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BIOGRAFIE: Menander (griechisch Μένανδρος Ménandros, latinisiert und deutsch Menander; * 342/341 v. Chr. in Kephisia; † 291/290 v. Chr.) war ein griechischer Komödiendichter.
AKTUELLE PREMIEREN:
''In großen Teilen erhaltene Werke'''
-
* Aspis (Der Schild)
* Dyskolos (Der Schwierige/Der Griesgram/Der Menschenfeind)
* Epitrepontes (Das Schiedsgericht) -
* Epitrepontes (Das Schiedsgericht)
PREMIUM mit Stückabdruck
* Perikeiromene (Die Geschorene)
* Samia (Das Mädchen aus Samos)
* Sikyonios (Der Mann aus Sikyon)
'''Bruchstücke und verlorene Werke'''
-
* Andria
* Dis Exapaton
* Encheiridion
* Georgos (Der Bauer)
* Heros (Der Halbgott)
* Hypobolimaios
* Iereia (Die Priesterin)
* Kolax (Der Schmeichler)
* Leukadia
* Misoumenos (Der Mann, den sie hasste)
* Phasma (Das Gespenst)
* Plokion
* Philadelphoi
* Pseudherakles
* Synaristosai (Frauen beim Mittag)
* Thais
* Theophoroumene
* Trophonios
EPITREPONTES
THE PLAY
THE ARBITRATION
The _Epitrepontes_ of Menander
THE FRAGMENTS TRANSLATED AND
THE GAPS CONJECTURALLY
FILLED IN
BY
GILBERT MURRAY, O.M.
FORMERLY REGIUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK
IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD
_London_
GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD
FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1945
CHARACTERS
CHARISIUS, _a Young Athenian_
PAMPHILÊ, _Wife to Charisius_
ONÊSIMUS, _Personal Servant to Charisius_
SMÎCRINÊS, _Father to Pamphilê_
SÔPHRONÊ, _Nurse to Pamphilê_
CHAERESTRATUS, _Next-door-Neighbour to Charisius_
SÎMIAS, _Older Friend to Chaerestratus_
HABROTONON, _or, for short_,
HABRO, _Harp-player at Chaerestratus's House_
CÂRION, _Cook at Chaerestratus's House_
SYRISCUS, _a Charcoal-burner_
DÂVUS, _a Shepherd_
CALLISTO, _an Arcadian nymph transformed into a Bear by Artemis_
_An old Duenna in charge of_ HABROTONON, _Guests at House of_
CHAERESTRATUS, SYRISCUS'S _Wife and a Baby_.
[THE SCENE _is the country near Athens. A tree in the foreground; the
House of_ CHARISIUS (_A_) _back Left, that of_ CHAERESTRATUS
(_B_) _back Right_.]
CHARACTERS
CHARISIUS, _a Young Athenian_
PAMPHILÊ, _Wife to Charisius_
ONÊSIMUS, _Personal Servant to Charisius_
SMÎCRINÊS, _Father to Pamphilê_
SÔPHRONÊ, _Nurse to Pamphilê_
CHAERESTRATUS, _Next-door-Neighbour to Charisius_
SÎMIAS, _Older Friend to Chaerestratus_
HABROTONON, _or, for short_,
HABRO, _Harp-player at Chaerestratus's House_
CÂRION, _Cook at Chaerestratus's House_
SYRISCUS, _a Charcoal-burner_
DÂVUS, _a Shepherd_
CALLISTO, _an Arcadian nymph transformed into a Bear by Artemis_
_An old Duenna in charge of_ HABROTONON, _Guests at House of_
CHAERESTRATUS, SYRISCUS'S _Wife and a Baby_.
[THE SCENE _is the country near Athens. A tree in the foreground; the
House of_ CHARISIUS (_A_) _back Left, that of_ CHAERESTRATUS
(_B_) _back Right_.]
ACT I
CÂRION, _the Cook, with_ ONÊSIMUS.
CÂRION
The man who entertains this dancing girl,
Only just married, isn't he? That's odd.
ONÊSIMUS
Yes, not so long. Five months and thirteen days.
CÂRION
A daughter of old Smîcrinês, they say?
Young and attractive, eh?
ONÊSIMUS
Well, that depends
On taste. But yes, no doubt she has been admired,
Not only by her husband.
CÂRION
Eh? Who else?
Tell me.
ONÊSIMUS
I can't. I've absolutely sworn
To keep the whole thing secret.
CÂRION
Yes, quite right.
That's what I always do; swear secrecy,
And then, to show you know what "secret" means,
Tell them another secret of your own.
There's hardly a house I cook for, where I don't
Worm out the family troubles. For my art's sake
I must. Unless I know their state of mind
How can I give my clients what they want?
Come, out with it! I've got these innocents' dinner
All planned. I'm quite free.
ONÊSIMUS
Well, in confidence,
I don't mind telling you.
CÂRION
I'll pay you back,
Trust me, with scandals quite as rich as yours.
All knowledge comes in useful.
ONÊSIMUS
In my case
It certainly has. You see, I found it out
Two weeks back, while the master was away
At Ephesus. No one in the house but me
Knows anything. . . . Ah, there's old Sôphronê,
Her nurse.
[_Enter_ SÔPHRONÊ, _walking slowly_.
She must be in it. But she can't
Do much. And we've forbidden her to hold
Any communication with her mistress.
[SÔPHRONÊ _stops; touches her eyes with her fingers;
then hitches her cloak up by lifting her right
arm in the air_.
Well, Sôphronê, who are you looking for?
SÔPHRONÊ
The master. Has he come yet?
ONÊSIMUS
Smîcrinês?
No. You be off! You know the rule. No message.
No mischief.
SÔPHRONÊ
I am going.
[_Exit_ SÔPHRONÊ.
CÂRION
What's all this?
Do you give orders?
ONÊSIMUS
I and the Young Master.
You see, as soon as ever he came back,
I asked to have a word with him alone,
And told him. Didn't he go up in smoke!
He's awfully grateful, though.
CÂRION
You told him what?
ONÊSIMUS
It puts me in a different position
From all the others. I'm his confidant.
He's grateful to me.
CÂRION
What for?
ONÊSIMUS
Why, because
I told him.
CÂRION
Told him what?
ONÊSIMUS
Besides, I'm there
To watch; the mistress doesn't know I know.
CÂRION
You know what?
ONÊSIMUS
There's no pleasure in the world
Like knowing everything there is to know,
Especially when no one knows you know it.
CÂRION
What is it, man? What do you know?
ONÊSIMUS
I'll tell you.
[_Whispers in_ CÂRION'S _ear_.
CÂRION
Impossible!
ONÊSIMUS
It's true.
CÂRION
How does he take it?
ONÊSIMUS
He's furious, and of course can't say a word.
That's the worst thing. He's got to keep it dark.
CÂRION
Good God! Then that explains these harp-players
And banquets! . . . It's all frightfully upsetting
For me. I need a whole new bill of fare.
I planned a feast for lovers; just a gay,
Light-hearted, liquid, joyous, merrymaking,
And now . . . He really loved his wife, you say?
ONÊSIMUS
He did, devotedly. Not now, of course;
No; now we act together, he and I,
We watch and punish her as she deserves.
CÂRION
That's it. The man is thinking of his wife
The whole time. It's all done to punish her.
God bless me, it's a banquet of revenge,
Dark, bitter, fierce. [_He sits down, ruminating._
ONÊSIMUS
Well, what's your story?
CÂRION
Story?
ONÊSIMUS
You promised me a story as good as mine.
CÂRION
Man, I can't think of stories. I have duties
To think of. That's enough.
ONÊSIMUS
You promised me
A scandal.
CÂRION
Did I?--oh, well; old Telônes
Is bankrupt. Will that do?
ONÊSIMUS
Why no; I never
Heard of the man. That's no good.
CÂRION
Callicles
Is said to have a second wife in Smyrna.
I can't do more for you. I must get to work.
ONÊSIMUS
Some details, please!
CÂRION (_ruminating_)
A bitter resinous sauce
With salted tunny; an old fighting cock
With mustard; no, with some Arabian spice
That burns. Oh, how my master Labdacus
Would have enjoyed this problem. I must take
Plenty of time . . . Good Lord, the guests arriving
Already!
ONÊSIMUS
Here! You haven't paid your debt.
[_Exeunt into House B._
[_Enter from the town_ SÎMIAS _and_ CHAERESTRATUS.
SÎMIAS
I wish you'd think again, Chaerestratus,
Why should you lend your house, day after day,
To help Charisius to neglect his wife
And waste his substance on this dancing girl?
CHAERESTRATUS
She's not a dancing girl; she's a musician;
A good musician, too, and well behaved.
I like him, Sîmias, and I like the girl,
And if he wants my house . . . They make a noise,
Those lads, but do no harm; besides, you're there,
And you'd make any place respectable.
You know Charisius hardly looks at her.
SÎMIAS
While you do nothing else.
CHAERESTRATUS
He doesn't mind . . .
That's what annoys me. First, the man deserts
His own wife. So far I don't criticize.
I have no wife, and his I never met.
For all I know, she may be just the sort
No reasonable man could help deserting.
But then he goes out of his way to hire
This elegant, well-mannered harp-player,
And treats her with contempt--at any rate
With stark bad manners, hardly speaks to her . . .
SÎMIAS
Why should he? She's a slave, a hired companion.
CHAERESTRATUS
A slave, a hired . . . Oh yes. I know these girls;
They're all humbugs and liars. It's their business. . . .
Still, this one has good manners.
SÎMIAS
All the same,
Why should you let Charisius have your house
To revel in? The thing's discreditable
To both of you, and seemingly no pleasure
To anyone.
CHAERESTRATUS
Why? Well, I hardly know.
I couldn't well refuse him. Certainly
I never saw a drearier diner out.
If in his own house he was drearier still,
I only wonder why it's not his wife
Does the deserting. If she came and asked me,
I'd let the unfortunate woman have this house
To revel in till she died.
SÎMIAS
Then all the more . . .
CHAERESTRATUS
Why do I do it? Why? Because I like it.
Who wouldn't like it? It's a constant pleasure--
Free gratis, too--to see Habrotonon,
Study her movements, listen to her music,
Sometimes to talk with her. Come. In we go.
[_Exeunt into House B._
[_Enter_ CHARISIUS, _gloomy, from his own house_. _He speaks off._
CHARISIUS
Porter! I shall be out again this evening;
And if your mistress asks . . . if anyone
Who calls wishes to know where he can find me,
I am at a drinking party with some friends.
Say we expect the same young harp-player,
A very fine musician, whom we all
Greatly admire . . .
[_Enter_ HABROTONON _with_ DUENNA.
DUENNA
There, darling, you hear that!
You can't say you're neglected, when they all
Admire you so. . . . Charisius, here she is,
Fresh as a rose, and tuned like her own harp!
Come, ducky, speak to him.
HABROTONON (_stiffly_)
Good evening, Sir.
CHARISIUS (_stiffly_)
Good evening. Go in, please. You'll find them waiting,
I'll follow afterwards.
[_Exit_ HABROTONON _to House B._ CHARISIUS _waits_.
DUENNA
Lovely she is, just lovely. . . . And the bill,
Twelve drachmae for to-night. (_trying it on_)
And then the night
That you forgot, five days ago.
CHARISIUS
Forgot?
Did I?
DUENNA
You did indeed, and I don't wonder.
No thought you had for anything but her.
Twice you forgot. That's three nights altogether.
Thirty-six drachmae.
[_Enter_ ONÊSIMUS.
CHARISIUS
Here you are.
ONÊSIMUS
What's that?
[CHARISIUS _gives money and exit to House B._
DUENNA _takes the money and puts it in her mouth_.
DUENNA
Good-night, Sir. Blessings on you.
ONÊSIMUS
You old fraud!
Stop!
DUENNA (_with mouth full_)
There were three nights he forgot to pay.
He knows he did. He admits it.
ONÊSIMUS
Every night
You had your money. He sent me myself.
To pay you, and I did. Spit out that cash!
Out with it, quick. It's no good gobbling at me.
[_Exit, pursuing_ DUENNA.
PROLOGUE
[_Enter the Nymph_ CALLISTO, _wearing a bearskin with
the head and jaws over her head_.
Are we alone? My mistress, Artemis,
Nowhere about? No; if she were, I'd hear
Far off the clanging of that silver bow.
No doubt she's off on the Arcadian hills,
Playing her regular part, always the same!
How well I know it all: The Huntress bright
Who roams a virgin through the virgin woods,
Fleet as the winds and free; lover of all
The young wild forest life, the kids and fawns,
And pards, and us poor bears, and everything,
And shows her love, combined with marksmanship,
By shooting us! Just like these goddesses!
No reasoning power! No common sense at all!
Nothing but charm of manner and good looks!
And such a mass of fads! To think that I
In old days believed everything she said,
Took all her ways as models to adore;
Yes, and should do so still, and still be just
As narrow, if I'd never been a bear!
It's that that saved me. You must know me now;
Callisto, once beloved of Artemis.
Her chosen friend, and virginal as she
Until. . . . Well, really, was I much to blame?
They never think, these virgin goddesses;
It pleases them to stay eternally
Unloved, and then they fly into a rage
When we poor nymphs are different. If she wished
All of us Oreads to be like herself,
Why did she set us dancing, those long nights,
In ecstasy and longing, on till dawn
Through the dark woods? Others were roaming, too,
Young gods, and fauns, and satyrs, all half-drunk
With songs and moonlight. What could she expect?
She wouldn't listen. She went wild with rage,
And, seeking out some awful punishment,
Some lesson I should learn and not forget,
Transformed me on the spot, and sentenced me
To fourteen years' hard labour as a Bear.
I did learn lessons! It's an education
Beyond the Schools, to have been a real she-bear.
I roamed the Arcadian forests, fed on fruits
And honeycomb, had fresh cubs every spring,
Suckled them, licked them into shape, and then
Forgot them and had others. I accepted
Simple things simply. All my ways became
Just what the Stoic, Zeno, recommends,
Self-serving, with no master and no slave:
I had no vain desires; I asked for no
Rare food, or costly wine; no cooks, no clothes,
No purse, no pride; and never cared at all
What other she-bears said or thought of me.
Those fourteen innocent years have taught me lessons
I've not forgotten, lessons utterly
Beyond her comprehension. She has never
Learnt anything at all. She still keeps up
The same old ways, the same old Festivals,
The same old dances by the same old moon.
She calls on all her votaries to attend
And then, of course, as anyone might guess,
Sometimes the same thing happens as with me,
And all these gods and mortals lose their wits,
And women suffer! So it has happened here.
This innocent girl herself, this Pamphilê,
Goes mad with fear. Her baby is snatched away
By that old Nurse and hidden like a crime,
From husbands, fathers, and all murderous males.
She dares not speak. Her secret shuts her off
From all she loves. She watches day by day
There, at the window, for a silent sign
The Nurse gives, passing by without a word:
"I have seen him;" "He is safe;" "In danger;" "dead."
[_For the first sign she touches her eyes; for the second
lifts her right arm; for danger, arms round
waist; for dead, arms straight down._
Alas, these humans! Always overwise
And harassed by the strange laws they devise
For their own torment; always surfeited
With fears more painful than the things they dread;
Always so eager that the strong shall wreak
For every sin due vengeance on the weak,
And most on women. If they ever knew
The truth . . . but who could show them what is true,
As now they are? The book of life that I
In my green forest read so innocently
And wisely, they have never understood. . . .
Poor baby, I would help it if I could.
[_Exit_ CALLISTO. _Enter from the House B_ CHAERESTRATUS.
CHAERESTRATUS (_speaking off_)
All right. I have no wish to interrupt.
I'll walk about outside. I like fresh air.
And if there's any billing to be done
Or cooing, I have not the slightest wish
To bill nor yet to coo.
[_Enter from House A_ SMÎCRINÊS.
SMÎCRINÊS (_to the Porter_)
No, I'll not wait.
When he returns you'll tell him that I called.
The thing's past understanding. When his father
First made proposals to me, I enquired
Most carefully about him. They all told me
Charisius was a god-fearing young man,
The makings of a frugal son-in-law
And a good husband.
CHAERESTRATUS (_aside_)
It's old Smîcrinês,
The father-in-law. I wonder what he's heard.
SMÎCRINÊS
I can't think what the Devil's come to him.
Dinners and drinking parties every night!
A famous cook engaged at goodness knows
What fee! And then the wine the fellow drinks!
It just amazes me. It's not so much
The intoxication; it's the awful price:
So much a spoonful! I can't understand
How any conscience can consent to it.
CHAERESTRATUS (_aside_)
I thought so. Obviously he has heard some talk.
Now he'll come raging in to stop all these
Love-feasts! It's not my business, but I think
He'll go back sorry he came.
SMÎCRINÊS
My daughter brought him
Four talents, and he doesn't choose to be
Her housemate. He lives out. He's paying twelve
Drachmas a day to that old madam!
CHAERESTRATUS
Yes.
Twelve is the price. He's got his details right.
SMÎCRINÊS
Twelve for one day! Enough to keep a man
A month and six days!
CHAERESTRATUS
How exact! Two obols
A day; the dole that keeps a slave in gruel
And leaves him hungry!
[_Enter_ SÎMIAS _from House B_.
SÎMIAS
Hi, Chaerestratus,
Your absence will be noticed.
CHAERESTRATUS
My dear man,
Do you see?
SÎMIAS
Who's that?
CHAERESTRATUS
The father of the bride.
Doesn't he scowl; like a philosopher
Gone pessimist.
SÎMIAS
No wonder. The poor man
Is worried about your harpist. He's afraid
The lawful wife indoors may find herself
Turned out and her place taken.
CHAERESTRATUS
If you'd heard him
Growling just now!
SMÎCRINÊS
How everything combines
To thwart me! My wife dead; one daughter lost
I did hope I could guard the livelihood
Of this one that remains.
SÎMIAS
How did he get
His information! I suppose some servant
Has told him things. If we could ward him off
For just a day or two we'd have a chance
To get Charisius to give up these follies
And be himself again. You'll have to help.
CHAERESTRATUS
I can't refuse my house, but, short of that,
I'll help. I rather hate the whole affair.
SÎMIAS
You told me you enjoyed it.
CHAERESTRATUS
So I do;
But somehow. . . . Well, let's put an end to it.
It's easy enough. Why shouldn't I, right now
Go up to him and tell him the whole story;
Or, better still, invite him to come in
And see things for himself. Let the old fool
Burst if he wants to.
SÎMIAS
Silence on your life!
That would wreck everything beyond repair.
Don't talk so.
SMÎCRINÊS (_rising_)
I'll go home.
CHAERESTRATUS
Yes, do, by all means:
Or, better still, to the Devil.
SMÎCRINÊS
I'll go home,
I want first to make certain of the facts
About my daughter's treatment; then I'll think
Calmly what line to take about the man.
[_Exit_
SÎMIAS
Ought we to warn Charisius that he's here?
CHAERESTRATUS
Yes, rather. What an old pest! That's the way
To break a household up.
SÎMIAS
I only wish
He'd break up others. [_Singing heard off_
CHAERESTRATUS
Others?
SÎMIAS
And begin
By one next door.
CHAERESTRATUS
Do you mean mine?
SÎMIAS
Yes, my friend,
Yours. But meantime let's warn Charisius.
CHAERESTRATUS
Mine? . . .
But let's go in. I see a noisy crowd
Making this way, young lads and not too sober.
It's better not to meet them.
SÎMIAS
Can you help it?
Unhappy man, these are our fellow-guests!
[_Exeunt into House._
CHORUS OF REVELLERS
I long to be a loony,
A laughing, leaping loony;
As mad as all those others
Renowned in tragic story,
Who run so wild and moony
On murdering their mothers.
I don't know which the best is,
Alcmaeon or Orestes;
They both get rather gory
When murdering their mothers.
I don't want all the bother
Of murdering my mother.
I don't want blood and slaughter;
Red wine is what I'm after;
It's wine I want and laughter,
With no allaying water.
Oh, when the night is moony,
And springtime soft and spoony,
It's then I'll be a loony,
With no allaying water,
A laughing, leaping loony
With no allaying water!
[_They straggle into the House._
ACT I
CÂRION, _the Cook, with_ ONÊSIMUS.
CÂRION
The man who entertains this dancing girl,
Only just married, isn't he? That's odd.
ONÊSIMUS
Yes, not so long. Five months and thirteen days.
CÂRION
A daughter of old Smîcrinês, they say?
Young and attractive, eh?
ONÊSIMUS
Well, that depends
On taste. But yes, no doubt she has been admired,
Not only by her husband.
CÂRION
Eh? Who else?
Tell me.
ONÊSIMUS
I can't. I've absolutely sworn
To keep the whole thing secret.
CÂRION
Yes, quite right.
That's what I always do; swear secrecy,
And then, to show you know what "secret" means,
Tell them another secret of your own.
There's hardly a house I cook for, where I don't
Worm out the family troubles. For my art's sake
I must. Unless I know their state of mind
How can I give my clients what they want?
Come, out with it! I've got these innocents' dinner
All planned. I'm quite free.
ONÊSIMUS
Well, in confidence,
I don't mind telling you.
CÂRION
I'll pay you back,
Trust me, with scandals quite as rich as yours.
All knowledge comes in useful.
ONÊSIMUS
In my case
It certainly has. You see, I found it out
Two weeks back, while the master was away
At Ephesus. No one in the house but me
Knows anything. . . . Ah, there's old Sôphronê,
Her nurse.
[_Enter_ SÔPHRONÊ, _walking slowly_.
She must be in it. But she can't
Do much. And we've forbidden her to hold
Any communication with her mistress.
[SÔPHRONÊ _stops; touches her eyes with her fingers;
then hitches her cloak up by lifting her right
arm in the air_.
Well, Sôphronê, who are you looking for?
SÔPHRONÊ
The master. Has he come yet?
ONÊSIMUS
Smîcrinês?
No. You be off! You know the rule. No message.
No mischief.
SÔPHRONÊ
I am going.
[_Exit_ SÔPHRONÊ.
CÂRION
What's all this?
Do you give orders?
ONÊSIMUS
I and the Young Master.
You see, as soon as ever he came back,
I asked to have a word with him alone,
And told him. Didn't he go up in smoke!
He's awfully grateful, though.
CÂRION
You told him what?
ONÊSIMUS
It puts me in a different position
From all the others. I'm his confidant.
He's grateful to me.
CÂRION
What for?
ONÊSIMUS
Why, because
I told him.
CÂRION
Told him what?
ONÊSIMUS
Besides, I'm there
To watch; the mistress doesn't know I know.
CÂRION
You know what?
ONÊSIMUS
There's no pleasure in the world
Like knowing everything there is to know,
Especially when no one knows you know it.
CÂRION
What is it, man? What do you know?
ONÊSIMUS
I'll tell you.
[_Whispers in_ CÂRION'S _ear_.
CÂRION
Impossible!
ONÊSIMUS
It's true.
CÂRION
How does he take it?
ONÊSIMUS
He's furious, and of course can't say a word.
That's the worst thing. He's got to keep it dark.
CÂRION
Good God! Then that explains these harp-players
And banquets! . . . It's all frightfully upsetting
For me. I need a whole new bill of fare.
I planned a feast for lovers; just a gay,
Light-hearted, liquid, joyous, merrymaking,
And now . . . He really loved his wife, you say?
ONÊSIMUS
He did, devotedly. Not now, of course;
No; now we act together, he and I,
We watch and punish her as she deserves.
CÂRION
That's it. The man is thinking of his wife
The whole time. It's all done to punish her.
God bless me, it's a banquet of revenge,
Dark, bitter, fierce. [_He sits down, ruminating._
ONÊSIMUS
Well, what's your story?
CÂRION
Story?
ONÊSIMUS
You promised me a story as good as mine.
CÂRION
Man, I can't think of stories. I have duties
To think of. That's enough.
ONÊSIMUS
You promised me
A scandal.
CÂRION
Did I?--oh, well; old Telônes
Is bankrupt. Will that do?
ONÊSIMUS
Why no; I never
Heard of the man. That's no good.
CÂRION
Callicles
Is said to have a second wife in Smyrna.
I can't do more for you. I must get to work.
ONÊSIMUS
Some details, please!
CÂRION (_ruminating_)
A bitter resinous sauce
With salted tunny; an old fighting cock
With mustard; no, with some Arabian spice
That burns. Oh, how my master Labdacus
Would have enjoyed this problem. I must take
Plenty of time . . . Good Lord, the guests arriving
Already!
ONÊSIMUS
Here! You haven't paid your debt.
[_Exeunt into House B._
[_Enter from the town_ SÎMIAS _and_ CHAERESTRATUS.
SÎMIAS
I wish you'd think again, Chaerestratus,
Why should you lend your house, day after day,
To help Charisius to neglect his wife
And waste his substance on this dancing girl?
CHAERESTRATUS
She's not a dancing girl; she's a musician;
A good musician, too, and well behaved.
I like him, Sîmias, and I like the girl,
And if he wants my house . . . They make a noise,
Those lads, but do no harm; besides, you're there,
And you'd make any place respectable.
You know Charisius hardly looks at her.
SÎMIAS
While you do nothing else.
CHAERESTRATUS
He doesn't mind . . .
That's what annoys me. First, the man deserts
His own wife. So far I don't criticize.
I have no wife, and his I never met.
For all I know, she may be just the sort
No reasonable man could help deserting.
But then he goes out of his way to hire
This elegant, well-mannered harp-player,
And treats her with contempt--at any rate
With stark bad manners, hardly speaks to her . . .
SÎMIAS
Why should he? She's a slave, a hired companion.
CHAERESTRATUS
A slave, a hired . . . Oh yes. I know these girls;
They're all humbugs and liars. It's their business. . . .
Still, this one has good manners.
SÎMIAS
All the same,
Why should you let Charisius have your house
To revel in? The thing's discreditable
To both of you, and seemingly no pleasure
To anyone.
CHAERESTRATUS
Why? Well, I hardly know.
I couldn't well refuse him. Certainly
I never saw a drearier diner out.
If in his own house he was drearier still,
I only wonder why it's not his wife
Does the deserting. If she came and asked me,
I'd let the unfortunate woman have this house
To revel in till she died.
SÎMIAS
Then all the more . . .
CHAERESTRATUS
Why do I do it? Why? Because I like it.
Who wouldn't like it? It's a constant pleasure--
Free gratis, too--to see Habrotonon,
Study her movements, listen to her music,
Sometimes to talk with her. Come. In we go.
[_Exeunt into House B._
[_Enter_ CHARISIUS, _gloomy, from his own house_. _He speaks off._
CHARISIUS
Porter! I shall be out again this evening;
And if your mistress asks . . . if anyone
Who calls wishes to know where he can find me,
I am at a drinking party with some friends.
Say we expect the same young harp-player,
A very fine musician, whom we all
Greatly admire . . .
[_Enter_ HABROTONON _with_ DUENNA.
DUENNA
There, darling, you hear that!
You can't say you're neglected, when they all
Admire you so. . . . Charisius, here she is,
Fresh as a rose, and tuned like her own harp!
Come, ducky, speak to him.
HABROTONON (_stiffly_)
Good evening, Sir.
CHARISIUS (_stiffly_)
Good evening. Go in, please. You'll find them waiting,
I'll follow afterwards.
[_Exit_ HABROTONON _to House B._ CHARISIUS _waits_.
DUENNA
Lovely she is, just lovely. . . . And the bill,
Twelve drachmae for to-night. (_trying it on_)
And then the night
That you forgot, five days ago.
CHARISIUS
Forgot?
Did I?
DUENNA
You did indeed, and I don't wonder.
No thought you had for anything but her.
Twice you forgot. That's three nights altogether.
Thirty-six drachmae.
[_Enter_ ONÊSIMUS.
CHARISIUS
Here you are.
ONÊSIMUS
What's that?
[CHARISIUS _gives money and exit to House B._
DUENNA _takes the money and puts it in her mouth_.
DUENNA
Good-night, Sir. Blessings on you.
ONÊSIMUS
You old fraud!
Stop!
DUENNA (_with mouth full_)
There were three nights he forgot to pay.
He knows he did. He admits it.
ONÊSIMUS
Every night
You had your money. He sent me myself.
To pay you, and I did. Spit out that cash!
Out with it, quick. It's no good gobbling at me.
[_Exit, pursuing_ DUENNA.
PROLOGUE
[_Enter the Nymph_ CALLISTO, _wearing a bearskin with
the head and jaws over her head_.
Are we alone? My mistress, Artemis,
Nowhere about? No; if she were, I'd hear
Far off the clanging of that silver bow.
No doubt she's off on the Arcadian hills,
Playing her regular part, always the same!
How well I know it all: The Huntress bright
Who roams a virgin through the virgin woods,
Fleet as the winds and free; lover of all
The young wild forest life, the kids and fawns,
And pards, and us poor bears, and everything,
And shows her love, combined with marksmanship,
By shooting us! Just like these goddesses!
No reasoning power! No common sense at all!
Nothing but charm of manner and good looks!
And such a mass of fads! To think that I
In old days believed everything she said,
Took all her ways as models to adore;
Yes, and should do so still, and still be just
As narrow, if I'd never been a bear!
It's that that saved me. You must know me now;
Callisto, once beloved of Artemis.
Her chosen friend, and virginal as she
Until. . . . Well, really, was I much to blame?
They never think, these virgin goddesses;
It pleases them to stay eternally
Unloved, and then they fly into a rage
When we poor nymphs are different. If she wished
All of us Oreads to be like herself,
Why did she set us dancing, those long nights,
In ecstasy and longing, on till dawn
Through the dark woods? Others were roaming, too,
Young gods, and fauns, and satyrs, all half-drunk
With songs and moonlight. What could she expect?
She wouldn't listen. She went wild with rage,
And, seeking out some awful punishment,
Some lesson I should learn and not forget,
Transformed me on the spot, and sentenced me
To fourteen years' hard labour as a Bear.
I did learn lessons! It's an education
Beyond the Schools, to have been a real she-bear.
I roamed the Arcadian forests, fed on fruits
And honeycomb, had fresh cubs every spring,
Suckled them, licked them into shape, and then
Forgot them and had others. I accepted
Simple things simply. All my ways became
Just what the Stoic, Zeno, recommends,
Self-serving, with no master and no slave:
I had no vain desires; I asked for no
Rare food, or costly wine; no cooks, no clothes,
No purse, no pride; and never cared at all
What other she-bears said or thought of me.
Those fourteen innocent years have taught me lessons
I've not forgotten, lessons utterly
Beyond her comprehension. She has never
Learnt anything at all. She still keeps up
The same old ways, the same old Festivals,
The same old dances by the same old moon.
She calls on all her votaries to attend
And then, of course, as anyone might guess,
Sometimes the same thing happens as with me,
And all these gods and mortals lose their wits,
And women suffer! So it has happened here.
This innocent girl herself, this Pamphilê,
Goes mad with fear. Her baby is snatched away
By that old Nurse and hidden like a crime,
From husbands, fathers, and all murderous males.
She dares not speak. Her secret shuts her off
From all she loves. She watches day by day
There, at the window, for a silent sign
The Nurse gives, passing by without a word:
"I have seen him;" "He is safe;" "In danger;" "dead."
[_For the first sign she touches her eyes; for the second
lifts her right arm; for danger, arms round
waist; for dead, arms straight down._
Alas, these humans! Always overwise
And harassed by the strange laws they devise
For their own torment; always surfeited
With fears more painful than the things they dread;
Always so eager that the strong shall wreak
For every sin due vengeance on the weak,
And most on women. If they ever knew
The truth . . . but who could show them what is true,
As now they are? The book of life that I
In my green forest read so innocently
And wisely, they have never understood. . . .
Poor baby, I would help it if I could.
[_Exit_ CALLISTO. _Enter from the House B_ CHAERESTRATUS.
CHAERESTRATUS (_speaking off_)
All right. I have no wish to interrupt.
I'll walk about outside. I like fresh air.
And if there's any billing to be done
Or cooing, I have not the slightest wish
To bill nor yet to coo.
[_Enter from House A_ SMÎCRINÊS.
SMÎCRINÊS (_to the Porter_)
No, I'll not wait.
When he returns you'll tell him that I called.
The thing's past understanding. When his father
First made proposals to me, I enquired
Most carefully about him. They all told me
Charisius was a god-fearing young man,
The makings of a frugal son-in-law
And a good husband.
CHAERESTRATUS (_aside_)
It's old Smîcrinês,
The father-in-law. I wonder what he's heard.
SMÎCRINÊS
I can't think what the Devil's come to him.
Dinners and drinking parties every night!
A famous cook engaged at goodness knows
What fee! And then the wine the fellow drinks!
It just amazes me. It's not so much
The intoxication; it's the awful price:
So much a spoonful! I can't understand
How any conscience can consent to it.
CHAERESTRATUS (_aside_)
I thought so. Obviously he has heard some talk.
Now he'll come raging in to stop all these
Love-feasts! It's not my business, but I think
He'll go back sorry he came.
SMÎCRINÊS
My daughter brought him
Four talents, and he doesn't choose to be
Her housemate. He lives out. He's paying twelve
Drachmas a day to that old madam!
CHAERESTRATUS
Yes.
Twelve is the price. He's got his details right.
SMÎCRINÊS
Twelve for one day! Enough to keep a man
A month and six days!
CHAERESTRATUS
How exact! Two obols
A day; the dole that keeps a slave in gruel
And leaves him hungry!
[_Enter_ SÎMIAS _from House B_.
SÎMIAS
Hi, Chaerestratus,
Your absence will be noticed.
CHAERESTRATUS
My dear man,
Do you see?
SÎMIAS
Who's that?
CHAERESTRATUS
The father of the bride.
Doesn't he scowl; like a philosopher
Gone pessimist.
SÎMIAS
No wonder. The poor man
Is worried about your harpist. He's afraid
The lawful wife indoors may find herself
Turned out and her place taken.
CHAERESTRATUS
If you'd heard him
Growling just now!
SMÎCRINÊS
How everything combines
To thwart me! My wife dead; one daughter lost
I did hope I could guard the livelihood
Of this one that remains.
SÎMIAS
How did he get
His information! I suppose some servant
Has told him things. If we could ward him off
For just a day or two we'd have a chance
To get Charisius to give up these follies
And be himself again. You'll have to help.
CHAERESTRATUS
I can't refuse my house, but, short of that,
I'll help. I rather hate the whole affair.
SÎMIAS
You told me you enjoyed it.
CHAERESTRATUS
So I do;
But somehow. . . . Well, let's put an end to it.
It's easy enough. Why shouldn't I, right now
Go up to him and tell him the whole story;
Or, better still, invite him to come in
And see things for himself. Let the old fool
Burst if he wants to.
SÎMIAS
Silence on your life!
That would wreck everything beyond repair.
Don't talk so.
SMÎCRINÊS (_rising_)
I'll go home.
CHAERESTRATUS
Yes, do, by all means:
Or, better still, to the Devil.
SMÎCRINÊS
I'll go home,
I want first to make certain of the facts
About my daughter's treatment; then I'll think
Calmly what line to take about the man.
[_Exit_
SÎMIAS
Ought we to warn Charisius that he's here?
CHAERESTRATUS
Yes, rather. What an old pest! That's the way
To break a household up.
SÎMIAS
I only wish
He'd break up others. [_Singing heard off_
CHAERESTRATUS
Others?
SÎMIAS
And begin
By one next door.
CHAERESTRATUS
Do you mean mine?
SÎMIAS
Yes, my friend,
Yours. But meantime let's warn Charisius.
CHAERESTRATUS
Mine? . . .
But let's go in. I see a noisy crowd
Making this way, young lads and not too sober.
It's better not to meet them.
SÎMIAS
Can you help it?
Unhappy man, these are our fellow-guests!
[_Exeunt into House._
CHORUS OF REVELLERS
I long to be a loony,
A laughing, leaping loony;
As mad as all those others
Renowned in tragic story,
Who run so wild and moony
On murdering their mothers.
I don't know which the best is,
Alcmaeon or Orestes;
They both get rather gory
When murdering their mothers.
I don't want all the bother
Of murdering my mother.
I don't want blood and slaughter;
Red wine is what I'm after;
It's wine I want and laughter,
With no allaying water.
Oh, when the night is moony,
And springtime soft and spoony,
It's then I'll be a loony,
With no allaying water,
A laughing, leaping loony
With no allaying water!
[_They straggle into the House._
ACT III
ONÊSIMUS _alone_.
That ring! I've started off five times or more
To show it to the Master. Then somehow
When I've come up and got him to myself,
I daren't . . . I sometimes doubt if it was wise
To tell him the other thing. "God damn the rogue
Who told me!" is what he mutters to himself
When he's alone. I've heard him. Yes, quite often
He says that . . . H'm, suppose he made it up
With her? Well, that would be the end of me!
To have told her secret, fatal! Bad enough
Even to have known it. . . . Yes, I am sure it's best
To make no further trouble. Why, even now
We're in for a quite fairly devilish row.
[_Enter_ HABROTONON _from the House of_ CHAERESTRATUS.
HABROTONON (_speaking off_)
Excuse me, gentlemen! . . . I beg you, Sir,
You only cause me annoyance . . . Well, if ever
A helpless girl was made a laughing stock!
They said the man had fallen in love with me;
It's not love, it's repulsion; something quite
Inhuman! He won't even let me sit
At the same table. I must keep far off!
ONÊSIMUS (_musing over the ring_)
Return it to the man I got it from?
That's hardly sensible.
HABROTONON
The wretched man,
What is he wasting all that money for?
For all he has got from me, I'm qualified
To carry the holy basket to the Goddess,
Lord save us! "Free from contact with a male
For three days."
ONÊSIMUS
What on earth am I to do?
I ask you; what on earth?
[_Enter_ SYRISCUS _from the House of_ CHARISIUS.
HABROTONON _begins to take notice_.
SYRISCUS
Where can he be?
I've hunted for him everywhere inside (_seeing_ ONÊSIMUS).
Hullo! Look here, mate. Either give me back
That ring or show it to the man you mean
To show it to. Let's get the business settled.
I can't wait longer.
ONÊSIMUS
See, man; it's like this.
It really does belong . . . so much I know
For certain . . . to Charisius. But I somehow
Don't like to show it him. It's much the same
As telling him he's the father of that baby
The ring was found with.
SYRISCUS
How do you mean, you fool?
ONÊSIMUS
He lost it last year at the Tauropolia;
So much we know. There was an all-night dance,
Women as well as men. One can but think
He gave it as a present to some girl
He got mixed up with. I suppose it's she
Who had this baby and left it in the wood.
If one could find the girl, and then produce
This ring, it would be clinching; but not now.
To show it now would only make suspicion
And trouble.
SYRISCUS
It's your business, anyhow,
Not mine. But if you're trying to put me off,
Or if you expect to make me pay you something
To get it back, you make a great mistake.
I don't go halves in anything!
ONÊSIMUS
All right.
Who asked you to?
SYRISCUS
I've got a job in town
Just now, but when it's finished, I'll come back
And see what's to be done.
[_Exit_ SYRISCUS.
HABROTONON
Onêsimus,
Is it the child the woman there indoors
Is nursing, that this charcoal-burner found?
ONÊSIMUS
Yes, so he says.
HABROTONON
It's such a pretty creature!
Poor child!
ONÊSIMUS
And lying beside it was this ring,
My master's.
HABROTONON
What an awful thing! Just think!
That baby is your master's son, your own
Young master. You can't mean to leave him there
In slavery! You could be hanged for that.
ONÊSIMUS
I don't know what to do. I've just explained,
Nobody knows the mother.
HABROTONON
And you say
He lost the ring at last year's Tauropolia?
ONÊSIMUS
They'd all of them been drinking, so the boy
Said who attended him.
HABROTONON
He must have wandered
Away alone, and fallen upon some girl
Fresh from the women's midnight dance--Why, once
A thing like that happened when I was there.
ONÊSIMUS
When you were there?
HABROTONON
Yes, that was last year, too.
I had come to play the harp at what they call
The Younger Girls' dance, and this girl was there
Among them, laughing. I could join their play
Myself then. At that time I didn't know
What a man was.
ONÊSIMUS (_ironically_)
Says you!
HABROTONON (_indignant_)
By Aphrodite,
I swear!
ONÊSIMUS
This girl, you don't know who she was?
HABROTONON
I could find out. I know she was a friend
Of some one in my party.
ONÊSIMUS
Did you hear
Her father's name?
HABROTONON
No, I know nothing more.
I am sure I'd know her if we met again.
My goodness, she was pretty! And, they said,
From a rich house.
ONÊSIMUS
Most likely it's the same.
HABROTONON
I don't know. She was with us, but strayed off.
Then later, all of a sudden, back she came
Running, in tears, tearing her hair. She'd spoilt
A lovely mantle, soft Tarentine silk;
It was all tatters.
ONÊSIMUS
Did she have this ring?
HABROTONON
She may have had. She didn't show it me.
I won't invent things.
ONÊSIMUS
What am I to do?
HABROTONON
That's your look-out . . . But if you're sensible,
And ask for my advice, you'll go and show him
His ring. Suppose that girl was a free maiden.
He can't be left not knowing what he's done.
ONÊSIMUS
First, let us find out who the woman was.
There, Habro, that's a job for you and me
Together.
HABROTONON
No, I couldn't; not until
I really know for certain who the man was
Who wronged her. I should be afraid to go
And tell those ladies I was with a story
That might be false. That ring may well have been
A pledge that one of his companions took,
And then lost. Or he may have been at dice
And put the ring up as a stake; or perhaps
He owed some debt and had no cash, and so
Paid with the ring. Hundreds of things like that
Happen at drinking bouts. Until I know
The man who wronged her I don't want to seek
That girl out or spread any kind of gossip
To anyone.
ONÊSIMUS
No; I'm afraid you're right.
Then, what the Devil . . .
HABROTONON
Look, Onêsimus.
What do you say to this? The thought has just
Struck me. Suppose . . . suppose I make the whole
Adventure mine. I'll take the ring and go
In there to play to them.
ONÊSIMUS
Go on. Explain.
Though I can guess.
HABROTONON
He'll see it on my finger.
He'll ask me where I got it; and I'll say,
"At last year's Tauropolia, when I was
An innocent girl." All that that other girl
Went through I'll tell as happening to myself . . .
I know it well enough!
ONÊSIMUS
Magnificent!
HABROTONON
Then, if it strikes a chord in him, he'll come
Bursting to question me . . . He's tipsy, too;
He'll blurt out the whole story without waiting
For me to speak. I'll just say "Yes" to all
He says, and never risk making mistakes
By speaking first.
ONÊSIMUS
Oh, good! Better than good!
HABROTONON
I'll hang my head and all that, and just murmur
The obvious things. It's safe enough. "How cruel
You were to me! A cave-man!"
ONÊSIMUS
Capital!
HABROTONON
And "Oh, how violently you threw me down!"
And "That poor cloak I ruined"! That's the kind
Of talk. But first of all I'll go indoors
And get the baby, and drop a tear, and kiss it,
And ask the woman where she got it.
ONÊSIMUS
Glory!
HABROTONON
And bring it in; and then the final stroke;
"So now you are a father!" and I show him
The foundling.
ONÊSIMUS
Oh, Habrotonon, what cheek!
What devilry!
HABROTONON
If once we have the proof,
And know that he's the father, then we'll make
Inquiries at our ease to find the mother.
ONÊSIMUS (_suspiciously_)
There's one thing you've not mentioned. You'll be given
Your freedom. If he once believes that you're
The mother of his child he'll have you freed.
HABROTONON (_musing_)
I don't know. Oh, I wonder!
ONÊSIMUS
You don't know?
Don't you? Look here, do I get any good
From all this?
HABROTONON
Yes, by the Two Goddesses!
However it ends, I owe it all to you.
ONÊSIMUS
Ah, but suppose, when once you've caught your man,
You leave things, and forget about the true
Mother; that leaves me planted.
HABROTONON
Why should I
Do that? Do you think I'm pining for a baby?
If only I could be free! Oh, God in heaven,
After all this, that's the reward I pray for!
ONÊSIMUS
I hope you get it.
HABROTONON
You accept my plan?
ONÊSIMUS
With all my heart. And if you do try on
Some funny business, there'll be time enough
To fight you. Trust me, I'll know what to do.
Just for the present, though, I'll wait and see.
HABROTONON
You do agree, then?
ONÊSIMUS
I agree.
HABROTONON
Then quick,
Give me the ring.
ONÊSIMUS
There!
HABROTONON
Thanks. O blessed Goddess,
Persuasion, hear me! Teach me how to tell
My story right, and may the end be well!
[_Exit_ HABROTONON.
ONÊSIMUS
By Jove, she has initiative, that girl!
She finds there isn't any road to freedom
Through love; that's a blind alley; so she turns
The opposite way. . . . Yes, I suppose I'll always
Remain a slave. A moonstruck, drivelling ass!
Can't think ahead! . . . Of course, if she has luck
I might get something. . . . That'd be only fair . . .
Fair? What a calculation, to expect
Fair dealing from a woman! You poor fool!
I only hope there's no new trouble brewing . . .
The mistress, too. She's in a slippery place.
They may find, any time, some free man's daughter
Was mother to that baby. If they do,
He'll marry her in a twinkling, and dismiss
Our Pamphilê to her father. In that case,
I'm nicely saved out of the wrath to come . . .
Well, I've kept clear this time! And after this
I abjure all meddling. Catch me ever again
Poking my nose in other folks' affairs,
Or telling tales--I give you leave to cut
My tonsils out! . . . But who's this coming up?
Oh, Smîcrinês again; back from the city;
And showing signs of mental perturbation! (_amused_)
I shouldn't wonder if he'd heard some news
Not fully in accord with what I told him.
I'd better vanish quietly and pretend
Not to have seen him. Yes, and first find out
For certain what young Habro's been about.
[_Exit_ ONÊSIMUS _as_ SMÎCRINÊS _enters_.
SMÎCRINÊS
I hate this gossip. I believe they want
To make a fool of me. "Never at home;
Drunken; extravagant;" I don't believe it.
The city is humming with that sort of scandal.
Well, this time I'm determined to find out
The actual truth of the matter. For three nights
They said, he hasn't slept at home; he's drinking,
And bringing open shame upon his parents
With some disreputable harpist girl.
And yet that honest fellow I talked with here
Assured me that he had really lived at home
These last three days, and any previous trouble
He had had with Pamphilê had quite blown over.
He struck me as truthful. Pest! How can I tell
Which to believe? I didn't like those people
In Athens. They enjoyed tormenting me,
Knowing I hate extravagance. They grinned
Into my face and rattled off this story
Of special cooks and feasts and dancing girls
And dice and noise and laughter. Very likely
They made it all up, just to worry me.
If so, well, I won't let it. After all
That servant knew the facts. One man who knows
Is worth a hundred gossips. And besides
I have another witness, who knows all
And cares for me, and for my property,
And her own happiness. My daughter says
All's well. I must believe my only child.
[_Guests burst tumultuously out of_ CHAERESTRATUS'S _House_.
But what's all this? The party breaking up?
I warned Charisius not to get mixed up
With people of that sort. That man next door's
Impossible. How could he ever hope
To keep him straight?
CÂRION (_off_)
I won't be just turned out
Like this, Sir! You're insulting my profession.
[_Enter_ CÂRION, _pushed out by_ SÎMIAS.
SÎMIAS
Go, go. The party's finished.
CÂRION
What? Before
They've tasted my best sauce? It isn't decent.
You'll never get another cook to make
Such sauces--all this fuss about a baby!
SMÎCRINÊS
Quite a _recherché_ feast that man next door
Is giving!
CÂRION
Insult upon insult! No;
I won't endure it. Off they slink and leave
Their food untouched. I swear if ever again
They give a feast and one of them comes begging
For a good cook . . . well, they can go to Heaven
And get one!
SMÎCRINÊS
Tell me, Cook; what's happening here?
CÂRION
What's happening? Why they're making me a jest
In Athens, all because that stupid girl
Breaks in with, first, her ring and, next, her baby,
And upsets everyone, and vows it's his.
And he's struck dumb and has acknowledged it,
And no one knows which way to look; and so
They're all gone, leaving me a laughing-stock.
SMÎCRINÊS
All gone?
CÂRION
Charisius and the harping girl
Are there alone, and that infernal baby.
SMÎCRINÊS
Charisius? Why's he there?
CÂRION
The party's spoilt,
And when a party's spoilt the whole town thinks
The cook's to blame.
SMÎCRINÊS
But why Charisius? Why
Charisius?
CÂRION
First, they said I took too long
Preparing. Every self-respecting Cook
Needs time.
SMÎCRINÊS
You said Charisius. You must mean
The host, Chaerestratus.
CÂRION
Of course I mean
The host, the father of this wretched baby;
His name's Charisius, and that's his house,
Next door. Then, secondly, they laid my things
In the wrong order . . .
SMÎCRINÊS
Oh, get out! Get out!
CÂRION
What? I protest.
[SMÎCRINÊS _drives_ CÂRION _out_.
SMÎCRINÊS
Then those who lied to me
Were my own household! The loud streets and gutters
Spoke the bare truth, and not quite all the truth.
Damnation! . . . But this simplifies the case.
I'll send my agent to insist at once
That he restores my daughter and her dowry.
She's still quite young. I'll find her a good husband
In spite of them. This daughter I can save.
[_Enter_ CHAERESTRATUS _and_ SÎMIAS.
CHAERESTRATUS
O Hercules, enough! Where's Sîmias?
Let's get away at once. . . . By Helios, yes,
I liked that girl, and I don't understand
Charisius. I don't like it.
SÎMIAS
Nor do I.
I always told you so.
SMÎCRINÊS
Thank God my daughter
Is childless! How much harder it would be
To take her back if she had borne that man
A child . . . (_going up to them_) Excuse me, Sirs, I think you both
Were dining with Charisius. Is it true
This friend of yours gave here, day after day,
A series of continuous drinking-bouts
In a hired house? He was ashamed, I hear,
To show his face at home, but not ashamed
To breed a bastard from a prostitute . . .
CHAERESTRATUS
No, you're in error, Sir. This house is mine.
The mother of that child is a musician
Of charm and talent. If your son-in-law
Displeases you, no doubt you have every right
To take your daughter home and break the marriage,
But that's no reason to come meddling here
Using strong language . . .
SÎMIAS
Hush! (_to_ SMÎCRINÊS) I think you wrong
Charisius. I know nothing of this amour
He seems to have had, but I'm quite sure it's finished.
His manner to this girl . . . we all have noticed . . .
Is most reserved. He's an unhappy man,
Of that I'm sure. I beg you to think well
Before you add to his unhappiness.
SMÎCRINÊS
Think about _him_? Why, wouldn't that be meddling
And interfering, just the things your friend
Objects to? He would sooner I went home
Taking my daughter with me? Very good.
That's what I've come to do; that's why I summon
You two men, in accordance with the law,
To bear true witness how Charisius lives,
And how he has clearly shown himself unworthy
To be my daughter's husband. Is that clear?
SÎMIAS
I beg, before you ask us, Smîcrinês,
You'll make quite sure it's what you really wish.
I have known Charisius many years. I know
His nature, and am sure that these last days
Something has made him mad, unlike himself.
Speak to him as a father. All the shame
You heap upon Charisius will spring back
And strike your innocent daughter.
SMÎCRINÊS
These last days!
When did he get this harping girl with child?
What was his nature then? It's not my nature
To leave my daughter wedded to a rake
Who wastes her dowry on his harping girls
And cooks.
SÎMIAS
I tell you he is not like that.
He simply hates the sort of thing men call
A life of pleasure; "Drunk with so-and-so";
"Fifty gold Darics on a single feast . . ."
"This girl to-night and that to-morrow." No,
It's not his style. He has a natural pride,
I know, which makes him feel that sort of life
Disgusting.
SMÎCRINÊS
He has deceived you, as he once
Did me. But not again; no, not again
Or call me no Athenian! What, that man
My son-in-law? Him and his natural pride!
I hope it chokes him. What does he expect?
To live upon her dowry, and spend his days
Drunk in the tavern where he found that slut,
And live with her, thinking that we don't know,
And take his little bastard for his heir . . .
SÎMIAS
Good-bye, Sir. That's enough.
[_Exit_ SÎMIAS _and_ CHAERESTRATUS.
SMÎCRINÊS
I must be calm.
It's strange how they defend him. It may be
He once was honest. It must be that woman,
That harping harlot, has corrupted him,
She and her brat . . . I'll have her whipped from Athens!
[_Enter_ SYRISCUS.
SYRISCUS
It's rather a delicate business; here's my wife,
Insists that I must see that harper girl
And find if Dâvus really gave us all
The trinkets. . . . Ah, that kind old gentleman
Who helped me so! I'm sure he'd introduce me . . .
Allow me to congratulate you, Sir;
True happiness is to make others happy,
And that you have done indeed. It's all your work;
That poor lost baby saved, the father found
Both re-united to the lovely mother,
All thanks to you!
SMÎCRINÊS
Infernal impudence!
Who sent you here to mock me? Out, you dog!
SYRISCUS
Help! Help! What have I done? This is a case
For arbitration--peaceful arbitration . . .
[_Exit_ SMÎCRINÊS, _driving_ SYRISCUS _before him_.
ACT III
ONÊSIMUS _alone_.
That ring! I've started off five times or more
To show it to the Master. Then somehow
When I've come up and got him to myself,
I daren't . . . I sometimes doubt if it was wise
To tell him the other thing. "God damn the rogue
Who told me!" is what he mutters to himself
When he's alone. I've heard him. Yes, quite often
He says that . . . H'm, suppose he made it up
With her? Well, that would be the end of me!
To have told her secret, fatal! Bad enough
Even to have known it. . . . Yes, I am sure it's best
To make no further trouble. Why, even now
We're in for a quite fairly devilish row.
[_Enter_ HABROTONON _from the House of_ CHAERESTRATUS.
HABROTONON (_speaking off_)
Excuse me, gentlemen! . . . I beg you, Sir,
You only cause me annoyance . . . Well, if ever
A helpless girl was made a laughing stock!
They said the man had fallen in love with me;
It's not love, it's repulsion; something quite
Inhuman! He won't even let me sit
At the same table. I must keep far off!
ONÊSIMUS (_musing over the ring_)
Return it to the man I got it from?
That's hardly sensible.
HABROTONON
The wretched man,
What is he wasting all that money for?
For all he has got from me, I'm qualified
To carry the holy basket to the Goddess,
Lord save us! "Free from contact with a male
For three days."
ONÊSIMUS
What on earth am I to do?
I ask you; what on earth?
[_Enter_ SYRISCUS _from the House of_ CHARISIUS.
HABROTONON _begins to take notice_.
SYRISCUS
Where can he be?
I've hunted for him everywhere inside (_seeing_ ONÊSIMUS).
Hullo! Look here, mate. Either give me back
That ring or show it to the man you mean
To show it to. Let's get the business settled.
I can't wait longer.
ONÊSIMUS
See, man; it's like this.
It really does belong . . . so much I know
For certain . . . to Charisius. But I somehow
Don't like to show it him. It's much the same
As telling him he's the father of that baby
The ring was found with.
SYRISCUS
How do you mean, you fool?
ONÊSIMUS
He lost it last year at the Tauropolia;
So much we know. There was an all-night dance,
Women as well as men. One can but think
He gave it as a present to some girl
He got mixed up with. I suppose it's she
Who had this baby and left it in the wood.
If one could find the girl, and then produce
This ring, it would be clinching; but not now.
To show it now would only make suspicion
And trouble.
SYRISCUS
It's your business, anyhow,
Not mine. But if you're trying to put me off,
Or if you expect to make me pay you something
To get it back, you make a great mistake.
I don't go halves in anything!
ONÊSIMUS
All right.
Who asked you to?
SYRISCUS
I've got a job in town
Just now, but when it's finished, I'll come back
And see what's to be done.
[_Exit_ SYRISCUS.
HABROTONON
Onêsimus,
Is it the child the woman there indoors
Is nursing, that this charcoal-burner found?
ONÊSIMUS
Yes, so he says.
HABROTONON
It's such a pretty creature!
Poor child!
ONÊSIMUS
And lying beside it was this ring,
My master's.
HABROTONON
What an awful thing! Just think!
That baby is your master's son, your own
Young master. You can't mean to leave him there
In slavery! You could be hanged for that.
ONÊSIMUS
I don't know what to do. I've just explained,
Nobody knows the mother.
HABROTONON
And you say
He lost the ring at last year's Tauropolia?
ONÊSIMUS
They'd all of them been drinking, so the boy
Said who attended him.
HABROTONON
He must have wandered
Away alone, and fallen upon some girl
Fresh from the women's midnight dance--Why, once
A thing like that happened when I was there.
ONÊSIMUS
When you were there?
HABROTONON
Yes, that was last year, too.
I had come to play the harp at what they call
The Younger Girls' dance, and this girl was there
Among them, laughing. I could join their play
Myself then. At that time I didn't know
What a man was.
ONÊSIMUS (_ironically_)
Says you!
HABROTONON (_indignant_)
By Aphrodite,
I swear!
ONÊSIMUS
This girl, you don't know who she was?
HABROTONON
I could find out. I know she was a friend
Of some one in my party.
ONÊSIMUS
Did you hear
Her father's name?
HABROTONON
No, I know nothing more.
I am sure I'd know her if we met again.
My goodness, she was pretty! And, they said,
From a rich house.
ONÊSIMUS
Most likely it's the same.
HABROTONON
I don't know. She was with us, but strayed off.
Then later, all of a sudden, back she came
Running, in tears, tearing her hair. She'd spoilt
A lovely mantle, soft Tarentine silk;
It was all tatters.
ONÊSIMUS
Did she have this ring?
HABROTONON
She may have had. She didn't show it me.
I won't invent things.
ONÊSIMUS
What am I to do?
HABROTONON
That's your look-out . . . But if you're sensible,
And ask for my advice, you'll go and show him
His ring. Suppose that girl was a free maiden.
He can't be left not knowing what he's done.
ONÊSIMUS
First, let us find out who the woman was.
There, Habro, that's a job for you and me
Together.
HABROTONON
No, I couldn't; not until
I really know for certain who the man was
Who wronged her. I should be afraid to go
And tell those ladies I was with a story
That might be false. That ring may well have been
A pledge that one of his companions took,
And then lost. Or he may have been at dice
And put the ring up as a stake; or perhaps
He owed some debt and had no cash, and so
Paid with the ring. Hundreds of things like that
Happen at drinking bouts. Until I know
The man who wronged her I don't want to seek
That girl out or spread any kind of gossip
To anyone.
ONÊSIMUS
No; I'm afraid you're right.
Then, what the Devil . . .
HABROTONON
Look, Onêsimus.
What do you say to this? The thought has just
Struck me. Suppose . . . suppose I make the whole
Adventure mine. I'll take the ring and go
In there to play to them.
ONÊSIMUS
Go on. Explain.
Though I can guess.
HABROTONON
He'll see it on my finger.
He'll ask me where I got it; and I'll say,
"At last year's Tauropolia, when I was
An innocent girl." All that that other girl
Went through I'll tell as happening to myself . . .
I know it well enough!
ONÊSIMUS
Magnificent!
HABROTONON
Then, if it strikes a chord in him, he'll come
Bursting to question me . . . He's tipsy, too;
He'll blurt out the whole story without waiting
For me to speak. I'll just say "Yes" to all
He says, and never risk making mistakes
By speaking first.
ONÊSIMUS
Oh, good! Better than good!
HABROTONON
I'll hang my head and all that, and just murmur
The obvious things. It's safe enough. "How cruel
You were to me! A cave-man!"
ONÊSIMUS
Capital!
HABROTONON
And "Oh, how violently you threw me down!"
And "That poor cloak I ruined"! That's the kind
Of talk. But first of all I'll go indoors
And get the baby, and drop a tear, and kiss it,
And ask the woman where she got it.
ONÊSIMUS
Glory!
HABROTONON
And bring it in; and then the final stroke;
"So now you are a father!" and I show him
The foundling.
ONÊSIMUS
Oh, Habrotonon, what cheek!
What devilry!
HABROTONON
If once we have the proof,
And know that he's the father, then we'll make
Inquiries at our ease to find the mother.
ONÊSIMUS (_suspiciously_)
There's one thing you've not mentioned. You'll be given
Your freedom. If he once believes that you're
The mother of his child he'll have you freed.
HABROTONON (_musing_)
I don't know. Oh, I wonder!
ONÊSIMUS
You don't know?
Don't you? Look here, do I get any good
From all this?
HABROTONON
Yes, by the Two Goddesses!
However it ends, I owe it all to you.
ONÊSIMUS
Ah, but suppose, when once you've caught your man,
You leave things, and forget about the true
Mother; that leaves me planted.
HABROTONON
Why should I
Do that? Do you think I'm pining for a baby?
If only I could be free! Oh, God in heaven,
After all this, that's the reward I pray for!
ONÊSIMUS
I hope you get it.
HABROTONON
You accept my plan?
ONÊSIMUS
With all my heart. And if you do try on
Some funny business, there'll be time enough
To fight you. Trust me, I'll know what to do.
Just for the present, though, I'll wait and see.
HABROTONON
You do agree, then?
ONÊSIMUS
I agree.
HABROTONON
Then quick,
Give me the ring.
ONÊSIMUS
There!
HABROTONON
Thanks. O blessed Goddess,
Persuasion, hear me! Teach me how to tell
My story right, and may the end be well!
[_Exit_ HABROTONON.
ONÊSIMUS
By Jove, she has initiative, that girl!
She finds there isn't any road to freedom
Through love; that's a blind alley; so she turns
The opposite way. . . . Yes, I suppose I'll always
Remain a slave. A moonstruck, drivelling ass!
Can't think ahead! . . . Of course, if she has luck
I might get something. . . . That'd be only fair . . .
Fair? What a calculation, to expect
Fair dealing from a woman! You poor fool!
I only hope there's no new trouble brewing . . .
The mistress, too. She's in a slippery place.
They may find, any time, some free man's daughter
Was mother to that baby. If they do,
He'll marry her in a twinkling, and dismiss
Our Pamphilê to her father. In that case,
I'm nicely saved out of the wrath to come . . .
Well, I've kept clear this time! And after this
I abjure all meddling. Catch me ever again
Poking my nose in other folks' affairs,
Or telling tales--I give you leave to cut
My tonsils out! . . . But who's this coming up?
Oh, Smîcrinês again; back from the city;
And showing signs of mental perturbation! (_amused_)
I shouldn't wonder if he'd heard some news
Not fully in accord with what I told him.
I'd better vanish quietly and pretend
Not to have seen him. Yes, and first find out
For certain what young Habro's been about.
[_Exit_ ONÊSIMUS _as_ SMÎCRINÊS _enters_.
SMÎCRINÊS
I hate this gossip. I believe they want
To make a fool of me. "Never at home;
Drunken; extravagant;" I don't believe it.
The city is humming with that sort of scandal.
Well, this time I'm determined to find out
The actual truth of the matter. For three nights
They said, he hasn't slept at home; he's drinking,
And bringing open shame upon his parents
With some disreputable harpist girl.
And yet that honest fellow I talked with here
Assured me that he had really lived at home
These last three days, and any previous trouble
He had had with Pamphilê had quite blown over.
He struck me as truthful. Pest! How can I tell
Which to believe? I didn't like those people
In Athens. They enjoyed tormenting me,
Knowing I hate extravagance. They grinned
Into my face and rattled off this story
Of special cooks and feasts and dancing girls
And dice and noise and laughter. Very likely
They made it all up, just to worry me.
If so, well, I won't let it. After all
That servant knew the facts. One man who knows
Is worth a hundred gossips. And besides
I have another witness, who knows all
And cares for me, and for my property,
And her own happiness. My daughter says
All's well. I must believe my only child.
[_Guests burst tumultuously out of_ CHAERESTRATUS'S _House_.
But what's all this? The party breaking up?
I warned Charisius not to get mixed up
With people of that sort. That man next door's
Impossible. How could he ever hope
To keep him straight?
CÂRION (_off_)
I won't be just turned out
Like this, Sir! You're insulting my profession.
[_Enter_ CÂRION, _pushed out by_ SÎMIAS.
SÎMIAS
Go, go. The party's finished.
CÂRION
What? Before
They've tasted my best sauce? It isn't decent.
You'll never get another cook to make
Such sauces--all this fuss about a baby!
SMÎCRINÊS
Quite a _recherché_ feast that man next door
Is giving!
CÂRION
Insult upon insult! No;
I won't endure it. Off they slink and leave
Their food untouched. I swear if ever again
They give a feast and one of them comes begging
For a good cook . . . well, they can go to Heaven
And get one!
SMÎCRINÊS
Tell me, Cook; what's happening here?
CÂRION
What's happening? Why they're making me a jest
In Athens, all because that stupid girl
Breaks in with, first, her ring and, next, her baby,
And upsets everyone, and vows it's his.
And he's struck dumb and has acknowledged it,
And no one knows which way to look; and so
They're all gone, leaving me a laughing-stock.
SMÎCRINÊS
All gone?
CÂRION
Charisius and the harping girl
Are there alone, and that infernal baby.
SMÎCRINÊS
Charisius? Why's he there?
CÂRION
The party's spoilt,
And when a party's spoilt the whole town thinks
The cook's to blame.
SMÎCRINÊS
But why Charisius? Why
Charisius?
CÂRION
First, they said I took too long
Preparing. Every self-respecting Cook
Needs time.
SMÎCRINÊS
You said Charisius. You must mean
The host, Chaerestratus.
CÂRION
Of course I mean
The host, the father of this wretched baby;
His name's Charisius, and that's his house,
Next door. Then, secondly, they laid my things
In the wrong order . . .
SMÎCRINÊS
Oh, get out! Get out!
CÂRION
What? I protest.
[SMÎCRINÊS _drives_ CÂRION _out_.
SMÎCRINÊS
Then those who lied to me
Were my own household! The loud streets and gutters
Spoke the bare truth, and not quite all the truth.
Damnation! . . . But this simplifies the case.
I'll send my agent to insist at once
That he restores my daughter and her dowry.
She's still quite young. I'll find her a good husband
In spite of them. This daughter I can save.
[_Enter_ CHAERESTRATUS _and_ SÎMIAS.
CHAERESTRATUS
O Hercules, enough! Where's Sîmias?
Let's get away at once. . . . By Helios, yes,
I liked that girl, and I don't understand
Charisius. I don't like it.
SÎMIAS
Nor do I.
I always told you so.
SMÎCRINÊS
Thank God my daughter
Is childless! How much harder it would be
To take her back if she had borne that man
A child . . . (_going up to them_) Excuse me, Sirs, I think you both
Were dining with Charisius. Is it true
This friend of yours gave here, day after day,
A series of continuous drinking-bouts
In a hired house? He was ashamed, I hear,
To show his face at home, but not ashamed
To breed a bastard from a prostitute . . .
CHAERESTRATUS
No, you're in error, Sir. This house is mine.
The mother of that child is a musician
Of charm and talent. If your son-in-law
Displeases you, no doubt you have every right
To take your daughter home and break the marriage,
But that's no reason to come meddling here
Using strong language . . .
SÎMIAS
Hush! (_to_ SMÎCRINÊS) I think you wrong
Charisius. I know nothing of this amour
He seems to have had, but I'm quite sure it's finished.
His manner to this girl . . . we all have noticed . . .
Is most reserved. He's an unhappy man,
Of that I'm sure. I beg you to think well
Before you add to his unhappiness.
SMÎCRINÊS
Think about _him_? Why, wouldn't that be meddling
And interfering, just the things your friend
Objects to? He would sooner I went home
Taking my daughter with me? Very good.
That's what I've come to do; that's why I summon
You two men, in accordance with the law,
To bear true witness how Charisius lives,
And how he has clearly shown himself unworthy
To be my daughter's husband. Is that clear?
SÎMIAS
I beg, before you ask us, Smîcrinês,
You'll make quite sure it's what you really wish.
I have known Charisius many years. I know
His nature, and am sure that these last days
Something has made him mad, unlike himself.
Speak to him as a father. All the shame
You heap upon Charisius will spring back
And strike your innocent daughter.
SMÎCRINÊS
These last days!
When did he get this harping girl with child?
What was his nature then? It's not my nature
To leave my daughter wedded to a rake
Who wastes her dowry on his harping girls
And cooks.
SÎMIAS
I tell you he is not like that.
He simply hates the sort of thing men call
A life of pleasure; "Drunk with so-and-so";
"Fifty gold Darics on a single feast . . ."
"This girl to-night and that to-morrow." No,
It's not his style. He has a natural pride,
I know, which makes him feel that sort of life
Disgusting.
SMÎCRINÊS
He has deceived you, as he once
Did me. But not again; no, not again
Or call me no Athenian! What, that man
My son-in-law? Him and his natural pride!
I hope it chokes him. What does he expect?
To live upon her dowry, and spend his days
Drunk in the tavern where he found that slut,
And live with her, thinking that we don't know,
And take his little bastard for his heir . . .
SÎMIAS
Good-bye, Sir. That's enough.
[_Exit_ SÎMIAS _and_ CHAERESTRATUS.
SMÎCRINÊS
I must be calm.
It's strange how they defend him. It may be
He once was honest. It must be that woman,
That harping harlot, has corrupted him,
She and her brat . . . I'll have her whipped from Athens!
[_Enter_ SYRISCUS.
SYRISCUS
It's rather a delicate business; here's my wife,
Insists that I must see that harper girl
And find if Dâvus really gave us all
The trinkets. . . . Ah, that kind old gentleman
Who helped me so! I'm sure he'd introduce me . . .
Allow me to congratulate you, Sir;
True happiness is to make others happy,
And that you have done indeed. It's all your work;
That poor lost baby saved, the father found
Both re-united to the lovely mother,
All thanks to you!
SMÎCRINÊS
Infernal impudence!
Who sent you here to mock me? Out, you dog!
SYRISCUS
Help! Help! What have I done? This is a case
For arbitration--peaceful arbitration . . .
[_Exit_ SMÎCRINÊS, _driving_ SYRISCUS _before him_.
ACT IV
SMÎCRINÊS _and_ PAMPHILÊ _come out of_ CHARISIUS'S _House, talking_.
SMÎCRINÊS
For you, my child, I am making the whole business
As easy as possible. You take no part
In the discussion; you make no complaint,
No charges. Nobody need hear a word
Of his own wasteful conduct or the wrongs
He has done to _you_. All that I don't discuss.
My case is amply strong enough without it.
"I gave my daughter to this man believing
He was a man of substance; now I find
He is not in a position to support her,
And take her back. Who wouldn't?"--As for you,
My dear, don't be afraid that you'll be left
Stranded. I know a man of good position,
A friend to me, steady and well-connected,
Who'll marry you at once.
PAMPHILÊ
Oh, father, stop!
Please--though I feel it's really you, not I,
Who ought to say all this. You are so much wiser
Than I, and put things better. But this time
I think it's I who see what's right and true.
If he's committed some great public crime,
That's for the law to deal with, not for me.
But if it's only something personal
To me, it's odd that I've not noticed it.
I don't know what it is. No doubt I'm stupid;
A woman seldom has the brains to judge
Of public things, but surely in her own
Sphere, where she's touched herself, she is fairly sharp.
I don't feel wronged; but if you think I am,
Please tell me what he has done! I only know
The old accepted law for man and wife;
That, all life long, he should be kind to her,
And she, all life long, do what pleases him.
Well, Father, I have always found him just
The husband that I wished, and everything
That has pleased one of us has pleased the other.
I call that a good husband--but he's ruined,
You say; so now you mean to change me over
To one with property enough to save me
From all my troubles. Has he enough for that?
Where will you find such riches as can ever
Repay me for the man you take away?
And what of justice, what of decency,
If I who was full partner in his wealth
Am not allowed to share his poverty?
As for this man who means to marry me--
(Which God forbid, and which while I have will
And strength left in me, he shall never do!)
Suppose he, too, has losses, do you mean
To pass me on to a third? And if he fails,
To a fourth? How far do you intend to go,
Handing me round for your experiments
On Fortune? . . . Father, when I was a girl,
It was your business to decide what husband
To give me to. The choice was yours to make.
But once you've chosen and I have left your house--
My marriage is my own; and if I now
Judge wrongly it's my own life that I wreck.
Father, I beg you by our hearth and home,
Don't take me from this man into whose arms
You gave me. I ask simply what is fair
And kind. If you refuse, well, you'll have got
Your way by force, and I must try to bear
My lot without being utterly ashamed.
SMÎCRINÊS
My child, I am saving you from certain ruin.
PAMPHILÊ
"Saving"! But if your saving is a thing
You can't persuade me to, it's more a slave
You make me than a daughter.
SMÎCRINÊS
My dear child,
Is it a case for arguing and persuading?
Isn't it obvious? Don't the facts themselves
Cry out? However, if you want me also
To argue, I'll just put a point or two.
First, child, your marriage is already wrecked,
Wrecked both for him and you. It's possible
He may enjoy himself, but certainly
You won't. You'd wish to be a loving wife?
You'll never be allowed. He doesn't want you.
If you persist in staying, do you mean him
To keep two houses? One for his new fancy
And one for you? He won't like the expense.
Everything doubled. All the household feasts,
Two Thesmophoria parties--very costly--
Two Skira feasts. Meantime, try to imagine
Your own life. Don't we know what it will be?
"Excuse him for to-day: urgent affairs
At the Piraeus." Off he goes, and doesn't
Come back, and you'll be hurt. You'll wait alone
Hour after hour, not dining till he comes;
You fasting while he's drinking with that girl!
God bless me, even now he has left the house
To join his harp-player. All right, I say;
You leave it too, for ever!
PAMPHILÊ
May I speak?
I know Charisius. What I said about him
Just now is really true. He has never been
Unkind to me before. Something has changed him
In these last weeks. It may be I've displeased him
In some way I don't know. Some day he'll speak
About it and perhaps I can explain,
And be a better wife, and he'll forgive me . . .
At least, he may. And then he'll change again
And be himself. For me, I am quite content
To wait and hope. To go on as we are
At least a year or two will not use up
My dowry. I can live quite modestly.
And save on the housekeeping. I love my husband
And want to keep him.
SMÎCRINÊS
Can you hope to keep him?
Does _he_ want to keep _you_? You have a rival.
More than a rival.
PAMPHILÊ
Only a dancing girl!
All young men have these fancies . . . though I never
Thought that _he_ would; fancies that come and go;
Sudden, not lasting things. I am not afraid.
SMÎCRINÊS
It's not an equal battle, Pamphilê,
An honest woman matched against a whore:
They have the odds all round; they cheat and lie;
They have no shame; they flatter and deceive
In ways you never dream of; they know more;
They know the world, they know men's weaknesses . . .
PAMPHILÊ
I am more to him than a dozen dancing girls!
SMÎCRINÊS
Ah, but it's not a dozen. It's just one;
One only, and she the mother of his child.
He acknowledges the boy, accepts her word,
And next thing, I suppose, will set her free
And lodge her in this house. . . . You have no child.
PAMPHILÊ (_collapsing_)
Father, I'll go. This woman has more right
Than I have. She'll do better than I've done.
Send Sôphronê to help me, and I'll follow.
SMÎCRINÊS
Good, child; I knew that you'd be reasonable.
I'll fetch her; an old Nurse can give the sort
Of comfort that you need.
PAMPHILÊ (_embarrassed_)
Leave special orders
That she is to be admitted.
SMÎCRINÊS
Special orders?
PAMPHILÊ
I mean, the porter might not understand.
He might not let her in.
SMÎCRINÊS
Not let her in?
Bless me, I never heard such impudence.
I'll bring her here myself. I'll let them see
You have a father and a home and friends.
[_Exit_ SMÎCRINÊS.
PAMPHILÊ
Friends, have I? Is there one that I can trust?
No one but Sôphronê; and there's no comfort
In her. If only she had had the courage
To help me at the first to tell Charisius!
But no; she said it was a thing all men
Are merciless about. It hurts their pride
Somehow. . . . Why can't they leave it to the Goddess?
Our sin is against her, not against them.
One might have thought that, if he knew, he'd feel
Pity, as I should for another girl
So battered. . . . But of course I don't know how
A man would feel, and Sôphronê was sure.
"Hide everything," she said; "Hide everything.
Hide most of all the child, and never dream
Of seeing him again. It's the only way
To save his life." Oh, I've grown almost blind
With weeping. . . . If I only had a mother
Or sister; I could tell my sister best.
She would have understood. But now . . . no sister
No child, no husband, none that I dare speak to . . .
And Artemis, they say, never forgives.
[_She sits, forward L, pondering. Enter_ HABROTONON
_from House R., carrying the baby, wrapped in a torn
crimson silk shawl. The two women do not see each other._
HABROTONON
I'll take him with me and search--What, whimpering, is he?
Poor mite! I've no idea what's wrong with him.
[_Sits, back near House._
PAMPHILÊ
Is there no merciful god to pity me?
HABROTONON
Dear pretty, never mind! We'll find your mother;
We'll search the city for her.
&