-
lence. As if a Man had his Ears given him only for Music;
whereas we must suffer all Sorts of Noises, good and bad,
both of Man and Beasts. How idle is it to start at the
tinkling of a Bell, or the creaking of a Door, when for all
this Delicacy, we must endure Thunder?

Neither are our Eyes less curious and fantastical than our
Ears. When we are Abroad, we can bear well enough with
foul Ways, nasty Streets, noisome Ditches ; but a Spot upon a
Dish at Home, or an unswept Hearth, absolutely distracts
us. And what is the Reason, but that we are patient in the
one Place, and fantastically peevish in the other? Nothing
makes us more intemperate than Luxury, that shrinks at every
Stroke, and starts at every Shadow. It is Death to some to
have another sit above them, as if a Body were ever the more
or the less honest for the Cushion.

But they are only weak Creatures that think themselves
wounded if they are but touched. One of the Sybarities, that
saw a Fellow hard at work a-digging, desired him to give
over, for it made him weary to see him : And it was an ordi-
nary Complaint with him. That he could take no Rest, because
the Rose-leaves lay double under him.

When we are once weakened with our Pleasures, every
Thing grows intolerable. And we are angry as well with
those Things that cannot hurt us, as with those that do.
We tear a Book, because it is blotted ; and our Cloaths because
they are not well made: Things that neither deserve our
Anger, nor feel it. The Taylor perchance did his best, or
however had no Intent to displease us : If so, first, Why should

408 SENECA

we be angry at all : Secondly, Why should we be angry with
the Thing for the Man's Sake? Nay, our Anger extends
even to Dogs, Horses, and other Beasts.

It was a blasphemous and a sottish Extravagance that of
Caius Caesar, who challenged Jupiter for making such a Noise
with his Thunder that he could not hear his Mimicks, and so
invented a Machine in Imitation of it, to oppose Thunder to
Thunder; a brutal Conceit, to imagine, either that he could
reach the Almighty, or that the Almighty could not reach
him.

And every Jot as ridiculous, though not so impious, was
that of Cyrus; who, in his Design upon Babylon, found a
River in his Way that put a Stop to his March : The Current
was strong, and carried away one of the Horses that belonged
to his own Chariot: Upon this he swore, that since it had
obstructed his Passage, it should never hinder any Body's
else ; and presently set his whole Army to work upon it, which
diverted it into a hundred and fourscore Channels, and laid it
dry. In this ignoble and unprofitable Employment, he lost his
Time, and the Soldiers their Courage, and gave his Adver-
saries an Opportunity of providing themselves, while he was
waging War with a River, instead of an Enemy.

CHAPTER VIII

Advice in the Cases of Contumely and Revenge,

Of Provocations to Anger there are two Sorts; there is
an Injury, and there is a Contumely. The former in its own
Nature is the heavier; the other slight in itself, and only trou-
blesome to a wounded Imagination. And yet some there are
that will bear Blows, and Death itself, rather than contume-
lious Words. A Contumely is an Indignity below the Con-
sideration of the very Law; and not worthy either of a
Revenge, or so much as a Complaint. It is only the Vexa-
tion, and Infirmity of a weak Mind, as well as the Practice
of a haughty and insolent Nature, and signifies no more to
a wise and sober Man than an idle Dream, that is no sooner

ON ANGER 409

past than forgotten. It is true, it implies Contempt ; but what
needs any Man care for being contemptible to others, if he
be not so to himself? For a Child in the Arms to strike the
Mother, tear the Hair, claw the Face of her, and call her
Names; that goes for nothing with us, because the Child
knows not what he does.

Neither are we moved at the Impudence, and Bitterness
of a Buffoon; though he fall upon his own Master, as well
as the Guests : But on the contrary, we encourage and enter-
tain the Freedom. Are we not mad then to be delighted
and displeased with the same Thing, and to take that as an
Injury from one Man, which passes only for a Raillery from
another ?

He that is wise, will behave himself toward all Men as
we do to our Children : For they are but Children too, though
they have grey Hairs : They are indeed of a larger Size, and
their Errors are grown up with them ; they live without Rule,
they call without Choice, they are timorous and unsteady;
and if at any Time they happen to be quiet, it is more out of
Fear, than Reason.

It is a wretched Condition to stand in Awe of every Body's
Tongue ; and whosover is vext at a Reproach would be proud
if he were commended. We should look upon Contumelies,
Slanders, and ill Words, only as the Clamour of Enemies, or
Arrows shot at a Distance, that make a Clattering upon our
Arms, but do no Execution. A Man makes himself less than
his Adversary, by fancying that he is contemned. Things
are only ill, that are ill taken; and it is not for a Man of
Worth to think himself better or worse for the Opinion of
others.

He that thinks himself injured, let him say, "Either I
have deserved this, or I have not. If I have, it is a Judgment :
If I have not, it is an Injustice ; and the Doer of it has more
Reason to be ashamed than the Sufferer."

Nature has assigned every Man his Post, which he is
bound in Honour to maintain, let him be never so much
pressed. Diogenes was disputing of Anger, and an inso-
lent young Fellow, to try if he could put him beside his
Philosophy, spit in his Face : " Young Man," says Diogenes,

410 SENECA

" this does not make me angry yet ; but I am in some Doubt
whether I should be so or no."

Some are so impatient, that they cannot bear a Con-
tumely, even from a Woman; whose very Beauty, Greatness,
and Ornaments, are all of them little enough to vindicate her
from many Indecencies, without much Modesty and Discre-
tion. Nay, they will lay it to Heart even from the meanest
of Servants.

How wretched is that Man whose Peace lies at the Mercy
of the People ? A Physician is not angry at the Intemperance
of a mad Patient; nor does he take it ill to be railed at by a
Man in a Fever : Just so should a wise Man treat all Mankind,
as a Physician does his Patient; and looking upon them only
as sick, and extravagant ; let their Words and Actions, whether
good, or bad, go equally for nothing ; attending still his Duty,
even in the coarsest Offices that may conduce to their Recov-
ery. Men that are proud, froward, and powerful, he values
their Scorn as little as their Quality, and looks upon them no
otherwise, than as People in the Access of a Fever. If a
Beggar worships him, or if he takes no Notice of him, it is
all one to him; and with a rich Man he makes it the same
Case. Their Honours, and their Injuries, he accounts much
alike; without rejoicing at the one, or grieving at the other.

In these Cases, the Rule is to pardon all Offences, where
there is any Sign of Repentance, or Hope of Amendment. It
does not hold in Injuries, as in Benefits, the Requiting of
the one with the other : For it is a Shame to overcome in the
one, and in the other to be overcome.

It is the Part of a great Mind to despise Injuries ; and it
is one Kind of Revenge, to neglect a Man as not worth it:
For it makes the first Aggressor too considerable. Our Phi-
losophy methinks might carry us up to the Bravery of a gener-
ous Mastiff, that can hear the Barking of a thousand Curs,
without taking any Notice of them.

He that receives an Injury from his Superior, it is not
enough for him to bear it with Patience, and without any
Thought of Revenge; but he must receive it with a chearful
Countenance, and look as if he did not understand it too;
for if he appear too sensible, he shall be sure to have more

ON ANGER 411

of it It is a damned Humour in great Men, that whom they
wrong they will hate. It was well answered of an old
Courtier, that was asked^ how he kept so long in Favour?
" Why," says he, " by receiving Injuries, and crying Your
humble Servant for them."

Some Men take it for an Argument of Greatness, to have
Revenge in their Power; but so far is he that is under the
Dominion of Anger, from being great, that he is not so much
as free. Not but that Anger is a kind of Pleasure to some
in the Act of Revenge: But the very Word is inhuman,
though it may pass for honest. Virtue, in short, is impene-
trable, and Revenge is only the Confession of an Infirmity.

It is a fantastical Humour, that the same Jest in private,
should make us merry, and yet enrage us in public; nay, we
will not allow the Liberty that we take. Some Railleries we
account pleasant, others bitter : A Conceit upon a Squint Eye,
a Hunch back, or any personal Defect, passes for a Reproach.
And why may we not as well hear it, as see it? Nay, if a
Man imitates our Gait, Speech, or any natural Imperfection,
it puts us out of all Patience, as if the Counterfeit were more
grievous, than the doing of the Thing itself.

Some cannot endure to hear of their Age, nor others of
their Poverty ; and they make the Thing the more taken Notice
of, the more they desire to hide it. Some bitter Jest (for
the Purpose) was broken upon you at the Table; keep better
Company then. In the Freedom of Cups a sober Man will
hardly contain himself within Bounds. It sticks with us
extremely sometimes, that the Porter will not let us into his
great Master. Will any but a Madman quarrel with a Cur
for barking, when he may pacify him with a Crust? What
have we to do but to keep farther off, and laugh at him?

Fidus Cornelius (a tall, slim Fellow) fell downright a
crying in the Senate-house, at Corbulo's saying, that he
looked like an Estriche. He was a Man that made nothing
of a Dash upon his life, and Manners ; but it was worse than
Death to him, a Reflexion upon his Person.

No Man was ever ridiculous to others, that laught at
himself first; it prevents Mischief, and it is a spiteful Disap-
pointment of those that take Pleasure in such Abuses. Vati-

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nius (a Man that was made up of Scorn, and Hatred, scur-
rilous, and impudent to the highest Degree, but most abusively
witty, and with all this he was diseased and deformed to
Extremity) his Way was always to begin to make Sport with
himself, and so he prevented the Mockery of other People.

There are none more abusive to others, than they that lie
most open to it themselves ; but the Humour goes round, and
he that laughs at me To-day will have some Body to laugh at
him To-morrow, and revenge my Quarrel. But however
there are some Liberties that will never go down with some
Men.

Asiaticus Valerius (one of Caligula's particular Friends,
and a Man of Stomach, that would not easily digest an
Affront) Caligula told him in public what kind of Bedfellow
his Wife was. Good God! that ever any Man should hear
this, or a Prince speak it, especially to a Man of Consular
Authority, a Friend, and a Husband; and in such a Manner
too, as at once to own his Disgust, and his Adultery.

The Tribune Chsereas had a weak broken Voice, like an
Hermaphrodite; when he came to Caligula for the Word,
he would give him sometimes Venus, other whiles Priapus ; as
a Slur upon him both Ways. Valerius was afterwards the
principal Instrument in the Conspiracy against him; and
Chaereas, to convince him of his Manhood, at one Blow cleft
him down the Chine with his Sword. No Man was so for-
ward as Caligula to break a Jest, and no Man more unwilling
to bear it.

CHAPTER IX

Cautions against Anger in the Matter of Education, Converse,
and other general Means of preventing it, both in ourselves
and others.

All that we have to say in particular upon this subject lies
under these two Heads ; First, that we do not fall into Anger ;
and secondly, that we do not transgress in it. As in the Case
of our Bodies, we have some Medicines to preserve us when
we are well, and others to recover us when we are sick ; so it

ON ANGER 413

is one Thing not to admit it, and another Thing to overcome
it. We are, in the first Place, to avoid all Provocations, and
the Beginnings of Anger: For if we be once down, it is a
hard Task to get up again: When our Passion has got the
better of our Reason, and the Enemy is received into the
Gate, we cannot expect that the Conqueror should take Con-
ditions from the Prisoner. And the Truth, our Reason, when
it is thus mastered, turns effectually into Passion. A care-
ful Education is a great Matter, for our Minds are easily
formed in our Youth, but it is a harder Business to cure ill
Habits: Beside that, we are inflamed by Climate, Constitu-
tion, Company, and a thousand other Accidents that we are
not aware of.

The Choice of a good Nurse, and a well-natured Tutor,
goes a great Way; for the Sweetness both of the Blood, and
of the Manners, will pass into the Child. There is nothing
breeds Anger more than a soft and effeminate Education;
and it is very seldom seen, that either the Mother's or the
School-master's Darling ever comes to good. But, my young
Master, when he comes into the World, behaves himself like
a choleric Coxcomb; for Flattery, and a great Fortune nour-
ish Touchiness. But it is a nice Point, so to check the Seeds
of Anger in a Child, so as not to take off his Edge and quench
his Spirits, whereof a principal Care must be taken, betwixt
Licence and Severity, that he be neither too much emboldened,
nor depressed. Commendation gives him Courage and Con-
fidence; but then the Danger is, of blowing him into Insolence,
and Wrath : So that when to use the Bit, and when the Spur,
is the main Difficulty.

Never put him to a Necessity of begging any Thing
basely; or, if he does, let him go without it. Enure him to
a Familiarity, where he has any Emulation: And in all his
Exercises let him understand, that it is generous to overcome
his Competitor, but not to hurt him. Allow him to be pleased
when he does well, but not transported ; for that will puff him
up into too high a Conceit of himself. Give him nothing that
he cries for, until the dogged Fit is over, but then let him have
it when he is quiet; to shew him that there is nothing to be
gotten by being peevish. Chide him for whatever he does

414 SENECA

amiss, and make him betimes acquainted with the Fortune
that he was born to. Let his Diet be cleanly, but sparing;
and clothe him like the rest of his Fellows : For by placing
him upon that Equality at first, he will be the less proud after-
wards : And consequently the less waspish and quarrelsome.

In the next Place, let us have a Care of Temptations that
we cannot resist, and Provocations that we cannot bear ; and
especially of sour and exceptions Company: For a cross
Humour is contagious : Nor is it all, that a Man shall be the
better for the Example of a quiet Conversation ; but an angry
Disposition is troublesome, because it has nothing else to work
upon. We should therefore chuse a sincere, easy, and tem-
perate Companion, that will neither provoke Anger, nor re-
turn it; nor give a Man any Occasion of exercising his Dis-
tempers.

Nor is it enough to be gentle, submiss, and humane, with-
out Integrity and plain Dealing: For Flattery is as offen-
sive on the other Side. Some Men would take a Cure from
you better than a Compliment. Cselius, a passionate Orator,
had a Friend of singular Patience, that supped with him;
who had ijo Way to avoid a Quarrel, but by saying Amen to
all that Cselius said. Caelius, taking this ill ; " Say something
against me," says he, " that you and I may be two ; " and he
was angry with him because he would not; but the Dispute
fell, as it needs must, for want of an Opponent.

He that is naturally addicted to Anger, let him use a
moderate Diet, and abstain from Wine, for it is but adding
Fire to Fire. Gentle Exercises, Recreations, and Sports,
temper and sweeten the Mind. Let him have a Care also of
long and obstinate Disputes, for it is easier not to begin them,
than to put an End to them.

Severe Studies are not good for him neither: As Law,
Mathematics ; too much Intention preys upon the Spirits, and
makes him eager. But Poetry, History, and those lighter
Entertainments may serve him for Diversion and Relief.

He that would be quiet, must not venture at Things out
of his Reach, nor beyond his Strength; for he shall either
stagger under the Burden, or discharge it upon the next Man
he meets; which is the same Case in civil and domestic

ON ANGER 415

Affairs. Business that is ready and practical goes off with
Ease ; but when it is too heavy for the Bearer, they fall both
together. Whatsoever we design, we should first take a
Measure of ourselves, and compare our Force with the Un-
dertaking, for it vexes a Man not to go through with his
Work: A Repulse inflames a generous Nature, as it makes
one that is phlegmatic, sad.

I have known some that have advised looking into a Glass
when a Man is in the Fit, and the very Spectacle of his own
Deformity has cured him. Many that are troublesome in
their Drink, and know their own Infirmity, give their Ser-
vants Order before-hand, to take them away by Force for
Fear of Mischief, and not to obey their Masters themselves
when they are hot-headed. If the Thing were duly con-
sidered, we should need no other Cure than the bare Consid-
eration of it. We are not angry at Madmen, Children, and
Fools, because they do not know what they do: And why
should not Imprudence have an equal Privilege in other Cases !
If a Horse kick, or a Dog bite, shall a Man kick or bite again?
The one, it is true, is wholly void of Reason, but it is also an
equivalent Darkness of Mind, that possesses the other.

So long as we are among Men, let us cherish Humanity;
and so live, that no Man may be either in Fear, or in Danger
of us. Losses, Injuries, Reproaches, Calumnies, they are but
short Inconveniences, and we should bear them with Resolu-
tion. Beside that, some People are above our Anger, others
below it. To contend with our Superiors were a Folly, and
with our Inferiors an Indignity.

There is hardly a more effectual Remedy against Anger
than Patience, and Consideration. Let but the first Fervour
abate, and that Mist which darkens the Mind, will be either
lessened or dispelled; a Day, nay, an Hour does much in the
most violent Cases, and perchance totally suppresses it : Time
discovers the Truth of Things, and turns that into Judgment
which at first was Anger. Plato was about to strike his Ser-
vant, and while his Hand was in the Air, he checked himself,
but still held it in that menacing Posture. A Friend of his
took Notice of it, and asked him what he meant: "I am
now," says Plato, "punishing of an angry Man:" So that

416 SENECA

he had left his Servant to chastise himself. Another Time,
his Servant having committed a great Fault : " Speusippus,"
says he, "Do you beat that Fellow, for I am angry:" So
that he forbore striking him for the very Reason that would
have made another Man have done it. "I am angry," says
he, " and shall go farther than becomes me."

Nor is it fit that a Servant should be in his Power that is
not his own Master. Why should any one venture now to
trust an angry Man with a Revenge, when Plato durst not
trust himself? Either he must govern that, or that will
undo him. Let us do our best to overcome it; but let us
however keep it close without giving it any Vent.

An angry Man, if he gives himself Liberty at all Times,
will go too far. If it comes once to shew itself in the Eye, or
Countenance, it has got the better of us. Nay, we should so
oppose it, as to put on the very contrary Dispositions : Calm
Looks, soft and slow Speech; an easy and deliberate March,
and by little and little we may possibly bring our Thoughts
into a sober Conformity with our Actions. When Socrates
was angry, he would take himself in it, and speak low, in
Opposition to the Motions of his Displeasure. His Friends
would take Notice of it; and it was not to his Disadvantage
neither, but rather to his Credit, that so many should know
that he was angry, and no-body feel it; which could never
have been, if he had not given his Friends the same Liberty
of Admonition which he himself took.

And this Course should we take : We should desire our
Friends not to flatter us in our Follies, but to treat us with all
Liberties of Reprehension, even when we are least willing to
hear it, against so powerful, and so insinuating an Evil; we
should call for Help, while we have our Eyes in our Head,
and are yet Masters of ourselves. Moderation is profitable
for Subjects, but more for Princes, who have the Means of
executing all that their Anger prompts them to. When that
Power comes once to be exercised to a common Mischief, it
can never long continue, a common Fear joining in one Cause
all their divided Complaints. In a Word now, how we may
prevent, moderate, or master this impotent Passion in others.

It is not enough to be found ourselves, unless we

ON ANGER 417

endeavour to make others so, wherein we must accommodate
the Remedy to the Temper of the Patient. Some are to be
dealt with by Artifice and Address; as for Example, Why
will you gratify your Enemies, to shew yourself so much
concerned f It is not worth your Anger; it is below you; I
am as much troubled at it myself, as you can be; but you had
better say nothing, and take your Time to be even with them.

Anger in some People is to be openly opposed; in others
there must be a Httle yielding, according to the Disposition
of the Person. Some are won by Intreaties, others are gained
by mere Shame and Conviction; and some by Delay; a dull
Way of Cure for a violent Distemper : But this must be the
last Experiment. Other Affections may be better dealt with
at Leisure : For they proceed gradually ; but this commences,
and perfects itself in the same Moment. It does not, like
other Passions, solicit, and mis-lead us, but runs away with
us by Force; and hurries us on with irresistible Temerity, as
well to our own, as to another's Ruin: Not only flying in
the Face of him that provokes us, but like a Torrent, bearing
down all before it. There is no encountering the first Heat
and Fury of it, for it is deaf and mad. The best Way is (in
the Beginning) to give it Time and Rest, and let it spend
itself: While the Passion is too hot to handle, we may
deceive it: But however, let all Instruments of Revenge be
put out of the Way. It is not amiss sometimes to pretend to
be angry too; and join with him, not only in the Opinion of
the Injury, but in the seeming Contrivance of a Revenge. But
this must be a Person then that has some Authority over
him. This is a Way to get Time, and by advising upon some
greater Punishment, to delay the present: If the Passion be
outrageous, try what Shame or Fear can do. If weak, it is
no hard Matter to amuse it by strange Stories, grateful News,
or pleasant Discourses. Deceit in this Case, is Friendship;
for Men must be cozened to be cured.

The Injuries that press hardest upon us, are those which
either we have not deserved, or not expected, or at least not
in so high a Degree. This arises from the Love of ourselves :
For every Man takes upon him like a Prince in this Case to
practise all Liberties, and to allow none. Which proceeds

418 SENECA

either from Ignorance or Insolence. What News is it for
People to do ill Things? For an Enemy to hurt; nay, for a
Friend or a Servant to transgress, and to prove treacherous,
ungrateful, covetous, impious? What we find in one Man,
we may in another, and there is no more Security in Fortune,
than in Men. Our Joys are mingled with Fear, and a Tempest
may arise out of a Calm; but a skilful Pilot is always provided
for it.

CHAPTER X

Against rash Judgment,

It is good for every Man to fortify himself on his
weak Side. And if he loves his Peace, he must not
be inquisitive, and hearken to Tale-bearers; for the Man
that is over curious to hear and see every Thing, mul-
tiplies Troubles to himself; for a Man does not feel, what he
does not know. He that is listening after private Discourse,
and what People say of him, shall never be at Peace. How
many Things that are innocent in themselves, are made in-
jurious yet, by Misconstruction? Wherefore some Things
we are to pause upon, others to laugh at, and others again to
pardon. Or if we cannot avoid the Sense of Indignities, let
us however shun the open Profession of it ; which may easily
be done, as appears by many Examples of those that have
suppressed their Anger, under the Awe of a greater Fear.

It is a good Caution not to believe any Thing until we are
very certain of it ; for many probable Things prove false, and
a short Time will make Evidence of the undoubted Truth.
We are prone to believe many Things which we are unwilling
to hear; and so we conclude, and take up a Prejudice before
we can judge. Never condemn a Friend unheard ; or without
letting him know his Accuser, or his Crime. It is a common
Thing to say, " Do not you tell that you had it from me ; for
if you do, I will deny it, and never tell you any Thing again.'*
By which Means, Friends are set together by the Ears, and the
Informer slips his Neck out of the Collar. Admit no Stories
upon these Terms; for it is an unjust Thing to believe in pri-

ON ANGER 419

vate, and to be angry openly. He that delivers himself up to
Guess and Conjecture, runs a great Hazard; for there can
be no Suspicion without some probable Grounds; so that
without much Candour, and Simplicity, and making the best
of every Thing, there is no living in Society with Mankind.

Some Things that offend us we have by Report; others
we see, or hear. In the first Case, let us not be too credulous :
Some People frame Stories that they may deceive us; others
only tell what they hear, and are deceived themselves. Some
make it their Sport to do ill Offices ; others do them, only to
pick a Thank : There are some that would part the dearest
Friends in the World ; others love to do Mischief, and stand
aloof off, to see what comes on it. If it be a small Matter, I
would have Witnesses; but if it be a greater, I would have it
upon Oath, and allow Time to the Accused, and Council too,
and hear over and over again.

In those Cases where we ourselves are Witnesses, we
should take into Consideration all the Circumstances: If a
Child, it was Ignorance: If a Woman, a Mistake: If done
by Command, a Necessity: If a Man be injured, it is but
Quid pro quo. If a Judge, he knows what he does: If a
Prince, I must submit; either, if guilty, to Justice, or if inno-
cent, to Fortune: If a Brute, I make myself one by imitating
it: If a Calamity, or Disease, my best Relief is Patience: If
Providence, it is both impious and vain to be angry at it: If a
good Man, I will make the best of it: If a bad, I will never
wonder at it.

Nor is it only by Tales, and Stories, that we are inflamed,
but Suspicions, Countenances: Nay, a Look, or a Smile is
enough to blow us up. In these Cases let us suspend our
Displeasure, and plead the Cause of the Absent. Perhaps he
is innocent; or if not, I have Time to consider of it, and may
take my Revenge at Leisure: But when it is once executed,
it is not to be recalled.

A jealous Head is apt to take that to himself which was
never meant him. Let us therefore trust to nothing but what
we see ; and chide ourselves where we are over-credulous. By
this Course we shall not be so easily imposed upon; nor put
to Trouble ourselves about Things not worth the while; as

420 SENECA

the loitering of a Servant upon an Errand, the tumbHng t.
a Bed, or the spoiHng of a Glass of Drink. It is a Madness
to be disordered at these Fooleries; we consider the Thing
done, and not the Doer of it. It may be he did it unwillingly,
or by Chance. It was a Trick put upon him, or he was forced
to it. He did it for Reward perhaps, not Hatred; nor of his
own Accord, but he was egged on to it. Nay, some Regard
must be had to the Age of the Person, or to Fortune ; and we
must consult Humanity, and Candour in the Case. One does
me a great Mischief, at unawares; another does me a very
small one by Design ; or peradventure none at all, but intended
me one. The latter was more in Fault, but I will be angry
with neither.

We must distinguish betwixt what a Man cannot do, and
what he will not. It is true, he has once offended me; but
how often has he pleased mef He has offended me often, and
in other Kinds, and why should I not bear it as well now as I
have done? Is he my Friend? Why then it was against his
Will. Is he my Enemy? It is no more than I looked for. Let
us give way to wise Men, and not squabble with Fools : And
say this to ourselves, "We have all of us our Errors;" no
Man is so circumspect, so considerate, or so fearful of offend-
ing, but he has much to answer for.

A generous Prisoner cannot immediately comply with the
sordid and laborious Offices of a Slave. A Footman that is
not breathed, cannot keep Pace with his Master's Horse. He
that is over-watched may be allowed to be drowsy. All these
Things are to be weighed, before we give any Ear to the first
Impulse. If it be my Duty to love my Country, I must be
kind also to all my Countrymen: If a Veneration be due to
the whole, so is a Piety also to the Parts : And it is the com-
mon Interest to preserve them. We are all Members of one
Body, and it is as natural to help one another, as for the
Hands to help the Feet, or the Eyes the Hands. Without
the Love, and Care of the Parts, the whole can never be pre-
served; and we must spare one another, because we are born
for Society, which cannot be maintained without a Regard
to Particulars.

Let this be a Rule to us never to deny a Pardon that does

ON ANGER 421

♦lo Hurt either to the Giver or Receiver. That may be well
enough in one, which is ill in another; and therefore we are
not to condemn any Thing that is common to a Nation : For
Custom defends it. But much more pardonable are those
Things which are common to Mankind.

It is a kind of spiteful Comfort, that whoever does me an
Injury, may receive one; and that there is a Power over him
that is above me. A Man should stand as firm against all In-
dignities, as a Rock does against the Waves. And it is some
Satisfaction to a Man in a mean Condition, that there is no
Security in a more prosperous ; and as the Loss of a Son in a
Corner is borne with more Patience, upon the Sight of a
Funeral carried out of a Palace; so are Injuries, and Con-
tempts, the more tolerable from a meaner Person; when we
consider, that the greatest Men and Fortunes are not exempt.

The wisest also of Mortals have their Failings, and no
Man living is without the same Excuse. The Difference is,
that we do not all of us transgress the same way: But we
are obliged in Humanity to bear with one another. We
should every one of us, bethink ourselves how remiss we have
been in our Duties; how immodest in our Discourses; how
intemperate in our Cups : And why not as well how extrava-
gant we have been in our Passions. Let us clear ourselves
of this Evil, purge our Minds, and utterly root out all those
Vices, which, upon leaving the least Sting, will grow again,
and recover. We must think of every Thing, expect every
Thing, that we may not be surprized. It is a Shame, says
Fabius, for a Commander to excuse himself by saying, " I was
not aware of it."

CHAPTER XI

Take nothing ill from another Man, until you have made it
your own Case.

It is not prudent to deny a Pardon to any Man without
first examining, if we do not stand in need of it ourselves;
for it may be our Lot to ask it, even at his Feet, to whom
we refuse it. But we are willing enough to do, what we

422 SENECA

are very unwilling to suffer. It is unreasonable to charge
public Vices upon particular Persons: For we are all of
us wicked, and that which we blame in others, we find in
ourselves. It is not a Paleness in one, or a Leanness in an-
other, but a Pestilence that has laid hold upon all. It is a
wicked World, and we make Part of it; and the Way to be
quiet, is to bear one with another. " Such a Man," we cry,
"has done me a shrewd Turn, and I never did him any
Hurt." Well, but it may be, I have mischieved other People,
or at least I may live to do as much to him, as that comes to.
" Such a one has spoken ill Things of me;" but if I first speak
111 of him, as I do of many others, this is not an Injury, but a
Repayment. What if he did over-shoot himself? He was
loth to lose his Conceit perhaps, but there was no Malice in
it; and if he had not done me a Mischief, he must have done
himself one. How many good Offices are there that look like
Injuries? Nay, how many have been reconciled, and good
Friends, after a professed Hatred?

Before we lay any Thing to Heart, let us ask ourselves if
we have not done the same Thing to others. But where shall
we find an equal Judge? He that loves another Man^s Wife
(only perhaps because she is another's) will not suffer his
own to be so much as looked upon. No man so fierce against
Calumny, as an Evil speaker; none so strict Exacters of
Modesty in a Servant, as those that are most prodigal of
their own. We carry our Neighbour's Crime in Sight, and
we throw our own over our Shoulders. The Intemperance
of a bad Son is chastised by a worse Father ; and the Luxury
that we punish in others, we allow to ourselves. The Tyrant
exclaims against Homicide; and Sacrilegious against Theft.
We are angry with the Persons, but not with the Faults.

Some Things there are that cannot hurt us, and others
will not: As good Magistrates, Parents, Tutors, Judges;
whose Reproof or Correction we are to take, as we do
Abstinence, Bleeding, and other uneasy Things, which we
are the better for. In which Cases, we are not so much to
reckon upon what we suffer, as upon what we have done. " I
take it ill," says one; "and I have done nothing," says an-
other : When at the same Time we make it worse, by adding

ON ANGER 423

Arrogance, and Contumacy to our first Error. We cry out
presently, "What Law have we transgressed?" As if the
Letter of the Law were the Sum of our Duty, and that Piety,
Humanity, Liberty, Justice and Faith, were Things beside
our Business. No, no, the Rule of human Duty is of a greater
Latitude; and we have many Obligations upon us, that are
not to be found in the Statute Books. And yet we fall short
of the Exactness, even of that legal Innocency. We have
intended one Thing, and done another ; wherein only the want
of Success has kept us from being Criminals. This very
Thing, methinks, should make us more favourable to Delin-
quents, and to forgive not only ourselves, but the Gods too;
of whom we seem to have harder Thoughts, in taking that
to be a particular Evil directed to us, that befalls us only by
the common Law of Mortality.

In fine, no Man living can absolve himself to his Con-
science, though to the World, perhaps, he may. It is true,
that we are also condemned to Pains and Diseases, and to
Death too, which is no more than the quitting of the Soul's
House. But, why should any Man complain of Bondage, that
wheresoever he looks has his Way open to Liberty? That
Precipice, that Sea, that River, that Well, there is Freedom
in the Bottom of it. It hangs upon every crooked Bough;
and not only a Man's Throat, or his Heart, but every Vein
in his Body opens a Passage to it.

To conclude, Where my proper Virtue fails me, I will
have recourse to Examples, and say to myself. Am I greater
than Philip or Augustus, who both of them put up greater
Reproaches? Many have pardoned their Enemies, and shall
not I forgive a Neglect, a little Freedom of the Tongue ? Nay
the Patience but of a second Thought does the Business ; for,
though the first Shock be violent, take it in Parts, and it is
subdued. And, to wind up all in one Word ; the great Lesson
of Mankind, as well in this, as in all other Cases, is, to do as
we would be done by.

424 SENECA

CHAPTER XII
Of CRUELTY.

There is so near an Affinity betwixt Anger, and Cruelty,
that many People confound them: As if Cruelty were
only the Execution of Anger in the Payment of a
Revenge; which holds in some Cases, but not in others.
There are a Sort of Men that take Delight in the
spilling of Human Blood; and in the Death of those that
never did them any Injury, nor were ever so much as sus-
pected for it ; as Apollodorus, Phalaris, Sinis, Procrustus, and
others, that burnt Men alive ; whom we cannot so properly call
angry, as brutal. For Anger does necessarily pre-suppose an
Injury, either done, or conceived, or feared; but the other
takes Pleasure in tormenting, without so much as pretending
any Provocation to it, and kills merely for killing Sake.

The Original of this Cruelty perhaps was Anger; which
by frequent Exercise and Custom, has lost all Sense of Hu-
manity and Mercy ; and they that are thus affected, are so far
from the Countenance and Appearance of Men in Anger,
that they will laugh, rejoice and entertain themselves with
the most horrid Spectacles; as Racks, Goals, Gibbets, several
Sorts of Chains and Punishments; Dilaceration of Members,
Stigmatizings, and wild Beasts, with other exquisite Inven-
tions of Torture: And yet at last the Cruelty itself is more
horrid, and odious, than the Means by which it works. It is
a bestial Madness to love Mischief; beside, that it is w^oman-
ish to rage and tear; a generous Beast will scorn to do it,
when he has any Thing at his Mercy. It is a Vice for.
Wolves, and Tigers; and no less abominable to the World,
than dangerous to itself.

The Romans had their Morning, and their Meridian
Spectacles. In the former, they had their Combats of Men
with wild Beasts ; and in the latter, the Men fought one with
another. I went (says our Author) the other Day to the
Meridian Spectacles, in hope of meeting somewhat of Mirth,
and Diversion, to sweeten the Humour of those that had been

ON ANGER 425

entertained with Blood in the Morning : But, it proved other-
wise; for compared with this Inhumanity, the former was a
Mercy. The whole Business was only Murder upon Murder;
the Combatants fought naked, and every Blow was a Wound.
They did not contend for Victory, but for Death ; and he that
kills one Man, is to be killed by another. By wounds they
are forced upon Wounds, which they take, and give, upon
the bare Breasts. "Burn that Rogue," they cry! "What?
Is he afraid of his Flesh? Do but see how sneakingly that
Rascal dies." Look to yourselves, my Masters, and consider
of it: Who knows hut this may come to he your own Case?
Wicked Examples seldom fail of coming home at last to the
Authors.

To destroy a single Man, may be dangerous ; but to murder
whole Nations, is only a more glorious Wickedness. Private
Avarice and Rigour are condemned: But Oppression, when
it comes to be authorized by an Act of State, and to be
publicly commanded, though particularly forbidden, becomes
a Point of Dignity and Honour. What a Shame is it for
Men to enterworry one another, when yet the fiercest even of
Beasts are at Peace with those of their own Kind? This
brutal Fury puts Philosophy itself to a Stand. The Drunkard,
the Glutton, the Covetous, may be reduced; nay, and the
Mischief of it is, that no Vice keeps itself within its proper
Bounds. Luxury runs into Avarice, and when the Reverence
of Virtue is extinguished, Men will flick at nothing that
carries Profit along with it. Man's Blood is shed in Wanton-
ness; his Death is a Spectacle for Entertainment, and his
Groans are Music. When Alexander delivered up Lysimachus
to a Lion, how glad would he have been to have Nails and
Teeth to have devoured him himself? It would have too
much derogated, he thought, from the Dignity of Wrath, to
have appointed a Man for the Execution of his Friend. Pri-
vate Cruelties, it is true, cannot do much Mischief, but in
Princes they are a War against Mankind.

C. Caesar would commonly, for Exercise and Pleasure, put
Senators and Roman Knights to the Torture; and whip
several of them, like Slaves, or put them to Death with the
most exquisite Torments, merely for the Satisfaction of his

426 SENECA

Cruelty. That Ccesar that wished the People of Rome had
hilt one Neck, that he might cut it oif at one Blozv. It was
Employment, the Study, and the Joy of his Life. He would
not so much as give the Expiring leave to groan, but caused
their Mouths to be stopt with Spunges, or for want of them
with Rags of their own Cloaths, that they might not so much
as breathe out their last Agonies at Liberty: Or, perhaps,
lest the Tormented should speak something which the Tor-
mentor had no Mind to hear. Nay, he was so impatient of
Delay, that he would frequently rise from Supper to have
Men killed by Torch Light, as if his Life and Death had
depended upon their Dispatch before the next Morning. To
say nothing how many Fathers were put to Death by him in
the same Night with their Sons, (which was a kind of Mercy
in the Prevention of their Mourning).

And was not Sylla's Cruelty prodigious too, which was
only stopt for want of Enemies? He caused 7000 Citizens of
Rome to be slaughtered at once; and some of the Senators
being startled at their Cries that were heard in the Senate-
house : " Let us mind our Business," says Sylla. " This is
nothing but a few Mutineers that I have ordered to be sent
out of the Way." A glorious Spectacle! says Hannibal, when
he saw the Trenches flowing with human Blood; and if the
Rivers had run Blood too, he would have liked it so much the
better.

Among the famous and detestable Speeches that are com-
mitted to Memory, I know none worse than that impudent
and tyrannical Maxim, Let them hate me, so they fear me:
Not considering that those that are kept in Obedience by Fear,
are both malicious and mercenary, and only wait for an Op-
portunity to change their Master. Beside that, whosoever is
terrible to others, is likewise afraid of himself. What is
more ordinary, than for a Tyrant to be destroyed by his own
Guards? Which is no more than the putting those Crimes
into Practice which they learned of their Masters: How
many Slaves have revenged themselves of their cruel Op-
pressors, though they were sure to die for it?

But when it comes once to a popular Tyranny, whole
Nations conspire against it. For whosover threatens all, is in

ON ANGER 427

Danger of all; over and above that the Cruelty of a Prince
increases the Number of his Enemies, by destroying some of
them; for it entails an hereditary Hatred upon the Friends
and Relations of those that are taken away. And then it has
this Misfortune, that a Man must be wicked upon Necessity;
for there is no going back: So that he must betake himself
to Arms, and yet he lives in Fears. He can neither trust to
the Faith of his Friends, nor to the Piety of his Children; he
both dreads Death, and wishes it; and becomes a greater
Terror to himself than he is to his People. Nay if there were
nothing else to make Cruelty detestable, it were enough, that
it passes all Bounds both of Custom, and Humanity; and is
followed upon the Heel, with Sword and Poison. A private
Malice indeed does not move whole Cities: But that which
extends to all, is every Body's Mark. One sick Person gives
no great Disturbance in a Family; but when it comes to a
depopulating Plague, all People fly from it. And why should
a Prince expect any Man to be good, whom he has taught to
be wicked?

But what if it were safe to be cruel? Were it not still a
sad Thing, the very State of such a Government ? A Govern-
ment that bears the Image of a taken City, w^here there is
nothing but Sorrow, Trouble and Confusion. Men dare not
so much as trust themselves with their Friends, or with their
Pleasures. There is not any Entertainment so innocent, but
it affords Pretence of Crime and Danger. People are be-
trayed at their Tables, and in their Cups, and drawn from the
very Theatre to the Prison. How horrid a Madness is it to
be still raging, and killing; to have the rattling of Chains al-
ways in our Ears ; bloody Spectacles before our Eyes ; and to
carry Terror and Dismay, wherever we go? If we had Lions
and Serpents to rule over us, this would be the Manner of
their government ; saving that they agree better among them-
selves.

It passes for a Mark of Greatness, to burn Cities, and lay
whole Kingdoms to waste; nor is it for the Honour of a
Prince, to appoint this or that single Man to be killed, unless
they have whole Troops or (sometimes) Legions to work
upon. But, it is not the Spoils of War, and bloody Trophies,

428 SENECA

that make a Prince glorious, but the divine Power of pre-
serving Unity and Peace. Ruin without Distinction, is more
properly the Business of a general Deluge, or a Conflagration.
Neither does a fierce, and inexorable Anger become the su-
preme Magistrate; Greatness of Mind is always meek and
humble; but Cruelty is a Note, and an effect of Weakness;
and brings down a Governor to the Level of a Competitor.

MHIER, M.M. PA

The Classics, Oreek 36O6

& Latin. ,C6 •

Latin, vol. 9. v,9

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