University of Virginia Library

Search this document 

455

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Enter PAMPHILUS and PARMENO.
Pam.
Never did man experience greater ills,
More miseries in love than I.—Distraction!
Was it for This I held my life so dear?
For This was I so anxious to return?
Better, much better were it to have liv'd
In any place, than come to this again!
To feel, and know myself a wretch!—For when
Mischance befals us, all the interval
Between its happening, and our knowledge of it,
May be esteem'd clear gain.

Par.
But as it is,
You'll sooner be deliver'd from your troubles.
For had you not return'd, the breach between them
Had been made wider. But now, Pamphilus,
Both will, I doubt not, reverence your presence.
You'll know the whole, make up their difference,
And reconcile them to each other.—These
Are all mere trifles, which you think so grievous.


456

Pam.
Ah, why will you attempt to comfort me?
Was ever such a wretch?—Before I married,
My heart, you know, was wedded to another.
—But I'll not dwell upon that misery,
Which may be easily conceiv'd: and yet
I had not courage to refuse the match
My father forc'd upon me.—Scarcely wean'd
From my old love, my lim'd soul scarcely freed
From Bacchis, and devoted to my wife,
Than, lo, a new calamity arises,
Threatening to tear me from Philumena.
For either I shall find my mother faulty,
Or else my wife: In either case unhappy.
For duty, Parmeno, obliges me
To bear with all the failings of a mother:
And then I am so bounden to my wife,
Who, calm as patience, bore the wrongs I did her,
Nor ever murmur'd a complaint.—But sure
'Twas somewhat very serious, Parmeno,
That could occasion such a lasting quarrel.

Par.
Rather some trifle, if you knew the truth.
The greatest quarrels do not always rise
From deepest injuries. We often see,
That what wou'd never move another's spleen,

457

Renders the cholerick your worst of foes.
Observe how lightly children squabble.—Why?
Because they're govern'd by a feeble mind.
Women, like children, too are impotent,
And weak of soul. A single word, perhaps,
Has kindled all this enmity between them.

Pam.
Go, Parmeno, and let them know I'm come.

[noise within.
Par.
Ha! what's all this?

Pam.
Hush!

Par.
I perceive a bustle,
And running to and fro.—Come this way, Sir!
—To the door!—nearer still!—There, there, d'ye hear?

[noise continues.
Pam.
Peace; hush! [shriek within]
Oh Jupiter, I heard a shriek!


Par.
You talk yourself, and bid me hold my tongue.

Myrrhina,
within.]
Hush, my dear child, for heaven's sake!

Pam.
It seem'd
The voice of my wife's mother. I am ruin'd!

Par.
How so?


458

Pam.
Undone!

Par.
And why?

Pam.
Ah, Parmeno,
They hide some terrible misfortune from me!

Par.
They said, your wife Philumena was ill:
Whether 'tis that, I cannot tell.

Pam.
Death, sirrah!
Why did you not inform me that before?

Par.
Because I could not tell you all at once.

Pam.
What's her disorder?

Par.
I don't know.

Pam.
But tell me.
Has she had no physician?

Par.
I don't know.

Pam.
But why do I delay to enter strait,
That I may learn the truth, be what it will?
—Oh my Philumena, in what condition
Shall I now find thee?—If there's danger of thee,
My life's in danger too.

[Exit.
 

It was the custom of those times, for the husband returning from abroad to send a messenger before, to give his wife notice of his arrival. Dacier.


459

SCENE II.

PARMENO
alone.
It were not good
That I should follow him into the house:
For all our family are odious to them.
That's plain from their denying Sostrata
Admittance yesterday.—And if by chance
Her illness should increase, (which heav'n forbid,
For my poor master's sake!) they'll cry directly,
“Sostrata's servant came into the house:”
Swear,—“that I brought the plague along with me,
“Put all their lives in danger, and encreas'd
“Philumena's distemper.”—By which means,
My mistress will be blam'd, and I be beaten.

 

The Poet very artfully devises a reason to prevent not only Parmeno, but Sostrata also from entering the house. Donatus.

SCENE III.

Enter SOSTRATA.
Sostra.
Alas, I hear a dreadful noise within.
Philumena, I fear, grows worse and worse:

460

Which Æsculapius, and thou, Health, forbid!
But now I'll visit her.

[goes towards the house.
Par.
Ho, Sostrata!

Sostra.
Who's there?

Par.
You'll be shut out a second time.

Sostra.
Ha, Parmeno, are you there?—Wretched woman!
What shall I do?—Not visit my son's wife,
When she lies sick at next door?

Par.
Do not go;
No, nor send any body else; for they,
That love the folks, to whom themselves are odious,
I think are guilty of a double folly:
Their labour proves but idle to themselves,
And troublesome to those for whom 'tis meant.
Besides, your son, the moment he arriv'd,
Went in to visit her.

Sostra.
How, Parmeno!
Is Pamphilus arriv'd?

Par.
He is.


461

Sostra.
Thank heav'n!
Oh, how my comfort is reviv'd by that!

Par.
And therefore I ne'er went into the house.
For if Philumena's complaints abate,
She'll tell him, face to face, the whole affair,
And what has past between you to create
This difference.—But here he comes—how sad!

 

She invokes the Goddess of Health together with Æsculapius, because in Greece their statues were always placed near each other, so that to offer up prayers to the one and not to the other, would have been held the highest indignity to the power neglected.—Lucian in his Hippias says, και εικονες εν αυτω λιθου λευκου της αρχαιας εργασιας, η μεν Υγειας, ηδε Ασκληπιου. It contains two white marble statues of very ancient workmanship, the one of the Goddess of Health, the other of Æsculapius. Dacier.

SCENE IV.

Enter PAMPHILUS.
Sostra.
My dear boy, Pamphilus!

Pam.
My mother, save you!

[disordered.
Sostra.
I'm glad to see you safe return'd.—How does
Your wife?

Pam.
A little better.

Sostra.
Grant it, heav'n!
—But why d'ye weep, and why are you so sad?

Pam.
Nothing, good mother.

Sostra.
What was all that bustle?
Tell me, did pain attack her suddenly?

Pam.
It did.

Sostra.
And what is her complaint?


462

Pam.
A fever.

Sostra.
What! a quotidian?

Pam.
So they say.—But in,
Good mother, and I'll follow.

Sostra.
Be it so.

[Exit.
Pam.
Do you run, Parmeno, to meet the servants,
And give your help in bringing home the baggage.

Par.
As if they did not know the road!

Pam.
Away!

[Exit Parmeno.
 

The behaviour of Pamphilus in this scene is most faithfully copied from nature. Being shocked with the discovery he has made, he leaves the house in great anguish, which, though he wishes to dissemble, he is unable to conceal. He cannot receive his mother as he ought, or give an answer of above two words: and finding himself unfit for conversation or company, he finds means to remove Sostrata and Parmeno as soon as possible. When any unexpected grief takes hold of us, witnesses lay a constraint on our behaviour, and we are apt to wish to be alone in order to deliver ourselves up entirely to the natural emotions of the mind. There is a very superior instance of the like beauty in Othello, in the scene where the Moor is worked up to jealousy by Iago. He first testifies his uneasiness by half-words and short speeches; but soon finding it impossible to smother his disorder much longer, he orders Iago to leave him; upon which he immediately bursts into an agony of passion.

SCENE V.

PAMPHILUS
alone.
Which way shall I begin the wretched tale
Of my misfortunes, which have fall'n upon me
Thus unexpectedly? which even now

463

These very eyes have seen, these ears have heard?
And which, discover'd, drove me out o'doors,
Cover'd with deep confusion?—For but now
As I rush'd in, all anxious for my wife,
And thinking to have found her visited,
Alas, with a far different complaint;
Soon as her women saw me, at first sight
Struck and o'erjoy'd, they all exclaim'd, “He's come!”
And then as soon each countenance was chang'd,
That chance had brought me so unseasonably.
Meanwhile one of them ran before, to speak
Of my arrival. I, who long'd to see her,
Directly follow'd; and no sooner enter'd,
Than her disorder was, alas, too plain:
For neither had they leisure to disguise it,
Nor could she silence the loud cries of travail.
Soon as I saw it, “Oh shame, shame!” I cried,
And rush'd away in tears and agony,
O'erwhelm'd with horror at a stroke so grievous.
The mother follows me, and at the threshold
Falls on her knees before me all in tears.
This touch'd me to the soul. And certainly
'Tis in the very nature of our minds,
To rise and fall according to our fortunes.

464

Thus she address'd me.—“Oh, my Pamphilus,
“The cause of her removal from your house,
“You've now discover'd. To my virgin-daughter
“Some unknown villain offer'd violence;
“And she fled hither to conceal her labour
“From you, and from your family.”—Alas!
When I but call her earnest prayers to mind,
I cannot chuse but weep.—“Whatever chance,”
Continued she, “whatever accident,
“Brought you to-day thus suddenly upon us,
“By that we both conjure you—if in justice,
“And equity we may—to keep in silence,
“And cover her distress.—Oh, Pamphilus,
“If e'er you witness'd her affection for you,
“By that affection she implores you now,
“Not to refuse us!—for recalling her,
“Do as your own discretion shall direct.
“That she's in labour now, or has conceiv'd
“By any other person, is a secret
“Known but to you alone. For I've been told,
“The two first months you had no commerce with her.
“ And it is now the seventh since your union.

465

“Your sentiments on this are evident.
“But now, my Pamphilus, if possible,
“I'll call it a miscarriage: no one else
“But will believe, as probable, 'tis your's.
“The child shall be immediately expos'd.
“No inconvenience will arise to You;
“While thus you shall conceal the injury,
“ That my poor girl unworthily sustain'd.”
—I promis'd her; and I will keep my word.
But to recall her, wou'd be poor indeed:
Nor will I do it, tho' I love her still,

466

And former commerce binds me strongly to her.
—I can't but weep, to think how sad and lonely
My future life will be.—Oh fickle fortune!
How transient are thy smiles!—But I've been school'd
To patience by my former hapless passion,
Which I subdued by reason: and I'll try
By reason to subdue this too.—But yonder
Comes Parmeno, I see, with th'other slaves!
He must by no means now be present, since
To him alone I formerly reveal'd,
That I abstain'd from her when first we married:
And if he hears her frequent cries, I fear,
That he'll discover her to be in labour.
I must dispatch him on some idle errand,
Until Philumena's deliver'd.

 

There are many doubts concerning the interpretation of this line in the original— Tum postquam ad te venit, mensis agitur hic jam septimus—Not being able to adjust this dispute, I have rendered the line by a translation equally equivocal. Some imagine that it means the seventh month from their marriage; and others explain it to be the seventh month from the time that Pamphilus had knowledge of his wife. The words Postquam ad te venit seem to countenance the former interpretation, but what Phidippus says in the next act rather favours the latter.

It is necessary to the understanding the fable of this Comedy, that the English Reader should know that the Græcians had a power of putting away their wives on refunding the portion.

There are several circumstances in the plot of this play rather irreconcilable to modern ideas of delicacy; but as they have in them no moral turpitude, they gave no offence to the Antients. There are no less than three of the six plays of Terence, in which we have a lady in the straw, and in two we absolutely hear her cry out. The Moderns on the contrary have chosen, as subjects of ridicule, things which the Antients would have considered with horror. Adultery has been looked upon by Wycherly, Congreve, and Vanburgh, as a very good joke, and an inexhaustible fund of humour and pleasantry; and “our English Writers,” as Addison observes, “are as frequently severe upon that innocent unhappy creature, commonly known by the name of a Cuckold, as the Ancient Comick Writers were upon an Eating Parasite, or a Vain-Glorious Soldier.”

It is rather extraordinary that Myrrhina's account of the injury done to her daughter should not put Pamphilus in mind of his own adventure, which comes out in the fifth act. It is certain that had the Poet let the Audience into that secret in this place, they would have immediately concluded that the wife of Pamphilus, and the lady whom he had ravished, were one and the same person.

I cannot help thinking this circumstance a more than ordinary oversight in so correct a writer as Terence. By entrusting the inquisitive and babbling Parmeno with this secret, he certainly appears to acquaint him with more of the real truth, than it was even his own intention to have him supposed to know. In the last scene of the play Pamphilus conceals from him the discovery concerning Philumena; but that she had retired home, merely for the purpose of lying-in, is a fact which it would not be in his power to conceal. In regard to Laches, Phidippus, and Sostrata, this fact indeed is of no consequence: but Parmeno, who had been entrusted with the secret of his master's abstinence, must either conclude the child to be no son of Pamphilus, and consider his master as a contented cuckold, or guess at the real state of the case. Either way, the intention of the Poet is defeated; and what is still worse than even Parmeno's being acquainted with it himself, we know that he had communicated it to a couple of courtezans; so that this mystery is indeed likely to be what the French call le secret de la Comedie, though not in the sense that Terence himself proposed.

It is observed by the Rev. Mr. Joseph Warton in his judicious critical papers in the Adventurer, that “Terence super-abounds in soliloquies; and that nothing can be more inartificial, or improper, than the manner in which he hath introduced them:” and we may add to this observation, that there is no play of Terence, in which he has so much transgressed that way, as in the Step-Mother. The present long soliloquy is a most flagrant instance of want of art and propriety. There are in it many affecting touches, and it informs us, at a proper period, of a very important part of the fable; though Mons. Diderot thinks that the return of Pamphilus would have been infinitely more interesting, if this discovery had been made before. The same ingenious French Writer lays it down as a rule without exception, that “a soliloquy is an interval of repose in the action, and of agitation in the character.” This rule, I believe, ought to be unexceptionably followed in writing soliloquies: but the fact is directly opposite in the soliloquy now before us. The plot proceeds; but the action is carried on by the worst method possible, that of converting one of the personages into a kind of chorus, interpreting between the Poet and Audience, like Hamlet to Ophelia. The agitation of Pamphilus also is very different from that of Othello, referred to in a former note. It does not consist, as it ought in nature to have done, merely of deliberation and passion; but he enters into a minute detail, and repeats methodically every circumstance supposed to have past within. How much more dramatick would it have been to have had his bitter reflections interrupted by the intervention of Myrrhina; which would have given the Poet an opportunity of throwing that narrative part of the soliloquy into an affecting scene? I cannot help thinking that the tedious length of this ill-timed soliloquy, together with the want of vivacity in the first and last acts, was the chief reason of the low reputation of this piece among the criticks of antiquity.


467

SCENE VI.

Enter at a distance PARMENO, SOSIA, and other Slaves with baggage.
Par.
to Sosia.]
Ay?
And had you such a wretched voyage, say you?

Sosia.
O Parmeno, words can't express how wretched
A sea-life is.

Par.
Indeed?

Sosia.
Oh happy Parmeno!

468

You little know the dangers you've escap'd,
Who've never been at sea.—For not to dwell
On other hardships, only think of this!
I was on ship-board thirty days or more,
In constant fear of sinking all the while,
The winds so contrary, such stormy weather!

Par.
Dreadful!

Sosia.
I found it so, I promise you.
In short, were I assur'd I must return,
'Fore heaven, Parmeno, I'd run away
Rather than go on board a ship again.

Par.
You have been apt enough to think of that
On slighter reasons, Sosia, before now.
—But yonder's my young master Pamphilus
Standing before that door.—Go in! I'll to him,
And see if he has any business for me.
[Exeunt Sosia, and the rest of the Slaves with the baggage.
Master, are you here still?

[to Pamphilus.
Pam.
Oh Parmeno!
I waited for you.

Par.
What's your pleasure, Sir?

Pam.
Run to the Citadel.


469

Par.
Who?

Pam.
You.

Par.
The Citadel!
For what?

Pam.
Find out one Callidemides,
My landlord of Mycone, who came over
In the same ship with me.

Par.
A plague upon it!
Would not one swear that he had made a vow
To break my wind, if he came home in safety,
With running on his errands?

Pam.
Away, Sirrah!

Par.
What message? Must I only find him out?

Pam.
Yes; tell him, that it is not in my power
To meet him there to-day, as I appointed;
That he mayn't wait for me in vain.—Hence; fly!

Par.
But I don't know him, if I see him, Sir.

Pam.
impatiently.]
Well; I'll describe him so, you cannot miss him.

470

—A large, red, frizzle-pated, gross, blear-eyed,
Ill-looking fellow.

Par.
Plague on him, say I!
—What if he should not come, Sir, must I wait
Till evening for him?

Pam.
Wait.—Be quick!

Par.
Be quick?
I can't be quick,—I'm so much tir'd.

[Exit.
 

This is no doubt to be understood, as Madam Dacier supposes, of the Fort, or Citadel, that defended the Piræus. It was at a considerable distance from the city, and therefore better suited to the design of Pamphilus, which was to keep Parmeno for some time at a distance. Patrick.

This is a facetious allusion to the custom among the ancients, of persons engaged in a dangerous voyage vowing to perform particular acts, in case they came home in safety. Donatus.

SCENE VII.

PAMPHILUS
alone.
He's gone.
What shall I do? Alas, I scarcely know
How to conceal, as Myrrhina desir'd,
Her daughter's labour. Yet I pity her;
And what I can, I am resolv'd to do,
Consistent with my duty: for my parents
Must be obey'd before my love.—But see!
My father and Phidippus come this way.
How I shall act, heav'n knows.

 

This reflection seems to be rather improper in this place: for the discovery of Philumena's labour betrayed to Pamphilus the real motive of her departure: after which discovery his anxiety proceeds entirely from the supposed injury offered him, and his filial piety is from that period made use of merely as a pretence.


471

SCENE VIII.

Enter at a distance LACHES and PHIDIPPUS.
Lach.
Did not you say
She only waited my son's coming?

Phid.
Ay.

Lach.
They say that he's arriv'd. Let her return then!

Pam.
behind.]
What reason I shall frame to give my father,
For not recalling her, I cannot tell.

Lach.
overhearing.]
Whose voice was that?

Pam.
to himself.]
And yet I am resolv'd
To stand to my first purpose.

Lach.
seeing Pamphilus.]
He himself,
Whom I was speaking of!

Pam.
going up.]
My father, save you!

Lach.
Save you, my son!

Phid.
Pamphilus, welcome home!
I'm glad to see you safe, and in good health.

Pam.
I do believe it.

Lach.
Are you just now come?

Pam.
Just now, Sir.

Lach.
Well; and tell me, Pamphilus,
What has our kisman Phania left us?


472

Pam.
Ah, Sir,
He, his whole life-time, was a man of pleasure,
And such men seldom much enrich their heirs.
Yet he has left at least this praise behind him,
“While he liv'd, he liv'd well.”

Lach.
And have you brought
Nothing home with you but this single sentence?

Pam.
What he has left, tho' small, is of advantage.

Lach.
Advantage? No, it is a disadvantage:
For I could wish he was alive and well.

Phid.
That you may safely; for your wishing for't
Will never bring the man to life again:
Yet I know well enough which you'd like best.

[aside.
Lach.
to Pam.]
Phidippus order'd that Philumena
Should be sent over to him yesterday.
—Say that you order'd it.

[aside to Phidippus, thrusting him.
Phid.
aside to Laches.]
Don't thrust me so.—
I did.

[aloud.
Lach.
But now he'll send her home again.

Phid.
I will.

Pam.
Nay, nay, I know the whole affair.
Since my arrival, I have heard it all.


473

Lach.
Now, plague upon these envious tale-bearers,
Who are so glad to fetch and carry news!

Pam.
to Phid.]
That I've endeavour'd to deserve no blame
From any of the family, I'm conscious.
Were it my inclination to relate,
How true I've been, how kind, and gentle tow'rds her,
I well might do it: But I rather chuse,
You should collect it from herself. For when
She, altho' now there's enmity between us,
Bespeaks me fair, you will the sooner credit
My disposition tow'rds her. And I call
The Gods to witness, that this separation
Has not arisen from my fault. But since
She thinks it is beneath her to comply
With Sostrata, and bear my mother's temper;
And since no other means are to be found
Of reconciliation, I, Phidippus,
Must leave my mother or Philumena.
Duty then calls me to regard my mother.

Lach.
My Pamphilus, I cannot be displeas'd,
That you prefer to all the world a parent.
But take heed, your resentment don't transport you
Beyond the bounds of reason, Pamphilus.

Pam.
Ah, what resentment can I bear to her,

474

Who ne'er did any thing I'd wish undone,
But has so often deserv'd well of me?
I love her, own her worth, and languish for her;
For I have known her tenderness of soul:
And heaven grant, that with some other husband
She find that happiness she mist in me;
From whom the strong hand of necessity
Divorces her for ever!

Phid.
That event
'Tis in your pow'r to hinder.

Lach.
If you're wise,
Take your wife home again!

Pam.
I cannot, father.
I must not slack my duty to my mother.

[going.
Lach.
Where are you going?

[Exit Pamphilus.
 

Tum tu igitur nihil attulisti hac plus unâ sententiâ. This is taken notice of by Donatus as a particular happy stroke of character: and indeed the idea of a covetous old man gaping for a fat legacy, and having his mouth stopped with a moral precept, is truly comick. See Hurd's Horace, vol. 1. p. 272.

SCENE IX.

Manent LACHES, and PHIDIPPUS.
Phid.
How perverse is this!

[angrily.
Lach.
Did not I say he'd take it ill, Phidippus,
And therefore begg'd you to send back your daughter?

Phid.
'Fore heaven I did not think him such a churl.

475

What! does he fancy I'll go cringing to him?
No;—if he'll take his wife, he may:—if not,
Let him refund her portion;—there's an end!

Lach.
See there now! you're as fractious as himself.

Phid.
You're come back obstinate and proud enough
In conscience, Pamphilus!

[angrily.
Lach.
This anger will subside,
Tho' he has had some cause to be disturb'd.

Phid.
Because you've had a little money left you,
Your minds are so exalted!

Lach.
What! d'ye quarrel
With Me too?

Phid.
Let him take to-day to think on't,
And send me word if he will have her home,
Or not: that if she don't remain his wife,
She may be given to another.

[Exit hastily.

SCENE X.

LACHES
alone.
Stay!
Hear me! one word, Phidippus! Stay!—He's gone.
—What is't to me? [angrily.]
E'en let them settle it


476

Among themselves; since nor my son, nor He
Take my advice, nor mind one word I say.
—This quarrel shall go round, I promise them:
I'll to my wife, the author of this mischief,
And vent my spleen and anger upon Her.

[Exit.
 

There are few scenes of comedy more truly humourous than the situation and behaviour of the two old gentlemen at the conclusion of this act. The natural, but uncommon conduct of Pamphilus; its effect on Phidippus; his treatment of Laches and abrupt departure; and then again the emotions of Laches on the usage he had experienced from his son and his neighbour, are all very pleasant, and must produce an admirable effect in the representation.