University of Virginia Library

This scene, which I have placed the first of the fifth act, stands in Madam Dacier's translation, and in all those editions and translations who have followed her, as the second. I think it is plain from the end of the foregoing scene, that Micio and Demea quitted the stage, and entered the house together; and it seems to be equally evident, from the message that Syrus brings to Demea in the scene immediately succeeding this, that Demea had left the company within—Rogat frater, ne abeas longius—your brother begs, you'd not go further off. But what had still more weight with me, and was a more forcible motive to induce me to begin the fifth act with this soliloquy, was the propriety, and indeed necessity of an interval in this place. The total change of character, whether real or affected, is in itself so extraordinary, that it required all the art of Terence to bring it about; and the only probable method of effecting it, is to suppose it the result at least of some little deliberation, and reflexion on the inconveniencies he had experienced from a contrary temper. Donatus observes the great art with which Terence has preserved the gradation of Demea's anger and distresses, which can be pushed no further than the discovery of Ctesipho; and this admirable climax of incidents, if I may hazard the expression, is finely completed in the scene with which I have closed the fourth act. To say the truth, the fable itself in a manner ends there; and though there is much humour and pleasantry in the remaining part of the play, yet many good criticks have objected to it. Terence however, or rather Menander, must be allowed to have shewn an uncommon effort of genius, if not of judgment, in these adscititious scenes, which he has founded on the conversion of Demea: a circumstance which grows out of the foregoing incidents, and supplies the materials for a pleasant fifth act, like the Giving away the Rings in Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice, in which play also, as well as this of Terence, the main business of the plot is concluded in the fourth act.

Here the Poet shews how aukwardly a man of an opposite disposition endeavours to be complaisant; and that a miser, meaning to be generous, runs into profusion. Donatus.

The bride was usually thus attended, and Lucian speaks of this retinue, and I believe took the passage from Menander, where he says, Και αυλητριδας, και θορυβον, και υμεναιον αδοντας τινας, &c. “the players on the flute, the company, and singers of the nuptial song.” Dacier.

Jube nunc jam dinumeret illi Babylo viginti minas. All the commentators and translators have been extremely puzzled at this passage. It does not become the last comer to be positive, where so many conjectures have already been offered and rejected. But if one may determine from the context, which is commonly the best way as well as the most natural and obvious, it should seem that Demea means to give an order to one of his servants to give Æschinus Twenty Minæ. He has already determined to be very generous, and another instance of his bounty occurs in the last scene, where he pays down the money for the freedom of Phrygia.—In this very speech he is pleasantly considering within himself the expence, which he disregards so as he can but get into favour. In consequence of which resolution it is natural to suppose that he immediately gives an order for issuing money to defray the charges of pulling down walls, entertaining company, &c.

Obliging indeed!

The Poet's conduct here is justly liable to censure: the only consideration that can be urged in his defence is, that he meant to shew the inconveniencies arising from too unbounded a good-nature. But Micio has all along been represented so agreeable, and possessed of so much judgment, good sense, and knowledge of the world, that this last piece of extravagance must shock probability, and offend the delicacy of the spectator.

Apud Menandrum senex de nuptiis non gravatur. Ergo Terentius ευρητικως.

It is surprising that none of the criticks on this passage have taken notice of this observation of Donatus, especially as our loss of Menander makes it rather curious. It is plain that Terence in the plan of this last act followed Menander: and in the present circumstance though he has adopted the absurdity of marrying Micio to the old lady, yet we learn from Donatus that he rather improved on his original by making Micio express a repugnance to such—a match, which it seems he did not in the play of Menander.

Apparare de die convivium. The force of this passage consists in the words de die, because, as has been observed in another place, the chief meal of the Græcians was at supper, and an entertainment in the day-time was considered as a debauch. Dacier.

The grave irony of this passage is extremely humourous. Donatus.

Quad proluvium? quæ istæc subita est largitas? A passage borrowed from the comick poet Cæcilius. Dacier.

I would have characters separated from each other; but I must own that a direct contrast displeases me.

But the most sure method to spoil a play, and to render it quite insupportable, would be to multiply such contrasts.

See what would be the result of these antitheses. I call them Antitheses; for the contrast of character is, in the plan of the drama, what that figure is in conversation. It is happy; but it must be used with moderation; and in an elevated stile, totally excluded.

What is the most common state of society, that where characters are contrasted, or where they are only different?

What is the intention of contrast in character? Doubtless to render one of the two more striking. But that effect can only be obtained, where they both appear together. What a monotony will this create in the dialogue? what a constraint will it impose on the conduct of the fable? How can I attend to the natural chain of events, and proper succession of scenes, if I am engaged by the necessity of always bringing the two opposite characters together? How often will it happen that the contrast will require one scene, and the true course of the fable another?

Besides, if the two contrasted characters are both drawn with equal force, the intention of the drama will be rendered equivocal. To conceive the whole force of this reasoning, open the Brothers of Terence. There you will see two brothers contrasted, both drawn with equal force; and you may challenge the most subtle critick to tell you which is the principal character, Micio or Demea? If he ventures to pronounce before the last scene, he will find to his astonishment, that He, whom he has taken, during five acts, for a man of sense, is a fool; and that He, whom he has taken for a fool, may be a very sensible man.

One would suppose at the beginning of the fifth act, that the Author, embarrassed by the contrast which he had established, was obliged to abandon his design, and to turn the interest of his piece topsy-turvy. But what is the consequence? That we no longer know which side to take; and after having been all along for Micio against Demea, we conclude without knowing, whether we are for one, or the other. One would almost desire a third father to preserve the golden mean between the two characters, and to point out the faults of each of them.

Here Demea returns to his own character, and the conduct of Terence is admirable in the lesson given to Micio. The opposite characters of these two brothers, and the inconveniencies resulting from each, perfectly point out to fathers the middle way which they ought to persue in the education of their children, between the too great severity of the one, and the unlimited indulgence of the other.

This complaisance of Demea in allowing Ctesipho to retain the Musick-Girl, would be very criminal in a modern father; but the Greeks and Romans were not sufficiently enlightened to be sensible of the sin. Dacier.

It has been said that l'Ecole des Maris [The School for Husbands] was a copy of the Brothers of Terence: if so, Moliere deserves more praise for having brought the taste of ancient Rome into France, than reproach for having stolen his piece. But the Brothers furnished nothing more than the bare idea of the Ecole des Maris. There are in the Brothers two old men of opposite humours, who give each of them a different education to the children that they educate; there are in like manner in the Ecole des Maris two guardians, of which one is severe, and the other indulgent; there lies the whole resemblance. There is scarce any intrigue in the Brothers; that of the Ecole des Maris is delicate, interesting, and comick. One of the women in Terence's piece, who ought to be the principal character, is never seen or heard except in her lying-in. The Isabella of Moliere is almost for ever on the stage full of grace and spirit, and sometimes mingles a decency, even in the tricks which she plays her guardian. There is no probability in the catastrophe of the Brothers: It is not in nature, that a morose, severe, covetous old fellow of sixty should become all at once gay, complaisant, and liberal. The catastrophe of the Ecole des Maris is the best of all the pieces of Moliere. It is probable, natural, grounded on the plot; and what is of full as much consequence, extremely comick. The stile of Terence is pure, sententious, but a little cold; as Cæsar, who excelled in all, has reproached him. The stile of Moliere in this piece is more chaste than in any of his others. The French Author almost equals the purity of the diction of Terence; and goes far beyond him in the intrigue, the characters, the catastrophe, and humour.

It is impossible for any reader, who is come fresh from the perusal of the Brothers of Terence, and the Ecole des Maris of Moliere to acquiesce in the above decision, and I would venture to appeal from Mons. Voltaire to any member of the French academy for a reversal of it. The reputation of Moliere has taken too deep root to be rendered more flourishing by blasting that of Terence; nor can such an attempt ever be made with a worse grace than when the imitation is blindly preferred to the original. Moliere, so far from having taken only the idea of his piece from the Brothers, has translated some passages almost literally, and the latter part of the second scene of the Ecole des Maris is a very close imitation of one in the fourth act of the Brothers. In point of fable, I make no scruple to prefer the piece of Terence to that of Moliere. The intrigue of the four first acts of the Brothers is more artfully conducted than that of any other of Terence's pieces.

In the Andrian, was all the Episode of Charinus to be omitted, the play would be the better for it. In the Eunuch, as has been before observed, there is a lameness in the catastrophe, and the conclusion of Thraso's business in the last scene becomes episodical. In the Self-Tormentor the intrigue in a manner ends with the third act. In the Phormio, the loves of Antipho and Phædria have no further relation to each other, than that Phormio is used as an engine in both. But in the play before us, the interest which Æschinus takes in Ctesipho's affairs, combines their several amours so naturally, that they reciprocally put each other in motion.

I cannot think the fable of the Ecole des Maris quite so happy. In Terence we see a good-humoured uncle adopting one of his nephews, while the other lad remains under the tuition of the severe father. This is natural enough; but in Moliere we have two young women left by their father's will as the intended wives of their antiquated guardians. Is there not some absurdity in such an idea? Micio and Demea are confessedly the archetypes of Ariste and Sganarelle; but in my mind infinitely superiour, and exhibited in a greater variety of situations: nor do the two sisters, Isabelle and Leonor, play into each others hands, like Æschinus and Ctesipho. In the Brothers, the business and the play open together; in Moliere the first scene is a mere conversation-piece. In Moliere, the plot is thin, seems to have been only calculated for the intrigue of a petite piece, and the circumstance of Isabelle's embracing Sganarelle and giving her hand to Eraste is purely farcical. In Terence the fable is more important, and the incidents naturally unfold themselves one after another; and the manner in which Demea gradually arrives at the knowledge of them is extremely artful and comick. What then is intrigue? If it be the Dramatick Narration of a story, so laid out as to produce pleasant situations, I will not scruple to pronounce, that there is more intrigue in the Brothers than in the Ecole des Maris. The reader has already seen several strictures on the fifth act, but the particular objection made by Mons. de Voltaire to the catastrophe is founded on a mistake: the complaisance, gaiety, and liberality of Demea being merely assumed; and his aukwardness in affecting those qualities full as comick as the admired catastrophe of the Ecole des Maris; which being produced in a forced manner by the disguise of Isabelle, and the broad cheat put upon Sganarelle before his face, is certainly deficient in the probability necessary to the incidents of legitimate comedy.—It is not without reluctance that I have been drawn into an examination of the comparative merits of these two excellent pieces: nor do I think there is in general a more invidious method of extolling one writer, than by depreciating the productions of another.

Baron, the author of the Andriene, has also written a comedy called l'Ecole des Péres, [the School for Fathers] built on this play of Terence. The piece opens with a very elegant, though pretty close version, of the first act of the Brothers; but on the whole I think this attempt less happy than his first. The bringing Clarice and Pamphile on the stage has no better effect, than his introduction of Glicerie in the Andrian. Telamon and Alcée are drawn with neither the strength nor delicacy of Micio and Demea; and the old man's change of character in the fifth act is neither rejected nor retained, but rather mangled and deformed. On the whole, it were to be wished, that Baron had adhered still more closely to Terence, or, like Moliere, deviated still further from him: for, as the play now stands, his attention to the Roman Poet seems to have thrown a constraint on his genius, and taken off the air of an original; while his alterations have rendered the Ecole des Péres but a lame imitation, and imperfect image of the Brothers of Terence.

In our own language, the Squire of Alsatia of Shadwell is also founded on this play: But the Muse of White Friars has but little right to the praises due to that of Athens and Rome. Shadwell's play, though drawn from so pure a source, is rather a farce of five acts than a comedy; nor has it the least comparative merit either in the plan or execution, except in the intention to give the character of Ctesipho more at large than it is drawn in the original.

The plot of the Step-Mother, so admired by the moderns for its simplicity, shall be examined in another place.