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502

ACT V.

SCENE I.

PARMENO
alone.
I'faith my master holds my labour cheap,
To send me to the Citadel for nothing,
Where I have waited the whole day in vain
For his Myconian, Callidemides.
There was I sitting, gaping like a fool,
And running up, if any one appear'd,
—“Are you, Sir, a Myconian?”—“No not I.”—
—“But your name's Callidemides?”—“Not it.”—
“And have not you a guest here, of the name
“Of Pamphilus?”—All answer'd, No.
In short, I don't believe there's such a man.
At last I grew asham'd, and so sneak'd off.
—But is't not Bacchis that I see come forth
From our new kinsman? What can she do there?


503

SCENE II.

Enter BACCHIS.
Bacc.
Oh Parmeno, I'm glad I met with you.
Run quick to Pamphilus.

Par.
On what account?

Bacc.
Tell him, that I desire he'd come.

Par.
To you?

Bacc.
No; to Philumena.

Par.
Why, what's the matter?

Bacc.
Nothing to You; so ask no questions.

Par.
Must I
Say nothing else?

Bacc.
Yes; tell him too,
That Myrrhina acknowledges the Ring,
Which formerly he gave me, as her daughter's.

Par.
I understand you. But is that all?

Bacc.
All.
He'll come the moment that you tell him that.
What! do you loiter?


504

Par.
No, i'faith, not I.
I have not had it in my pow'r, I've been
So bandied to and fro, sent here and there,
Trotting, and running up and down all day.

[Exit.
 

Parmeno is drawn as of a lazy and inquisitive character. Terence therefore humourously contrives to keep him in continual employment and total ignorance. Donatus.

SCENE III.

BACCHIS
alone.
What joy have I procur'd to Pamphilus
By coming here to-day! what blessings brought him!
And from how many sorrows rescued him!
His son, by his and their means nearly lost,
I've sav'd; a wife, he meant to put away,
I have restor'd; and from the strong suspicions
Of Laches and Phidippus set him free.
—Of all these things the Ring has been the cause.
For I remember, near ten months ago,
That he came running home to me one evening,
Breathless, alone, and much inflam'd with wine,
Bringing this Ring. I was alarm'd at it.
“Prithee, my dearest Pamphilus, said I,

505

“Whence comes all this confusion? whence this Ring?
“Tell me, my love.”—He put me off at first:
Perceiving this, it made me apprehend
Something of serious import, and I urg'd him
More earnestly to tell me.—He confess'd
That, as he came along, he had committed
A rape upon a virgin—whom he knew not—
And, as she struggled, forc'd from her that Ring:
Which Myrrhina now seeing on my finger,
Immediately acknowledg'd, and enquir'd,
How I came by it. I told all this story:

506

Whence 'twas discover'd, that Philumena
Was she who had been ravish'd, and the child
Conceiv'd from that encounter.—That I've been
The instrument of all these joys I'm glad,
Tho' other courtezans would not be so;
Nor is it for our profit and advantage,
That lovers should be happy in their marriage.
But never will I, for my calling'-sake,
Suffer ingratitude to taint my mind.
I found him, while occasion gave him leave,

507

Kind, pleasant, and good-humour'd: and this marriage
Happen'd unluckily, I must confess.
Yet I did nothing to estrange his love;
And since I have receiv'd much kindness from him,
'Tis fit I shou'd endure this one affliction.

 

The rest of the argument is told in soliloquy.

Donatus.

So much the worse.

Terence studies brevity: for in the Greek these things are acted, not related.

Donatus.

This is so curious a piece of information, communicated by Donatus, that I am surprised that no former editors or translators have taken notice of it. If it means, that in the Greek the circumstances of the catastrophe were thrown into action, Terence may indeed have studied brevity, but he has not much consulted the entertainment of his audience. That this is the meaning of this passage in Donatus, I think is plain. The conversation, of which Bacchis here speaks, must have taken place before the opening of the play; so that it can hardly be supposed to have been introduced as a scene in the original Greek: besides, the note of Donatus immediately preceding seems to confirm this interpretation, as well as what he says soon after, conclusit narrationem fabulæ, more suo: ne hæc in futuro actu expectaremus. “He has here concluded the story of the fable, after his usual manner: that we may not expect these things to come out in a future act.”

It is not sufficient, oh thou writer of Comedy, to have said in your plan, “I will introduce a young man but weakly attached to a courtezan; he shall quit her; shall marry, and be fond of his wife; the wife shall be amiable, and her husband promise himself a happy life with her: Moreover, he shall lie by her for two months without touching her, and yet she shall prove with child. I must have a good Step-Mother, and a Courtezan of sentiment. I cannot do without a rape; and I will suppose it to be committed in the street by a young man drunk.”—Very well: Courage! Go on; huddle strange circumstances one upon another; I consent to it. Your fable will be wonderful, to be sure. But do not forget, that you must redeem all this marvellous in your plot by a multitude of common incidents that atone for it, and give it the air of probability.

Diderot.

The above extract from Mons. Diderot's Essay on Dramatick Poetry is a very elegant compliment to the genius of our poet, and the art displayed in the play before us. The outline of the fable is undoubtedly beautiful; but on the whole, I cannot think that outline so well filled as might be expected from the master-hand of Terence. There are many circumstances happily contrived to create an agreeable perplexity, but in other parts of the piece there prevails an uncommon coldness and want of spirit. The same ingenious French Critick has a very fine passage in the Essay above mentioned. “Although,” says he, “the quickness of the movement varies according to the different species of the Drama, yet the action always proceeds. It does not stop even between the acts. 'Tis a mass loosened from the top of a rock: its velocity increases in proportion to its descent; and it bounds from place to place, according to the obstacles which it meets with in its way.”— According to this comparison, which is, I think, as just as it is beautiful, what shall we say to the first act of this Comedy? Instead of a mass falling from a rock, it seems an unwieldy mass, which can with difficulty be heaved from the ground: or, to change the allusion, the Poet treats his fable, as the Savoyards do a clock-work figure, which they are obliged to wind up, before they can set it in motion.—And then of what does the last act consist? All the materials, which should compose it, are exhausted in the interval supposed to pass between that act and the fourth, a fault, which dramatick writers, of inferior genius to Terence, are very apt to fall into. But surely there cannot be an error more fatal to the catastrophe of a piece; nor any fault more fatal to the piece than an inanimate catastrophe: “for if,” continues Mons. Diderot, “the above comparison is just; if it is true that there will be so much less of discourse as there is more of action, there ought to be more dialogue than incident in the former acts, and more incident than dialogue in the latter.”

SCENE IV.

Enter at a distance PAMPHILUS and PARMENO.
Pam.
Be sure you prove this to me, Parmeno;
Prithee, be sure on't. Do not bubble me
With false and short-liv'd joy.

Par.
'Tis even so.

Pam.
For certain?

Par.
Ay, for certain.

Pam.
I'm in heaven,
If this be so.

Par.
You'll find it very true.

Pam.
Hold, I beseech you.—I'm afraid, I think
One thing, while you relate another.

Par.
Well?

Pam.
You said, I think, “that Myrrhina discover'd
“The Ring on Bacchis' finger, was her own.”


508

Par.
She did.

Pam.
“The same I gave her formerly.
“—And Bacchis bad you run and tell me this.”
Is it not so?

Par.
I tell you, Sir, it is.

Pam.
Who is more fortunate, more blest than I?
—What shall I give you for this news? what? what?
I don't know.

Par.
But I know.

Pam.
What?

Par.
Just nothing.
For I see nothing of advantage to you,
Or in the message, or myself.

Pam.
Shall I
Permit you to go unrewarded; you,
Who have restor'd me ev'n from death to life?
Ah, Parmeno, d'ye think me so ungrateful?
—But yonder's Bacchis standing at the door.
She waits for me, I fancy. I'll go to her.

Bacc.
seeing him.]
Pamphilus, save you!

Pam.
Bacchis! my dear Bacchis!
My guardian, my protectress!

Bacc.
All is well:
And I'm o'erjoy'd at it.


509

Pam.
Your actions speak it.
You're still the charming girl I ever found you.
Your presence, company, and conversation,
Come where you will, bring joy and pleasure with them.

Bacc.
And you, in faith, are still the same as ever,
The sweetest, most engaging man on earth.

Pam.
Ha! ha! ha! that speech from you, dear Bacchis?

Bacc.
You lov'd your wife with reason, Pamphilus:
Never, that I remember, did I see her
Before to-day; and she's a charming woman.

Pam.
Speak truth!

Bacc.
So heaven help me, Pamphilus!

Pam.
Say, have you told my father any part
Of this tale?

Bacc.
Not a word.

Pam.
Nor is there need.
Let all be hush! I would not have it here,
As in a comedy, where every thing

510

Is known to every body. Here, those persons
Whom it concerns, already know it; They,
Who 'twere not meet should know it, never shall.

Bacc.
I promise you, it may with ease be hid.
Myrrhina told Phidippus, that my oath
Convinc'd her, and she held you clear.

Pam.
Good! good!
All will be well, and all, I hope, end well.

Par.
May I know, Sir, what good I've done to-day?
And what's the meaning of your conversation?

Pam.
No.

Par.
I suspect however.—“I restore him
From death to life?”—which way?—

Pam.
Oh, Parmeno,
You can't conceive the good you've done to-day,
From what distress you have deliver'd me.

Par.
Ay, but I know, and did it with design.

Pam.
Oh, I'm convinc'd of that.

[ironically.
Par.
Did Parmeno
Ever let slip an opportunity
Of doing what he ought, Sir?

Pam.
Parmeno,
In after me!

Par.
I follow.—By my troth,

511

I've done more good to-day without design,
Than ever with design in all my life.—
Clap your hands!

 

Terence here with reason endeavours to make the most of a circumstance peculiar to his play. In other Comedies, every body, Actors as well as Spectators, are at last equally acquainted with the whole intrigue and Catastrophe; and it would even be a defect in the plot, were there any obscurity remaining. But Terence, like a true Genius, makes himself superior to Rules, and adds new beauties to his piece by forsaking them. His reasons for concealing from part of the personages of the Drama the principal incident of the Plot, are so plausible and natural, that he could not have followed the beaten track without offending against manners and decency. This bold and uncommon turn is one of the chief graces of the Play.

Dacier.

See the notes to the third act of this Comedy.

Terence had recourse to the expedient of double plots. And this, I suppose, is what gained him the reputation of being the most artificial writer for the Stage. The Hecyra [The Step-Mother] is the only one of his Comedies, of the true antient cast. And we know how it came off in the representation. That ill success and the simplicity of its conduct have continued to draw upon it the same unfavourable treatment from the critics, to this day; who constantly speak of it, as much inferior to the rest; whereas, for the genuine beauty of dramatick design and the observance, after the ancient Greek manner, of the nice dependency and coherence of the fable, throughout, it is, indisputably, to every reader of true taste, the most masterly and exquisite of the whole collection.

Hurd's Notes on the Epistle to Augustus.

Though I would not attempt to justify the town-criticks of the days of Terence, who passed a sentence of absolute condemnation on this Comedy, yet I cannot think that it failed merely for want of duplicity of intrigue; nor that the Criticks of Horace's time esteemed Terence the most artificial writer for the stage, only because he combined two stories into one. May we not, at this day, speak of the uncommon art of Terence in the preparation of his incidents, and conduct of his fable, without being supposed to imply a particular commendation of his double plots? and may we not allow the beauty of design in writing on a single plot, and yet at the same time discover so many capital defects in the conduct of a particular piece, as may reduce it to a much lower standard of merit than that of other Comedies constructed on a less correct model? Tous les genres, says Mons. Voltaire, sont bons, hors le genre ennuyeux. For my part, I had much rather see or read the Comedy of the Provoked Husband, which so flagrantly transgresses the unity of action that it is almost two plays in one, than the cold production of any affected lover of simplicity, who, on the sole merit of a single plot, tells a dull story in a dull manner, without any interest of incident, strength of character, or vivacity of dialogue. It is not the insertion of an Episode that will enliven the fable; but the just delineation of character and proper conduct of the plot, simple or complicated, that gives it spirit. Mons. Voltaire justly observed, in his letters on our nation, that the Love-Episode in Addison's Cato throws a languor on the whole piece. The Theatre affords a constant evidence of the same fact in Tate's alteration of King Lear; and, to instance rather in Comedy, the Andrian of our Author would be much better without the story of Charinus. Interesting incidents, however, there must be: or insipidity will ensue, unless the attention be diverted from examining the plot, by Buffoonery; which is as vicious in the manners of Comedy, as Pantomime changes in the fable. Terence, “whose taste was abhorrent from ribaldry,” has, I think, in this play suffered the interest of his piece to languish; and if there is any just observation in the preceding notes, there is a lameness, notwithstanding the simplicity, in the conduct of the fable. The first act, being entirely consumed in narration, is very inartificial, and what is still worse, redundant; the discovery of the main incident is made in the most uninteresting manner, by a long soliloquy in the third act; and the catastrophe itself is managed in the same cold manner, by another long soliloquy; the incidents, that should have filled the fifth act, being injudiciously precluded by what is supposed to pass in the preceding interval.—In point of character also, The Step-Mother has much less merit than the rest of our author's pieces. Laches and Phidippus are far inferior to Simo, Menedemus, Chremes, Micio, Demea, &c. nor is Pamphilus equal to the Pamphilus of the Andrian, or Phædria, or Æschinus, &c.—This play has by some Criticks been coupled with the Self-Tormentor for purity of stile and beauty of sentiment. It is not void of those graces, no more than it is wholly destitute of art in the construction of the plot, but surely it possesses them in a much less eminent degree than the Self-Tormentor. Can the narration of Parmeno, not to dwell on its being needless, be compared with that of Menedemus? or with that of Simo in the Andrian; or that of Geta in the Phormio?—I have endeavoured to omit no opportunity of taking notice of the beautiful passages of this play; and I have indeed been more than ordinarily assiduous to point them out, in order to shew that in the most indifferent productions of a great author, there are some things worthy our attention and imitation. On the whole, however, I am sorry to be obliged to differ once more from the learned and ingenious Critick above cited: And I cannot help thinking it rather singular, that he, who every where maintains that character is the chief object of Comedy, should yet seem to draw conclusions directly opposite to these premises, and not only prefer Terence (whose artificial fables rendered him popular) to all other Comick Dramatists, but also rank the Step-Mother, merely on account of “the nice dependency and coherence of the fable,” higher in merit than any other of his pieces, confessedly more rich in character. I must own that, so far from being able to acquiesce in the opinion, that “it is, indisputably, to every reader of true taste, the most masterly and exquisite of the whole collection,” I am, in this instance, much rather inclined to say with Volcatius,

Sumetur Hecyra sexta ex ijs fabula.

“The last, and least in merit of the six.”

Mons. Diderot, so often mentioned in these notes, has given us two excellent serious Comedies, Le Fils Naturel, and Le Pére de Famille: in the conduct of the first, if I am not deceived, he seems to have kept his eye on the Step-Mother, and in the second on The Brothers; and, in my opinion, he has gone as far beyond Terence in the Fils Naturel, as he has fallen short of him in the Pére de Famille.