 | The Andrian |  |
SCENE V.
PAMPHILUS, MYSIS behind.Pam.
Is this well done? or like a man?—Is this
The action of a father?
Mysis.
What's the matter?
Pam.
Oh all ye Pow'rs of heav'n and earth, what's wrong
If this is not so?—If he was determin'd
That I to-day should marry, should I not
Have had some previous notice?—ought not He
To have inform'd me of it long ago?
Mysis.
Alas! what's this I hear?
Pam.
And Chremes too,
Who had refus'd to trust me with his daughter,
Can he then be so obstinately bent
To tear me from Glycerium? To lose her
Is losing life.—Was ever man so crost,
So curst as I?—Oh Pow'rs of heav'n and earth!
Can I by no means fly from this alliance
With Chremes' family?—so oft contemn'd
And held in scorn!—all done, concluded all!—
Rejected, then recall'd:—and why?—unless,
For so I must suspect, they breed some monster;
Whom as they can obtrude on no one else,
They bring to me.
Mysis.
Alas, alas! this speech
Pam.
And then
My father!—what to say of him?—Oh shame!
A thing of so much consequence to treat
So negligently!—For but even now
Passing me in the Forum, Pamphilus!
To-day's your wedding-day, said He: Prepare;
Go, get you home!—This sounded in my ears
As if he said, Go, hang yourself!—I stood
Confounded. Think you I could speak one word?
Or offer an excuse, how weak soe'er?
No, I was dumb:—and had I been aware,
Should any ask what I'd have done, I would,
Rather than this, do any thing.—But now
What to resolve upon?—So many cares
Entangle me at once, and rend my mind,
Pulling it diff'rent ways. My love, compassion,
This urgent match, my rev'rence for my father,
Who yet has ever been so gentle to me,
And held so slack a rein upon my pleasures.
—And I oppose him?—Racking thought!—Ah me!
I know not what to do.
Mysis.
Alas, I fear
Where this uncertainty will end. 'Twere best
Speak touching her to him. For while the mind
Hangs in suspence, a trifle turns the scale.
Pam.
Who's there? what, Mysis! Save you!
Mysis.
Save you! Sir. [Coming forwards.
Pam.
How does she?
Mysis.
How! opprest with wretchedness.
To-day supremely wretched, as to-day
Was formerly appointed for your wedding.
And then she fears lest you desert her.
Pam.
I!
Desert her? Can I think on't? or deceive
A wretched maid, who trusted to my care
Her life and honour! Her, whom I have held
Near to my heart, and cherish'd as my wife?
Or leave her modest and well-nurtur'd mind
Mysis.
No doubt, did it depend on you alone;
But if constrain'd—
Pam.
D'ye think me then so vile?
Or so ungrateful, so inhuman, savage,
Neither long intercourse, nor love, nor shame,
Can make me keep my faith?
Mysis.
I only know
That she deserves you should remember her.
Pam.
I should remember her? Oh, Mysis, Mysis!
The words of Chrysis touching my Glycerium
Are written in my heart. On her death-bed
She call'd me. I approach'd her. You retir'd.
We were alone; and Chrysis thus began.
My Pamphilus, you see the youth and beauty
Of this unhappy maid: and well you know,
These are but feeble guardians to preserve
Her fortune or her fame. By this right hand
I do beseech you, by your better angel,
By your tried faith, by her forlorn condition,
Nor leave her to distress. If I have ever,
As my own brother, lov'd you; or if she
Has ever held you dear 'bove all the world,
And ever shewn obedience to your will—
I do bequeath you to her as a husband,
Friend, Guardian, Father: All our little wealth
To you I leave, and trust it to your care.—
She join'd our hands, and died.—I did receive her,
And once receiv'd will keep her.
Mysis.
So we trust.
Pam.
What make you from her?
Mysis.
Going for a midwife.
Pam.
Haste then! and hark, besure take special heed,
You mention not a word about the marriage,
Lest this too give her pain.
Mysis.
I understand.
The two most beautiful characters in this play, in my opinion, are the Father and Son. It has already been observed how much Sir Richard Steele falls short of Terence in delineating the first; and I must own, though Bevil is plainly the most laboured character in the Conscious Lovers, I think it inferior to Pamphilus. The particular differences in their character I propose to point out in the course of these notes: at present I shall only observe in general, that, of the two, Bevil is the more cool and refined, Pamphilus the more natural and pathetick.
Id mutavit, quia me immutatum videt. The verb immutare in other Latin authors, and even in other parts of Terence himself, signifies to change: as in the Phormio, Antipho says Non possum immutarier. “I cannot be changed.” But here the sense absolutely requires that immutatum should be rendered NOT changed. Madam Dacier endeavours to reconcile this, according to a conjecture of her father's, by shewing that immutatus stands for immutabilis; as immotus for immobilis, invictus for invincibilis, &c. But these examples do not remove the difficulty; since those participles always bear a negative sense, which immutatus does not: and thence arises all the difficulty. Terence certainly uses the verb immature both negatively and positively, as is plain from this passage and the above passage from the Phormio: and I dare say with strict propriety. In our own language we have instances of the same word bearing two senses directly opposite to each other. The word Let for instance is used in the contradictory meanings of permission and prohibition. The modern acceptation of the word is indeed almost entirely confined to the first sense; though we say even at this day without LET or molestation. Shakespeare in Hamlet, says,
Aliquid monstri alunt. Dacier and some others imagine these words to signify some plot that is hatching. Donatus and the commentators on him interpret them as referring to the woman, which is the sense I have followed; and I think the next sentence confirms this interpretation.
Dum in dubio est animus, paulo momento huc illuc impellitur. Dacier thinks that these words allude to scales, which sense I have adopted in the translation; but I rather think with Donatus that they refer to any great weight, which while it is yet unfixt, and hangs in suspence, is driven by the slightest touch here or there. In the beautiful story of Myrrha in Ovid's Metamorphoses, there is a passage, which the Commentators with great justice suppose to be an imitation of this sentence.
—Utque securi,Saucia trabs ingens, ubi plaga novissima restat,
Quo cadat, in dubio est, omniq; à parte timetur;
Sic animus vario labefactus vulnere nutat
Huc levis atq; illuc, momentaq; sumit utroque.
Laborat e dolore. Though the word laborat has tempted Donatus and the rest of the Commentators to suppose that this sentence signified Glycerium's being in labour, I cannot help concurring with Cooke, that it means simply, that she is weighed down with grief. The words immediately subsequent corroborate this interpretation: and at the conclusion of the scene, when Mysis tells him, she is going for a midwife, Pamphilus hurries her away as he would naturally have done here, had he understood by these words, that her mistress was in labour.
Per Genium tuum. Most editors give Ingenium: but as Bentley observes, this [per Genium] was the most usual way of adjuring; and there is a passage in Horace, plainly imitated from this in our author, where the measure infallibly determines the reading.
Quod te per Genium, dextramq; Deosq; Penates,Obsecro, et obtestor.
Hor. L. 1. Ep. 7. Cooke.
How much more affecting is this speech, than Bevil's dry detail to Humphry of his meeting with Indiana! a detail the more needless and inartificial, as it might with much more propriety and pathos have been entirely reserved for Indiana herself in the scene with her father.
Methinks Mysis has loitered a little too much, considering her errand; but perhaps Terence knew, that some women would gossip on the way, though on an affair of life and death.
Cooke.This two-edged reflection glancing at once on Terence and the ladies is, I think, very ill-founded. The delay of Mysis, on seeing the emotion of Phamphilus, is very natural; and her artful endeavours to interest his passions in favour of her mistress, are rather marks of her attention, than neglect.
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