Terence's Andrian, a comedy, in five acts

If an apology for the following translation cannot be found in the work itself, it would be to little purpose to insert it in the Preface. I have attempted to present to the public the most celebrated dramatist of ancient Rome, in such a dress as may enable the English reader, learned and unlearned equally, to relish, in his own language, the beauties of this great poet. Though the original is composed in verse, I have employed prose in this translation, because the verse of Terence approaches so very nearly to prose, that in prose only is it possible to adhere faithfully to the words, and particularly to the style of our author; as we have in our language no measure of verse at all corresponding with that used by Terence.

To the learned reader, the number of the subjoined Notes may, perhaps, seem excessive; and the minuteness of description which characterizes many of them, may appear unnecessary; but, though this work was not written professedly for the schools, yet the Notes were not composed entirely without a view to the instruction of the young student; and, as translations are supposed to be made chiefly for the use of the unlearned, who cannot be expected to be much acquainted with the manners and customs of the ancients; I thought it better, if I erred at all, to err on the safe side, and to repeat to some of my readers something that they knew before, rather than run the risk of permitting any one of them to remain unacquainted with it altogether. A French translator of Terence, the learned and indefatigable Madame Dacier, has judged a still greater number of Notes than I have subjoined in this work, necessary to elucidate various passages in her translation of the play of the Andrian, and of Suetonius’s Life of our author. One remark may be added on this subject; it must be considered that many of the explanatory Notes affixed to the play of the Andrian, tend to the general elucidation of the various passages in the remaining five plays of Terence; and I think I may venture to hope, that the Notes in general, will, in many instances, be found useful in the exposition of many passages in the Latin and Greek classics.

I am induced to publish this play singly, with a view of ascertaining whether a translation of Terence’s comedies on this plan may meet with sufficient approbation to encourage the appearance of the remaining five plays: as I propose to give a complete translation of the works of this celebrated author, if the present attempt should be honoured with a favourable reception. I may say, in the words of Terence himself,

These lines contain very strong presumptive proof that the Andrian was Terence’s first production; and, for that reason, it has been selected for this essay, and not on account of its being supposed to be superior to his other plays: for so great, so steady was the equality of this poet’s genius, that no critic of eminence, ancient or modern, could ever yet venture to assign to any one of his plays a claim of superiority to the rest. The celebrated Scaliger has asserted that there were not more than three faults in the six plays of Terence.

The ancients seem to have been least partial to the Step-mother: Volcatius says,

The Step-mother is reckoned the last of the six. This was the only piece written by our author, in which the plot was single; and the want of a double plot, which the Romans then preferred, was, doubtless, the reason of its being postponed to Terence’s other productions.

The force of custom has given authority to an erroneous disposition of these comedies, which are usually printed in the following order:

The original cause of the order of these plays being changed by the ancient transcribers is not known; though it is conjectured that they classed them thus, that the four plays taken from Menander might be placed together. This leads me to mention Terence’s close imitation of the Greek dramatists, amounting, in fact, to a partial translation of them; and it is necessary to bear this in mind during a perusal of his writings, lest, under the impression that this author wrote originally in Latin, the reader should forget that the scene is always laid in Greece; that the persons of the drama are not Romans but Greeks; and that, consequently, the manners, customs, names, and things, there mentioned, are almost uniformly Grecian.

Roman literature had emerged from obscurity just previous to the times of Terence: that sun, which was destined to shed its splendour over all future ages, was then scarcely risen from the darkness which shrouded it during the rude infancy of the Roman commonwealth; and even for a long period after Rome assumed the highest rank in the scale of nations. Livius Andronicus, the first poet of eminence, wrote dramatic pieces in the year of Rome 513. He was followed by Nævius, Ennius, Tegula, and Cæcilius; next comes Pacuvius, who excelled in tragedies; then follow Plautus and his cotemporaries Plautius, Aquilius, and Acutius; and, lastly, Terence brought the Latin drama to its highest perfection about the year of Rome 590, eighty years after its first appearance. But, in Greece, dramatic writing had attained the highest pitch of excellence under Menander, more than one hundred years before; and the Latin poets copied most closely from the refined writings of the Greeks. At that time, and for many years after, Greek was almost as much in fashion at Rome, as French has of late years been in fashion in England: it formed a necessary branch of a polite education; and many of the Romans quitted their native city, and resided in Greece a considerable time, for the purpose of perfecting themselves in the Greek language, and enjoying the advantage of associating themselves with the philosophers and other learned men of that country.

Our author, therefore, complied with the taste of the age, and no man succeeded better in making the Greek poets speak Latin. He copied chiefly from Menander: the four entire plays, the Andrian, the Eunuch, the Self-tormentor, and the Brothers, were taken from the writings of that great poet, as were also some parts of the Step-mother and the Phormio.

Terence’s great rival in dramatic fame was Marcus Accius Plautus, who flourished a few years before him; and has left twenty comedies replete with wit and spirit. To draw a comparison at length, between these great poets, would be an undertaking by no means suited to a Preface; and far more arduous than I should at present feel prepared to enter into: the learned Madame Dacier very happily observes, “Il est certain qu’il n’y a rien de plus difficile que cette espèce de critique qui consiste à juger des hommes, et à faire voir les avantages qu’ils ont les uns sur les autres. Il y a tant d’égards à observer; tant de rapports à unir, tant de différences à peser, que c’est une chose presque infinie; et il semble que pour s’en bien acquitter, il faudroit avoir une esprit supérieur à ceux dont on juge, comme il est nécessaire que la main qui se sert d’une balance soit plus forte que les choses quelle veut peser.”—It is certain, that no species of criticism is more difficult than that which consists of judging generally of an author; and in pointing out those excellencies, in which he is superior to other writers. There are so many points to be considered, so many similarities to be compared with each other, so many differences to be weighed against each other, that the task is almost endless; and appears to require talents superior to those of the person whose productions are to be criticised; as the hand which holds the balance ought to possess a power more than equal to the weight of whatever is to be placed in it.

Most of those critics who have undertaken to compare Terence and Plautus with each other, have, on a general estimate of their merits, decided in favour of Terence; though in one or two particular excellencies they allow Plautus to have surpassed him. They judged Plautus to be chiefly recommended by his humour, by the amusing variety of his incidents, by the liveliness and spirit of his action, and by his rich, agreeable, and witty style. Terence they praise for his delicacy of expression, his unequalled skill in the delineation of characters and of manners, and in the construction and management of his plots, for the well-timed introduction of his incidents, and for the evenness, purity, and chasteness of his style.

One natural defect the critics have charged Terence with, and only one, viz., the want of what the ancients called the vis comica, which is usually interpreted humour: and, in this requisite, they judged him to have fallen short of Plautus. One fault also is objected against him, being no less than a direct breach of the rules of dramatic writing; which is, that he makes the actors directly address the audience in their assumed characters; as in the fourth scene of the first act of the Andrian, and also in the last scene of the last act. Against the latter charge, no defence can be made, except we urge the authority of custom; but the imputation against our author of a want of humour may, in a great measure, be repelled.

The vis comica of the ancients, though we translate it by the word humour, which approaches nearer to its true signification than any other expression in our language, could not have been exactly the same kind of humour with that of our own times; which has been usually considered as peculiar to the English drama, and has not even a name in any other modern language. If we allow the vis comica, or comic force, to be divided into two species, namely, the vis comica of the action, and the vis comica of the dialogue, (and is there not a humour of action, as there is of words?) we must also allow, that Terence’s writings, far from being devoid of the humour of action, are replete with it throughout. The Eunuch, particularly, abounds with this kind of humour, especially in the eighth scene of the fourth act, where Thraso forms his line of battle; and, in the fifth, sixth, and seventh scenes of the last act, between Laches, Pythias, and Parmeno, which are specimens of the vis comica of action, not inferior to many of the witty Plautus’s attempts to exhibit this species of dramatic manners.

I shall conclude by giving the reader some account of the rise and conduct of dramatic entertainments at Rome: which cannot be so conveniently introduced in the Notes. A knowledge of these things is very necessary to a right understanding of Terence’s plays; as his mode of writing could not be reconciled to the modern method of dramatic representation, which differs very materially from the ancient manner.

About an hundred and twenty years before regular plays were first exhibited at Rome, a sort of entertainment called ludi scenici was introduced there by the Etrurians: it consisted merely of dancing to the sound of a pipe. This simple amusement was soon improved upon, and the dancers began also to speak. They spouted a species of rude satirical verses, in which they threw out rough jests, raillery, and repartee against each other: these were called Saturnian verses, or Satires, from their god Saturn: hence this name was afterwards applied to poetry composed for the purpose of lashing vice or folly. The Saturnian verses, set to music, and accompanied by dancing, continued a favourite diversion, till they were superseded by regular plays about the year of Rome 515. The places where they were represented, (called theatra, theatres, from a Greek word signifying to see,) were originally tents, erected in the country, under the shade of some lofty trees: afterwards they performed in temporary buildings formed of wood: one of these is recorded to have been large enough to contain eighty thousand spectators. Pompey the Great erected the first permanent theatre: it was built of stone, and of a size sufficient to accommodate forty thousand persons.

Some critics have objected against Terence, that he is guilty of an impropriety in making one actor speak very frequently without being heard by another; and introducing two or more persons on the stage, who, though they are both of them seen by the spectators, yet do not perceive each other for a considerable space of time. These objections are easily answered when we reflect on the magnificent size of the Roman theatres. An ingenious writer of the last century has given a very clear explanation of this subject: I shall give it in his own words.

“Some make this objection, that in the beginning of many scenes, two actors enter upon the stage, and talk to themselves a considerable time before they see or know one another; which they say is neither probable nor natural. Those that object to this don’t consider the great difference between our little scanty stage and the large magnificent Roman theatres. Their stage was sixty yards wide in the front, their scenes so many streets meeting together, with all by-lanes, rows, and alleys; so that two actors coming down two different streets or lanes, couldn’t be seen by each other, though the spectators might see both; and sometimes, if they did see each other, they couldn’t well distinguish faces at sixty yards’ distance. Besides, upon several accounts, it might well be supposed when an actor enters upon the stage out of some house, he might take a turn or two under the porticoes, cloisters, or the like, (that were usual at that time,) about his door, and take no notice of an actor’s being on the other side of the stage.”

Of course, the extensive size of the Roman theatres made it impossible that the natural voice of the actors should be distinctly heard at the distance they stood from the audience: to remedy this inconvenience, they had recourse to a sort of mask, which covered both the head and the face: it was called persona, from two Latin words, signifying to sound through: the mouth of this mask was made very large, and with thin plates of brass they contrived to swell the sound of the voice, and, at the same time, to vary its tones, so as to accord with the passions they wished to express. Instructions in the use of these masks formed an essential and important branch of the education of a Roman actor.

The plays represented at Rome were divided into two classes: 1. the palliatæ, 2. the togatæ. In the first, the characters of the piece were entirely Grecian: in the latter, they were entirely Roman. The second class, viz., the togatæ, were subdivided into the prætextatæ, when the play was tragedy: the tabernariæ, when the scenes lay in low life: the atellanæ, or farces: and the trabeatæ, when the scene lay in the camp: they had likewise mimes and pantomimes.

The chorus consisted sometimes of one person, though generally of several, who stood on the stage during the representation, at first, without any share in the action of the piece: some suppose that they were there partly in the character of spectators: if this conjecture be correct, Terence may be excused for making the actors address them. Their business seems originally to have been singing between the pauses in the action, and delivering moral reflections on what was represented on the stage: afterwards they were incorporated with the action, as a species of attendants. These theatrical appendages were at last laid aside, because it was thought to appear improbable, that intrigues, which usually are to be kept secret, should be carried on in their presence.

Flutes were played during the whole time of the performance, and the chief musician beating time, directed the actors when they were to raise, and when they were to depress their voices. Sometimes one person recited the words, and another performed the action of the same part. The tibiæ, or flutes, were of various kinds: the best account of the manner in which they were used is given us by Madame Dacier, as follows:

“The performers played on two flutes during the whole of the representation. They stopped the vents of one of them with the right hand: that flute was, therefore, called right handed: the other was stopped with the left, and called a left-handed flute. In the first, there were but a few holes; which occasioned it to give a deep, bass sound: in the other, the holes were very numerous: this flute sounded a sharp shrill note.

“When a comedy was accompanied by two flutes of a different sound, it was said to be played Tibiis imparibus dextris et sinistris, unequal flutes, right and left handed. When the flutes were of the same sound, it was said to be played Tibiis paribus dextris, with equal right-handed flutes, if they were of a deep sound: and Tibiis paribus sinistris, with equal left-handed flutes, when they were of a sharp shrill sound. The right-handed flutes were called Lydian; the left-handed Tyrian; the unequal Phrygian; as were also the crooked flutes.”

The tragic and comic actors were distinguished from each other by the covering of their feet. The tragedians wore a sort of boot, called cothurnus, with a very high heel; which was intended to give them a commanding, majestic appearance. The comedians wore a light shoe, or slipper, called soccus.

The Romans appear to have been very partial to dramatic entertainments. Magistrates were appointed to exhibit them: and the people even devoted to the theatre part of that time which is usually allotted to more weighty concerns: as their plays were usually performed in the day-time. Magnificent theatres were erected at the public expense; and sometimes even by private individuals. A description of one of these buildings is recorded by Pliny. The scenes were divided into three partitions, one above another. The first consisted of one hundred and twenty marble pillars; the second of the same number of pillars, most curiously covered and ornamented with glass: the third of the same number of pillars, covered with gilded tablets. Three thousand brazen statues filled up the spaces between the pillars. This theatre would contain eighty thousand persons. Independently of the ordinary representations, plays were performed on all solemn occasions: at the public feasts and games, and at the funerals of eminent citizens. No opportunity seems to have been neglected to introduce this species of amusement at Rome: no nation, ancient or modern, appears to have cultivated the drama with greater diligence than the Romans; and few have had more success. It is our misfortune, that so few specimens of the excellence of their dramatists have descended to our times. Let us, however, admire and profit by what we have. The writings of Terence and of Plautus present us with an inexhaustible source of pleasure and instruction. As long as virtuous and humane sentiments do not lose their appeal to the heart; as long as purity, delicacy of expression, wit, and spirit, and well-wrought fable continue to satisfy the judgment; so long the names of Terence and of Plautus must remain immortal.

Publius Terentius[2], born at Carthage, in Africa, was slave to Terentius Lucanus, a Roman senator: who, justly appreciating his great abilities, gave him not only a polite education, but also his liberty in the earlier part of his life. He is supposed by some to have been made a prisoner of war: but Fenestella[3] refutes this opinion; as [4]Terence was born after the conclusion of the second Punic war, and died before the commencement of the third: neither, if he had been made a captive by the [5]Numidians, or Getulians, could he have fallen into the hands of the Romans, as there was no commerce between the Italians and Africans, before the destruction of Carthage.

Terence lived in the closest intimacy with many of the Roman nobility, but particularly with Scipio Africanus[6] and Caius Lælius[7], who were about his own age[8], though Fenestella makes Terence rather older than either of them. Portius[9] commemorates their friendship in the following verses:

“While Terence joins in the pleasures of the nobles, and seeks their empty praise; while he listens with delight to the divine voice of Africanus; and thinks himself most happy to sup with Lælius and with Furius[10]; while he believes them to be his true friends; while he is frequently carried to the [11]Albanian villa; his property is spent, and he himself reduced to the greatest poverty: on which account he goes, avoiding all mankind, to the most distant parts of Greece, and dies at Stymphalus[12], a town in Arcadia: his three great friends Scipio, Lælius, and Furius, give him no assistance; nor even enable him to hire a house; that there might, at least, be a place where his slave might announce to Rome his master’s death.”

He wrote six comedies: when the first of them, the Andrian, was presented to the Ædiles[13]; he was desired to read it to Cærius[14]; he accordingly repaired to his house, and found him at supper; and, being meanly dressed, was seated on a stool near the couch of Cærius[15], where he commenced the reading of his play; but Cærius had no sooner heard the first few lines than he invited the poet to sup with him; after which, the play was read, to the great admiration of Cærius, who betowed on the author the most unbounded applause. The other five comedies met with equal commendation from the Romans, though Volcatius[16], in his enumeration of them, says,

The Eunuch was acted twice in one day[17]; and the author received for it a higher price than was ever paid for any comedy before that time, viz., eight thousand sesterces[18]: on account of the magnitude of the sum, it is mentioned in the title of that play. Varro[19] even prefers the opening scenes of the Brothers of Terence to the same part in Menander. The report that Terence was indebted to Scipio and Lælius, with whom he was so intimate, for parts of his comedies, is well known; and he himself scarcely seems to have discouraged the assertion, as he never seriously denies it: witness the Prologue to the Brothers:

“And as for what those malicious railers say[20], who assert that certain noble persons assist the poet, and very frequently write with him, what they think a reproach, he considers as the highest praise; that he should be thought to please those who please you, and all Rome; those who have assisted every one in war, and peace, and even in their private affairs, with the greatest services; and yet have been always free from arrogance.” It is likely, that he might wish, in some measure, to encourage this idea, because he knew that it would not be displeasing to Scipio and Lælius: however, the opinion has gained ground, and is strongly entertained even to the present day. Quintus Memmius[21], in an oration in his own defence, says,

Cornelius Nepos[22] asserts, that he has it from the very first authority, that Caius Lælius being at his country-house at [23]Puteoli, on the first of March[24], and being called to supper by his wife at an earlier hour than usual, requested that he might not be interrupted; and afterwards coming to table very late, he declared that he had scarcely ever succeeded better in composition than at that time; and, being asked to repeat the verses, he read the following from the Self-tormentor, Act IV, Scene III.

“Truly this Syrus has coaxed me hither, impertinently enough, with his fine promises that I should receive ten minæ; but, if he deceives me this time, ’twill be to no purpose to ask me to come again; or, if I promise, and appoint to come, I’ll take good care to disappoint him. Clitipho, who will be full of eager hope to see me, will I deceive, and will not come; and Syrus’ back shall pay the penalty.”

Santra[25] thinks, that if Terence had required any assistance in his comedies; he would not have requested it from Scipio and Lælius, who were then extremely young[26]; but from [27]Caius Sulpicius Gallus, a man of great learning, who also was the first person who procured[28] the representation of comedies at the consular games or from [29]Quintus Fabius Labeo; or from[30] Marcus Popilius Lænas, two eminent poets, and persons[31] of consular dignity: and Terence himself, speaking of those who were reported to have assisted him, does not mention them as young men, but as persons of weight and experience, who had served the Romans in peace, in war, and in private business.

After the publication of his six comedies, he quitted Rome, in the thirty-fifth year of his age, and returned no more. Some suppose that he undertook this journey with a view to silence the reports of his receiving assistance from others in the composition of his plays: others, that he went with a design to inform himself more perfectly of the manners and customs of Greece.

“Terence, after having written six comedies, embarked for Asia, and was seen no more. He perished at sea.”

Quintus Consentius[32] writes, that he died at sea, as he was returning from Greece, with one hundred and eight plays, translated from Menander[33]. Other writers affirm, that he died at Stymphalus, a town in Arcadia, or in Leucadia[34], in the consulate of[35] Cneus Cornelius Dolabella and Marcus Fulvius Nobilior, and that his end was hastened by extreme grief for the loss of the comedies which he had translated, and some others which he had composed himself, and sent before him in a vessel which was afterwards wrecked.

He is said to have been of a middle stature, well-shaped, and of a dark complexion. He left one daughter, who was afterwards married to [36]a Roman knight, and bequeathed to her a garden of [37]XX jugera, near the Appian Way, and close to the [38]Villa Martis: it is therefore surprising that Portius should write thus:

“His three great friends, Scipio, Lælius, and Furius, give him no assistance, nor even enable him to hire a house, that there might at least be a place where his slave might announce to Rome his master’s death.”

Afranius[39] prefers Terence to all the comic poets, saying, in his Compitalia[40].

But Volcatius places him not only after [41]Nævius, [42]Plautus, and [43]Cæcilius, but even after [44]Licinius. [45]Cicero, in his ΛΕΙΜΩΝ, writes of Terence thus,

“And thou, also, O Terence, whose pure style alone could make Menander speak the Latin tongue, thou, with the sweetest harmony and grace, hast given him to Rome.”

“And thou, also, O thou half Menander, art justly placed among the most divine poets, for the purity of thy style. O would that humour had kept pace with ease in all thy writings; then thou wouldest not have been compelled to yield even to the Greeks; nor could a single defect have been objected to thee. But, as it is, thou hast this great defect, and this, O Terence, I lament.”

IN THE [48]CURULE ÆDILATE OF [49]MARCUS FULVIUS AND
MARCUS GLABRIO[50]; BY THE COMPANY[51] OF LUCIUS
AMBIVIUS TURPIO, AND LUCIUS ATTILIUS[52],
OF PRÆNESTE.

Flaccus, the Freedman of Claudius, composed the Music for [53]equal Flutes, right and left handed.

[54]It is taken from the Greek, and was published during the Consulate of Marcus Claudius Marcellus, and Cneus Sulpicius Galba[55].

There were in Athens two brothers, Chremes and Phania. The former making a voyage to Asia, left his infant daughter, named Pasibula, under the protection of Phania; who, to avoid the dangers of a war which shortly after convulsed the Grecian States, quitted Athens, and embarked also for Asia with the infant Pasibula, designing to rejoin his brother Chremes. His vessel being wrecked off Andros, he was received and hospitably entertained by an inhabitant of the island, where he died, bequeathing his niece to his host, who generously educated her with his own daughter Chrysis; changing her name from Pasibula to Glycera. After some years he also died, and his daughter Chrysis, finding herself reduced to poverty, and avoided by her relations, removed to Athens, accompanied by her adopted sister Glycera, or Pasibula. Here, supported by her industry, she lived for some months in a virtuous seclusion; but after that period became acquainted with several young Athenians of good family, whose visits she admitted, hoping perhaps to accomplish an advantageous marriage either for Glycera or for herself. She was seduced by pleasure, and her conduct from that time became very far from irreproachable. Meanwhile a young man, named Pamphilus, is accidently introduced at her house, sees Glycera, is enamoured of her; she returns his affections, and they are privately betrothed; a short time previous to the death of Chrysis, which happens about three years after her removal to Athens. Chremes, whom we left in Asia, returned to Athens, and became the father of another daughter, who was called Philumena; he had long before formed a friendship with Simo, the father of Pamphilus. Pamphilus being a youth of great worth and high reputation, Chremes wishes to bestow on him the hand of his daughter Philumena. Here the play opens. A report of the connexion between Pamphilus and Glycera reaching the ears of Chremes, he breaks off the marriage. Simo conceals this, and to try the truth of the rumour, proposes Philumena again to his son, and desires him to wed her instantly. Apprized by his servant Davus of his father’s artful stratagem, Pamphilus professes his willingness to marry, thinking by this measure to disappoint it; but he defeats himself, for from his ready consent, Chremes concludes the rumour false, and renews the treaty to the great embarrassment of Pamphilus, which, with the artifices Davus employs to extricate him, form the most diverting scenes of the play. However, when the affairs of Pamphilus and Davus are reduced to extremity, and a breach between father and son appears inevitable on account of the marriage with Glycera, and the refusal to accept Philumena, a stranger called Crito, most opportunely arrives from Andros, and discovers Glycera to be Pasibula, the daughter of Chremes, who willingly confirms her the wife of Pamphilus, and bestows Philumena, his other daughter, on Charinus, a friend of Pamphilus, to the great satisfaction of all parties.

Our poet, when first he bent his mind to write, thought that he undertook no more than to compose Comedies which should please the people. But he finds himself not a little deceived; and is compelled to waste his time in making Prologues; not to narrate the plot of his play, but to answer the snarling malice of an older poet[57]. And now, I pray you, Sirs, observe what they object against our Author: Menander wrote the [58]Andrian and Perinthian: he who knows one of them knows both, their plots are so very similar; but they are different in dialogue, and in style. He confesses that whatever seemed suitable to the Andrian, he borrowed from the Perinthian, and used as his own: and this, forsooth, these railers carp at, and argue against him that Comedies thus mixed are good for nothing. But, in attempting to shew their wit, they prove their folly: since, in censuring him, they censure Nævius, Plautus[59], Ennius, who have given our author a precedent for what he has done: and whose careless ease he would much rather imitate than their obscure correctness. But henceforth let them be silent, and cease to rail; or I give them warning, they shall hear their own faults published. And now deign to favour the play with your attention; and give it an impartial hearing, that you may know what is in future to be expected from the poet, and whether the Comedies that he may write hereafter, will be worthy to be accepted, or to be rejected by you.

Simo. [60]Carry in those things, directly. (Exeunt Slaves.) Do you come hither Sosia; I have something to say to you.

Sosia. You mean, I suppose, that I should take care that these provisions are properly drest.

Simo. There is no need of your skill in the management of the affair I am now engaged in; all that I require of you is faithfulness and secrecy; qualities I know you to possess.

Simo. You well know, Sosia, that from the time when I first bought you as my slave;[61] even from your childhood until the present moment; I have been a just and gentle master: you served me with a free spirit; and I gave you freedom; [62]as the greatest reward in my power to bestow.

Sosia. I am very glad, Simo, that my past, and present conduct has been pleasing to you; and I am grateful for your goodness in receiving my poor services so favourably: but it pains me to be thus reminded of the benefits you have conferred upon me, as it seems to upbraid me with having forgotten them.[64] Pray, Sir, let me request to know your will at once.

Simo. You shall; but first I must inform you that my son’s marriage, which you expect to take place, is only a feigned marriage.

Simo. [65]You shall hear every thing from the beginning; by which means you will learn my son’s course of life, my intentions, and the part I wish you to take in this affair. When my son, Pamphilus, arrived at man’s estate,[66] of course he was able to live more according to his own inclination: for, until a man has attained that age, his disposition does not discover itself, being kept in check either by his tutor, or by bashfulness, or by his tender years.

Simo. Most young men attach themselves chiefly to one particular pursuit; such, for instance, as breeding horses, keeping hounds, or frequenting the schools of the philosophers.[67] He did not devote himself entirely to any one of these: but employed a moderate portion of his time in each; and I was much pleased to see it.

Sosia. As well you might, for I think that every man, in the conduct of his life, should adhere to this precept, “Avoid excess.”

Simo. This was his way of life; he bore patiently with every one, accommodated himself to the tempers of his associates; and fell in with them in their pursuits; avoided quarrels; and never arrogantly preferred himself before his companions. Conduct like this will ensure a man praise without envy, and gain many friends.

Sosia. This was indeed a wise course of life; for in these times[68], flattery makes friends; truth, foes.

Simo. Meantime, about three years ago, a certain woman, exceedingly beautiful, and in the flower of her age, removed into this neighbourhood; she came from the Island of Andros[69]; being compelled to quit it by her poverty and the neglect of her relations[70].

Simo. At first she lived chastely, and penuriously, and laboured hard, managing with difficulty to gain a livelihood[71] with the distaff and the loom: but soon afterwards several lovers made their addresses to her[72]; promising to repay her favours with rich presents; and as we all are naturally prone to pleasure, and averse to labour, she was induced to accept their offers; and at last admitted all her lovers without scruple. It happened that some of them with much persuasion prevailed on my son to accompany them to her house. Aha! thought I, he is caught[73]: he is certainly in love with her. In the morning I watched their pages going to her house and returning; I called one of them; Hark ye, boy, prithee tell me who was the favourite of Chrysis, yesterday? For this was the Andrian’s name.

Simo. I was answered that it was Phædrus, or Clinia, or Niceratus; for all these were her lovers at that time: well, said I, and what did Pamphilus there! oh! he paid[74] his share and supped with the rest. Another day I inquired and received the same answer; and I was extremely rejoiced that I could learn nothing to attach any blame to my son. Then I thought that I had proved him sufficiently; and that he was a miracle of chastity:—for he who has to contend against the example of men of such vicious inclinations, and can preserve his mind from its pernicious influence, may very safely be trusted with the regulation of his own conduct. To increase my satisfaction, every body joined as if with one voice in the praise of Pamphilus, every one extolled his virtues, and my happiness, in possessing a son endued with so excellent a disposition. In short, this his high reputation induced my friend Chremes to come to me of his own accord, and offer to give his daughter to Pamphilus with a large dowry[75]. I contracted [76]my son, as I was much pleased with the match, which was to have taken place on this very day.

Simo. You shall hear: within a few days of this time our neighbour Chrysis died.

Simo. Upon this occasion my son was continually at the house with the lovers of Chrysis, and joined with them in the care of her funeral; meantime he was sad, and sometimes would even weep. Still I was pleased with all this; if, thought I, he is so much concerned at the death of so slight an acquaintance, how would he be afflicted at the loss of one whom he himself loved, or at my death. I attributed every thing to his humane and affectionate disposition; in short, I myself, for his sake, attended the funeral, even yet suspecting nothing.

Simo. I will tell you. The corpse is carried out; we follow: in the mean time, among the women who were there[77], I saw one young girl, with a form so——

Simo. And with a face, Sosia, so modest, and so charming, that nothing can surpass it; and as she appeared more afflicted than the others who were there, and so pre-eminently beautiful[78], and of so noble a carriage, I approach the women who were following the body[79], and inquire who she is: they answer, The sister of the deceased. Instantly the whole truth burst upon me at once: hence then, thought I, proceed those tears; this sister it is, who is the cause of all his affliction.

Simo. In the mean time the procession advances; we follow, and arrive at the tomb[80]: the corpse is placed on the pile[81], and quickly enveloped in flames; they weep; while the sister I was speaking of, rushed forward in an agony of grief toward the fire; and her imprudence exposed her to great danger. Then, then it was, that Pamphilus, half dead with terror, publicly betrayed the love he had hitherto so well concealed: he flew to the spot, and throwing his arms around her with all the tenderness imaginable; my dearest Glycera, cried he, what are you about to do? Why do you rush upon destruction? Upon which she threw herself weeping upon his bosom in so affectionate a manner, that it was easy enough to perceive their mutual love.

Simo. I returned home, scarcely able to contain my anger; but yet I had not sufficient cause to chide Pamphilus openly; as he might have replied to me, What have I done amiss, my father? or how have I offended you? of what am I guilty? I have preserved the life of one who was going to throw herself into the flames: I prevented her: this would have been a plausible excuse.

Sosia. You consider this rightly, Sir; for if he who has helped to save a life is to be blamed for it; what must be done to him who is guilty of violence and injustice?

Simo. The next day Chremes came to me, and complained of being shamefully used, as he had discovered for a certainty that Pamphilus had actually married this strange woman[82]. I positively denied that this was the case, and he as obstinately insisted on the truth of it: at last I left him, as he was absolutely resolved to break off the match.

Simo. He might have answered me thus: you yourself, my father, have fixed the time when this liberty must cease; and the period is at hand when I must conform myself to the pleasure of another: permit me then, I beseech you, for the short space that remains to me, to live as my own will prompts me.

Simo. If he is induced by his love for this stranger, to refuse to marry Philumena in obedience to my commands, that offence will lay him open to my anger; and I am now endeavouring by means of this feigned marriage, to find a just cause of complaint against him: and, at the same time, if that rogue Davus has any subtle scheme on foot, this will induce him to bring it forward now, when it can do no harm; as I believe that rascal will leave no stone unturned in the affair; though more for the sake of tormenting me, than with a view to serve or gratify my son.

Simo. Why? because of a wicked mind one can expect nothing but wicked intentions[83]. But if I catch him at his tricks—However, ’tis in vain to say more: if it appear, as I trust it will, that my son makes no objection to the marriage, I have only to gain Chremes, whom I must prevail upon by entreaty; and I have great hopes that I shall accomplish it. What I wish you to do is, to assist me in giving out this marriage for truth, to terrify Davus, and to watch the conduct of my son, what he does; and what course he and his hopeful servant resolve upon.

Sosia. It is enough, Sir; I will take care to obey you. Now, I suppose, we may go in.

Scene II.

Simo. My son, I have no doubt, will refuse to marry; for I observed that Davus seemed terribly perplexed just now, when he heard that the match was to take place: but here he comes[85].

Davus. (not seeing Simo.) I wondered that this affair seemed likely to pass off so easily! and always mistrusted the drift of my old master’s extraordinary patience and gentleness; who, though he was refused the wife he wished for, for his son, never mentioned a word of it to us, or seemed to take any thing amiss.

Davus. His design was to entrap us while we were indulging in an ill-founded joy, and fancied ourselves quite secure. He wished to take advantage of our heedlessness, and make up the match before we could prevent him: what a crafty old fellow!

Simo. It does not become me to inquire too strictly into the truth of these reports. I shall not concern myself in what he has done hitherto; for as long as circumstances allowed of it, I left him to himself: but it is now high time that he should alter and lead a new life. Therefore, Davus, I command, and even entreat, that you will prevail on him to amend his conduct.

Simo. Those who have love intrigues on their hands are generally very averse to marriage.

Simo. And if any of them manage such an affair after the counsel of a knave, ’tis a hundred to one but the rogue will take advantage of their weakness, and lead them a step further, from being love-sick to some still greater scrape or imprudence.

Simo. Then you wish that what I have to say should be explained openly and without reserve.

Simo. Then, sirrah, if I discover that you endeavour to prevent my son’s marriage by any of your crafty tricks; or interfere in this business to show your cunning; you may rely on receiving a few scores of lashes, and a situation in the grinding-house[88] for life: upon this token, moreover, that when I liberate you from thence, I will grind in your stead. Is this plain enough for you, or don’t you understand yet?

Davus. Oh, perfectly! you come to the point at once: you don’t use much circumlocution, i’faith.

Simo. Remember! In this affair above all others, if you begin plotting, I will never forgive it.

Simo. So! you are merry upon it, are you, but I am not to be imposed upon. I advise you, finally, to take care what you do: you cannot say you have not had fair warning.

Scene III.

In truth, friend Davus, from what I have just heard from the old man about the marriage, I think thou hast no time to lose. This affair must be [90]handled dexterously, or either my young master or I must be quite undone. Nor have I yet resolved which side to take; whether I shall assist Pamphilus, or obey his father. If I abandon the son, I fear his happiness will be destroyed: if I help him, I dread the threats of the old man, who is as crafty as a fox. First, he has discovered his son’s intrigue, and keeps a jealous eye upon me, lest I should set some scheme a-foot to retard the marriage. If he finds out the least thing, I am undone[91], for right or wrong, if he once takes the whim into his head, he will soon find a pretence for sending me to grind in the mill for my life; and, to crown our disasters, this Andrian, Pamphilus’s wife or mistress, I know not which, is with child by him: ’tis strange enough to hear their presumption. I think their [92]intentions savour more of madness than of any thing else: boy or girl, say they, the child shall be brought up[93]. They have made up among them too, some story or other, to prove that she is a citizen of Athens[94]. Thus runs the tale. Once upon a time there was a certain old merchant[95], who was shipwrecked upon the island of Andros, where he afterwards died, and the father of Chrysis took in his helpless little orphan, who was this very Glycera. Fables! for my part I don’t believe a word of it: however, they themselves are vastly pleased with the story. But here comes her maid Mysis. Well, I’ll betake myself to the Forum[96], and look for Pamphilus: lest his father should surprise him with this marriage before I can tell him any thing of the matter.

Scene IV.

[97]I understand you, Archillis: you need not stun me with the same thing over so often: you want me to fetch the midwife Lesbia: in truth, she’s very fond of the dram-bottle, and very headstrong; and I should think she was hardly skilful enough to attend a woman in her first labour.—However, I’ll bring her.——Mark how [98]importunate this [99]old baggage is to have her fellow-gossip, that they may tipple together. Well, may Diana grant my [100]poor mistress a happy minute; and that Lesbia’s want of skill may be shewn any where rather than here. But what do I see? here comes Pamphilus, seemingly half-distracted, surely something is the matter. I will stay and see whether this agitation is not the forerunner of some misfortune.

Scene V.

Pam. Heavens! is it possible that any human being, much less a father, could be guilty of an action like this?

Pam. By the faith of gods and men, if ever any one was unworthily treated, I am. He peremptorily resolved that I should be married on this very day. Why was not I informed of this before? Why was not I consulted?

Pam. And why has Chremes changed his mind, who obstinately persisted in refusing me his daughter, after he heard of my imprudence[102]? Can he do this to tear me from my dearest Glycera? Alas! if I lose her, I am utterly undone. Was there ever such an unfortunate lover?—was there ever such an unhappy man as I am? Heavens and earth! will this persecution never end? Shall I never hear the last of this detested marriage? How have I been insulted; how have I been slighted! First of all, the match is agreed on, every thing is prepared, then I am rejected, now I am courted again. I cannot, for the soul of me, discover the reason of all this; however, I shrewdly suspect that this daughter of Chremes is either hideously [103]ugly, or that something is amiss in her; and so, because he can find no one else to take her off his hands, he comes to me.

Pam. But what shall I say of my father’s behaviour? Ought an affair of such consequence to be treated so lightly? Meeting me just now in the Forum, Pamphilus, said he, you are to be married to-day, get ready, make haste home; it seemed as if he said, go quickly and hang yourself. I stood amazed and motionless; not one single word could I pronounce; not one single excuse could I make, though it had been ever so absurd, false, or unreasonable: I was quite speechless. If any one were to ask me now, what I would have done, if I had known of this before? I answer, I would have done any thing in the world to prevent this hateful marriage; but now what course can I take? A thousand cares distract my mind. On one side, I am called upon by love and my compassion for this unfortunate: on the other by their continued importunities for my marriage with Philumena, and a fear of offending my father, who has been hitherto so indulgent to me, and complied with my every wish; and can I now oppose his will? Alas! I am still wavering; I can resolve upon nothing.

Mysis. Unhappy wretch that I am. I dread how this wavering may end at last; but now it is of the utmost consequence either that I should say something to him respecting my mistress, or that he should see her himself; for the least thing in the world may turn the scale, while the mind is in suspense.

Mysis. Do you not know? she is in labour[104], and her anguish is increased tenfold at the thought of this being the day formerly appointed for your marriage. Her greatest fear is lest you should forsake her.

Pam. Heavens! could I have the heart even to think of so base an action? Can I deceive an unfortunate who has intrusted her all to me? and whom I have always tenderly loved as my wife? Can I suffer that she, who has been brought up in the paths of modesty and virtue, should be exposed to want; [105]and perhaps even to dishonour? I never can, I never will permit it!

Mysis. Ah! Sir, if you were your own master, I should fear nothing; but I dread lest you should not be able to withstand your father’s commands.

Pam. Do you then think me so cowardly, so ungrateful too, so inhuman, and so cruel, that neither our intimate connexion, nor love, nor even shame can prevail upon me, or influence me to keep my promise?

Pam. Forget her! O Mysis, Mysis, the last words that Chrysis spoke to me, are still engraved upon my heart, already at the point of death; she calls for me; I approach; you all retire: we are alone with her: she speaks thus,—My dear Pamphilus; you see the youth and beauty of this dear girl; I need not tell you how little these endowments are calculated to secure either her property or her honour; I call upon you then, by the pledge of this hand you now extend to me, and by the natural goodness of your disposition[106]; by your plighted faith, and by her helpless situation, I conjure you not to forsake her. If ever I have loved you as my brother, if ever she has obeyed you as her husband, take her, I implore you, as your wife; be to her a [107]friend, a guardian, a parent; to you I confide our little wealth; in your honour I put all my trust.—She placed the hand of Glycera in mine, and expired. I received the precious gift, and never will I relinquish it.

Pam. Make haste then; and Mysis, do you hear; say not a word to your mistress about this marriage, lest that should increase her sufferings.

Char. What is it you tell me, Byrrhia; is she then to be married to Pamphilus; and is the wedding to take place even on this very day?

Char. Alas! the measure of my wretchedness is now full: my soul has hitherto fluctuated between my hopes and fears; but now all hope is lost, I sink wearied and care-worn into utter despair.

Byrr[109]. I beseech you, O Charinus, [110]to wish for something possible, since what you now wish for is impossible!

Byrr. Ah! how much wiser you would be, if instead of talking thus, which only serves to nourish [111]a hopeless passion; you would endeavour to subdue, and banish it entirely from your heart.

Char. How readily do those who are in health give good counsel to the diseased! if you were in my situation you would not talk thus.

Char. But I see Pamphilus coming this way. I am resolved to attempt every thing before I am quite undone.

Char. I will entreat even my rival himself, I will implore him, I will tell him of my love. I trust I shall be able to prevail upon him, at least to postpone his marriage for a few days; meantime I hope something may happen in my favour.

Byrr. Why not? that even if you can obtain nothing, you may make him think, at least, that Philumena will find a pressing gallant in you, if he marries her[112].

Scene II.

Char. Oh, Pamphilus!——I come to implore from you hope, safety, counsel, and assistance.

Pam. Truly, I myself have need of counsel, and assistance too: but what is this affair?

Byrr. My master loves Philumena to distraction, and hears that she is betrothed to you.

Pam. Truly, he and I are not of the same mind then; but prithee now, Charinus, tell me, has nothing passed between you and Philumena?

Char. I implore you then, by all the ties of friendship, and tried affection, never to wed her: this is my first request.

Char. At least defer it for a day or two, that I may go from here, and avoid the misery of being obliged to witness it.

Pam. Listen to me, Charinus; I think it is by no means the part of a man of honour to claim thanks, where none are due to him. I am more desirous to avoid Philumena, than you are to obtain her.

Pam. Now, if either you, or Byrrhia here, can do any thing; for [114]Heaven’s sake do it; contrive, invent, and manage if you can, that she may be given to you; I meantime will do all in my power to prevent her from being given to me.

Char. [to Byrrhia.] But as for you, you can tell me nothing but what I don’t care to hear. Begone, sirrah.

Scene III.

Davus. Heaven! what a world of good news do I bring! but, [to himself,] where shall I find Pamphilus? that I may relieve him from his present fears, and fill his soul with joy.

Pam. Oh! ’tis nothing at all: he does not yet know of this unfortunate affair.

Davus. I’ll be bound he’s at this very moment half distracted, and seeking for me all over the town: but where shall I find him, or which way shall I now direct my course.

Davus. Who calls me? Oh! Pamphilus! I was seeking for you every where. Charinus, too! well met, Sir; I wanted both of you.

Davus. You stun me; I tell you I know every thing already. You, Pamphilus, fear lest you should be compelled to marry Philumena; and you, Charinus, lest you should not marry her.

Davus. Then, Sir, in that very thing there is no danger at all; take my word for it.

Pam. For heaven’s sake, Davus, if you can do so, rid me of my fears at once.

Davus. I banish them all; Chremes does not intend to give you his daughter at present.

Davus. I am sure of it. Your father took me aside just now, and told me that he meant to have you married to-day; and added a great deal more, which I have not time to tell you at present. Immediately I run at full speed to the Forum, to look for you; that I may acquaint you with all this. Not being able to find you, I get upon an eminence, look around; you are no where to be seen. By chance I descry among the crowd, Charinus’ servant Byrrhia; I inquire of him; he knows nothing of you: how vexatious! quite perplexed; I begin to consider what course to take next. Meantime as I was returning and thinking the business over, a suspicion struck me. How’s this! thought I; no extra provision made, the old man gloomy, and the marriage to take place so suddenly! these things don’t appear consistent.

Davus. I then go directly to Chremes’ house; but when I get there, not a soul [116]do I see before the door; every thing is quite still and quiet, [117]which pleased me not a little.

Davus. I stay there a little while, but no one goes in or out; I come quite up to the door, and look in, [118]but can see no bridemaid; no preparations[119]; all was silent.

Davus. Think not! do you say? you must be blind, Sir, not to see it: it is an absolute certainty: besides all this, as I was returning I met Chremes’ servant, who was carrying home some herbs, and as many little [120]fishes for the old man’s supper, as might have cost an obolus.

Davus. Nonsense; as if it followed of course that he must give her to you, because he does not give her to him: if you do not take care; if you do not use all your endeavours, to gain the support of the old man’s friends, you will be no nearer your wishes than ever[121].

Char. You advise me well; I will go about it, though in truth this hope has often deceived me before. Farewell.

Scene IV.

Davus. I will tell you, Sir. He knows very well that it would be unreasonable in him to be angry with you, because Chremes has refused to give you his daughter, nor can he take any thing amiss, before he knows how your mind stands affected towards the marriage; but if you should refuse to marry, all the blame will be thrown on you, and a grievous disturbance created.

Davus. He is your father, Pamphilus, and it would not be easy to oppose him: Glycera moreover is [122]destitute and friendless, and he would speedily find some pretext or other to banish her from the city[123].

Davus. You are mistaken, Sir, listen to me: your father, I expect, will speak to you to this effect. Pamphilus, ’tis my will that you should be married to-day. I am ready, Sir; you shall answer: how can he then complain of you? All his plans on which he places so much reliance will be rendered abortive, and entirely frustrated by this reply; which you may very safely make; as it is beyond a doubt that Chremes will persist in refusing you his daughter; therefore do not let the fear of his changing his [124]mind, prevent you from following my advice. Tell your father that you are willing to marry; that when he seeks a cause of complaint against you, he may not be able to find any. As to the hopes you indulge, that no man will give his daughter to you, on account of this imprudent [125]connexion that you have formed; I will soon convince you of their fallacy; for believe me, your father would rather see you wedded to poverty itself, than suffer you to continue your present intimacy with Glycera; but if he thinks you are indifferent, he will grow unconcerned, and look out another wife at his leisure; meantime something may happen in your favour.

Pam. I will act as you advise me; but we must take care that he knows nothing of the child, for I have promised to bring it up.

Pam. She entreated me to promise this as a pledge that I would not forsake her.

Davus. Enough. I will be on my guard; but here comes your father: take care that you do not appear melancholy or embarrassed.

Scene IV.

Simo. [to himself.] I am come back again, to see what they are about; or what course they resolve upon.

Davus. He is fully persuaded that you will refuse to marry, and has been ruminating by himself in some corner, where he has prepared an harangue with which he expects to embarrass you: therefore take care to be on your guard.

Davus. Do but tell him that you are ready to marry in obedience to his wishes, and you’ll strike the old gentleman dumb: he’ll not mention the subject again, I’ll answer for it.

Scene VI.

Byrr. [to himself.] My master has given me orders to lay all other business aside and watch Pamphilus to-day, that I may discover how he acts touching this marriage; so [127]as I saw the old man coming this way, I followed him. Oh! here is Davus, and his master with him: now then to execute my commission.

Davus. [aside to Pamphilus.] Turn round suddenly, as if you had not perceived him.

Pam. You shall not find me tardy in obeying your commands, Sir, either on this, or any other subject.

Byrr. [aside.] From what I hear, I fancy my master has nothing to do, but to provide himself with another mistress as soon as possible[130].

Simo. Now, Pamphilus, go in immediately, that you may be ready when you are wanted.

Byrr. [aside.] Is there no honour, no sincerity in any man? I find the common proverb to be true. Every man loves himself best. I have seen Philumena, and I remember that I thought her charming; in truth, I cannot much blame Pamphilus, that he had rather wed her himself than yield her to my master. Well, I’ll carry him an account of what has passed. I suppose I shall receive an abundance of bad language in return for my bad news[131].

Scene VII.

Davus. [aside.] The old man thinks I have some scheme on foot, and stay here now to play it off upon him.

Davus. [aside.] He [132]has missed his aim! I see this nettles him to the quick.

Simo. Tell me then, does not this marriage very much distress my son, on account of his partiality for this Andrian.

Davus. By Hercules, not at all: or if indeed he feels a slight uneasiness for a day or two, you know it will not last longer than that, for he has reflected on the subject, and sees it in its true light, I assure you, Sir.

Davus. While circumstances allowed him, and while [133]his youth in some measure excused him, I confess he did intrigue a little; but then he took care to conceal it from the world: he was cautious, [134]as a gentleman should be, not to disgrace himself by giving room for any scandalous reports; but now as he must marry, he inclines his thoughts to marriage.

Davus. You. My father, said he, has scarcely spent ten drachms for the wedding supper[136]: does this look like the marriage of his son? I cannot invite my companions even on such an occasion as this. Indeed, Sir[137], I think you are too frugal: it is not well timed.

Simo. I will take care that every thing is as it should be. Away! [Exit Davus.] What can all this be about? what can this crafty knave mean? if there is any mischief on foot, this fellow is sure to be the contriver of it.

Mysis. Indeed, Lesbia, what you say is very true: one scarcely ever meets with a constant lover.

Mysis. For girl, or boy, he has given orders that the child shall be brought up[141].

Mysis. His is most excellent; but now let us go, lest we should be wanted before we arrive.

Davus. [aside.] Here’s a pretty disaster! how shall I be able to remedy this evil?

[Simo to himself.] What’s this? Is he so mad? A foreigner too! [142]phoo! now I see through it all! how simple I must be not to discover it at first.

Simo. Davus, that indefatigable contriver of mischief, is the chief mover of all this roguery. They pretend the birth of a child, that they may deter Chremes from the match.

[Glycera cries out from the house.] O Juno Lucina, help! save me! I beseech thee[143].

Simo. Hey day! what already! ha! ha! ha! how preposterous! the moment she finds out that I am within hearing, she begins to cry out. Why, Davus, your incidents are not well [144]timed at all, man.

Simo. What an object of derision! what a laughing-stock [145]would this rascal have made of me, if he had played off this fine trick in a real marriage: but now he is shipwrecked whilst I am safe in port.

Scene II.

Lesbia. Hitherto, Archillis, she has all the usual symptoms of doing well. Now, first, let her be bathed[146]: and, after that, give her the drink, in the quantities I directed. I shall return immediately. Upon my life, Pamphilus has got a very pretty boy. Heaven grant he may live to make a good man! for his father is a worthy youth, who would not wrong this innocent young creature.

Simo. (to Davus.) Could any one, who knew you, doubt for a moment that you were the contriver of this?

Simo. The midwife never gave her orders about the treatment of her patient while she was in the house: but, after she was come out of doors, she bawls from the street to those within. O Davus, am I so despised by you? or do I appear to you a fit subject to practise such barefaced tricks upon? The least you could have done, was to have acted cautiously, that I might, at any rate, seem to be feared, if I had discovered it.

Davus. (aside.) By Jupiter, he cheats himself: I am sure I’ve no hand in it.

Simo. Did I not warn you? Did I not threaten you with the consequences of this? But what care you? ’Twas all to no purpose! Do you think that I really believe that Glycera has borne a child to Pamphilus?

Davus. Ha! ha! Could you, of yourself, have discovered that this was all pretended?

Davus. You must have been told of it: how else could you have suspected any thing?

Davus. The moment I begin to speak, you imagine that I am trying to impose upon you.

Davus. You have discovered the truth; but, nevertheless, they will not fail to lay a child at our door very shortly. I tell you, Sir, beforehand, that this will happen, that you may be prepared for it; and not afterwards say, that it was done by the advice and contrivance of Davus. Indeed, Sir, I wish to remove the unjust opinion you entertain of me.

Davus. I heard it, and believe it to be true. Many circumstances induce me to form this conjecture. First of all, this girl affirms that she is with child by Pamphilus, which I have discovered to be false. Now, finding that the marriage preparations are going forward in our house[148], she sends her maid to fetch a midwife, and to provide a child[149]: at the same time, thinking that unless they managed that you should see a child, the marriage would not be impeded.

Simo. But, as you had discovered all this, why did you not directly acquaint my son with their designs?

Davus. Why, Sir, who was it that prevailed on him to break off the connexion? was it not Davus? We all know how madly he loved her: but now, on the contrary, he prudently resolves to marry. In short, Sir, leave this business to me: and do you persevere, (as you have begun,) in forwarding the marriage: and, I trust, that Heaven will be propitious to your endeavours!

Scene III.

Simo. I am not exactly inclined to believe this fellow; and I know not whether all that he has been telling me is true, neither do I much care. Pamphilus has given me his promise; that I conceive to be of the greatest consequence. Now, I will go to Chremes, and entreat him to give his daughter to my son. If I prevail, what can I do better than celebrate the marriage this very day? As for Pamphilus, if he refuse, I have no doubt I can compel him to keep his promise[150]. And, most opportunely for my purpose, I see Chremes himself coming this way.

Scene IV.

Chremes. I meet you most opportunely. Several persons came to me, and asserted, that you had told them, that my daughter was to be given in marriage to your son to-day. For this reason, I came to see whether they have lost their senses, or you your’s.

Simo. Hear me, Chremes; and you shall know, both what you come to ask, and what I desire of you.

Simo. I conjure you, by the gods, and by our friendship, Chremes, which has grown up with us from our earliest years, and strengthened with our age: for the sake of your daughter, your only child: and, for the sake of my son, whose welfare depends entirely upon you; I entreat you to assist me in this affair: and renew your consent to the marriage of our children.

Chremes. Ah, Simo, what need of prayers? as if it were necessary to use so much entreaty with me, your friend. Do you think that I am less your friend than when I offered my daughter to your son? If the marriage will conduce to their mutual happiness, in Heaven’s name, send for my daughter, and let them marry at once: but, if it be found, that it would tend to the detriment, rather than to the advantage, of both; I beseech you to consult their mutual benefit, without partiality, as if you were the father of Philumena, and I of Pamphilus.

Simo. Truly, Chremes, it is with that view that I wish their union, and entreat you to consent to it. Neither should I press it so earnestly upon you, if the present aspect of the affair did not justify my urgency.

Simo. And the breach between them is so great, that I trust that we shall be able entirely to detach Pamphilus from her society.

Chremes. A fact, by Hercules, that I’ll explain to you. The quarrels of lovers, is the renewal[152] of their love.

Simo. You are right, and that is the reason of my request: I am anxious that we should seize this opportunity to prevent them, while his love is weakened by her insolence and upbraidings. Let us then hasten his marriage, before the artifices and hypocritical tears of these creatures recal his love-sick mind to pity. And, I trust, Chremes, that a well-assorted marriage, and the endearing society of his wife, will enable my son to extricate himself easily from their toils.

Chremes. You may view the affair in that light: but I cannot think, either that Pamphilus could be faithful to my daughter, or that I could bear to see him otherwise.

Chremes. But to stake the happiness of my daughter on that trial, is hard indeed.

Simo. Yet the most serious mischief, after all, can amount but to a separation[153], which may the gods avert. But, on the other hand, if he fulfils our wishes, consider the advantages that will result from the marriage: in the first place, you will restore to your friend a son: you will ensure to yourself, a dutiful son: and, to your daughter, a faithful husband.

Chremes. What occasion for so many words: if you think this step so very essential to reclaim your son, I should be sorry to throw any impediment in your way.

Simo. I was informed of it by Davus himself, who is the confidant of all their counsels; and he persuaded me to do all in my power to forward the marriage: would he have done so, do you think, had he not known it to be consonant to my son’s wishes? But you yourself shall hear what he says. Within, there: send Davus hither; but here he is, I see him coming forth.

Scene V.

Simo. (to Chremes.) Do you hear him? I confess to you, Davus, that, till lately, I have been fearful, that you would prove perfidious[154ᴮ], like the common herd of slaves, and deceive me in this intrigue of Pamphilus.

Simo. I did suspect it, and, on that very account, I concealed from you what I will now disclose.

Davus. Ah, Sir, you now appreciate my character as you ought; you now see what kind of man I am.

Simo. Yes, for the purpose of proving you and my son, and to try how you would receive the proposal.

Davus. I never could have fathomed this design; what a profound contrivance! deep, Sir, very deep. (bantering.)

Simo. But hear me out. After I sent you in, I most opportunely met my friend Chremes.

Simo. I entreated him to give his daughter to Pamphilus, and, with great difficulty, prevailed upon him to consent.

Chremes. Well, I will now return home, and order every thing to be prepared: when all is ready, I shall let you know.

Scene VI.

Simo. Now, I entreat you, Davus, since you have brought about the marriage entirely by yourself——

Davus. (aside.) Yes, I have the credit of it entirely to myself. O! curse my unlucky stars.

Simo.——to use all your influence with Pamphilus to induce him to give up his present connexion with Glycera.

Scene VII.

I am utterly undone: why do I not at once go straight to the grinding-house. ’Twill be to no purpose to implore mercy: I’ve overturned everything. I have deceived the old man, and embarrassed the son with a marriage he detests; which I have brought about this very day, though the father considered the attempt as hopeless; and Pamphilus as the greatest evil that could befal him. O! wise Davus, if you had but been quiet, this mischief would never have happened. But, see, here come Pamphilus himself! I’m a dead man. O! for some precipice that I might dash myself down headlong!

Scene VIII.

Pam. But I confess that I am justly punished for my imprudence: for my want of common sense. Ought I to have confided my happiness to the keeping of such a shallow slave? I only pay the penalty of my folly: however, the rascal shall not escape the punishment he so richly deserves.

Davus. (aside.) If I escape this time, I think I never need know fear again.

Pam. And what can I say to my father? Can I, who so lately promised to marry, now refuse? with what face can I venture on such a step as that? I know not what to do!

Davus. (aside.) Nor I, though I am racking my brains to hit upon something. I will tell him that I have thought of an expedient to put off the marriage.

Pam. Pray, good Sir, what have you to say for yourself? do you see what a fine situation your rare advice has reduced me to?

Pam. What trust can I put in such a rascal[156]? Can you remedy a misfortune, which appears entirely ruinous? Ah! how foolishly I relied on you, who, out of a perfect calm[157], have raised this storm, and wrecked me on the rock of this accursed marriage! Did I not forewarn you, that it would end thus?

Davus. Death. But allow me a short time to recover myself, and I will soon consider what is to be done?

Pam. Alas! I have not time to punish you as you deserve: the present moment demands my attention to my own wretched affairs; and will not suffer me to revenge myself on you.

[159]Is this credible, or to be mentioned as a truth, that any man can be so innately worthless, as to rejoice at the miseries and misfortunes of others, and even turn them to his own advantage? Ah! is it possible that such baseness can exist? Those men have characters of the very worst description, who make a scruple to deny a favour; and are ashamed[160], or unwilling to give a downright refusal at first; but who, when the time arrives for the performance of their promises, necessarily expose themselves in their true colours; and, though they may hesitate, yet, circumstances compel them to give an absolute denial: and they will afterwards insult you with the most impertinent speeches, as, Who are you? What are you to me? Why should I resign my mistress to you? Every man for himself, Sir, is my maxim! And, if you upbraid them with their want of honour, they are not at all ashamed. Thus, when they ought to blush for their perfidy, they are shameless! And, in the former case, when there was no cause for it, they are shamefaced and timorous! But what shall I do? Shall I go and expostulate with him on his treachery? I will! and overwhelm him with reproaches: if any one tell me that no advantage will result from it: I answer this, that I shall poison[161] his joy: and even that will yield me some satisfaction.

Scene II.

Pam. Oh! Charinus, unless the gods assist us, my imprudence has undone both you and myself!

Char. What! imprudence! So you found an excuse at last. You have broken your promise, Sir.

Char. Do you think that any thing you can say will impose upon me a second time?

Char. As soon as I had told you of my love for Philumena, she pleased you forsooth! Alas! fool that I was! I judged of your heart by my own. I believed you to be sincere, and you deceived me.

Char. Did you think that your happiness would not be complete, unless you could delude an unfortunate lover by nourishing his vain hopes? Well, take her[162].

Pam. I take her! Alas, you know not half the miseries that oppress me; nor how my rascal Davus has embarrassed me with his pernicious advice.

Char. (ironically.) Oh! I know every thing: you have been in high dispute with your father; and he is now most prodigiously angry with you: and has been striving, in vain, all this day, to prevail upon you to wed Philumena.

Pam. To prove how little you know of my misfortunes, learn, that no marriage was expected to take place: neither did my father think of constraining my inclinations.

Pam. Why do you vex me thus[163]? hear me, I say: he never ceased urging me to tell my father that I was ready to marry: he prayed, he entreated, until, at length, I was induced to comply.

Pam. I know not, unless the gods, in their anger, decreed that I should follow his pernicious counsel.

Char. What can you say for yourself, you rascal? May the gods punish you as you deserve! Answer me, Slave, I say, if his greatest enemies had been desirous of entangling him in this marriage, what worse advice could they possibly have given him?

Davus. Our last plan was unsuccessful, but we’ll try another: unless you think that because the first prospered so indifferently, the evil cannot be remedied?

Pam. Oh, far otherwise! for I have no doubt, that if that wise head of yours goes to work, instead of the one wife you have provided me with already, you’ll find me two.

Davus. Pamphilus, I am your slave; and, as such, it is my duty to exert myself to the utmost to serve you, to labour for you night and day, and even to expose my life to peril, to do you service; but, ’tis your part, if any thing should happen cross, to pardon me: my endeavours have been unsuccessful ’tis true; but, indeed, I did my best; if you can do better, dismiss me.

Scene III.

Mysis. (speaking to Glycera within.) I will directly, Madam; wherever he may be, I’ll take care to find your dear [165]Pamphilus, and bring him to you: only, my love, let me beg of you not to make yourself so wretched.

Mysis. My mistress conjures you by the love you bear her, to come to her instantly: she says, she shall be miserable till she sees you.

Pam. Heavens! I’m quite distracted: (to Davus.) Villain! behold the misery to which we are reduced: this is your work! she has heard of the intended marriage, and therefore sends for me.

Davus. (to Charinus.) Well done! if he does not rave enough of himself, do try to make him worse.

Mysis. It is the rumour of your approaching marriage with Philumena that makes her so miserable.

Pam. Mysis, I solemnly swear to you by all the gods, that I never will forsake her; no, though my love for her should make all mankind my foes, I never, never will forsake her. I wooed, and made her mine; our souls accord; and I will hold no communion with those who wish to separate us: death alone shall part us.

Pam. [166]The oracles of Apollo are not more true. I wish, that, if it be possible, my father should not think that I throw any impediments in the way of the marriage: if not, I will do what will be easily done, tell him frankly that I cannot marry Chremes’s daughter. Charinus, what do you think of me?

Davus. (to Charinus.) Do not deceive yourself, Sir; ’tis not for you, but for my master that I am scheming.

Davus. I am afraid that this day will scarcely afford me sufficient time for action: I am sure I have none to waste in talking: let me beg you both to withdraw from this place: you hinder me from putting my designs into execution.

Scene IV.

Davus. Heyday! modest enough this, i’faith! is it not sufficient that I give you a respite by putting off the marriage?

Scene V.

Scene VI.

Is there no reliance to be placed in any thing in this world? Heaven preserve me, I thought Pamphilus my mistress’s chief blessing: a friend, a lover, a husband, always ready to cherish and protect her: but, alas! what misery does she now endure on his account: hitherto he has been to her a source of more evil than good[170]. But here comes Davus! bless me, man, what are you about? where are you going to carry the child?

Scene VII.

Davus. Now, Mysis, I want you to assist me in this affair with all your ready wit, artifice, and dexterity.

Davus. You may take some of the herbs from that altar, and strew them under him[172].

Davus. That if my master should require me to swear that I did not do it; I may take the oath with a safe conscience[173].

Mysis. I understand you. But tell me, Davus, how long has your conscience been so scrupulously nice?

Davus. Make haste, that I may tell you further what I mean to do. Oh, Jupiter!

Davus. (to himself.) The father of the bride is coming this way: I abandon my first design.

Davus. I will pretend to come from the right: do you take care to second what I say, as you see occasion.

Mysis. I can’t make out a syllable of all this: but, if I can be of any use, (which you know better than I,) I will stay; lest, otherwise, I should be any hinderance to your plans.

Scene VIII.

Chremes. (to himself.) Well, having prepared every thing for the marriage of my daughter, I am returned to inform them that they may now send for her. But what do I see? by Hercules, ’tis a child! Woman, did you lay it there?

Mysis. (aside.) Ah! he is not here. Mercy on me, the fellow has left me here, and gone away.

Davus. (speaking loud, and pretending not to see Chremes.) Heavens! what a crowd there is in the Forum! what a wrangling! provisions too are very dear. (Aside.) What else to say I know not.

Mysis. (aside to Davus.) In Heaven’s name, how could you think of leaving me here alone?

Davus. (aloud.) Ha! what plot is this? Mysis, whose child is this? who brought it here?

Davus. (aside to Mysis.) Take care not to say a single syllable, except exact answers to the questions I put to you.

Davus. (quite loud.) Make haste, and take the brat from our door. (Aside to Mysis.) Don’t stir a step.

Davus. What! must I tell you again! whose child have you brought here? Answer me.

Mysis. Thank Heaven, that there were some free women present when my mistress was delivered[179ᴬ].

Davus. She knows little of the man she wants to practise these tricks upon: do you think that if Chremes saw this child before our door, he would refuse us his daughter on that account? I say he would give her more willingly.

Davus. And, to be short with you, that you may understand me at once, if you don’t take away the child instantly, I’ll roll him into the middle of the street, and you, Madam, into the kennel.

Davus. One falsehood brings on another: [180]I hear it whispered about, that she is a citizen of Athens.

Chremes. (aside.) By Jupiter, I have narrowly escaped making myself a common laughing-stock to all the town.

Davus. (turning round suddenly.) Who speaks there? Oh Chremes! you are come just in time: listen——

Davus. (half aloud.) He has heard all: what an [182]accident!—this impudent wench ought to be taken hence and punished[183]: (to Mysis.) This is Chremes himself: think not that you can impose upon Davus.

Scene IX.

Mysis. Don’t touch me, you villain: if I don’t tell my mistress all this, may I be—

Davus. [184]That was the bride’s father: I wished him to know all this; and there was no other way to acquaint him with it.

Davus. [185]Do you think a thing of this sort can be done as well by premeditating and studying, as by acting according to the natural impulse of the moment.

Scene X.

Crito. (to himself.) I am told, that this is the street in which Chrysis dwelt; who chose to amass wealth here, in a manner not the most unexceptionable, rather than live in honest poverty in her own [187]country. That wealth, however, now devolves to me[188]. But I see some persons of whom I can inquire. God save you.

Mysis. [189]Bless me! whom do I see? is not this Crito the kinsman of Chrysis? It is.

Crito. What! you? how so? has any other misfortune happened to you? how do you live now, Mysis?

Mysis. Oh! we live as we can, as the saying goes: since we cannot live as we would.

Crito. Not yet! In an evil hour then came I here: for, in truth, if I had known that, I would not have set a foot in this city. Glycera was always treated as, and called the sister of, Chrysis; and has in possession what property she left: and the example of others will teach me what ease, redress, and profit, I have to expect from [191]a suit at law: besides, I suppose, by this time, she has some lover to espouse her cause; for, she was no longer in her childhood, when she left the isle of Andros. I should be railed at as a beggar, and a pitiful legacy-hunter. Besides, I never could be cruel enough to reduce her to poverty.

Mysis. O excellent Crito! I see you are still the same worthy soul you used to be.

Davus. I will go with them: as I don’t wish to meet with our old gentleman just at this time.

Chremes. Cease your entreaties, Simo; enough, [192] and more than enough have I already shewn my friendship towards you: enough have I risked for you. In my endeavours to oblige you, I have nearly trifled away my daughter’s happiness.

Simo. Nay, Chremes, it is now more than ever that I beg, and even implore that the kindness you granted me by promise, may now be fulfilled in deed.

Chremes. Your eagerness to obtain what you desire makes you unjust, and forgetful of your usual friendship and consideration; for, if you reflected for a moment on what you ask of me, you would cease to urge me to do myself such an injustice.

Chremes. Can you ask? you prevailed on me to choose as my daughter’s husband, a young man distracted with love for another, and detesting every thought of marriage: if this union had been consummated, it would have inthralled her with a husband who would not have loved her, and exposed her to all the miseries of an unhappy union: that, at the expense of her happiness, I might attempt the cure of your son. You obtained your request: the treaty went forward, while circumstances allowed of it; but now the affair wears a different aspect, be satisfied, and bear your disappointment with temper. It is said that Glycera is a citizen of Athens; [193]and that she has a son by Pamphilus: this sets us free.

Simo. I conjure you, Chremes, by the gods, not to suffer yourself to be led away by those who wish to make their advantage of my son’s follies: all those reports are invented and spread abroad, with a view to prevent the marriage: when their cause ceases, they will cease also.

Chremes. You are mistaken: I myself saw the Andrian’s maid quarrelling with Davus.

Simo. I believe it: for Davus told me not long ago that it would be so: and I can’t think how I could forget to tell you of it, as I intended.

Scene II.

Davus. (to himself.) By virtue of the stranger’s assistance, and my sovereign skill and ingenuity.

Simo. Very well, but Pamphilus is absent now: however, do you answer me: what business had you in that house?

Simo. How! is Pamphilus there? wretch that I am! I’m half distracted! ha! rascal, did you not tell me that they were at variance.

Davus. Oh yes, and Chremes, I will tell you of a most curious affair. An old man, whose name I know not, arrived here just now; he seems both shrewd and confident; his manners and appearance command respect; there [194]is a grave severity in his countenance; and he speaks with boldness.

Scene III.

Simo. For all that, Dromo, take care to keep him bound, [196]and, do you hear? chain him up hands and feet together. Go, sirrah, if I live, I’ll shew you what it is to impose upon your master, and Pamphilus also shall learn that an indulgent father is not to be deceived with impunity.

Simo. Chremes, is this the duty that a father ought to expect from his son? Do you not pity me, that I am made so anxious by a son? Oh Pamphilus! Pamphilus! come forth: have you no shame?

Scene IV.

Chremes. (interrupting.) Ah! come to the point at once, and spare your reproaches.

Simo. Reproaches! Can any be too severe for him? Tell me, (to Pamphilus.) do you assert that Glycera is a citizen of Athens?

Simo. You have heard it! Oh impudence! Now does he seem to care for what he says? does he seem to repent of his folly? does he betray any symptoms of shame? can he be so weak? [197]so totally regardless of the customs and laws of his country, and his father’s commands, as to wish to degrade himself by an infamous union with this woman?

Simo. Ah! Pamphilus, is it only now that you have discovered that? long, long ago, I say, when you debased your inclinations, and were willing to sacrifice every thing to your desires; then it was that you might truly have called yourself unhappy. But what am I doing? why do I torment myself? why should I suffer? why imbitter my old age with his mad folly? Am I to pay the penalty of his offences? No: let him have her: I bid him farewell: let her supply the place of his father.

Simo. What need have you of a father? you, who have chosen a wife, children, and home, which are all of them disagreeable, and even obnoxious to that father? Persons are suborned hither too, [198]who say, that she is a citizen of Athens. You have conquered.

Pam. Oh! my father: I confess that I love; and, if to love be a crime, I confess that I am guilty. But to you I submit: your commands I promise implicitly to obey: if you insist on my marriage with Philumena; and compel me to subdue my love [199]for Glycera, I will endeavour to comply with your commands: I implore only, that you will cease to accuse me of suborning hither this old man. Suffer me to bring him before you; that I may clear myself from this degrading suspicion[200].

Simo. Well, be it so. (Pamphilus goes in.) Oh! Chremes, what would I not give, to be convinced that my son has not deceived me.

Chremes. However great may be the faults of a son, a slight punishment satisfies a father.

Scene V.

Crito. Say no more, Pamphilus, I would do what you wish either for your sake, or for Glycera’s, or even my regard for truth would be a sufficient inducement.

Simo. Does he ask for me? Well, Sir, I am Simo: do you dare to say that Glycera is a citizen of Athens?

Simo. Do you ask? Can you think that you shall do these things with impunity? Can you think that you will be suffered to insnare inexperienced and respectable young men? and flatter them with fair words and fine promises?

Simo. And, at last, conclude this shameful fraud, by marrying them to their mistresses?

Pam. (aside.) I am undone? Crito, I fear, will not be able to maintain his ground.

Chremes. [201]Simo, if you knew this stranger as well as I do, you would think better of him: he is a worthy man.

Simo. He a worthy man? but yes, it was very good of him to be sure to come here so opportunely on the day of my son’s marriage! he! who was never at Athens before! Chremes, ought such a man to be believed?

Pam. (aside.) I could easily explain that circumstance; but I fear my interference would offend my father.

Crito. Then let him look to it: if he persists in saying all he pleases, I will make him hear something that will not please him. Do I interfere in this affair? what have I to do with it? Can you not bear your disappointment patiently. As for what I assert, it is easy enough to ascertain whether it is true or false. Some years ago, a certain Athenian was shipwrecked, and cast upon the isle of Andros: he was accompanied by this very Glycera, who was then an infant: and, in great distress, applied for assistance to the father of Chrysis.

Crito. Chrysis’ father, who received[203] him, was my relation: and, at his house, I’ve heard that shipwrecked stranger say, that he was an Athenian: he died in Andros.

Crito. At least I think it was Phania: one thing I am sure of, he said he was from[204] Rhamnus.

Chremes. Heaven grant my hopes may be fulfilled: tell me, Crito, did he call the child his own?

Chremes. That he might avoid the war, he quitted Greece: and, following me, set sail for Asia: fearing to leave the child, he took her with him: and this is the first account I have ever received of their fate.

Pam. I am scarcely myself: my mind is so agitated by fear, hope, joy, and astonishment, at this so great and unexpected happiness.

Simo. Believe me, Chremes, I rejoice most sincerely that Glycera proves to be your daughter.

Pam. Away with all your doubts and scruples; you seek a difficulty where none exists.

Pam. Shall I suffer his want of memory to retard my happiness, when I myself can find a remedy? I will not. Chremes, the name you want is Pasibula.

Simo. Chremes, I hope you are convinced how sincerely we all rejoice at this discovery[206].

Simo. The happy turn of the affair has reconciled me, my son: be all unpleasant recollections banished.

Pam. A thousand thanks, my father. I trust that Chremes also consents that Glycera should be mine.

Chremes. I will hasten to my daughter: come with me, Crito, for I suppose that she will not remember me.

Scene VI.

Simo. Why do you not immediately give orders for her removal to our house[209]?

Simo. Because [210]he is now carrying on things of great weight, and which touch him more nearly.

Scene VII.

Pam. (to himself.) Any one would think, perhaps, that I do not believe this to be true, but I know it is, because I wish it so. I am of opinion, that the lives of the gods are eternal, because their pleasures are secure, and without end: for I feel that I am [212]become immortal, if no sadness intrude on this joy: but whom do I wish to see at this time? would that I had a friend here whom I might make happy by relating to him my good fortune.

Pam. (to himself.) I see Davus, whom of all men I had rather meet: since I know he will rejoice more sincerely than any one at my happiness.

Scene VIII.

Davus. This happens according to custom, that you should learn my evil fortune before I hear of your good fortune.

Davus. Ah, Sir! say no more—you are one of the chief favourites of the gods!

Char. (aside.) I am restored to life if these things be true. I will speak to them.

Char. I have heard all: and let me conjure you, my friend, to think of me amidst your happiness. Chremes is now your own: and will, I am very sure, consent to any thing you request of him.

Pam. I will not be unmindful of your happiness, I assure you: and, as it would be tedious for us to wait their coming out, accompany me now to my Glycera. Do you, Davus, go home, and order some of our people hither, to [215]remove her to our house. Why do you loiter? Go: don’t lose a moment.

Davus. I am going. (To the spectators.) [216]You must not expect their coming out: she will be betrothed within: where all will be concluded. Farewell: and clap your hands[217].

The history of the life of Terence is enveloped in more obscurity than might have been expected, considering his many eminent qualities, and the times in which he lived. Suetonius’s account is not very comprehensive; it is, however, the best which has reached us, and indeed the only one at all to be depended on. Caius Suetonius Tranquillus, a correct and impartial biographer, was secretary to the Emperor Adrian: and enjoyed the friendship of Pliny the younger: he flourished about A.D. 115.

This appellation was conferred on the poet by his patron Terentius Lucanus: his true name is unknown, even conjecture is silent on this subject. Slaves, who received their freedom, usually bore the name of the person who manumitted them: sometimes also, during their slavery, they were called by the name of their master. Terentius Lucanus does not appear to have been a person of any particular note; as he is never mentioned but as the friend and patron of Terence, to whom he is indebted for rescuing his name from oblivion.

“Rome could never boast of a more accurate historian than Lucius Fenestella; he was likewise a very learned antiquarian. He lived at about the end of the reign of Augustus, or the beginning of that of Tiberius: and wrote many things; particularly Annals: none of his works are now extant.” Madame Dacier.

Terence was born after the conclusion of the second Punic war, and died before the commencement of the third.

The second Punic war ended 201 B. C. in the year of Rome 553: and the third commenced 150 B. C. in the year of Rome 604, about three years before the destruction of Carthage. Terence was born 189 B. C., which was 12 years after the termination of the second Punic war, and he died at the age of 36, three years before the beginning of the third Punic war. If we suppose Terence to have been a freeborn Carthaginian, it is very difficult to account for his being a slave at Rome; because the Romans could not have taken him prisoner in war, as they were at peace with the Carthaginians during the whole of his life. Neither is it probable that he was made a prisoner, and sold to the Romans either by the Numidians, or by the Gætulians, as his perfect knowledge of the Latin and Greek languages, at twenty-five years of age, is a most forcible reason for believing that he was removed to Rome in extreme youth: long before he could have been able to undergo the fatigue attendant on a military life. I can solve this difficulty in no other way than by supposing, either that the parents of Terence were themselves slaves at Carthage, and consequently he also was the property of their master; (as the children of slaves shared the fate of their parents;) or that he was sold to the Carthaginians by the Numidians, or by the Gætulians. In either of these cases, it is by no means improbable that during the peace which followed the second Punic war, Terence might in his infancy have been sold by his Carthaginian master to one of those Romans who visited Carthage during the peace.

Numidia and Gætulia, or Getulia, at the time of Terence’s birth, formed a part of the dominions of the celebrated African prince Masinissa, who so eminently distinguished himself as the firm and faithful ally of the Roman Republic: and as the formidable enemy of the Carthaginians. Numidia was situated S.W. of the territories of Carthage; and is now that part of Southern Barbary, known by the name of Biledulgerid. Gætulia (the boundaries of which were afterwards regulated by Marius) was a most extensive country, and lay S.W. of Numidia: it is now very little known, and reaches from the south of Barbary, or the country of Dates, across the Great Desert or Sahara, almost as far south as the river Niger. It may be conjectured that the northern region only of this vast country was subject to the control of King Masinissa.

Publius Cornelius Scipio Æmilianus Africanus Numantinus was the son of Paulus Æmilius, whose conquest of Macedonia procured him the title of Macedonicus. The young Æmilius was adopted (during the life of his father) by the son of the conqueror of Hannibal, Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus, whose name he afterwards bore (in conformity with the established custom): and it is not a little remarkable, that the appellation of Africanus which the son of Æmilius then acquired by adoption, he afterwards claimed in his own right, as the destroyer of Carthage. The title of Numantinus was conferred on this hero, as a tribute to his valour and conduct in the war against the inhabitants of Numantia, who were totally destroyed with their city, after a long and desperate resistance. Scipio was born in the year of Rome 569, and died in the year 624. Some persons have been misled by a singular coincidence of circumstances relative to the two Scipios, into a belief that it was the elder of the two who honoured Terence with his friendship. The error is evident, as the death of the first Scipio Africanus took place before Terence was ten years of age. The elder Scipio honoured with his particular regard Caius Lælius, who obtained the consulship in the year of Rome 563: the connexion between them was cemented by the strict ties of a virtuous friendship. It is a circumstance worthy of remark, that the chosen intimate of the younger Africanus was also called Caius Lælius.

Caius Lælius, whose virtues procured him the appellation of Sapiens, or the Wise, is supposed to have been the son of the Lælius who enjoyed the friendship of the elder Scipio. Caius Lælius Sapiens was the senior Consul or Consul Prior in the year of Rome 613. Cicero’s treatise “De Amicitiâ,” in which he represents Lælius discoursing on the nature and delights of a pure and delicate friendship, is a monument of the attachment of Scipio and Lælius, worthy of them and of himself.

Those who have read Suetonius in the original, will perceive that I have passed by an imputation recorded by that writer, against Scipio, Lælius, and our author: the refined delicacy by which the sentiments of those eminent persons were distinguished, ought to protect them from so disgusting and degrading a suspicion.

Licinius Portius, a Latin poet, who flourished about the year of Rome 610: he excelled as an epigrammatist. Fragments only of his writings now remain.

Publius Furius, an eminent statesman, was the intimate friend of Scipio and Lælius: he received the surname of Philus or the Lover. Furius was elected the Consul Prior in the year of Rome 617.

There were in Latium two towns called Alba, each of which were situated on the borders of a lake.

Alba Longa, now called Albano, was built by Ascanius, and distant 16 miles from Rome. Alba Fucentis, situated about three times that distance from the capital, on lake Fucinus, is now known by the name of Celano. The Albanian mountain, where Scipio, Lælius, or Furius probably possessed a villa, was in the immediate vicinity of Alba Longa. Portius might have alluded to Terence accompanying his friends to the Latinæ Feriæ, or Latin games, which were celebrated by the Consuls on the Alban mountain on the 27th of April.

Stymphalus, a town of Arcadia, was situated about 25 miles S.W. of Corinth, on the borders of a lake of the same name, which is said to have been infested by a species of Harpies, who were called Stymphalides. A festival called ΣΤΥΜΦΑΛΙΑ was celebrated at Stymphalus in honour of Diana, who on that account received the appellation of Stymphalia.

All plays, previous to their appearance on the Roman stage, were submitted to the perusal of the Ædiles, who chose from the number offered them those which (in their judgment) were best suited for representation: they were bound by oath to an impartial decision.

Many have supposed Cæcilius the poet to have been the person meant in this passage: this is a manifest error; as that poet died five or six years before the representation of this play. Others read Acilius, who was one of the Ædiles for the year in which the Andrian was exhibited: this would be a plausible reading, but for one circumstance, which must be considered as an insurmountable objection to it, viz.—The Gens Acilia (of which Acilius was a member) was a plebeian family: consequently, Acilius must have been a plebeian Ædile, whereas the inspection of the Roman plays was the office of the Curule Ædiles: who, in the time of Terence, were chosen from the Patrician families.

The Cœna of the Romans (their principal meal) was usually taken at three o’clock in the afternoon: when they partook of it, instead of sitting in the modern manner, they reclined on couches which were placed round the table in the form of the letter C; a space was left unoccupied that the slaves in placing and removing the dishes might not incommode the guests. The number of the couches was generally limited to three; each of which was occupied sometimes by four, but usually by only three persons. The body was raised, and supported by the left arm; the feet of him who reclined at the upper end of the couch lay at the back of the person next him: (though prevented from touching his clothes by cushions placed between them) and the feet of the second at the back of the third. To place more than three guests on one couch was accounted both mean and vulgar. Cicero notices this in his oration against Piso, “Græci stipati, quini in lectulis, sæpe plures,” speaking of “five, and often a greater number crowded together on one small couch.” The Romans indulged themselves with couches only at supper: no ceremony was observed at their other meals, which were taken sitting or standing, alone or in company, as inclination prompted. In the earlier ages both Romans and Greeks sat upright at their meals: Homer expressly mentions (in Odyss. B. 10.) “ἥμεθα δαινύμενοι,” “we sat feasting;” also Virgil. Æn. 7. v. 176.

Volcatius Sedigitus, a miscellaneous writer and poet, mentioned in very high terms by the younger Pliny, flourished in the reign of one of the 12 Cæsars: the exact time is unknown. His works are entirely lost, with the exception of a few verses; amongst them are the following, in which he classes ten of the most eminent Latin comic poets.

“Madame Dacier very well observes, that Volcatius has injured the reputation of his own judgment, and not the fame of Terence, by this injudicious arrangement.” Terence yields to none of the above.

This circumstance is so much the more extraordinary, as a play was seldom exhibited on the Roman stage oftener than on four or five occasions, before it was laid aside; and new pieces were usually provided for every festival: with what enthusiastic applause then, must the Eunuch have been received, when the audience with the loudest acclamations, called for a second representation of this admirable comedy on the same day! It is necessary to explain that the actors had sufficient time to repeat their performance, as dramatic entertainments were usually frequented by the Romans, not in the evening as among the moderns, but in the course of the day, and generally previous to the hour of their principal repast.

Eight thousand sesterces were equal to 64l. 11s. 8d. sterling. The Romans reckoned their money by sesterces: the sestertius, which was a brass coin, worth 1. d. 3 qrs. ¾, must not be confounded with the sestertium, which was no coin, but money of account, and equal in value to one thousand sesterces.

Marcus Terentius Varro was born at Rome in the year of the city 632; at the time of the sedition of Caius Gracchus. Varro was the intimate friend of Pompey: and obtaining the consulship in the year 680, had the mortification to find the efforts of himself and his colleague, inadequate to suppress the insurrection of Spartacus, whose successes at the head of the rebellious gladiators, alarmed all Rome. The military occupations of Varro did not prevent his close attention to literature: his writings were very voluminous; and those of them which remain are deservedly in high estimation.

NOTE 20.

And as for what those malicious railers say, who assert that certain noble persons assist the poet.

The chief of those railers, and the arch-enemy of Terence, was the Luscius Lanuvinus to whom Volcatius in his list of poets assigns the ninth place;—and the same person whom Donatus designates by the name of Lucius Lavinius. Luscius was not singular in this imputation against our author. Valgius and others seem to consider Terence but the mere nominal author of the six pieces which bear his name. That Scipio and Lælius assisted him with their advice, is highly probable, and his vanity might feel flattered by the insertion among his own writings, of short passages of their composition; but when we call to mind, that Africanus and his friend, two persons of the most refined delicacy and taste, distinguished by their friendship, and selected as a companion in their hours of retirement and relaxation, a freedman! a man whose rank was infinitely inferior to their own; we must naturally suppose that those eminent persons courted the society of Terence, as admirers of his extraordinary genius, and elevation of sentiment. As they could not have become thoroughly acquainted with our author’s engaging qualifications, but from his dramatic compositions, it is most probable that the Andrian at least, was published, before he was honoured with the intimacy of either Scipio, Lælius, or Furius. Indeed there can be but little doubt that the success of this play, (which he wrote when he was too little known, perhaps, to receive assistance from any one,) was the means of drawing him from the obscurity of his low rank, and of obtaining the notice and approbation of the great men of his age, and their patronage for his future productions.

The oration alluded to by Suetonius was written by Memmius to defend himself against a charge of bribery. The Memmii were a plebeian family, though several of them attained to the highest dignities. Quintus was nearly related to the Caius Memmius who was assassinated by Lucius Apuleius Saturninus: and is supposed to have been the son of the Memmius to whom Lucretius dedicated his celebrated poem, “De Rerum naturâ.” Vide Cicero in Catilin. and Florus, B. 3., c. 16.

Cornelius Nepos, a celebrated biographer of the Augustan age, was born on the banks of the Po, which he quitted in his youth; and, attracted by the splendour and pleasures of a gallant and polite court, removed to Rome, where his talents and taste for literature procured him the friendship of Cicero, and many other eminent persons. Of all his much-admired writings nothing remains but his “Lives of the most illustrious Greeks and Romans.”

Puteoli, or, as it is now called, Puzzoli, was much frequented by the Romans for the sake of its hot-wells: being at a convenient distance from the capital, not more than a day’s journey. It is now become comparatively inconsiderable, while Naples, in its vicinity, has grown into importance. Puzzoli, however, still affords some attraction to the curious; as there are the ruins of a temple of Jupiter Apis, or Serapis, to be seen there. This town was originally called Dicearchea: named, probably, after Dice, a daughter of Jupiter.

The Roman ladies were allowed to exercise extraordinary authority on this day, on which they celebrated the festival called Matronalia, instituted in gratitude to Mars, who permitted a termination of the war between the Romans and Sabines; in which the women were particularly concerned. The privileges allowed to ladies on the first of March, were, I believe, confined to the matrons, in commemoration of the successful interference of the married women, in the year 749, B. C., which put an end to the war between the Romans and the Sabines, who had taken up arms to revenge the rape of their women by the Romans, at a festival to which Romulus had invited them. (Vide Note 28.)

Little is known of Santra, but that he was cotemporary with Cicero, and author of some biographical Memoirs, and “A Treatise on the Antiquity of Words,” which are now entirely lost. His family, probably, were plebeians, and of no great note.

NOTE 26.

He would not have requested it from Scipio and Lælius, who were then extremely young.

Santra’s argument is of no force: for when Terence published the Andrian, in the year of Rome 587, at twenty-seven years of age, Scipio was eighteen, and might, at that age, have been perfectly capable of assisting Terence; for, independent of his excellent education, on which his father had bestowed infinite care and pains, he was possessed of a very superior genius: and nature had united in him all the fine qualities of his father, and of his grandfather by adoption, Scipio the Great. Velleius Paterculus wrote his eulogium as follows, “Publius Scipio Æmilianus inherited the virtues of his grandfather Publius Africanus, and of his father Lucius Paulus, excelled all his cotemporaries in wit and learning, and in all the arts of war and peace; and, in the course of his whole life never did, said, or thought, any thing, but what was worthy of the highest praise.”

“We have seen princes in France, who, at the age of eighteen, were capable of assisting a poet, as well with respect to the conduct and arrangement of his subject; as in what related to the manners, the diction, and the thoughts. Menander published his first piece at twenty years of age. It is clear, then, that there have been persons of eighteen, capable of assisting a poet. It appears, moreover, that the enemies of Terence did not publish this imputation against him till the latter years of his life, for the poet complains of it only in the prologues to the Self-tormentor and the Brothers: the first of which was played three years, and the last but one year before his death. When the first appeared, he was thirty-one, and Scipio twenty-two: and when the last was published, he was thirty-four, and Scipio was twenty-five.”—Madame Dacier.

Cneus Sulpicius Galba, surnamed Gallus, was by no means the least illustrious member of the noble family of the Sulpicii, and filled the office of Consul for the year in which the Andrian was acted. The first of the Sulpicii took the name of Galba, from his diminutive stature, that word signifying “a small insect;” and the name was afterwards assumed by several of his descendants.

The Ludi Consulares and Ludi Consuales were probably the same, as we have no account of the institution of any games particularly in honour of the Consuls, to be celebrated either at their entering on, or resigning their office; for the Latinæ Feriæ, though superintended particularly by the Consuls, and a part of their office, were not called Consular Games. The Consual, or Consular Games were instituted on the following occasion. Romulus, the first king of Rome, had no sooner assumed the government of the small band of adventurers who were the ancestors of that illustrious race of heroes, who long held all the nations of the earth in subjection, than he found his kingdom in danger of being totally destroyed in its birth; as none of the inhabitants of the neighbouring states were willing to form a matrimonial alliance with his subjects; many of whom were refuged criminals and exiled foreigners. To obtain wives for his people, he was compelled to have recourse to a stratagem, which Plutarch describes as follows: “He (Romulus) circulated a report that he had discovered, concealed under ground, the altar of a certain god, whom they called Consus, the God of counsel, whose proper appellation is Neptunus Equestris, or Neptune, the inventor of riding; for, except at horse-races, when it is exposed to sight, this altar is kept covered in the great circus; and, it was said, that it was not improperly concealed, because all counsels ought to be kept secret and hidden. Romulus, having found the altar, caused proclamation to be made, that, on an appointed day, a magnificent sacrifice would be offered; and public games and shows exhibited, which were to be open to all who should choose to attend them. Upon this, great numbers went there. The king, dressed in a purple robe, was seated on high, surrounded by the chief patricians: he was to arise, take up his robe, and throw it over him, as a signal for the attack: his subjects, with ready weapons, kept their eyes intently fixed upon their sovereign; and, when the sign was given, they drew their swords with a shout, and seized, and carried off the daughters of the Sabines, who fled, without offering resistance.”—Plutarch.

The games which were instituted on this singular occasion were afterwards celebrated annually on the 12th of the calends of September, and considered to be an imitation of the Olympian Games of the Greeks. The Consuales, being celebrated in the Circus were sometimes called Circenses. The conduct of the Romans in the before-mentioned circumstances, and that of the Benjamites in a like predicament is so uniformly similar, that whoever attentively compares them, cannot think it very improbable that Romulus derived the idea of his stratagem from that passage of Jewish history. Vide Judges, C. 21.

If the accuracy of Plutarch may be depended on, Santra must have been mistaken in supposing Quintus Fabius Labeo to be still living at the time of the Andrian’s publication, or for several years before its appearance. This conclusion is deduced from the following circumstances: Quintus Fabius Maximus, whose prudent method of delaying a battle, and harassing his enemy, (in his campaigns against Hannibal,) procured him the surname of Cunctator, or Delayer, enjoyed the dignity of the consulship five several times: he was first chosen in the year of Rome 525, and, supposing that he obtained that office in what Cicero calls suo anno, his own year, that is, as soon as he had attained the age required by law, Fabius must then have been forty-three years of age, and, as he died in his one hundredth year, he could not have been alive after the year 582. Quintus Fabius Labeo, who was the son of this hero, died (Plutarch informs us) some years before his father; and, consequently, could not have assisted Terence, even in his first play, the Andrian, which did not appear till the year of Rome 587. That Quintus Fabius Maximus Cunctator was the father of Quintus Fabius Labeo can admit of no doubt, though some authors who have mentioned them have omitted to notice their relationship. Plutarch expressly informs us, that the son of Quintus Fabius Maximus was of consular dignity, and, with the exception of the Cunctator, Quintus Fabius Labeo was the only Fabius whose name appears on record as consul, from the year of Rome 521 to the year 611.

Madame Dacier thinks that the person here meant was Caius Popilius Lænas, who shared the consular government with Publius Ælius Ligur in the year of Rome 581; but that learned and celebrated lady assigns no reason why we should suppose either Suetonius or Santra to have been incorrect in affirming Marcus the brother of Caius to have been the reputed assistant of Terence. Marcus was a man of high reputation, and eminent abilities: the following anecdote, related by Velleius Paterculus, (Book I. Chap. 10.) will afford some idea of the resolute decision of his character. “The king of Syria, Antiochus Epiphanes, (or the illustrious) was at that time besieging Ptolemy, king of Egypt. Marcus Popilius Lænas was sent ambassador to Antiochus, to desire him to desist: he delivered his message; the king replied that he would consider of it; upon which Popilius drew a circle round him in the sand on which they stood, and told him, that he insisted on his final answer before he quitted that circumscribed space. This resolute boldness prevailed, and Antiochus obeyed the Roman mandate.”

Marcus Popilius Lænas was the junior Consul for the year of Rome 580: the name of his colleague was Lucius Posthumius Albinus.

Those who had filled the office of consul were afterwards always called consulares, of Consular dignity; those who had been Prætors were styled Prætorii, of Prætorian dignity; in a similar manner the Censors took the title of Censorii, the Quæstors of Quæstorii, and the Ædiles of Ædilitii, though it does not appear that they were very strict in taking precedence accordingly.

If any Latin writer called Quintus Consentius ever existed, all traces are lost both of his compositions and of his history; even the name of his family is unknown. It is possible that instead of Consentius, Cn. Sentius may be the person meant in this passage. Several of the Sentii were authors of some celebrity.

Menander was born at Athens, 345 B. C., and educated with great care by Theophrastus the peripatetic, whose labours must have been amply repaid, when he witnessed the proficiency of his pupil, who distinguished himself by successful dramatic compositions before he had attained his 21st year. With the exception of a few fragments, his works are entirely lost. Comedy was invented at Athens, and divided into three kinds; the old, the middle, and the new. The old comedy was that in which both the names and the circumstances were real; the middle, was where the circumstances were true, but the names disguised. To these two kinds, Menander had the glory of adding a third, which was called the new comedy, where both the plot and the characters were wholly fictitious. His style is said to have been elegant, and his ideas and sentiments refined. Dion Chrysostom considers his writings to be an excellent model for orators. This great poet wrote from 100 to 108 plays; from which Terence took four of his, viz., his Andrian, Eunuch, Self-tormentor, and Brothers. Menander obtained a poetical prize, eight several times; his chief competitor was called Philemon.

Leucadia, or as it is now called Santa Maura, or Lefcathia, is an island about 50 miles in circumference, in that part of the Mediterranean which was known among the ancients by the name of the Ionian sea. This island was rendered famous by one of its promontories called Leucas, and Leucate, which overhangs the sea at a very considerable perpendicular height: a leap from this promontory into the water beneath, was reckoned among the Greeks as an infallible cure for unhappy lovers of either sex, and most of those who made the experiment, found their love, and all the rest of their cares effectually terminated by this wise step. The famous poetess Sappho perished in this leap. Vide The Spectator, Nos. 223, 227, 233.

NOTE 35.

The consulate of Cneus Cornelius Dolabella, and Marcus Fulvius Nobilior.

This was in the year of Rome 594, and about 7 years after the appearance of our author’s first play. As his last production, The Brothers had been published but one year before this period; this circumstance alone, is sufficient to decide the degree of credit which ought to be accorded to the absurd report of Terence having translated 108 plays from Menander.

The Romans were divided into three classes. 1. The Patricians, or nobility. 2. The Equites, or knights. 3. The Plebeians, or the commons: that is, all who were not included in the two first ranks. The Equites, or knights, were in fact the Roman cavalry, as they usually had no other: though all of them were men of fortune; it being required by law (at least under the Emperors, if not before) that each Eques at his enrolment should possess 400 sestertia: a sum equal to between 3,000l. and 4,000l. sterling: a person worth double that sum might be chosen senator. Each knight was provided with a horse, and a gold ring, at the public expense; and at a general review, which took place every five years, the Censor was empowered ignominiously to deprive of his horse, and degrade from his rank, any knight who by disgraceful conduct had proved himself unworthy of his dignity.

The jugerum, or Roman acre, contained 28,800 feet; consequently, Terence’s estate must have been equal to rather more than 13 English acres: and (as a garden) must have been of considerable value: land in Italy, especially in the vicinity of the capital, bearing a high price; though not so high as in the reign of Trajan, who passed a law that every candidate for an office should hold a third part of his property in land. The Romans were particularly partial to gardens; to improve and beautify them, they bestowed great care, and expended large sums of money; some of these gardens were of vast extent, and most magnificently embellished with statues, paintings, aqueducts, &c., as were those of Cæsar and Sallust.

The ancient Roman villas were built with extraordinary magnificence, according to those descriptions of them which have reached modern times, and are not unworthy of attention. The great pleasure the Romans took in their villas, and gardens adjoining, may be seen in the writings of many of the most eminent among them; Varro, Cicero, Pliny, Cato, and others, have described these delightful retirements in a particular manner. In the villas of the richest, were concentred all the attractions that art or nature could be made to yield; and magnificence was every where blended with convenience. For the site of a villa of this description they chose the centre of a fine park, well stocked with game and fish: the building was generally lofty; (nearly 100 feet in height) for the advantage of an extensive view; as the cœnatio where the family met at meals was selected in the upper story. The villa was divided into two parts, called urbana and rustica: the first contained the chambers used by the family and guests, together with the places of amusement and refreshment; as the baths, terraces, &c. The villa rustica was that part allotted to the slaves and domestics, who were extremely numerous. Those who wish for a minute description of the habits and manners of the Romans, in the country, may be fully gratified by consulting the following writers on the subject; Varro and Cato de re rustica; Dickson on Roman agriculture; and the works of Columella, and Dionysius Halicarnasseus.

Lucius Afranius, a comic writer, was contemporary with Terence, and elevated himself into notice, by his imitations of that favourite poet, and of his great prototype Menander. Fragments of the compositions of Afranius are still extant: in his work quoted by Suetonius he probably gave a poetical description of the festival called Compitalia, or Compitalitia, and mentioned Terence as the author of comedies, which had been represented at that festival.

The Compitalia or Compitalitia were originally ceremonies, (for nothing could be more improperly denominated festivals) of a nature at once extraordinary, disgusting and barbarous. It was never possible to ascertain where, or by whom, they were first instituted; though it is generally agreed that they were revived by Servius Tullius, the sixth king of Rome, who first introduced the observance of them among his subjects about the year 200. They were celebrated in honour of the goddess Mania, and of the Lares, who were supposed to be her offspring. The Lares were the household gods of the Romans, and placed in the innermost recesses of their houses. These household gods were small images of their ancestors, which they always kept wrapped in dog’s skin, (which was intended for an emblem of watchfulness) as being for the protection of the house and its inhabitants. They were also called the Manes of their forefathers, from Mania. It was pretended, that on consulting an oracle respecting the religious means to be employed for ensuring domestic security, the oracular response commanded that Heads should be sacrificed for Heads, meaning, that as divine vengeance required the lives of the culprits, the people should offer the heads of others instead of their own, and accordingly the Compitalia were instituted on this occasion, and human victims were on this preposterous pretence sacrificed with a sow, to ensure family safety. The Romans, however, had too much good sense to suffer a long continuance of this diabolical folly: and they threw off the yoke of the tyrannical Tarquin, and this obnoxious custom at the same time. Lucius Junius Brutus abolished the sacrifice of human beings; and as the oracle required the offering of heads, he fulfilled its commands by substituting the heads of onions and poppies. They afterwards made figures of wool, which they suspended at their doors, imprecating all misfortunes on the images, instead of themselves. Slaves were allowed their liberty during the celebration of the Compitalia; and with freedmen officiated as priests on the occasion. Being rendered harmless by Brutus’ convenient interpretation of the oracle, the Compitalia were continued till the reigns of the emperors. The word Compitalia is by some derived from Compita, crossways, because during the ceremonies, the statues of the Lares were placed in a spot where several streets met, and crowned with flowers. I think it not improbable that the original name was Capitalia, from capita, heads, because heads were the requisite offerings.

Cneus Nævius flourished about the year 500, and acquired great fame by some successful comedies which are now lost: he offended Lucius Cæcilius Metellus, a man of great power, and consular dignity, by whose influence the unfortunate poet was banished to Africa, where he died. Volcatius assigns to Nævius the third place.

Marcus Accius Plautus was a native of Sarsina, a town of Umbria, near the Adriatic sea, and died at Rome, 182 B. C., at the age of forty, leaving behind him a literary reputation which very few, of any age or county, have ever been able to equal. Of those who refused to allow Plautus the title of the First comic poet of Rome, scarcely any have disputed his right to be second in the list, where Terence holds the first place: some critics, indeed, have gone so far as to prefer Plautus, even to Terence himself; but Volcatius Sedigitus, whose judgment did Terence great injustice, makes Plautus second only to Cæcilius. The saying of Ælius Stilo is worthy of being recorded; “Musas Plautino sermone locuturas fuisse, si Latinè loqui vellent,” that if the Muses wished to speak in Latin, they would speak in the language of Plautus. This celebrated man wrote 27 or 28 comedies, which, notwithstanding the change of manners, kept possession of the stage for nearly 500 years; and were performed with applause as late as the reigns of Carus and Numerian. Only 20 of them are now extant. The following is the poet’s epitaph, written (as is supposed) by Varro, though Pietro Crinito affirms it to be the production of Plautus himself, of whom Crinito has written a biographical account.

Cæcilius Statius was born in Gaul, and raised himself into eminence, from the condition of a slave, by his poetical talents: he died at Rome five or six years before the Andrian was first published. Volcatius gives Cæcilius the first place: Horace draws a sort of comparison between him and Terence in the following line,

Quintilian tells us, “Cæcilium veteres laudibus serunt.” The ancients resounded the praises of Cæcilius.—Also Varro, “Pathè vero, Cæcilius facile moverat.” That Cæcilius knew how to interest the passions.

Publius Licinius Tegula, a comic poet, flourished during the second Punic war. Aulus Gellius mentions him by the name of Caius Licinius Imbrex, author of a comedy called Neæra, but there can be little doubt but that Imbrex, and the Tegula above-mentioned were the same person.

“Cicero wrote a poem, to which he affixed the title of λειμων, a Greek word signifying a meadow; he gave it this name, probably, because, as meadows are filled with various kinds of flowers, his work was a numerous collection of flowers (of literature) affording an agreeable variety. This poem, it seems, consisted entirely of panegyrics on illustrious persons. Nothing can be more erroneous than a supposition that these verses were the forgery of some grammarian: the Latin is too elegant, and they are too finely written, to allow us to suppose them a spurious production; and if Cicero had never written any lines inferior to these; his fame as a poet, might have equalled his fame as an orator. Ausonius had these verses in his mind, when he wrote

What is still more remarkable, Cæsar commences his lines on Terence, in Cicero’s words, Tu quoque, &c., for there is not the least doubt but that Cæsar undertook this work, merely with a view to irritate, and to contradict Cicero.”

The name of Cicero is too well known, to need any further mention here; suffice it to say, that this great orator was totally unsuccessful in his poetical attempts, the chief fault of which was want of harmony in the measure: it may be remarked of Cicero, that very frequently his prose was written with the music of verse, and his verse with the roughness of prose.

The poem, of which these lines formed a part, is entirely lost; what remains of it, however, proves Julius Cæsar to have been no mean poet, but he seems to have excelled in every art of war and peace;—

If the lines quoted by Suetonius were written in ridicule of Cicero, they are another proof in support of an opinion that has been very prevalent, that the orator was not very high in the good graces of Cæsar, whose dislike of him may be easily traced to Marc Antony, Cæsar’s intimate and favourite companion, and the most inveterate enemy of Cicero.

The Megalesian games were celebrated annually at Rome, in the beginning of April, with solemn feasts, in honour of Cybele, otherwise called Rhea, the mother of the gods. Opinions vary as to their duration, some fixing it at six days, and others at not more than one. Originally instituted in Phrygia, these ceremonies were introduced at Rome, during the second Punic war, when the statue of the goddess was carried thither from Pessinus. They consisted chiefly of scenic sports; and women danced before this statue, which was held so sacred, that no servant was allowed to approach it, or to take any part in the games. They were called Megalesian, from the Greek words, μεγαλη, great, Cybele being known by the name of the Great Goddess, and Ευαλωσια, another name of Cybele, as presiding over husbandry. The festival ΘΕΣΜΟΦΟΡΙΑ, celebrated in Athens, Sparta, and Thebes, in honour of the same goddess resembled in many circumstances the Roman Megalesia; the Latins appear to have adopted partially, on various occasions, the religious ceremonies of the Greeks, particularly in their imitation of certain of the solemnities which were observed at the Eleusinian mysteries.

The Curule Ædiles, created in the year of Rome 388, were at first elected from among the patricians. These magistrates were appointed to inspect all public edifices, (whence their name) to fix the rate of provisions, to take cognizance of disorders committed within the city, and to examine weights and measures: but their chief employment was to procure the celebration of the various Roman games, and to exhibit comedies and shews of gladiators; on which account, though inferior in rank to the Consuls, they precede them in the title of this play. The Ædilate was an honourable office, and a primary step to higher dignities in the republic. Curule magistrates were those who were entitled to use the sella curulis, viz., the consuls, prætors, curule ædiles, and censors: this chair was called curulis, because those privileged to use it, always carried it in their chariots, to and from the tribunals at which they presided. Tacitus informs us in his annals (Book XIII. Chap. XXX.) that in the year 809, the power of the Ædiles, both curule, and plebeian, was very much circumscribed; that their salary was regulated anew; and limits fixed, as to the sum they were allowed to impose as a fine.

Son of the Consul for the year 564, and great grandson of the illustrious Servius Fulvius Pætinus Nobilior, the companion of Regulus; Pætinus was consul in the year 498. Marcus Fulvius obtained the consulate eight years after his Ædilate: the name of his colleague was Cneus Cornelius Dolabella. It is probable that this branch of the Fulvian family assumed the agnomen of Nobilior, to distinguish themselves as nobiles from the rest of the Fulvii, who might not have had any claim to that title. None but those, and the posterity of those, who had borne some curule office, (vide note 48) were nobiles, or nobles. The nobiles possessed the exclusive right of making statues of themselves; which were carefully preserved by their posterity, and usually carried in procession on solemn occasions: they painted the faces of these images

This person was doubtless distinguished by another appellation which is not set down in the title to this play: under the name of Glabrio, there is no account of him extant. As Glabrio does not appear to have been the name of any Gens, or family in Rome, it was probably the Agnomen of Marcus only, and not common to his kindred.

These were the principal actors of their company, but otherwise persons of little note; for contrary to the customs of Greece, where men of the highest rank thought it no degradation to appear on the stage; the actors at the Roman theatres were not treated with that consideration to which persons of talent, who furnish the public with a polite and rational amusement, united with instruction, have a just and undeniable claim. However unjust the Romans might have been in this particular, they made an exception in favour of transcendent merit; as in the case of the admirable Roscius, though the mention made of this favourite performer by his friend Cicero, shews the truth of the foregoing remark. “Cum artifex ejusmodi sit, ut solus dignus videatur esse qui in scenâ spectetur; tum vir ejusmodi fuit, ut solus dignus videatur qui non accedat;” so excellent an actor, that he only seemed worthy to tread the stage, and yet so noble a man, that he seemed to be the very last person that ought to appear there. Though the Roman actors were not allowed their due privileges as citizens, yet some of the most eminent were often very great favourites with the people, and created so much interest among them, that (as Suetonius tells us) the parties of rival performers disputing for precedence, have proceeded so far as to terminate the quarrel in bloodshed. Turpio and Attilius were actors of the first class, and were said (vid. Terence Phorm:) agere primas partes, because they always personated the principal characters in the piece.

Præneste was a town of Latium, about twenty-four miles from Rome, and founded by Cæculus, as we are told by Virgil, B. 7.

Præneste was deemed a place of military importance, from its situation, and Cicero (in Catal.) tells us that Catiline, when foiled in his attempt to seize the capital, endeavoured to make himself master of Præneste. This town was particularly celebrated for very cold springs, which were held in high esteem, as Strabo assures us, and Horace mentions the circumstance in one of his odes.

Flutes were called in Latin tibiæ, because they were made of the shank or shin-bone of some animal, until the discovery of the art of boring flutes, when they began to use wood,

The manner in which these instruments were played on the stage, and the distinction of right- and left-handed flutes, has never been ascertained with any degree of certainty: few subjects have more obstinately baffled the researches of the learned. The most perspicuous detail of all that the moderns are acquainted with respecting the ancient flutes, is written by the learned Madame Dacier, part of which is quoted in the Preface to this Translation.

All Terence’s comedies were of this class, which was called Palliatæ, viz., plays in which the scene was laid in Greece. The class, called Togatæ, were pieces entirely Roman. The palliatæ were generally new comedies, of which Menander was the inventor; but Pacuvius wrote the middle, and Livius Andronicus the old comedy. (Vide Note 33.) In the age in which Terence wrote his comedies, the Romans were some degrees less advanced in the refinements of civilization, than the Greeks. But little more than a century before, Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, thought them worthy of no better epithet than that of “barbarians” in comparison with his own subjects, who were not themselves the most polished nation in the world. The Romans, therefore, omitted no opportunity of improving the manners and perfecting the education of their youth, by sending them to mix with the Greeks, and to unite themselves to the disciples of those Grecian sages, who, as far as the light of reason, unassisted by divine revelation, could penetrate, dispelled the clouds of ignorance, and taught their followers that happiness and wisdom can be attained only by the virtuous. It was, doubtless, on this account, that Terence chose Greece as the scene of his comedies, which he intended should portray to the Romans the manners, customs, and characters of those whom they often held up as a pattern of polished refinement, worthy the imitation of the rising generation.

It is to this, doubtless, that we must attribute Terence’s choice of Athens in preference to Rome as the scene of his plays; as, particularly, in the comedy which the critics call the comedy of intrigue, the best judges agree that the scene is preferably laid in that country in which it is meant to be performed. But the comedies of Terence were more of that description which Dr. Blair denominates the comedy of character, and preferable to what he calls the comedy of intrigue, because “it exhibits the prevailing manners which mark the character of the age in which the scene is laid. Incidents should afford a proper field for the exhibition of character: the action in comedy, though it demands the poet’s care in order to render it animated and natural, is a less significant and important part of the performance than the action in tragedy; as, in comedy, it is what men say, and how they behave, that draws our attention, rather than what they perform or what they suffer.”

NOTE 55.

The consulate of Marcus Claudius Marcellus, and Cneus Sulpicius Galba.

The consuls, the chief magistrates of the Roman republic were first created at the expulsion of the kings in the year 244: they were two in number, and chosen annually. The consuls were the head of the Senate, which they assembled and dismissed at pleasure, though it was not their exclusive privilege, as a dictator, his master of the horse, the prætors, military tribunes, and even the tribunes of the people, might also, on certain occasions, assemble the Senate. The consuls, however, were the supreme judges of all differences; they commanded the armies of the republic, and, during their consulate, enjoyed almost unbounded power, which could only be checked by the creation of a dictator, to whom the consuls were subordinate. It was requisite that every candidate for the consulship should be forty-three years of age, and that he should previously have discharged the functions of Prætor, Ædile, and Quæstor. The consuls were always patricians till the year 388, when, by the influence of their tribunes, the people obtained a law, that henceforth one of them should be a plebeian. The ensigns of consular dignity were twelve guards, called lictors, (who bore the fasces,) and a robe, fringed with purple, worn by these magistrates, during their consulate. The names of the consuls are mentioned in the title of this play, merely to fix its date, as the Roman method of reckoning their years was by the names of the consuls. This custom continued for 1,300 years. Marcus Claudius Marcellus was the grandson of the great Marcellus, slain in the year 545; for Caius Sulpicius Galba, vide Note 27.

Madame Dacier grounds on the first line of this Prologue an opinion, that the Andrian was not Terence’s first play: but, if that learned and justly-celebrated lady had attentively considered the relation the sixteen following lines of the Prologue bear to the first, she could not have made this deviation from her usual extreme accuracy. Whether the Andrian was, or was not, our Author’s first production, is a question of more curiosity than real importance: it has, however, undergone some discussion among the learned; and, in my opinion, it may be clearly ascertained by an attentive perusal of the Prologue to the Andrian, and learned and unlearned are equally competent to decide upon it. Let us now examine the proof. The first seven lines inform us, that “when the poet began to write, he thought he had only to please the people, but that he finds it far otherwise; as he is obliged to write a Prologue to answer the objections of an older bard.”

If we stop here, it is natural enough to conclude, that in the Prologue to the Andrian, he is alluding to censures passed on some former play. But, if we look at the next nine lines we see that in the prologue to the Andrian, he repels a censure not passed on any former production, but on the Andrian itself. Listen, says he, to their objections, which are, in short, that in the composition of this very Andrian, he has made a confused mixture of two of Menander’s plays. What allusion is made to any former writings? None: the snarling criticisms of the older bard were directed only against the Andrian. I imagine that the case was thus: Terence wrote the Andrian, and procured its representation, probably without any Prologue, (which was sometimes dispensed with, as we see in Plautus,) the play, and its author, were, probably, cried down and abused by this older bard and his admirers, who might envy the visible superiority of Terence, who afterwards composed the Prologue in question, to answer their objections. The reader is referred for further proof, to Suetonius’s Life of Terence, a translation of which is prefixed to this play.

According to Donatus, the name of this older bard was Lucius Lavinius: but there can be little doubt but that name is a corruption of Luscius Lanuvinus, the arch-enemy of Terence, whom he handles so roughly in his Prologue to the Eunuch. Luscius was a poet of considerable talent. Volcatius gives him the ninth place,

The Perinthian (a fine comedy now lost) was so called from Perinthus, a town of Thrace, the name of which was afterwards changed to Heraclea, and that name is now corrupted to Herecli, or Erekli, its present appellation. Erekli is a town in the Turkish province of Romania, on the north of the sea of Marmora, and about sixty miles from Constantinople. It is a place of some consequence from its vicinity to the Turkish capital. For the Andrian, vide Note 69.

An account of Nævius has been given in Note 41, and of Plautus in Note 42. Ennius was the tenth comic poet of Rome, according to Volcatius, who says, “Antiquitatis causâ decimum addo Ennium.” If it be true that Ennius was but the tenth in poetical merit, the greatest glory of the nine who were above him, must have been the distinguished honour of excelling this highly extolled poet. Ennius was born in the year of Rome 515, and died in 585; though he obtained the privileges of a Roman citizen, he was, by birth, a Calabrian, as Ovid expressly tells us, and informs us, that his statue was placed on the tomb of the Scipios, because he had so nobly celebrated their renowned actions:

The reader cannot become acquainted with the enthusiastic admiration of the Romans for the brilliant performances of Ennius, better than by a perusal of some of the many and great encomiums passed on him by those who, though they lived after him, may be called his competitors for literary fame. Cicero calls him,

“Ingeniosus, poeta et auctor valde bonus.”—A man of great abilities and wit, and an admirable writer both of poetry and of prose. Horace also

Quintilian speaks of him thus, “Ennium sicut sacros vetustate lucos adoremus, in quibus grandia et antiqua robora jam non tantam speciem habent quam religionem.”—We revere Ennius, as we revere the groves, sacred for their antiquity, in which the great and ancient oaks are not reckoned precious for their beauty, but because they are consecrated to religious purposes.

Ennius wrote tragedies, comedies, annals, &c., of which some fragments remain: he died of the gout, brought on by drinking. Horace tells us, that Ennius was in the habit of raising his imagination by large draughts of wine, when he intended to write a description of any warlike action.

What “those things” were, though a subject of no great importance, has been discussed with extreme diligence by various learned commentators, who have not a little differed in opinion. The idea of a French commentator, who supposed Simo to allude to furniture bought by him for his son’s wedding, is ridiculed by the learned Madame Dacier, who has herself suffered the same treatment under the hands of some of our English critics, for interpreting them in the sense I have adopted. That Simo should provide furniture for a marriage which he had but slight hopes of negotiating at that time, is not very probable. But Athenian slaves performed all domestic offices in their masters’ houses: and Sosia, even after he became a freedman might have practised cookery, in which, perhaps, he excelled. He uses the words “mea ars,” my art, and Simo answers him with “isthac arte,” that art, by which it is clear that he means some particular art. The word art has in English both a general and particular sense; but, in Latin, “ars” is generally used only in the latter.

Sosia speaks in this character also at the end of the scene, “Sat est curabo,” curo, meaning to cook; he uses also more than once the word rectè, which is peculiarly a term of cookery, thus “rectiùs cœnare,” Plautus; and, at Rome, when patrons invited their clients or followers to supper, where a very plentiful banquet was always served up: the supper was particularly designated Cœna recta. The art of cookery, in Greece, was, in the earlier ages, far from being accounted degrading, and was, indeed, frequently practised by men very far above a servile station.

I mention this, lest those who are unacquainted with these customs, might object against our author, that Simo was guilty of an inconsistent condescension, in making a confidant of one who held an office of this nature.

Slaves, among the Greeks, formed a very considerable portion of the population of a city, and, in some places, were more numerous than the citizens themselves. In Athens, all domestic offices were performed by slaves, who were employed also in the capacities of tutors, scribes, stewards, overseers, and husbandmen, according to their respective talents: when a slave manifested great abilities, he was taught the art or science for which he seemed most fitted. Some were instructed in literature, and often so distinguished themselves by their writings, that they obtained their freedom. The slaves of the Athenians were either taken in war, or purchased, or reduced to slavery for some crime: they were divided into two classes: 1. those who were natives of some part of Greece, who had the privilege of redeeming themselves; who, if cruelly treated, might appeal to the archons, and change their master; and whose lives were not in their master’s power; 2. those slaves who were transported from barbarous nations, who were wholly at the disposal of their owners in every respect. The price of a slave varied according to his qualifications; some were worth about 10l. sterling, some were valued at 20l., and others much higher. The Athenians were celebrated for the gentleness with which they treated their slaves. Xenophon informs us, that they frequently spoiled them by excessive indulgence. Slaves were made free, if they rendered any essential service to the government; and frequently received their liberty as a reward for their fidelity and attachment to their master, and his family. For further information respecting the Athenian slaves, and remarks on their habits and manners, vide Notes 62, 63, 64, 68, 86, 88, 110, 131, 154ᴮ, 195, 196.

The ceremony of Ἀπελεύθερια, or giving a slave his liberty, was performed in Athens as follows, the slave kneeled down at the feet of his master, who struck him a slight blow, saying, “Be free;” or he took the slave before a magistrate, and there formally declared him at liberty. These ceremonies were extremely similar to those used by the Romans on the same occasion. The Greeks sometimes set their slaves at liberty in a public assembly, which Æschines describes as follows, Ἄλλοι δέ τινες ὑποκηρυξάμενοι, τοὺς αὑτῶν οἰκέτας ἀφίεσαν ἀπελευθέρους, μάρτυρας τῆς ἀπελευθερίας τοὺς Ἕλληνας ποιούμενοι.”—Others, when they had obtained silence by means of the heralds, gave their household slaves their liberty; and made the assembled Greeks witnesses of their manumission.

The same author mentions a very singular law, which stigmatized with infamy any person who should proclaim the freedom of a slave in the theatre. “Καὶ διαῤῥήδην ἀπαγορεύει μήτε οἰκέτην ἀπελευθεροῦν ἐν τῷ θεάτρῳ――――――――ἢ ἄτιμον εἶναι τὸν κήρυκα.”—And this law clearly forbids that any person shall manumit a slave in the theatre————-and decrees infamy to the herald who shall proclaim his freedom there.

Slaves were called οἰκέται, and πελάται, but, after they became free, received the appellation of ἀπελεύθεροι, and enjoyed all the privileges granted to the νόθοι, or illegitimate citizens, who were not admitted to all the rights of those whose parents were both freeborn Athenian citizens. It was usual for a freedman to continue with his master, who was called his προστατης, or patron; he was also allowed to choose a sort of guardian, who was called ἐπίτροπος.

An emancipated slave was bound to perform certain services for his former master: he was to assist him in any emergency to the utmost of his power: and, if he proved remiss in these duties, was liable to a severe punishment. No freedman could appear in a court of justice against his patron, either to give evidence in his own suit, or in that of another.

NOTE 64.

It pains me to be thus reminded of the benefits you have conferred upon me, as it seems to upbraid me with having forgotten them.

By the Athenian laws, any freedman convicted of ingratitude to his former master, was reduced a second time to a state of slavery: but, if a freedman was brought to a trial on a charge of this nature, and acquitted of it, he was declared τελέως ἐλεύθερος, perfectly free, and was then wholly released from all obligations of service to his former patron.

This is the initium narrationis, the first part of the narration, and, by far the longest: it is, in the original, inimitably beautiful. Scarcely any branch of dramatic writing is more difficult than narration, which, unless composed in that happy vein, attainable by so few, generally proves embarrassing to the actor, and tiresome to the auditors. The writings of Terence abound with narrations, a necessary consequence of his strict adherence to the unities. A judicious French writer, whose opinions (as a critic,) have ever been treated with deference, speaking of our author’s excellence in this branch of the drama, makes his eulogium in just and forcible terms.

“Terence is without a rival, especially in his narrations, which flow along with a smooth and even course, like a clear and transparent river. We see no parade of sentiment, no glare of obtrusive wit: no smart epigrammatical sentences, which Nicole and Rochefoucault only can make acceptable. When he applies a maxim, it is in so plain and familiar a manner, that it has all the simplicity of a proverb. He introduces nothing but what appertains to the subject. I have perused, and re-perused the writings of this poet with the greatest attention, and have laid them aside with the impression that there is not a scene too much in any play, nor a line too much in any scene.”

Diderot on dramatic poetry.

For further remarks on the narrations of the Andrian, vide Notes. Nos. 89. 95. 101. I shall postpone a continuance of observations on the very obvious inconvenience attendant on narrations; and pursue a remark made in the commencement of this note, respecting the source from which has flowed so many of these narrations, which require all the art and wit of a Terence to prevent them from seeming too prolix.

This source may be found in those irksome unities of time and place, those leaden fetters of dramatic genius, which, by chaining down the imagination and talents of many of the ancient, and even some of the modern, dramatic writers, have deprived the world of more, than the embellishments they may have given to composition can ever repay.

Terence, in all his works, in compliance with the reigning taste of his age, observed the unities of action, time, and place, with the most scrupulous exactness: and this observance is the chief reason that his comedies can never succeed on any modern stage. His plays are crowded with narratives, which, however beautifully written, will never yield that attraction to an audience, which they find in busy and lively action. He cannot bring on the stage what is supposed to happen in the next street, or adjoining house, it must therefore be related. All the story of the piece must be supposed to pass in a very few hours: all those events which cannot be imagined to take place in one day, and which, when represented to the spectators in the modern drama, are often of the greatest interest, must, by the law of the unity of time be related. Of what a scene, to instance one of many, has the unity of place robbed us in Terence’s Eunuch! where Laches (Act 5) rushes into the house of Thais. How many modern plays, in which the unities were preserved, ever kept the stage a month? None: if we except Ben Jonson’s “Silent Woman,” “The Adventures of Five Hours,” and a very few others; and it may well be doubted whether even our immortal Shakspeare himself, if he had shackled his genius with these rules, would not have been generally confined to the closet. The practice of that great poet, and of most of the modern dramatists of all countries; who have observed only (the rule of all stages, ancient and modern,) unity of action, is a tacit condemnation of the other two: and the fiat of Dr. Johnson speaks a yet plainer language. He has decided on the value of the unities in his preface to Shakspeare: and though what he has written respecting them is too long to be inserted here, the following extracts will not be unacceptable, as they shew the grounds on which it is assumed that dramatic writers ought, in general, to dispense with the unities of time and place.

“The critics hold it impossible, that an action of months or years can be possibly believed to pass in three hours. The spectator, who knows that he saw the first act at Alexandria, cannot suppose that he sees the next at Rome; he knows that he has not changed his place, and that the place cannot change itself; that what was a house can never become a plain; that what was Thebes, can never be Persepolis. Such is the triumphant language with which a critic exults over the miseries of an irregular poet; it is time, therefore, to tell him, that he assumes as an unquestionable principle, a position, which, while his breath is forming it into words, his understanding pronounces to be false. It is false, that any representation is mistaken for reality; that any dramatic fable, in its materiality was ever credible, or, for a single moment, was ever credited. The objection arising from the impossibility of passing the first hour at Alexandria, and the next at Rome, supposes that when the play opens, the spectator really imagines himself at Alexandria; and believes that his walk to the theatre has been a voyage to Egypt, and that he lives in the days of Antony and Cleopatra. Surely he that can imagine this may imagine more. He that can take the stage at one time for the Palace of the Ptolemies, may take it in half an hour for the promontory of Actium: delusion, if delusion be admitted, has no certain limitation. The truth is, that (judicious) spectators are always in their senses, and know from the first act to the last, that the stage is only a stage, and that the players are only players: and by supposition as place is introduced, time may be extended.” Dr. Johnson concludes this subject as follows; “He that, without diminution of any other excellence, shall preserve all the unities unbroken, deserves the like applause with the architect, who shall display all the orders of architecture in a citadel, without any deduction from its strength; but the principal beauty of a citadel is to exclude the enemy; and the greatest graces of a play are to copy nature, and instruct life.”

It is needless to add any thing to these arguments, as they must be deemed conclusive. The plays of our author are better calculated, perhaps, to please in the closet by his mode of writing, as it adds to perspicuity: Terence is, probably, the greatest practical champion for the three unities that ever did, or ever will, exist. His easy flowing narratives, judiciously divided, and introduced with so much art, as in some places to seem no narratives until they are concluded, remedy as much as possible the inconveniences attendant on this mode of writing.

In the Latin, postquam excessit ex Ephebis, after he was removed from the class of young men called ἔφηβοι.

All the Athenian citizens were publicly registered three several times. 1. In their infancy, on the second day of the festival ἀπατούρια, called ἀνάῤῥυσις. 2. When they were 18 years of age, they were registered on the third day of the ἀπατούρια, called κουρεῶτις, when they received the title of ἔφηβοι. 3. At 20 years of age, they were registered for the last time at the feast called βενδίδεια on the 19th of the month, Thargelion, when they were said to be admitted “among the men.” These ceremonies were used to prevent the intrusion of persons, who had no claim to the title of Athenian citizen, which was an honour, that even foreign kings thought worthy of their pursuit. Having quitted the class of the ἔφηβοι, Pamphilus, at the time mentioned by Simo, must have been 20 years of age.

Several schools of Philosophy were established at Athens, in which philosophers of different sects presided, and gave instructions to those of Athens, and of other countries, whose fortunes allowed them leisure to pursue studies of this nature. The buildings in which the philosophers delivered their lectures were provided at the public expense: they were called Gymnasia, and built in divisions, some for study called στοαὶ, and others for various exercises, as wrestling, pugilism, dancing, &c.; these were denominated παλαίστρα. The principal Gymnasia in Athens were the Lyceum, where Aristotle taught; the academy, in which Plato presided; and, lastly, the Cynosarges, which gave the name of Cynics to that sect of philosophers, founded in this place by Antisthenes. (vid. Plutarch’s Life of Themistocles).

Madame Dacier has elucidated this passage in an elegant and ingenious criticism, which clears Pamphilus from the charge of flattery which Sosia appears to insinuate against him. The sentence in the original runs thus: “namque hoc tempore obsequium amicos veritas odium parit.” “When Simo spoke of the obliging temper of his son, he intended to describe him as behaving with that complaisant politeness which is as remote as possible from flattery; the practice of which never requires of a man any thing inconsistent with the laws of truth and candour; otherwise he would have blamed his son, instead of praising him. But Sosia, following the example of people of his own rank, who always look on the dark side of every thing, takes this opportunity of censuring the manners of the age, by declaring that people were unwilling to hear the truth. Thus he mistakes obsequium, which really means an amiable mildness of manners, for assentatio, servile flattery, a vice which shows weakness of mind, and baseness of heart: and which renders those of our friends who practise it, more dangerous than even our enemies themselves. There is more ingenuity in this passage than appears at first sight.”

For some further very valuable critical observations, the reader is referred to the preface to a translation of Phædrus’s fables, published at Paris, about the middle of the 17th century. Besides very able remarks on the Andrian, and the rest of Terence’s plays, the translator gives an ingenious comparison between fable and comedy; he also translated into French, three of Terence’s comedies, viz., The Andrian, The Brothers, and Phormio.

This island is situated in the Ægean sea, or, as it is now called, the Archipelago; it is distant from the Piræus, or port of Athens, about 500 of the stadia Olympica, or rather more than 50 English miles. It retains its original appellation. Bacchus seems to have been the reputed patron of this island; which was also called Antandros, and has been mistaken by some for the Antandros of Phrygia Minor, where Æneas built his fleet. Vide Ovid’s Meta. Book 13, l. 623 to 670.

The relations of unmarried women in Greece were bound by law to provide for them, either by seeing them married to some suitable person, or to furnish them with the means of support according to their rank in life; or if a woman had no near kindred, this duty devolved upon a guardian called κυριος. It is probable that this obligation extended equally to the paternal and maternal relations, though the latter generally acted only in case of the former becoming extinct. Terence warrants the supposition of relations on both sides, being compelled to act, as he uses the word cognatus, which signifies strictly a relation by the mother’s side, agnatus, on the contrary, is never employed but to designate a kinsman by the father’s side, though cognatus is often used as a common term for both; and such is its meaning in this passage: for if the law had been confined to the father’s relations, Terence would certainly have used agnatus, and thereby clearly designated the particular persons who were bound to observe it.

The Greek and Roman women led generally very domesticated lives, and passed a considerable portion of their time in spinning and weaving. The simple manners of the earlier ages obliged each family to depend, in a great measure, on itself, for the supply of its various wants, and the kings and heroes of antiquity, might doubly prize a mantle or a vest, wrought by the hands of those who were dearest to them. Wool was usually worn; but linen, though highly valued, seems to have been but rarely used. When the Greeks became more refined, this simplicity of manners among women of rank gave place to less laborious habits, and slaves were instructed in the art of spinning and weaving.

This passage has been elegantly and chastely softened by an ingenious French writer, who flourished about the year 1650. I shall subjoin in this, and other subsequent notes, the various alterations made by this judicious editor, together with the original passages: the lines he has introduced are beautifully written, and a close imitation of the style of Terence: I cannot doubt but they will be considered worthy of a perusal: they are a proof of a laudable delicacy, which was but too rarely to be met with in many of the poets of both England and France, in the 17th century.

“At first she lived chastely, and penuriously, and laboured hard, managing with difficulty to gain a livelihood with the distaff and the loom: but soon after several lovers made their addresses to her, and as we are all naturally prone to idleness, and averse to labour, and as they made her promises of marriage, she was too negligent of her reputation, and admitted their visits oftener than was prudent.”

In the Latin, Certè captus est. Habet. Terence borrowed this expression (habet) from the amphitheatre at Rome, where men called gladiators, who were (for the chief part) captives and slaves, fought before the people: who looked with great delight on these combats, which often terminated in death to half the persons engaged. When a gladiator was wounded, the people exclaimed Habet, he has it, and thus the word was often used at Rome, in the sense adopted by Terence.

In the Latin symbolum dedit, he gave his ring as a token, or pledge. This phrase is an allusion to a custom which prevailed chiefly at Rome. When a party agreed to dine together at their own expense, or, in other words, to club together for an entertainment: each of the party gave his ring to him who had the care of providing the feast, as a symbol or token that he, the owner of the ring, was to join the company, and defray his share of the expense. Hence, he who paid nothing, was called asymbolus. Rings were also given in contracts instead of a bond: and used for tokens of various kinds. The Greeks also seem to have called rings by the same name, σύμβολα.

The word dowry, which is called, in Greek, προὶξ, or μείλια, or ἕδνα, originally meant the sum which a man gave to the family of the woman he married, and with which he might be said to purchase his wife: but, as the Greeks grew more refined, and also more wealthy, this custom was wholly abolished; and the dowry was given by the wife’s relations to the husband, to assist him in the maintenance of her and of her children. The dowries of women were, in Athens, considered a subject of great importance; and many laws were framed by the Athenian legislators, (particularly by Solon,) to provide for the well ordering of women’s fortunes. An heiress could be disposed of in marriage, only by her father, grandfather, or brother: if she had neither of these relations, the archons determined who was to be her husband; and it was held so important to keep her estate in the family, that at one time a law prevailed, that if an heiress had no children by her first husband, she was taken from him by the authority of the archons, and given to her nearest relation. A wife, who brought a fortune to her husband, was called γυνὴ; she who brought none παλλακὴ. Solon, apprehensive of mercenary unions, at one time, passed a law, that a woman should carry to her husband only some furniture, and four or five changes of dress. But this seems to have been little observed.

The large dowry which Simo says Chremes offered with Philumena, we may fairly suppose to have been twenty talents, as Chremes imagined he had but one daughter to portion off; when he had discovered Glycera, he gave her a dowry of ten talents; and we must suppose that he reserved as much more for Philumena. This will give us an idea of what the portions of the Athenian women usually were, and of the fortune of a citizen.

Twenty Greek talents were nearly equal to 5,000l. sterling, according to some authors, though writers differ widely as to the amount of the Attic talent; Dr. Arbuthnot makes it equal to 193l. 15s., Mr. Raper to 232l. 3s. It is agreed on all sides that the Attic talent consisted of 6,000 drachmæ; but the value of the drachma was never correctly ascertained. Vide the table of monies in Note 208.

The Athenian youth were not allowed to dispose of themselves in marriage without consulting their parents, who had almost unlimited authority over them: if they had no parents, guardians, called ἐπίτροποι, were appointed to control them.

But it does not appear that any particular ceremonies were used in Athens, in contracting a bride and bridegroom, previous to the day of marriage; and I rather imagine, Terence, in order to make the subject clear to his Roman auditors, alluded, by the word despondi, to the Roman custom of betrothing, called sponsalia, which they performed as follows:—

Some days before the wedding, the intended bride and bridegroom, with their friends, met together at the lady’s residence, and the parent or guardian of each (as I imagine) asked each other, Spondes? Do you betroth her or him? Then the other party answered, Spondeo, I do betroth, &c. Then the deeds were signed, the dowry agreed on, and the day appointed for the marriage.

Women were frequently hired on these occasions, to appear in the funeral procession as mourners, of whom Horace says,

She appeared more afflicted than the others who were there, and so pre-eminently beautiful, and of so noble a carriage, I approach.

To understand the full force of Simo’s remark, when he says how much he was struck with the contrast between Glycera and the rest of the mourners, it is necessary that the reader should be informed, that, in Athens, no woman under sixty years of age was allowed to appear at a funeral; except the relations of the deceased. Solon imposed this law upon the Athenians.

Literally, the women who were walking after the body. Though those women who were hired to follow a corpse, walked in procession, it was very usual in Greece, to attend funerals in carriages, and on horseback: but Chrysis, not being represented as a citizen, the ceremonies, in respect to the procession, must be supposed to be different. The interment of the dead was considered of such extreme importance throughout the whole of Greece, that to want the rites of sepulture, was deemed by the natives of that country, a much greater misfortune than even death itself. The Greeks (and many other nations) believed that the spirit of a person whose corpse was unburied, could never obtain admittance to the Elysian fields: their imaginary place of reward for virtuous men after death. Two different methods of disposing of the dead prevailed in Greece. The most ancient of the two (as is generally allowed,) was much the same as the modern practice, the corpse was interred in a coffin, and deposited in the earth. The other mode was to burn the body, and to preserve the ashes. The Athenians seem to have used both methods indiscriminately: their funerals were usually conducted by torch-light. On the third or fourth day after death, (though the time was varied according to circumstances,) the corpse was placed on a bier, with the feet towards the door; and an obolus put into its mouth, to defray the passage across the Styx: a certain form of words was then pronounced over the body, which was afterwards carried out, and followed by the mourners: those of the same sex as the deceased were to be nearest the corpse: when it was placed on the pile, and a second form of words recited over it, some one of the mourners, (usually the nearest relation,) applied a torch to the wood; and, if the deceased was of high rank, animals of various kinds, and sometimes even human victims, were slaughtered, and thrown into the flames. The ashes of the dead were collected from the extinguished pile into an urn, and with some further ceremonies deposited in a sepulchre. The Romans burned their dead in a similar manner. For a further mention of Greek funerals, vide Notes 77, 78, 80, 81.

Tombs, called by the Greeks τάφοι, or τύμβοι, which signify both the grave and the monument, were not allowed to be within the city of Athens, but were placed either in the public burial-place, or in private grounds belonging to the relatives of the deceased: it was not unusual to erect them by the road side at some distance from the city, whence the expression, so common on monuments, Siste Viator, Stay Traveller. The public burial-place of the Athenians was in that part of the Ceramicus situated beyond the city: it was very extensive. The other part of the Ceramicus contained the old forum, called ἀρχαία ἀγορὰ.

The corpse is placed on the pile, and quickly enveloped in flames; they weep; while the sister I was speaking of, rushed forward, in an agony of grief, toward the fire; and her imprudence exposed her to great danger.

An eminent English poet, Sir Richard Steele, has endeavoured to adapt Terence’s Andrian to the taste of an English audience, and has succeeded in that attempt, in his play, called The Conscious Lovers, as well as circumstances would permit. A French poet of equal eminence, Monsieur Baron, has made a similar attempt in French verse, and has met with equal success in his Andrienne: he has kept much closer to the original than has Sir Richard Steele; indeed, many scenes of the Andrienne are a literal version of Terence. I purpose to point out the most material changes which the two modern poets have made in the incidents: the bent of the dramatic taste of the nation of each, may be discovered, in some measure, from a comparison between the English, the French, and the Roman dramatist. M. Baron has not made any alteration in the scene at Chrysis’ funeral, where Simo discovers his son’s attachment to Glycera; but Sir R. Steele, has altered the mode of discovery to a quarrel at a masquerade; and his scene, though it may want the pathos of the original, yet displays the filial affection of Bevil, the English Pamphilus, in a very amiable light. Sir Richard has modernized the characters of Simo and Sosia in Sir John Bevil and Humphrey.

“Sir J. You know I was, last Thursday, at the masquerade: my son, you may remember, soon found us out. He knew his grandfather’s habit, which I then wore, and though it was in the mode of the last age, yet the maskers followed us, as if we had been the most monstrous figures in the whole assembly.

“Humph. I remember a young man of quality, in the habit of a clown, was particularly troublesome.

“Sir J. Right: he was too much what he seemed to be: he followed us, till the gentleman, who led the lady in the Indian mantle, presented that gay creature to the rustic, and bid him (like Cymon in the fable) grow polite, by falling in love, and let that worthy gentleman alone, meaning me. The clown was not reformed, but rudely offered to force off my mask; with that the gentleman, throwing off his own, appeared to be my son; and, in his concern for me, tore off that of the nobleman. At this, they seized each other, the company called the guards, and, in the surprise, the lady swooned away; upon which my son quitted his adversary, and had now no care but of the lady; when, raising her in his arms, ‘Art thou gone,’ cried he, ‘for ever?—Forbid it, Heaven!’—She revives at his known voice, and, with the most familiar, though modest gesture, hangs in safety over his shoulders weeping; but wept as in the arms of one before whom she could give herself a loose, were she not under observation. While she hides her face in his neck, he carefully conveys her from the company.”—Conscious Lovers.

Sir John Bevil makes the same trial of his son, as Simo of his: and young Bevil makes the same reply with Pamphilus. The only difference in the conduct of the plot in that part is, that Bevil is not apprized of his father’s stratagem by his own servant; but by Humphrey, which, as it shews a sort of half-treachery in him, is an inferior arrangement to that of the Latin poet.

The expression ξένα, peregrina, or strange woman, was generally used amongst eastern nations, to signify a woman of light character: it is very frequently employed in the Holy Writings in that sense. Vide Judges, chap. xi. ver. 2; Proverbs, chap. v. ver. 3. 10, 20. Thais, in the Eunuch, speaking of her mother, says,

Athenian citizens were not allowed to marry foreign women, even of reputation and virtue; this law was not strictly observed: the penalty for the violation of it was fixed at one thousand drachms. Simo mentions the epithet peregrina, as what Chremes said he had heard Glycera called; but does not himself drop the slightest hint against her, but, on the contrary, praises her modest demeanour; as he must have been well aware, that she did not deserve such an epithet, being her opposite neighbour, and having seen her abroad: ξέναι, or strange women, when they appeared in public, were obliged to wear striped dresses, to distinguish them from women of innocent conversation.

In the Latin, mala mens, malus animus. It is not easy to discriminate with accuracy the different meanings the Romans attached to mens and animus. Some think that animus meant the heart, and mens the faculty of thinking. Grotius has, in this passage, taken those words to signify conscience and judgment: but, I think it probable, that the word animus was usually employed when they spoke of the soul, and that mens was intended to express what we understand by the word mind, when we speak of greatness of mind, or littleness of mind. Animus was, perhaps, about equivalent to that elegant expression,—instinctus divinitatis.

“Here we take our last leave of Sosia, who is, in the language of the commentators, a protatick personage, that is, as Donatus explains it, one who appears only once in the beginning (the protasis) of the piece, for the sake of unfolding the argument, and is never seen again in any part of the play. The narration being ended, says Donatus, the character of Sosia is no longer necessary. He therefore departs, and leaves Simo alone to carry on the action. With all due deference to the ancients, I cannot help thinking this method, if too constantly practised, as I think it is in our author, rather inartificial. Narration, however beautiful, is certainly the deadest part of theatrical compositions: it is, indeed, strictly speaking, scarce dramatic, and strikes the least in the representation: and the too frequent introduction of a character, to whom a principal person in the fable is to relate in confidence the circumstances, previous to the opening of the play, is surely too direct a manner of conveying that information to the audience. Every thing of this nature should come obliquely, fall in a manner by accident, or be drawn as it were perforce, from the parties concerned, in the course of the action: a practice, which, if reckoned highly beautiful in epic, may be almost set down as absolutely necessary in dramatic poetry. It is, however, more adviseable, even to seem tedious, than to hazard being obscure. Terence certainly opens his plays with great address, and assigns a probable reason for one of the parties being so communicative to the other; and yet it is too plain that this narration is made merely for the sake of the audience, since there never was a duller hearer than Master Sosia, and it never appears, in the sequel of the play, that Simo’s instructions to him are of the least use to frighten Davus, or work upon Pamphilus. Yet even this protatick personage is one of the instances of Terence’s art, since it was often used in the Roman comedy, as may be seen even in Plautus, to make the relation of the argument the express office of the prologue.”—Colman.

Monsieur Baron does not dismiss Sosia here, but brings him on the stage again; once in the third act, and once in the fourth. Sir R. Steele introduces Humphrey again in the first act, and also in the fifth. We are told by Donatus, that in the Andrian and Perinthian of Menander, which are similar in the plot, the first scene is the same as in Terence, but that in the Perinthian, the old man consults with his wife instead of Sosia; and, in the Andrian he opens with a soliloquy.

It has been objected against many dramatic writers, that they are guilty of great neglect in first bringing their characters on the stage, without preparing the audience for their appearance, and acquainting them with their names; and sometimes it happens that an actor has been on the stage a considerable time, before the audience know whom he is meant to personate. Terence’s art is admirably shown in this particular; a new character scarcely ever appears on the stage after the first scene, before his name, and character, and perhaps what he may be expected to say or do, is announced to the audience. For example, in the Andrian, Act I. Scene I., Simo describes the occupation and character of Davus before he appears; and names him to the audience as he comes on the stage. In Act I. Scene III., Davus introduces Mysis: in Act I. Scene IV., Mysis prepares the audience for the appearance of Pamphilus: in Act III. Scene IV., Simo announces Chremes, and Mysis is the nomenclator of Crito in the last scene of the fourth Act. This rule of preparation for the next scene was called, among the ancients, παρασκευὴ.

Carnifex quæ loquitur. Carnifex, or carnufex, means literally an executioner: this was one of the most opprobrious epithets used by the Romans. Of all their public servants, the carnifex was the lowest in rank: his office extended only to crucifixion, which was never inflicted in Rome on any but those who were considered as the very worst of criminals. The person of the carnifex was held in such abhorrence, that he was never suffered to reside in Rome, and rarely (though sometimes) permitted to enter the city. Vide Cicero’s Oration for Rabirius. Carnifex means literally a butcher; and most of the writers of later ages have used it in that sense.

This is as much as to say, I am a plain man, I am no reader of riddles: because Œdipus, king of Thebes, was particularly celebrated for solving an enigma, which had long baffled the penetration of all the Thebans. Ancient writers relate the story thus: Europa, the sister of Cadmus, the first king of Thebes, having been carried off by Jupiter; Juno, in her jealousy, wreaked her vengeance on Europa’s family, and persecuted Cadmus and his descendants with the most inveterate hostility. During the reign of Creon, one of the successors of Cadmus, Juno sent to destroy Thebes, a dreadful monster, called Sphinx, which was described as having the face and voice of a woman, the wings of a dragon, the body of a dog, and the claws of a lion. This extraordinary monster dwelt in a cave, immediately in the neighbourhood of Thebes, and seizing every one that ventured to approach, proposed the following well-known riddle, “What walks in the morning on four legs, at noon on two, and at night on three?” Those who were unable to solve the enigma were instantly torn in pieces; and, as the Thebans were, in general, so remarkable for their slowness and sluggishness, that they were called “Theban pigs” by the rest of Greece, it may be readily believed that the monster’s question long remained unanswered. When the city was in danger of total demolition, Creon the king offered his daughter Jocasta, and his crown, to him who should solve the riddle, as the oracle declared that to be the only means of deliverance. This was at last accomplished by Œdipus, who replied, that it was man: who crawls in his childhood, walks upright in the vigour of his age, and who uses a crutch when he grows old: on hearing this answer, the Sphinx slew herself.

Some commentator on Terence very ingeniously observes, that Davus, by saying that he is not Œdipus, and cannot understand his riddle, covertly insinuates that Simo is a second Sphinx.

Terence has rendered by the word pistrinum, the Greek σωφρονιστήριον, or house of correction, whither criminals were sent for the various terms of imprisonment proportioned to their offences. Slaves, while in this prison, were employed chiefly in grinding corn, which, from a deficiency of mechanical knowledge, was, in those times, a very laborious employment. The Athenians, who were universally celebrated for their kind and gentle treatment of slaves, were very reluctant to proceed to severer punishments than whipping or imprisonment: but when a flagrant delinquency rendered it necessary to make an example, they either burned the criminal with a hot iron, in the offending member, if possible; or put on his feet a torturing instrument, called χοῖνιξ. If the law required the criminal to suffer death, which happened in very few cases, he was either hung, beaten to death with clubs, or cast into a deep pit, called βάραθρον, filled at the bottom with sharp spikes. They sometimes had recourse to other extraordinary modes of punishment: but the before-mentioned were the most common.

This scene contains the second part of the narration, which possesses all the requisites enumerated by Cicero, perspicuity, probability, brevity, and sweetness. It is introduced with Terence’s usual art, and enough is said respecting Glycera’s birth, to prepare the mind for the dénouement in the last act. This scene, and that before it, are omitted in the Conscious Lovers; and a dialogue between Humphrey and Tom, and another between Tom and Phyllis, the English Davus and Mysis, are substituted instead of them: but Phyllis is the servant of Lucinda, the lady Sir J. Bevil wishes his son to marry: and not of Indiana, the modern Glycera. The two scenes above mentioned contain only one incident: the conveyance of a letter from young Bevil to Lucinda, apprizing her of his disinclination to the match.

NOTE 90.

This affair must be handled dexterously, or either my young master or I must be quite undone.

The original of this passage is as follows: Quæ si non astu providentur, me, aut herum pessundabunt. A deviation from the customary mode of expression sometimes occurs in our author’s writings. I shall set down the most remarkable words of this nature that are to be found in this play.

Terence has the art of making us feel interested in the favour of almost all his characters: they insensibly gain ground in our good opinion: even this Davus, who certainly has a spice of the rogue about him, creates a warm interest in his favour by his fidelity to Pamphilus; and his generosity in risking his own safety to serve him: he braves the threats of Simo, when, by assisting him, and betraying Pamphilus, he must have secured the old man’s favour, and consequently great advantages to himself. But very few of the worst characters in Terence’s plays seem to us to be wholly unamiable.

NOTE 92.

I think their intentions savour more of madness than of any thing else.

Terence plays upon the words in the original of this passage, which is as follows,

Literally, For they act like mad people, not like lovers. This pun cannot be preserved in an English translation, till two words can be found alike in sound, one meaning “mad people,” and the other “lovers.” The only attempt in English is the following: but the author has rather altered the sense.

The ancients manifested very great partiality for this species of wit, which the Greeks called παρανομασία and the Romans agnominatio. The writings of Plautus abound with puns above all others, and he is thought to have applied them with great ingenuity: the following may serve as a specimen.

Though the Greeks and Romans considered puns an ornament to writings and discourses of all kinds, modern critics have decided that they ought to be admitted only in writings of a light nature; and that they decrease the force and beauty of grave and serious compositions, which ought to wear an air of dignified sublimity, unmixed with any thing of a trivial nature.

The lines immediately preceding the before-mentioned passages are thus altered by a French editor. Vide Note 72.

Boy or girl, they have resolved that it shall be taken up. The words taken up allude to the custom which prevailed in Greece, of destroying children. This barbarous cruelty was practised on various pretences; if an infant was, at its birth, deformed in any of its members, or if it appeared extremely feeble or sickly, the laws allowed, and even enjoined, that it should be exposed: sometimes illegitimacy was considered a sufficient cause for the exposure of a child. Though the parents were generally allowed to choose whether their offspring should be destroyed or preserved; in some parts of Greece all the inhabitants were compelled to send their new-born infants to officers appointed to examine them: who, if they found them not robust and healthy, cast them immediately into deep caverns, called ἀποθέται, which were dedicated to this purpose. It was customary, in Athens, to place a new-born infant on the ground at the feet of its father, if he then took it up in his arms, it was considered that he bound himself to educate and provide for the child: hence, the expression tollere, to take up: but, if on the contrary, he refused to acknowledge it, a person appointed for that purpose conveyed it to some desert place at a distance from the city: and there left it to perish. The Thebans are said to have been the only people in Greece, among whom this barbarous custom did not prevail: but the story of Œdipus, a prince who was exposed, though afterwards preserved, is a proof that they did not altogether abstain from this practice.

Women were allowed to enjoy the privileges of Athenian citizens, and, at the building of Athens, by Cecrops, they carried a point of no less importance than the choice of a name for the new city, in opposition to the votes of the men. Varro tells us that Neptune wished the new-built city to be called after his name, and that Athena, or Minerva, rivalled his pretensions. The question being put by Cecrops to his people, the men all voted for Neptune, but the women voted for Minerva, and gained, by one vote, the privilege of naming the city. The women were wholly excluded from any share in the government of Athens, in later ages; though they still retained various privileges as Athenian citizens.

For a further explanation of the rights of the Athenian citizens; and for some account of the city of Athens, vide Notes 150, 179, 180, 181, 193, 197.

The title of merchant we are to suppose to be added by Davus to embellish the tale. Neither Chremes nor Phania are described as merchants. This addition is well managed by the author, as Davus, who thought the whole a fabrication, imagined he was more likely to gain credit by telling the tale that way; as a considerable traffick was carried on between Athens and the island of Andros, which was a very fertile spot.

M. Baron has translated this scene with great fidelity and beauty. Davus developes in it a plan to break off the dreaded match with Philumena, by introducing Glycera to Chremes: which incident is substituted instead of the birth of the child. There is a break in the French lines which renders them inimitably beautiful.

A forum, both in Athens and Rome, was a large open space within the city, dedicated to various purposes. The forum was a place where the people met for public worship, for the administration of justice, and to debate on the public affairs. In the Forum, also, were the temples, hospitals, sanctuaries, and the markets of all kinds: in short, it was a place of general rendezvous for men of all ranks and professions, and was, in many respects, very similar to those places of meeting we call by the name Exchange.

In Rome there were six great forums, 1. the Roman, 2. the Julian, 3. the Augustan, 4. the Palladian, 5. the Trojan, 6. the Forum of Sallust. In Athens, the principal Forum was called ἀρχαία ἀγορὰ; it was extremely spacious, and decorated with some very fine buildings, and statues of eminent persons. There were also many others, but the most considerable was called the Forum, by way of distinction.

Of all writers ancient or modern, except Seneca, Terence was the most indefatigable in endeavouring to embellish his writings with all the ornaments that alliteration could give them. It is not my intention to enter in this place into a discussion of the advantages, or disadvantages that verses may derive from alliteration; a subject on which critics differ as widely as they can on any other point. The practice of many first-rate writers, however, both ancient and modern, who have thought that alliteration adorned their compositions, entitles it to attention. Although eminent critics have argued against this literary ornament, that its success is but a trivial excellence, I cannot but remark that it is allowed on all sides that great labour, care, and patience, are requisite, to succeed in alliteration; which must certainly contribute to render it of some value, and afford an absolute proof of the excessive labour and deliberation with which Terence wrote his plays, every line of which was, as I may say, weighed, before he wrote it down: for no author, ancient or modern, (with the before-mentioned exception,) ever employed alliteration so frequently, nor, in my opinion, with better effect than Terence.

The following lines will afford the reader a specimen of the almost astonishing extent to which alliteration was used by some of the ancient authors, Greek and Latin.

De scripto dicta sententia est, quam Senatus frequens secutus est summo studio magnoque consensu.

Cum sciam, Domine, ad testimonium laudemque morum meorum, pertinere tam boni principis judicio exornari, rogo, dignitati, ad quam me provexit indulgentia tua, vel auguratum, vel septemviratum, quia vacant, adjicere digneris: ut jure sacerdotii precari deos pro te publicè possim, quos nunc precor pietate privatâ.

VII. From Plutarch.

Κόσμος ἐστιν ὡς ἔλεγε Κράτης, τὸ Κοσμοῦν. Κοσμεῖ δὲ τὸ Κοσμιώτερον.

VIII. From Tyrtæus.

Ἡ δ’ Ἀρετὴ τόδ’ Ἄεθλον ἐν Ἀνθρώποισιν Ἄριστον.

IX. From Æschines.

Οἱ Ἐξ Ἐκείνου Ἔχοντες Ἐν τῇ οἰκίᾳ.

ΤαῦΤα μὲν οὖν μοι δοκῶ καὶ Τἄλλα Τὰ ΤούΤοις.

Ἔοικε, Φειδίας Ἐνεργολαβεῖν Εἰργάσατο καὶ Ἐνεπιορκεῖν.

Mr. Cooke makes this speech come from Archillis, and writes it thus: Tamen eam adduce, I say, fetch her. This reading is taken from Guyetus: but Dr. Bentley objects to Archillis within calling to Mysis without. But as Mysis uses the expression importunitatem SPECTATE aniculæ, see the old woman’s importunity, and not audite importunitatem, hear, &c.: we must suppose Archillis to show her impatience by gestures, as she stood at the door of Glycera’s house.

Importunitatem spectate aniculæ. Anicula is a word of singular derivation, and signifies literally a sorceress; being compounded of two Latin words, one signifying an old woman, and the other to howl: because sorceresses always howled when they made their incantations. We must not suppose that Mysis here meant to call Archillis a sorceress, but merely used the word above mentioned as a term of reproach. According to Antonius Magnus, the aniculæ were not a little mischievous, as he proposes to shew by the following quotation: “Retulit Leonardus Varius, lib. I. de Fascino, multas hac nostra tempestate existere aniculas, quarum impuritate non paucos effascinari pueros, illosque non modo in gravissimum incidere discrimen, verum atque acerbam sæpissime subire mortem. Pecudes insuper partu, et lacte privari, equos macrescere, et emori, segetes absque fructu colligi, arbores arescere, ac denique omnia pessum iri quandoque videri.”—Antonius Magnus. Perscrutator rerum abditarum naturæ. Norimberga, 1681, p. 39.

The common reading of this passage is, Di date facultatem, May the Gods grant, &c., but I should rather imagine that Terence wrote, Diana da facultatem, May Diana grant, &c., because, on these occasions, the Greeks never invoked the assistance of all the gods, but usually requested the help of Diana, as Glycera does afterwards, when she calls upon her by the name of Juno Lucina, (vide Note 143). Diana was supposed to preside over women in childbirth, and was called Εἰλείθυια.

This scene contains the third and last part of the narration, which is entirely pathetic, and its length is very artificially and successfully relieved by the figure called by the Greeks προσωποποια, which is introduced with so many moving and pathetic graces, as afford ample proof that Terence was as great a master of the passions, as even Trabea, Attilius, and Cæcilius themselves, who were so highly extolled by the ancients for their excellence in compositions of that nature. Terence has admirably relieved the necessary length of his narration in this play, by his judicious method of dividing it: the first part is serious, (vide Note 65,) and raises our curiosity: the second part is comic, (vide Note 89,) and excites our laughter; the third part is pathetic, and moves our pity. The lines in which Pamphilus describes the death of Chrysis are so extremely moving, that some of the most eminent critics have considered them at least equal, if not superior, to all attempts in the pathetic both ancient and modern. The finest passage in M. Baron’s Andrienne is, (in my opinion,) his imitation of the before-mentioned speech of Pamphilus: and the inimitable beauty which so much strikes us in the French copy ought to impress us with a just idea of the splendid merit of the Latin original.

NOTE 102.

And why has Chremes changed his mind.

“Id mutavit, quoniam 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. Madame Dacier endeavours to reconcile this, according to a conjecture of her father’s, by shewing that immutatum 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 immutare both negatively and positively, as is plain from this passage, and the above passage in 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. Shakspeare, in Hamlet, says,

“That is, stops, prevents, hinders me, which is directly opposite to the modern use of the word.”—Colman.

“Immutare always signifies to change, immutatus therefore cannot mean unchanged: we see, moreover, that Pamphilus has been all along in love with Glycera, and that he never for a moment entertained the slightest idea of forsaking her. This passage was very difficult; but my father has made it easy, by shewing that immutatus is put for immutabilis, and that composed adjectives, which are derived from passive participles, do not always express what is done, but sometimes what may be done; that is to say, they become potentials. For example, immotus for immobilis, infectus for what cannot be done, invictus for invincibilis, invisus for invisibilis, indomitus for indomabilis, thus immutatus is for immutabilis.”—Madame Dacier.

The reader will judge whether the arguments used by these two learned and ingenious critics, will justify them in translating immutatus in a sense directly opposite to its usual meaning, in the writings of Cicero, and the most learned of the Roman authors. With all the respect which is unquestionably due to the pre-eminent talents of Madame Dacier and Mr. Colman, I am inclined to believe that the sense of this passage is made more clear by the reading I have adopted. If we allow their arguments to be of force, we must translate the sentence thus, is Chremes changed because he sees that I am unchanged. But if we allow immutatus to retain its usual signification, the sentence must be read thus, is he changed because he sees that I am changed: i. e., because I, who had so high a character for prudence, am changed, and by my connexion with Glycera have proved that I am imprudent. It is, in short, as if he said, Chremes has changed his mind once on account of my connexion with Glycera, and now, I suppose, he changes it again for the same wise reason. This would not, (in my opinion,) be an unnatural expression for an impatient man: and the sequel of the same speech seems to favour this interpretation.

This expression took its rise from the custom of exposing and destroying monstrous and deformed children, (see Note 93) which was required by law: therefore, those parents who resolved, notwithstanding, to educate a child of that kind, were compelled to do so with the utmost secrecy: hence, the phrase “alere monstrum,” to breed up a monster, was used in Rome, to express any thing done in great secrecy. Terence has, by no means, violated probability, in representing Pamphilus as unacquainted with the person of Philumena: though she had been contracted to him; as Grecian women very seldom appeared abroad, and never, unveiled: and it not unfrequently occurred, that the bridegroom was introduced to the bride for the first time on the day of marriage.

In the Latin, Laborat e dolore. Cooke thinks that these words mean merely she is weighed down by grief: and argues, that if Pamphilus had understood her words in any other sense, he would have urged her to more haste; as he does, when she tells him that she is going for a midwife. But laboro sometimes means to strive or struggle, as in Ovid,

And that, doubtless, is its meaning, when joined to dolore. What Mysis says, moreover, to Lesbia the midwife, in the first scene of the third act, is sufficient to justify this interpretation.

By the expression sinam coactum egestate ingenium immutarier? shall I suffer her innocence to be endangered by want? I am inclined to believe that Terence meant, the want of friends and protection, and not poverty, because we are told afterwards, (Act IV.) that Glycera was possessed of the property of Chrysis, which we are to imagine, from what Crito says concerning it, to have been something considerable. I believe egestate is often put for want of any kind. It may appear somewhat enigmatical, that Terence should speak of the liberal and virtuous education of Glycera, by such a person as Chrysis was said to have been; but it is a circumstance in no wise repugnant to the manners of the Greeks; as we see in the Eunuch in the instance of Thais and Pamphila.

Quod ego te per hanc dextram oro, et ingenium tuum. Some read genium, by your genius, or by your good angel, and quote the following passage from Horace in support of this reading:

The difference, however, between the genius and the ingenium, is not very material; as the ingenium or disposition, was supposed by the ancients to be prompted by the genius, or tutelar spirit, who presided over and directed all the actions of mankind. Each person was thought to have a good and also an evil spirit, who never quitted its charge till death: the spirits attendant on the men were called by the Romans genii, and those belonging to the women were named junones. The Greeks considered these aërial beings as of a nature between that of gods and men: and that they communicated to the latter the will of the former by oracles, dreams, &c. Apuleius takes the genius to be the same as the lar and larva: but it is most probable, that the larvæ, lemures, and dæmones, were all used as names for what were termed the evil genii.

Amicum, tutorem patrem. The word tutorem in this line, alludes to the Roman custom of appointing guardians, which was usually performed with great ceremony: frequently on a dead-bed. The person who intended to constitute a tutor or guardian, made use of a set form of words, which were spoken before witnesses, when the ward was delivered to the guardian, with these words, “Hunc (vel hanc) tibi commendo, Tutor esto.” I commend him (or her) to your protection, be to him a guardian. Thus Ovid,

Some words were also addressed to the ward, as “Hunc tibi tutorem do,” I appoint this person your guardian.

ought to be read with a long pause between each word, as Terence intended to describe the broken, interrupted voice of a person at the point of death.

“These two characters were not in the works of Menander, but were added to the fable by Terence, lest Philumena’s being left without a husband, on the marriage of Pamphilus to Glycerium should appear too tragical a circumstance.—Donatus.

Madame Dacier, after transcribing this remark adds, that it appears to her to be an observation of great importance to the theatre, and well worthy our attention.

Important as this dramatic arcanum may be, it were to be wished, that Terence had never found it out, or, at least, that he had not availed himself of it in the construction of the Andrian. It is plain that the duplicity of the intrigue did not proceed from the imitation of Menander, since these characters, on which the double plot is founded, were not drawn from the Greek poet. Charinus and Byrrhia are indeed but poor counterparts, or faint shadows of Pamphilus and Davus; and, instead of adding life and vigour to the fable, rather damp its spirit, and stop the activity of its progress. As to the tragical circumstance of Philumena’s having no husband, it seems something like the distress of Prince Prettyman[A], who thinks it a matter of indifference, whether he shall appear to be the son of a king or a fisherman, and is only uneasy lest he should be the son of nobody at all. I am much more inclined to the opinion of an ingenious French critic, whom I have already cited more than once, than to that of Donatus or Madame Dacier. His comment in this underplot is as follows:—

It is but justice to Sir Richard Steele to confess, that he has conducted the under-plot in the Conscious Lovers in a much more artful and interesting manner than Terence in the play before us. The part which Myrtle sustains (though not wholly unexceptionable, especially the last act,) is more essential to the fable than Charinus in the Andrian. His character also is more separated and distinguished from Bevil, than Charinus from Pamphilus, and serves to produce one of the best scenes[B] in the play.” Colman.

Thimble.	Brave Prettyman, it is at length revealed,
	That he is not thy Sire who thee conceal’d.
Prettyman.	What oracle this darkness can evince!
	Sometimes a fisher’s son, sometimes a prince.
	It is a secret, great as is the world;
	In which I, like the soul, am toss’d and hurl’d.
	The blackest ink of fate sure was my lot,
	And when she writ my name, she made a blot.
	[Exit.
Bayes.	There’s a blustering verse for you now.
Smith.	Yes, Sir; but why is he so mightily troubled to find he is not a fisherman’s son?
Bayes.	Phoo! that is not because he has a mind to be his son, but for fear he should be thought to be nobody’s son at all.
Smith.	Nay, that would trouble a man, indeed.
	Rehearsal, A. III. S. IV.

Quæso ædepol, Charine. Ædepol means literally by the temple of Pollux, being an abbreviation of the words per templum Pollucis, as pol was used for per Pollucem: and hercle for per Herculem. These ancient expletives are of a similar nature to those in modern use, which are almost all of religious derivation.

To affirm a thing by the temple of Pollux, was a very common expression among the ancients; and is frequently used in the plays of Terence, where it seems to have been particularly the oath of slaves. It was natural enough that Athenian slaves should asseverate by this temple, as it was the place where they were bought and sold by the inhabitants of Attica. This splendid building, which was so unworthily employed, was situated in the κάτω πόλις, or the lower city, towards the sea; and was called Ἀνάκειον, because Castor and Pollux were called ἄνακες. In the Greek mythology, Castor and Pollux were the twin sons of Leda: their father, Jupiter, rewarded their virtues, by giving them a place in the heavens, where they are called Gemini. They were supposed to preside over martial exercises, (for their skill in which they were particularly eminent,) and they had the power of allaying storms. These fables have caused the names of Castor and Pollux to be given to that well-known meteor which sometimes appears at sea in the shape of several fire-balls, which seem to adhere to the vessel, and which are judged to indicate an approaching calm. This phænomenon is called by the French, Spaniards, and Italians, San Elmo, or Hermo.

Byrrhia.—I beseech you, O Charinus, to wish for something possible, since what you now wish for is impossible!

Terence always admirably preserves the characters of domestics, in the style of the advice they give their masters, which is very often conveyed in some trite adage, or formal apothegm. This is another instance of our author’s art. Want of attention to the dialogue of the inferior characters, is a frequent fault among dramatic writers; and often proves hostile to the success of a piece, particularly of a comedy, where it is absolutely essential.

Madame Dacier observes, with her usual judgment, that Terence simplifies a philosophical maxim in so elegant and familiar a manner, that it assumes a grace, even from the lips of a domestic. Diderot makes a similar remark in the Preface to his Père de Famille; which he probably remembered from the learned lady before mentioned. Montaigne has elegantly expressed the sense of Byrrhia’s speech. C’est foiblesse de ceder aux maux, mais c’est folie de les nourrir.

Byrrhia.—Why not? that even if you can obtain nothing, you may make him think, at least, that Philumena will find a pressing gallant in you, if he marries her.

The ingenious French editor, mentioned in Note 72, has given the following elegant and delicate turn to this objectionable passage.

Though Charinus means, that the misery of losing Philumena would cost him his life, as he expressly tells Davus in the next scene, yet he only insinuates this by saying, You will never see me again: and avoids the mention of death: which was considered among the Greeks as a word that should scarcely ever be named: and it was reckoned the height of ill breeding to discourse in company respecting human mortality; which was a subject to be spoken of only by distant hints: (vide Note 190.) This whole scene is admirably written; and as well as the last scene in the first act, is a specimen of Terence’s powers in the pathetic. Some very ingenious remarks on this scene are to be found in Donatus, and in the Miscellanies of Nonnius.

Now, if either you, or Byrrhia here, can do any thing; in Heavens name, do it; contrive, invent, and manage, if you can, that she may be given to you.

It does not appear that Charinus and Byrrhia set any stratagem on foot, in compliance with the wishes of Pamphilus, to break off the treaty between Simo and Chremes; indeed, they are rather inactive throughout the play, and the under-plot proceeds separately from the principal plot: this, I attribute to Terence’s close imitation of Menander, in what respects Pamphilus’s intrigue, as the characters of Charinus and Byrrhia were added by Terence: Menander’s play being written with a single plot; which was doubled by our author, in compliance with the taste of his age. It is supposed that Terence’s reputation for art was gained chiefly by his success in combining two intrigues in one play: a mode of dramatic writing which the Romans in those times considered a great novelty. The Stepmother is the only play written by Terence, in which the plot is single, and though critics in general argue with Volcatius,

that it is not equal to the rest of his productions, many persons, very eminent for their judgment, have attributed the superiority of the other five plays, to the advantages they possess over the Stepmother, both in portraiture of character, and in the conduct of the catastrophe, and of the fable in general, rather than to any additional attraction which they can derive from a double plot. The Carin and Byrrhie of M. Baron, are, in every respect, the counterparts of the Charinus and Byrrhia of Terence; but Sir R. Steele has very much enlivened the character of Charinus; his Myrtle is one of the most entertaining personages in the piece. Vide Notes 108, 159, 162, 163.

From Byrrhia, whom he had just parted from, as he afterwards relates: this, though a trivial circumstance, shews Terence’s great art. Donatus reads this sentence,

The marriage ceremonies of the Greeks were, in many respects, very similar to those of the Romans. In Athens, as at Rome, sacrifices were deemed necessary preliminaries to the celebration of a marriage: and the bride, accompanied by bride-women, whom the Latins called pronubæ, the Greeks νυμφεύτριαι, was conducted to her husband’s house with great ceremony; if the parties were of rank, the bride’s train was increased by the attendance of many of her friends and relatives, who previously assembled at her father’s house. It is to the absence of the bride’s train, and of the musicians who usually assembled before her door, and attended her to her new habitation, that Davus alludes, when he says, that he could perceive no company in the house, or before the door. For further information respecting the marriages of the Greeks and Romans, vide Notes 70, 75, 76, 117, 118, 148, 149, 181.

Cecrops, the first king of Athens, seems to have been the reputed founder of marriage-ceremonies among the Greeks: the Athenians accounted it so dishonourable to grow old in a single state, that their laws peremptorily required, that all the αὐτοκράτορες, στρατηγοὶ, πολέμαρχοι, and ταξίαρχοι, who were the principal military officers, also the ἄρχοντες and ἱεροφύλακες, or chief priests, as well as the archons and other chief magistrates, should be chosen from the married men only.

Numerous ceremonies were always performed at Grecian marriages, many of which were performed at the house of the bride, and in procession from it: it is exceedingly well managed by Terence, that Davus should discover Simo’s stratagem, by finding Chremes’ house “quite still and quiet,” because the house of a bride was generally full of noisy company. The following extracts from a learned writer on antiquities will afford some valuable information respecting the Greek marriages.

“The Athenian virgins were presented to Diana before it was lawful for them to marry. This ceremony, which was performed at Brauron, an Athenian borough, was called ἀρκτεία. There was also another custom for virgins, when they became marriageable, to present certain baskets, full of little curiosities, to Diana, to obtain permission to leave her train, and to change their state of life. Indeed we find Diana concerned in the preparatory solemnities before all marriages; for a married state being her aversion, it was thought necessary for all who entered upon it, to ask her pardon for dissenting from her. The ancient Athenians paid the same honour to Heaven and Earth, which were believed to have a particular concern in marriages, of which they were thought a proper emblem. (Procl. in Timæ. Platon. Comment. 5.) The fates and graces being supposed to join, and afterwards to preserve the tie of love, were partakers of the same respect. (Pol. lib. III. cap. 3.) Before the marriage could be solemnized, the other gods were consulted, and their assistance also implored by prayers and sacrifices. When the victim was opened, the gall was taken out and thrown behind the altar, as being the seat of anger and revenge, and therefore the aversion of all the deities who superintended the affairs of love. The married persons, with their attendants, were richly adorned, according to their rank. The house, in which the nuptials were celebrated, was also decorated with garlands. (Hierocl. in Frag. περὶ γάμον; Stob. Serm. 186, Senec. Thebaid. v. 507;) a pestle was tied upon the door, (Poll. lib. III. cap. 3. seg. 37;) and a maid carried a sieve, (Id. ibid.) the bride herself bearing φρύγετον, φρύγετρον, or φρύγητρον, which was an earthen vessel, in which barley was parched, (Poll. lib. I. cap. 12. seg. 246; Hesych.) and which was intended to signify her obligation to attend to the business of a family. The bride was usually conducted in a chariot from her father’s to her husband’s house in the evening. She was placed in the middle, her husband sitting on one side, and, on the other, one of his most intimate friends, who was called πάροχος. They were sometimes accompanied by bands of musicians and dancers, (Hom. Il. σʹ. v. 491.) The song with which they were entertained on the road was called ἁρμάτειον μέλος, from ἅρμα, the coach in which they rode, and the axle-tree of which they burned as soon as they arrived at the end of their journey; thereby signifying that the bride was never to return to her father’s house. The day of the bride’s leaving her father was celebrated in the manner of a festival, which was distinct from the nuptial solemnity, which was kept at the bride-groom’s house, and began at evening, the usual time of the bride’s arrival.”—Robinson’s Archæologia Græca.

Matronam nullam: Some commentators think that matrona and pronuba have a similar meaning; but though it is clear that both those words were used to describe females who attended the bride at a Roman marriage, I am inclined to believe that they have each a distinct signification. The Latin poets used matrona as a name for all married women without distinction: thus, Horace evidently speaks of wives in general, when he says,

because married women only were allowed to wear the stola, a large robe which covered the person from head to foot. Matrons were distinguished as follows, matronas appellabant, quibus stolas habendi jus erat: those only were called matrons, whose rank entitled them to wear the stola, (Alex. ab. Alex. lib. 5. cap. 18.) as women of inferior rank wore the instita. The pronubæ were always chosen from those women who had been married only once; and it appears that a bride had several pronubæ to attend her, but only one matrona. Terence says nullam matronam, whereas the pronubæ were spoken of as being four or five in number. I think it not unlikely that the first in rank of the pronubæ was chosen to preside over the rest of the bridemaids, and to attend immediately on the person of the bride, whence she was called matrona pronubarum, the chief of the bridemaids. Servius thinks that matrona was used to designate a woman who had one child: and thus distinguished from the mater-familias who had several. But Aulus Gellius is of opinion that all married women were called matronæ, whether they had any children or not. Thus Ovid, speaking of Hersilia, the wife of Romulus, who had no offspring, calls her matrona.

Nil tumulti. Terence here compares guests, called together in a hurry, to soldiers raised on any sudden emergency of great importance. As no marriage had been thought of till that day, if Chremes had invited any guests, they could have had scarcely an hour’s notice; Davus, therefore, aptly calls such a hasty assemblage tumultus, which word was used to signify a very quick muster of soldiers on any pressing occasion, when all that took arms were called tumultuarii. (Vide Liv. I. 37, 35.) Numerous allusions of this kind, which abound in the writings of Terence, cannot be happily preserved in a translation.

Besides all this, as I was returning, I met Chremes’ servant, who was carrying home some herbs, and as many little fishes for the old man’s supper, as might have cost an obolus.

What a supper for a man of fortune! as we must suppose Chremes to have been, since he could give Glycera and Philumena each a dowry of ten talents. The Athenians were remarkable, even to a proverb, for their extreme frugality. To tell a person that he lived ἀττικηρῶς or like an Athenian, was to tell him in other words that he lived penuriously. The food of the common people was very coarse; being such as they could procure at a slight expense. Mάζα, a very common food among them, was a mixture of meal, salt, water, and oil: and another, called μυττωτὸν, was a composition of garlick, eggs, and milk. Many of those who drank water, drank it warm; as the water of the hot fountains, (of which there are many in Greece,) was reckoned highly restorative. This simple diet, however, soon gave place to greater delicacies, and, in Greece, as in all other countries, refinement and luxury kept pace with each other. For the value of an obolus, see the table of money in Note 208. An obolus worth of food was, probably, as much as would furnish a coarse meal for one person. Plutarch tells us, that the Athenian women were forbidden, by law, to travel with more food than could be purchased with an obolus: this harsh law must have been formed with a view to prevent them from making any long stay abroad. Vide Notes 71, 103.

If you do not use all your endeavours to gain the support of the old man’s friends, you will be no nearer your wishes than ever.

Nisi vides, nisi senis amicos oras, ambis. The meaning of ambis in this line is very equivocal; ambire means to solicit, and also to run round. Some commentators give ambis the same sense with oras: but that makes Davus’s speech incomplete. I have seen an attempt to support this reading by making Pamphilus speak the word ambis, with which he breaks in upon Davus. The learned reader will judge what degree of attention ought to be paid to this reading; I have adopted that which seemed to me to be most agreeable to the sense. If frustra had been added, the line would have been more intelligible. Ambit has much the same meaning in the following passage,

Terence here alludes to the Athenian law, which compelled all sojourners in Athens to choose a patron and protector: we must suppose that Glycera had neglected that ceremony after Chrysis’ death. Davus insinuates that it would afford Simo a sufficient pretext to drive her from the city. If a suit at law, called ἀποστασίου δίκη, was instituted against a sojourner in the before-mentioned circumstances: all the offender’s property was confiscated to public use.

Banishment, among the Athenians, was of three kinds, 1. φυγὴ, temporary exile, the length of which was fixed by the judges. 2. Ὀστρακισμὸς, ten years’ banishment, during which the exile was allowed to receive the proceeds of his estate. 3. ἀειφυγία, perpetual banishment. The last kind was chiefly inflicted on murderers, the second on men, who grew so extremely popular and powerful as to endanger the security of a republican government. Mr. Cooke thinks, with Dr. Bentley, that “the original of this passage should be read, eam eiciat oppido,” instead of eam ejiciat oppido: he supports this reading by the following quotation,

“In the three manuscript copies of Terence, in the possession of Dr. Mead, two of them have eiciat; and what is worthy the reader’s notice, that which has ejiciat is written in the manner of prose.”

Therefore, do not let the fear of his changing his mind prevent you from following my advice.

It is impossible to ascertain, beyond a doubt, what Terence meant to express by these lines, and the most ingenious critics have differed entirely respecting their true signification. Some think this sentence should be interpreted thus: Be careful not to discontinue your visits to Glycera, lest Chremes should think you have broken off your connexion with her, and change his mind in consequence, and resolve to give you his daughter. In short, don’t quit your intrigue, and reform, lest Chremes should hear of it, and give you Philumena: among those who read the words in this sense, the most eminent are Bernard, Echard, M. Baron, the authors of the old Paris edition of 1671, and of the old English edition with notes. At the head of those who have adopted a contrary interpretation are Cooke, Colman, and Madame Dacier, who translate the lines thus, Let not the fear of Chremes’ changing his mind, and resolving to give you his daughter, make you hesitate in doing this, i. e., in telling your father that you’ll marry. I have adopted the latter translation, which seems more pertinent to the subject on which Davus and Pamphilus were conversing. The word hæc, moreover, usually refers to something immediately present, as was the topic of Pamphilus consenting to the marriage to deceive Simo. Terence, I think, if he had intended to allude to the visits, letters, &c., to Glycera, would have used the word isthæc. I conclude this note with the opinion of Madame Dacier respecting this passage, which that learned lady translates as follows:—

“Car que Chremès ne veuille pas vous donner sa fille, cela est hors de doute. Gardez vous donc bien que la crainte qu’il ne change de sentiment, et ne veuille que vous soyez bon gendre, ne vous fasse changer quelque chose au conseil que je vous ai donné.

This passage is extremely difficult. I have been obliged to take a little latitude to make it clear. I shall explain the words literally: Nec tu ea causa minueris hæc quæ facis, ne is mutet suam sententiam. This is the construction, nec tu minueris hæc quæ facis, ea causa ne is mutet suam sententiam. Change not your intention to do what you are going to do; that is to say, what I advise you to do: ea causa; on this pretext; ne is mutet suam sententiam; that you fear lest Chremes should change his mind: minuere, to diminish, is used for to change, as in the Stepmother,

As to the hopes you indulge, that no man will give his daughter to you, on account of this imprudent connexion that you have formed; I will soon convince you of their fallacy.

We must not suppose, that the sentiments of Pamphilus were really such as Davus here insinuates: this would be representing him as an unblushing profligate; who, because he was disinclined to marriage, wished his character to be so very black, that no reputable family in Athens would admit him as a son-in-law: for this is the sense of what Davus says, though I have rather softened his expression. Whoever attentively peruses what Simo says of his son, (in Act I. Scene I.) must perceive how inconsistent such a wish must be with the character of Pamphilus. Madame Dacier observes very aptly on a similar expression of Sosia, “les valets prennent toujours tout du mauvais côte, slaves always look on the dark side of every thing. In respect to the before-mentioned passage, I am rather inclined to the opinion of a late ingenious commentator, who speaks of it as follows:

“Mr. Davus talks here as if he did not know what to say. In my humble opinion, these four lines are no ornaments to the scene:

Here are poor sentiments in pure Latin, which is more than once the case in our poet. The speech closes better with tibi jure irasci non queat.”—Cooke.

Pamphilus. But we must take care that he knows nothing of the child, for I have promised to bring it up.

An allusion is here made to the exposure of children, for an account of which, see Note 93.

Pamphilus, in this sentence, says pollicitus sum: there is very great force in this expression, which cannot be gracefully expressed in English. Pollicitatio, writes a learned commentator, magnarum rerum est promissio, means the promise of something of great consequence. It signifies also something promised over and over again, after great persuasion and entreaty.

Dr. Bentley thinks that this line ought to be omitted as spurious, because the word hunc refers to Pamphilus, who had not quitted the stage at all, from the time of Charinus’ departure until that moment: and, therefore, what Byrrhia says about following him thither must be nonsense. This passage is made very clear by Madame Dacier, who shews that Id propterea is the commencement of another sentence, and makes hunc refer to Simo, instead of Pamphilus. The lines ought to be read thus,

NOTE 128.

Byrrhia. (aside.) Now, for my master’s sake, I dread to hear his answer.

Some commentators make this speech come from Davus; but it certainly is more natural from Byrrhia: because, by the word dread, he expresses a suspense about what the answer might be, which Davus could not feel, because he and his master had previously agreed upon it.

I think this reading seems more consistent than that which is usually printed, where obmutuit comes from Davus: as Byrrhia might well be supposed to express surprise at Pamphilus’s answer, which was directly different from what Pamphilus and Charinus had previously agreed on.

The dialogue of this scene is carried on too unconnectedly, as Mr. Colman observes.

“Donatus remarks on this scene between Byrrhia, Simo, Pamphilus, and Davus, that the dialogue is sustained by four persons, who have little or no intercourse with each other: so that the scene is not only in direct contradiction to the precept of Horace excluding a fourth person, but is also otherwise vicious in its construction. Scenes of this kind are, I think, much too frequent in Terence, though, indeed, the form of the ancient theatre was more adapted to the representation of them than the modern. The multiplicity of speeches aside is also the chief error in his dialogue; such speeches, though very common in dramatic writers, ancient and modern, being always more or less unnatural. Myrtle’s suspicions, grounded on the intelligence drawn from Bevil’s servant, are more artfully imagined by the English poet, than those of Charinus, created by employing his servant as a spy on the actions of Pamphilus.”—Colman.

Byrrhia. (aside.) From what I hear, I fancy my master has nothing to do but to provide himself with another mistress as soon as possible.

“This expression is extremely elegant; excidere uxore means to lose all hope of obtaining the woman he courted, Excidere lite, to lose a cause, is a similar phrase. This mode of expression is in imitation of the Greeks, who used ἐκπιπτεῖν in the same sense.”—Madame Dacier.

Terence, undoubtedly, was extremely happy in the choice of his words; and his expressions are frequently so terse and nervous, that they cannot be translated but by a circumlocution which very much diminishes their grace: the following are words of that description which occur in this play,

“Liberaliter, conflictatur, familiariter, invenustum, indigeas, pollicitus, excidit, lactasses, ingeram, in proclive, produceres, conglutinas, illicis, attentus.”

Byrrhia. Well, I’ll carry him an account of what has passed. I suppose I shall receive an abundance of bad language in return for my bad news.

There is a jest in the Latin, which it is impossible to preserve in a translation: it turns on the word malum, which was used at Rome to signify the punishment inflicted on a slave, who played his part badly on the stage: as the inferior characters in a Roman play were personated by slaves. Thus, Byrrhia means to say, I shall rehearse my part so little to my master’s satisfaction, that I am sure to be punished. The writings of Terence abound with allusions of different kinds. It is not improbable that Terence acquired a taste for dramatic writing, by frequenting the stage in his youth, before he obtained his liberty: as slaves were employed in the theatres in considerable numbers. It is remarkable that several very eminent Latin and Greek writers were originally slaves; Terence, Cæcilius, Æsop, Diocles, Rhianus, Epictetus, Tyrannion, and (as some say) Plautus, were all elevated from a servile station. A celebrated writer remarks on this subject as follows:—

“Of the politest and best writers of antiquity, several were slaves, or the immediate descendants of slaves. But all the difficulties occasioned by their low birth, mean fortune, want of friends, and defective education, were surmounted by their love of letters, and that generous spirit, which incites,

Byrrhia’s whole speech, from which the before-mentioned line was taken, has been thus altered by the learned French writer mentioned in Notes 72 and 112. Vide Note 133.

NOTE 132.

Davus. (aside.) He has missed his aim! I see this nettles him to the quick.

M. Baron has lengthened this scene considerably: and makes a trial of repartee between Simo and Davus: one passage in which I think the ancient is surpassed by the modern, particularly deserves to be recorded.

NOTE 133.

Davus. While circumstances allowed him, and while his youth, in some measure, excused him, I confess he did.

This is the last passage in this play that has been altered by the learned French writer, whom I have already cited several times. He has varied the lines as follows,

I have now completed my extracts of the alterations made by this very learned and judicious writer, of various passages in our author, which might sound somewhat harsh to a delicate ear. I cannot but think that these alterations are worthy of the attention of the editors of Latin classics, who might adopt them with advantage in those editions of Terence, which are intended to be introduced into schools. It is impossible to be too cautious respecting those writings which are placed in the hands of youth: that work, perhaps, has the greatest merit, which can be submitted to their perusal most unreservedly.

I shall conclude this subject with an extract from that inestimable Tractate of Education, addressed by Milton to Mr. Samuel Hartlib: after various instructions to those who superintend the studies of youth, he observes, “Either now, or before this, they may have easily learnt, at any odd hour, the Italian tongue; and soon after, but with wariness and good antidote, it would be wholesome enough to let them taste some choice comedies, Greek, Latin, or Italian. Those tragedies, also, that treat of household matters, as Trachiniæ, Alcestis, and the like.”

NOTE 134.

He was cautious as a gentleman should be.

Cavit——ut virum fortem decet.

The words virum fortem in this passage do not mean a brave man, but a noble, well-bred, or honourable man. Latin authors sometimes used fortis in that sense. Thus, Ovid, speaking of Polyxena, says,

The Romans used virtus also in a similar manner to signify virtue, bravery, and nobleness. The Greek word καλὸς was of the same signification with the Latin fortis: it meant sometimes a brave, sometimes a virtuous man. Menander employs τα καλα in this sense,

This is admirably contrived by our author. Pamphilus is a youth of so open and ingenuous a disposition, that he cannot attempt to practise the slightest deceit upon his father, without a visible uneasiness and sadness in his demeanour. Terence conducts this affair in a manner infinitely more natural than does Sir R. Steele; who makes young Bevil counterfeit an eagerness to attend the lady his father designs for him, that is rather inconsistent with strict ingenuousness. But Terence has shewn wonderful art in his portraiture of Pamphilus’s behaviour in this scene: he asks his father no questions; he is silent and spiritless; and sedulously avoids mentioning any thing connected with his marriage, or his intended bride, and, as Mr. Colman ingeniously suggests, Pamphilus’s dissimulation may find some palliations in the artful instigations of Davus.

Instead of referring the reader to the Table of Money in Note 208, for the value of the drachma, I purpose to enter more at large, in this place, into a subject that has so much occupied the attention of the learned. The drachma, (δραχμὴ,) it is generally agreed, was equal to three scruples, six oboli, (ὀβολὸς,) and eighteen siliqua, (κέρατιον). Pliny, Valerius Maximus, and Strabo, believed the Attic drachma and the Roman denarius to be equivalent. But, if we admit of the correctness of this estimation, it affords us no certain information, as authors can agree as little on the value of the denarius, as on that of the drachma. Kennett computes the Roman denarius at 7d. 2qrs.; Greaves, Arbuthnot, and Adams, at 7d. 3q.; Tillemont at 11d., and, in the Philosophical Transactions, (Vol. LXI., Part II., Art. 48.) they estimate the denarius at 8d. 1½q.

Mr. Raper makes the Attic drachm worth 9d. ²⁸⁶⁄₁₀₀₀. Greaves reckons it equal to 67 grains, which, supposing silver to be sold at 5s. per ounce, fixes the drachm at 8d. 1½qr. Dr. Arbuthnot computes it 6d. 3qr. ¹³⁶⁸⁄₄₇₀₄. Others fix the Attic talent at 187l. 10s., and the drachm at 7d. 2qrs., or the eighth part of an ounce of silver. If we take the mean of these computations, we may suppose the Attic drachm to have been equal to 8d.; the Eginean to 13d. 3 qrs.; the insular to 16d.; and the drachm of Antioch, to 48d. The learned Madame Dacier speaks of the Attic drachm thus: “la drachme Attique valait à peu près cinq sols.” No person, I think I may venture to assert, was ever more habitually correct than Madame D.

NOTE 137.

Indeed, Sir, I think you are too frugal; it is not well timed.

Tu quoque perparce nimium. Non laudo.

Donatus thinks, that the force of quoque in this line is as follows: He (Pamphilus) is much to blame for his childish petulance in taking offence at so trifling a circumstance: and you (Simo) ALSO are to blame for having made so sparing a provision for your son’s wedding supper. Terence has managed the whole circumstance very artfully: Simo intending to deceive Pamphilus and Davus, had provided to the amount of ten drachms, which was sixty times more than the expense of Chremes’ supper, which cost but an obolus, (vide Note 120,) and accounts for what he said to Sosia, Act I. Scene I. (vide Note 60.) But we are meant to suppose, that his frugality would not allow him to support the deceit by purchasing a plentiful wedding supper, which, among the Athenian citizens of rank, was a most expensive entertainment. (Vide Herodot. B. 1. C. 133. Arrian, B. 7. C. 26.)

The whole of the second act (as well as the first) has been preserved in Baron’s Andrienne, without alteration.

In the Conscious Lovers, the second act varies considerably. Instead of the scene between Davus and his master, Indiana and Isabella are introduced, and afterwards Indiana and Bevil: but both these scenes are entirely barren of incident. Bevil protects Indiana, as Pamphilus protects Glycera; but the former is on the footing of a protector only, and remains an undeclared lover until the fifth act.

Terence has wrought up the second act of this play with the utmost art and caution: a particular beauty in the pieces written by this great poet appears in the judicious disposition of his incidents, and in his so industriously concealing his catastrophe until the proper time for its appearance. This is a circumstance of great importance in dramatic writing, to which some authors pay too little attention. An ingenious critic of the last age has pointed out a very extraordinary instance of a total deficiency of art in this respect, where both the plot and the catastrophe are completely revealed in the very title. This piece is Venice Preserved, or the Plot Discovered, which is, in other respects, a very fine production. How much such a title as this must deaden the interest that an audience would otherwise feel from their suspense! This is a point which admits of no argument.

The circumstance of a female officiating as a medical attendant is of some importance. Caius Hyginus, a learned Spaniard, and the freedman of Augustus Cæsar, mentions in his “Mythological Fables” an ancient Athenian law, prohibiting women from the practice of physic: this prohibition was productive of great inconvenience in many cases, and afterwards repealed; when free women were suffered to practise midwifery. To ascertain the date of this repeal, would afford us some guide to fix on the times, when the scenes described in this play were supposed to happen, and the manners of which both Menander and Terence meant to portray.

I have taken the liberty of following the example of Bernard, Echard, and most of the French translators, in softening the word Glycerium, which, to an English ear, sounds masculine enough for the name of Cæsar or of Alexander. But, for a female’s name,

NOTE 141.

Mysis.—For, girl or boy, he has given orders, that the child shall be brought up.

Vide Notes 93, 126. When circumstances would not allow the father of an infant to take it up from the ground himself, if he intended to preserve it, he commissioned some friend to perform the ceremony for him. This is the meaning of jussit tolli in this passage. Vide Pitis Dict., Art. Expositio, and Athenæ. B. 10.

Simo.—O Jupiter! what do I hear? it is all over if what she says be truth!—is he so mad? a foreigner too!

I imagine that in this passage, Terence meant Simo to call Glycera a foreigner merely, and not a woman of light character, which peregrina sometimes means, (vide Note 82.) Madame Dacier translates the words ex peregrina by “quoi d’une étrangère? c’est à dire d’une courtisane, car comme je l’ai remarqué ailleurs, on donnoit le nom d’étrangères à toutes les femmes debauchées: et je crois qu’ils avoient pris cela des Orientaux; car on trouve étrangère en ce sens là dans les livres du Vieux Testament.” But peregrina will hardly bear this interpretation in this particular passage, because we must suppose that Simo had not that opinion of Glycera’s character; for he himself (Act I. Scene I.) says, that her appearance was “so modest and so charming, that nothing could surpass it.” Simo, however, had sufficient reason for exclamation; supposing that he considered Glycera merely as a person who was not a native of Athens. The Athenian laws were rigorously strict in prohibiting a citizen from contracting a marriage with any woman who was not a citizen: if such a marriage was contracted, and the parties impeached and convicted, the husband was fined very heavily, in proportion to his property; the wife sold for a slave; and any person who was proved to have used any species of deceit to induce the Athenian to form this forbidden connexion, was punished with the worst kind of infamy, which included the loss of his liberty and of his estate. The first of these punishments was called ζημία, the second δουλεία, and the third ἀτιμία. If Simo, therefore, supposed that Glycera was not a citizen, and believed Pamphilus to be her husband, his apprehensions appear very natural.

Though Juno was sometimes called Lucina, Diana is the goddess here called Juno Lucina. Diana received the appellation of Juno, (as I apprehend,) because she was considered by the ancients as presiding over women in child-birth: and might, therefore, very properly be termed Juno, the guardian genius of women; as Junones was the usual name for those spirits who were supposed to be the protectors of women, as the genii were thought to be the guardians of men: (vide Note 106.) Catullus addressing Diana, calls her expressly by the names Juno Lucina:

Cicero also confirms the assertion of Catullus, “Ut apud Græcos Dianam eamque Luciferam, sic apud nostros Junonem Lucinam invocant.” As the Greeks call upon Diana Lucifera, so we call upon the same goddess by the names of Juno Lucina. Diana was almost universally worshipped in Greece, where many magnificent temples were erected in her honour: amongst which, was that of Ephesus, reckoned one of the wonders of the world. Of this magnificent structure, the ruins may now be seen near Ajasalouc in Natolia. The temple was purposely burned by Eratorastus, who adopted this mode of perpetuating his name. The Greek festivals celebrated in honour of their imaginary deities were almost innumerable: and those dedicated to Diana, shew the high estimation in which she was held. A surprising number of festivals were celebrated in honour of this goddess, in various parts of Greece. The following are the names of the chief of those held in Athens,

Τεσσαρακοστὸν, Μουνυχία, Θαργήλια, Λιμνατίδια, Ἀρτεμίσια, Βραυρώνια, Ἐλαφηβόλια. Vide Athen., Δειπνοσο, B. 14.

Another allusion to the drama: Simo compares Davus’s supposed plot to a comedy, and Davus the contriver of it he calls magister, which was the title of the person who instructed the actors in their parts, or perhaps the title of the author. Simo accuses Davus of bringing forward his catastrophe too soon, and asks him whether the actors in his piece (discipuli) had forgotten their parts.

Ancient dramatic writers were very strict in adhering to their rules of composition.

According to Vossius, the ancients divided a comedy into three parts: 1. protasis, 2. epitasis, 3. catastrophe. The protasis occupied Act I., and was devoted to the explanation of the argument. The epitasis took up Act II. III. IV., contained the incidents, and wrought up the mind to a degree of interest, taking care to leave it in doubt; which brought on the catastrophe, which unravelled and cleared up the whole; and is defined by Scaliger thus, “conversio negotii exagitati in tranquillitatem non expectatam:” a sudden changing of the hurry and bustle of action into unexpected tranquillity. The same learned critic adds a fourth part to the before-mentioned three, which he calls catastasis, and places immediately before the catastrophe: he defines the catastasis as follows, “vigor ac status fabulæ, in qua res miscetur in ea fortunæ tempestate, in quam subducta est:” that liveliness and issue of the plot, in which the various incidents are mixed up in such a commotion of fortune as to be in a proper state to be brought down to the catastrophe.

NOTE 145.

What a laughing-stock would this rascal have made of me.

Quos mihi ludos redderet.

This is an allusion to the games which were exhibited among the ancients with a view to entertain the people; and also to create in them a spirit of emulation in glorious actions. Games, both in Greece and Rome, constituted a part of religious worship; they were divided into three classes, 1. what the Romans called ludi equestres, or horse, and chariot-races; 2. ludi agonales, or combats of gladiators and others, and also of beasts; 3. ludi scenici et musici, or dramatic exhibitions of all kinds, music, dancing, &c. The chief games among the Greeks were, 1. the Olympic, dedicated to Jupiter; 2. the Pythian, to Apollo; 3. the Nemæan, to Hercules; 4. the Isthmian, to Neptune; 5. the games celebrated at the observation of the Eleusinian mysteries, in honour of Ceres and Proserpine: 6. the great Panathenæa, dedicated to Minerva. Those who obtained the victory in these games, were universally distinguished; and their success reflected glory on their family, and even on the cities from whence they came; part of the wall of which was thrown down to admit them in triumph on their return. Those Athenians who were conquerors in the Olympic games, were afterwards (at their own option,) maintained at the public charge, and enjoyed various extraordinary privileges. Among the Romans, the principal games were, 1. the Ludi Romani, dedicated to Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva; 2. the Sæculares, to the deities and the fates; 3. the Consuales, to Neptunus Equestris; 4. the Capitolini, to Jupiter Capitolinus. The Romans celebrated their games chiefly in the Circus Maximus; which, as a place of entertainment, was magnificently extensive. Pliny asserts that it would contain one quarter of a million of spectators; and more modern authors have augmented that number to 380,000.

Though I have followed the common reading in this passage, as it is not a point of any importance, I think it doubtful whether Terence meant Lesbia to speak of the mother or the child, when she said the words fac ut lavet, as the Greeks practised a remarkable ceremony on new-born infants, in order to strengthen them. A mixture of water, oil, and wine, was made in a vessel kept for the purpose, which they called λουτρὸν and χύτλος, and, with this liquid, they washed the children; as some think, they wished to try the strength of the infant’s constitution, which, if weak, yielded to the powerful fumes of the wine, and the children fell into fits. I imagine that this was done, when it was the question if an infant should be exposed, as puny, sickly children sometimes were. (Vide Note 93.)

Dr. Bentley reads falso in Davus’s speech; and Cooke thinks it should be altogether omitted. I have followed the old English edition in supposing the word in question to be spoken ironically, which is certainly consistent with the usual style of conversation between Simo and Davus.

Now, finding that the marriage preparations are going forwards in our house, she sends her maid to fetch a midwife.

This is a very subtle contrivance. Davus intends that the birth of Pamphilus’s child shall be reported to Chremes to alarm him, (as we see Act V. Scene I. page 82,) and, therefore, that Simo may not suspect him, he persuades him that Glycera is contriving to spread reports of Pamphilus’s engagements to her. M. Baron has entirely omitted the incident of the birth of the child. He introduces Sosia again to fill up the chasm. In a scene between Simo, Davus, and Chremes, the latter is induced to renew his consent to the marriage, by overhearing a conversation between Simo and Davus; in which, as in the original, the slave invents a tale that Pamphilus and Glycera are at variance.

Sir R. Steele varies the third act altogether; he makes it turn wholly on the underplot, of which the chief personages are Lucinda, and her two lovers Myrtle and Cimberton: the latter is a pedantic coxcomb, and added to the original characters by the English poet.

And to provide a child at the same time, thinking that unless you should see a child, the marriage would not be impeded.

Moventur, in this passage, does not mean to move forward: but signifies to move back with disturbance, to hinder, or to disorder, and is used instead of perturbantur. Moveo is very unfrequently though sometimes employed in this sense. I shall cite one passage from Horace, where it has the same meaning as in the before-mentioned line from Terence.

Terence uses an expression in the beginning of this scene that has been a source of discussion among the critics. It is in the following line,

I have selected from a very long note on this passage, by an eminent writer, the following extracts, which will afford, I trust, a satisfactory elucidation of the line in question.

“Atque haud scio an quæ dixit sint vera omnia: this seems, at first sight, to signify, I do not know if all that he has told me be truth; but, in the elegance of the Latin expression, however, haud scio an, means the same as fortasse (perhaps) as if he had said haud scio an non. Thus, in the Brothers, A. IV. S. V. v. 33. Qui infelix haud scio an illam misere non amat: which does not mean, I do not know whether he loves her, but, on the contrary, I do not know that he does not love her. Also, in Cicero’s Epistles, B. IX. L. 13., Istud quidem magnum, atque haud scio an maximum; this is a great thing, and perhaps the greatest of all, or, I do not know but it is the greatest of all. And, also, in his Oration for Marcellus, when he said that future ages would form a juster estimate of Cæsar’s character than could be made by men of his own times; he says, Servis iis etiam indicibus qui multis post sæculis de te judicabunt, et quidem haud scio, an incorruptius quam nos. There are numberless examples of this kind in the writings of Cicero, and I know that there are some which make for the opposite side of the question, as in his book on “Old Age,” speaking of a country life, he says, Atque haud scia an ulla possit esse beatior vita. But, it is my opinion, that these passages have been altered by some person who did not understand that mode of expression, and that it ought to be, Atque haud scio an nulla possit esse beatior vita.” The Author of the old Translation of Terence. Printed 1671. Paris.

Terence frequently has this construction: the two following sentences are of similar difficulty: they both occur in this play:

NOTE 151.

A. III. S. IV. Simo, Chremes.

Simo.—Chremes, I am very glad to see you.

“Jubeo Chremetem (saluere)”: the last word is not spoken, because the speaker is interrupted by Simo. It is necessary to observe that jubeo does not always signify to command, but sometimes means to wish, to desire, especially when the speaker’s wish is afterwards verbally expressed; according to what Donatus observes on this passage, “Columus animo, jubemus verbis.”—Old Paris Edition.

Terence has portrayed Chremes as a very amiable character; he is mild and patient, and the most benevolent sentiments issue from his lips. It was necessary, as Donatus observes, to represent Chremes with this temper, for, had he been violent and headstrong, he could not have been supposed to seek Simo, and afterwards renew his consent, which is a very important incident, upon which the remainder of the epitasis entirely hinges. The Chremes of Sir R. Steele (Sealand) has all the worth of Terence’s original, but is deficient in that polish of manners which renders the Latin character so graceful.

NOTE 152.

The quarrels of lovers is the renewal of their love.

Amantium iræ amoris integratio est.

In this sentence I have followed the Latin grammatical construction; and I believe it is also allowable in English, in such a case as this, to choose at pleasure either the antecedent or the subsequent for the nominative case. Very few sentences from profane writers have (I imagine) been more frequently repeated than Amantium iræ amoris integratio est, an observation which is undeniably just. This sentence has been repeatedly imitated.

Simo.—Yet the most serious mischief, after all, can amount but to a separation, which may the gods avert.

The Athenian laws permitted citizens to divorce their wives on very trivial pretences; but compelled them, at the same time, to give in a memorial to the archons, stating the grounds on which the divorce was desired. A citizen might put away his wife, without any particular disgrace being attached to either the husband or the wife; and when the divorce was by mutual consent, the parties were at liberty to contract elsewhere. He who divorced his wife, was compelled to restore her dowry, though he was allowed to pay it by instalments: sometimes it was paid as alimony, nine oboli each month.

For a very flagrant offence, a wife, by the Athenian laws, might divorce her husband: if the men divorced, they were said ἀποπέμπειν, or ἀπολεύειν, to send away their wives: but if the women divorced, they were said ἀπολείπειν, to quit their husbands. (Vide Potter’s Arch. Græc., Vol. II. B. IV. C. 12.)

Terence artfully makes Simo use the word discessio instead of divortium, or discidium, or repudium: which means the worst kind of divorce. Discessio, among the Romans, was nearly the same as a separation among us: by separation, I mean what our lawyers call divorce a mensa et thoro; which does not dissolve the marriage; and which they place in opposition to divorce a vinculo matrimonii; which is a total divorce. In the earlier ages of the Roman Republic, the wife had no option of divorcing her husband: but it was afterwards allowed, as we see in Martial.

An Athenian bride was conveyed to her bridegroom’s house in the evening by torchlight, attended by her friends: vide Notes 116, 117, 118, 119. Various singular customs prevailed among the Athenians at their marriages: when the bride entered her new habitation, quantities of sweetmeats were poured over her person: she and her husband also ate quinces, and the priests who officiated at marriages (vide St. Basil, Hom. 7, Hexame.) first made a repast on grasshoppers, (τέττιγες, cicadæ,) which were in high esteem among the Athenians, who wore golden images of this insect in their hair, and, on that account, were called τέττιγες. Grasshoppers were thought to have originally sprung from the earth; and, for that reason, were chosen as the symbol of the Athenians, who pretended to the same origin.

I have been fearful that you would prove perfidious, like the common herd of slaves, and deceive me in this intrigue of Pamphilus.

Donatus makes a remark on the style of this sentence, which deserves attention, “gravis oratio ab hoc pronomine (ego) plerumque inchoatur,” a speech which begins with the pronoun ego is generally grave and serious: to which some commentator has added the following remark respecting the before-mentioned passage from Terence, “Est autem hoc principium orationis Simonis à benevolentia per antithesin.” The remarks of Donatus and Nonnius on the style of our author, are generally very acute and ingenious. Scaliger, Muretus, and Trapp, may be added to the critics before mentioned. The learned writer last named has composed a treatise in Latin “De Dramate,” which contains many very valuable hints relative to dramatic writing.

There is a play upon words here, which I have endeavoured to preserve in the English. The Latin is as follows. Davus. Occidi. Simo. Hem! quid dixisti? Davus. Optume inquam factum. If the requisite similarity of sound was preserved in this pun, it may be conjectured that the Latin i was not pronounced very differently from the i of the modern Italians. Vide Note 92.

NOTE 156.

Pam.—What trust can I put in such a rascal?

Oh! tibi ego ut credam FURCIFER?

The epithet furcifer (rascal) is of singular derivation; and, though it was an appellation of great reproach in the times of Terence, yet, in later ages of the Roman Republic, it bore a very different signification. The name of furcifer, which was originally given to slaves, took its rise from the Roman custom of punishing a slave who had committed any flagrant offence, by fastening round his neck a heavy piece of wood, in the shape of a fork, and thence called furca; this occasioned the delinquent to be afterwards called furcifer, (furcam ferre.) Three modes of punishment by the furca were practised at Rome: 1. ignominious, 2. penal, 3. capital. In the first, the criminal merely carried the furca on his shoulders for a short period; in the second, he wore the furca, and was whipped round the Forum; in the third, after having been tied to a large furca, somewhat like a modern gallows, he was beaten to death. Slaves were treated more severely by the Romans than by the Athenians, who were celebrated for their mild and gentle behaviour to that class of persons. The furca was afterwards employed in a very different manner; and, from a badge of disgrace, was changed to a serviceable implement. Caius Marius, nearly a hundred years after Terence composed this play, introduced the use of the furca among his soldiers. It was employed to carry baggage and other requisites; and, in use, somewhat resembled a modern porter’s knot, hence, the word furculum or ferculum, became an expression to signify a burden, or any thing carried in the hand: and sometimes, also, the various courses brought to table, as in Horace,

NOTE 157.

Ah! how foolishly have I relied on you, who, out of a perfect calm, have raised this storm.

“My father reads this passage thus, en quo fretus sum, that is, the rascal on whom I relied,” &c.

If an error has been insinuated into the text in this passage, it can scarcely be of sufficient importance to render an alteration essential: the correction suggested by Madame Dacier, is not so decidedly superior to the usual mode of reading the lines, as to compensate for the inconvenience which must be occasioned by a general variation of the text.

This alludes to the Athenian custom of questioning supposed criminals, either before sentence was passed, or while they were under the torture, to the following effect: What have you deserved? and, according to the tenor of the reply, they augmented or diminished the punishment: vide Nonni. Miscel., B. 2. It was also customary, at Athens, when the punishment was not fixed by the laws, but was left to the discretion of the judges, that the condemned person was required to state what injury he thought his adversary had suffered from him; and the answer, when delivered upon oath, was called διαμοσία; by which the final sentence was in some measure regulated.

Terence, in the composition of these lines, has admirably succeeded in expressing the sense by the sounds and measure of his verse, and the very lines seem as angry (if I may be allowed to use such an expression) as Charinus, who is to speak them, is supposed to be. The whole speech is written with a great deal of fire and spirit; and represents, in a very lively manner, the impatient bursts of indignation, and the broken periods which issue from the mouth of an enraged and disappointed person, during the first transports of his anger. The ancients particularly studied this poetical beauty; and many of them have reached a degree of excellence scarcely inferior to that of the moderns. Terence has as eminently distinguished himself by his success in this ornament to composition as he has by his other excellencies: as familiar verse, his compositions are extremely harmonious.

Mr. Pope has described the poetical embellishment before mentioned in a most inimitable poem, which at once explains and exemplifies his meaning.

Virgil was particularly successful in his endeavours to impart this ornament to his composition. The following lines are reckoned by the critics to be a beautiful specimen of his ability in this species of verse.

Those men have characters of the very worst description, who make a scruple to deny a favour; and are ashamed, or unwilling to give a downright refusal at first; but who, when the time arrives. &c.

This is one of those beautiful passages which prove Terence to have been so able a delineator of character. How faithful a picture does he here draw of this particular species of weakness! A man is asked a favour which he knows it is out of his power to compass, and yet feels a repugnance to candidly avow it: he cannot bear to witness the uneasiness of the disappointed person, and, from a kind of false shame, he misleads him with a promise which he cannot perform. To detect those lurking impulses which almost escape observation, though they influence the actions: to describe with force and elegance, and convince the mind of a feeling of which it was before scarcely conscious, is an effort of genius worthy of a Terence.

If any one tell me, that no advantage will result from it: I answer this, that I shall poison his joy: and even that will yield me some satisfaction.

This sentiment has been imitated by the first of dramatists in his Othello: he has expanded it into a greater number of lines, which are extremely beautiful.

The soliloquy of Charinus, (of which the lines I have cited in the commencement of this Note form a part,) is one of the best written in the plays of our author: it is exactly of the kind recommended by the Duke of Buckingham.

A soliloquy is introduced with most success, when the speaker of it is supposed to be deliberating with himself on doubtful subjects: but, when narration is to be introduced, it is brought forward with more advantage in the shape of a dialogue between the speaker and his confidant. But a skilful dramatist can often employ a preferable method to either of those I have just named, for the disposition of narration. Papias lays it down as an absolute rule for the composition of soliloquies, that they must be deliberations only.

Sir R. Steele, in his play, called the Conscious Lovers, does not represent Myrtle as comporting himself in his disappointment with the moderation observed by Charinus. He challenges Bevil: though the duel is afterwards prevented by the patience and forbearance of the latter, who communicates to his angry friend a letter which he had received from Lucinda, expressive of her favourable thoughts of Myrtle. The ingenious author of the Conscious Lovers imagined, no doubt, that to an English audience, Charinus’s easy resignation of his mistress to Pamphilus would appear tame and unnatural. In nothing do the manners of the ancients and the moderns differ more widely than in their respective behaviour in cases of private injury, real or imagined. Among the ancient Greeks and Romans, duelling was totally unknown. Alexander and Pyrrhus, Themistocles, Leonidas, and Epaminondas, the Scipios and Hannibal, Cæsar and Pompey, all men whose fame will never be surpassed, and a countless number of the heroes of antiquity, would have scorned to draw their swords in a private quarrel. It was reserved for Christians, to introduce and countenance this barbarous practice; which ought to be the shame of civilized humanity. Barbarous, however, it can scarcely with justice be called: for those nations whose unpolished manners caused them to be termed barbarians, were never known to have adopted it; nor has a single instance occurred, where men, in a state of uncultivated nature, have been known to sacrifice a brother’s life in the mortal arbitration of a private quarrel. Duelling was originally practised among northern nations. Those who wish to entertain just ideas on this subject cannot do better than to consult A Discourse on Duelling, by the Rev. Thomas Jones, A.M., Trinity College, Cambridge.

Eneco and enico are thought by some critics to have been exactly similar in signification; but eneco generally means to kill, as in Plautus angues enecavit: whereas enico signifies only to teaze, or to torment; as in the passage in Terence before mentioned. Vide Horace Ep., B. I. Ep. 7. L. 87.

Literally, a noise is made on the inside of Glycera’s door. As all the street-doors in Athens opened towards the street, it was customary to knock loudly on the inside, before the door was thrown open, lest, by a sudden and violent swing, the heavy barrier should injure any of the passengers. The Greeks called this ceremony ψοφεῖν θυραν. All the doors of the Romans opened inwards, unless (which rarely happened) a law was passed to allow any particular person to open his door towards the street. This was considered a very great honour, and never conferred but as a reward for very eminent services.

In Sparta, a law prevailed that no instrument but a kind of saw should be employed in making the doors of the houses; this regulation was intended to prevent luxury, and wasteful expense. Both in Athens and Rome, the first room within the door was made extremely large, and highly ornamented. This room was called aula by the Romans, and, by the Greeks αὐλὴ. Here were placed the trophies gained by the master of the house, and by his family. In later and more luxurious ages, the doors were made of more costly materials, sometimes they formed them of metal, either iron or brass; sometimes also ivory was used for this purpose, or scarce and curious kinds of wood.

Mysis. (speaking to Glycera within.) I will directly, Madam; wherever he may be, I’ll take care to find your dear Pamphilus, and bring him to you: only, my love, let me beg you not to make yourself so wretched.

Sir R. Steele and Monsieur Baron have brought both Glycera and Philumena on the stage; but, in the Latin drama, the principal female characters (if they appear at all) are generally mutes. It is a circumstance worthy of our attention, that (except in one instance) Terence never brings on the stage any female character of rank and consideration: the women who take a part in the dialogue are generally either attendants, or professional people, as nurses, midwives, &c. But this exclusion, (though our author has been compelled to sacrifice to it all those embellishments which the portraiture of the Athenian ladies must have added to his scenes,) is in strict conformity with the manners of the Greeks. Grecian women of rank seldom appeared in company, and closely confined themselves within doors, occupying the most remote parts of the house. Unmarried women were scarcely allowed to quit the rooms they inhabited, without giving previous notice to their protectors. Terence was instructed clearly in this point, by his great original Menander; who expressly says, that the door of the αὐλὴ, or hall, was a place where even a married woman ought never to be seen. Women, among the Greeks, seldom inhabited the same apartment with the men: their rooms were always kept as retired as possible, usually in the loftiest part of the house. Vide Hom. Il., γʹ v. 423; their apartments were called Gynæceum, (γυναικεῖον). Vide Terence’s Phormio, Act 5. S. 6, where he says,

These rooms were sometimes called ὦα, which signifies also eggs; it is supposed that the fable of Castor, Pollux, Helen, and Clytemnestra, being hatched from eggs, took its rise from the double signification of the word ὦα.

Pam.—The oracles of Apollo are not more true: I wish that, if possible, my father may not think that I throw any impediments in the way of the marriage: if not, I will do what will be easily done, tell him frankly that I cannot marry Chremes’ daughter.

Among the Greeks, no oracles were either so numerous or so highly esteemed as those of Apollo. The first place among them is assigned to the oracle at Delphi, near mount Parnassus, which excelled the others in magnificence, and claimed the precedence in point of antiquity. Next to this, ranks the oracle in the island of Delos, the birthplace of Apollo and Diana. It is situated in the north part of Mare Ægeum, or Archipelago, not far from the Isle of Andros, and between Myconus and Rhene. The Athenians reverenced this oracle above all others, and its answers were held to be infallible. Theseus, the most celebrated of the Athenian heroes, instituted a solemn procession to Delos, in honour of Apollo. A certain number of Athenian citizens were chosen, who were called Θεωροὶ, who made the voyage in a sacred ship; the same in which Theseus and his companions were said to have sailed to Crete. This ship was denominated ἀειζώοντα, on account of its great age: it was preserved till the time of Demetrius Phalereus. No criminal was ever put to death during the absence of the sacred ship.

Critics have differed considerably respecting this passage. Some think the word fortis should be understood as addressed to Davus.

I have adopted the interpretation which M. le Fevre, Madame Dacier’s father, has given of this passage. Pamphilus, after expressing his resolution to remain faithful to Glycera, turns to Charinus, expecting a compliment on his behaviour. After a jest on his friend’s having reduced himself to such a forlorn situation, by following the advice of Davus, Charinus, by the word fortis, pays him the compliment his handsome conduct deserved.

Pamphilus, in this speech, alludes to his jest upon Davus in the previous scene, where he says, “I have no doubt, that if that wise head of yours goes to work,” &c., vide p. 67, l. 8. Pamphilus means, I imagine, when he says, “I know what you would attempt,” I suppose you are going to provide the two wives I was speaking of. He could not mean that he really knew Davus’s plan: because he asks him afterwards, page 70, line 10, what he intended to do.

The Davus of M. Baron, instead of laying the child at Simo’s door, makes a false report to Mysis, that Pamphilus intends to desert Glycera, and to espouse Philumena: Mysis communicates this to her mistress, who, in her distress, throws herself at Chremes’ feet, and shews him the contract of her marriage with Pamphilus. This induces Chremes to favour Glycera, and to break off the intended marriage.

“As I never was able to make any sense of facile hic plus est quam illic boni, I choose to give the passage a turn, though contrary to all the readings which I have seen, which makes that proper, with the omission of one word, which was not before intelligible. The usual construction of the words, as they stand in all editions, is this,—there is more ill in his sorrow, or trouble, (some read dolorem, some laborem,) than there is good in his love: see, particularly, Camus’s edition for the use of the Dauphin, which is not only a poor meaning, and unworthy Terence, but inconsistent with what Mysis had said before in the preceding scenes: I therefore choose to be singular and intelligible, rather than to go with all the editors and translators of our poet, and be obscure.”—Cooke.

NOTE 171.

Davus.—Take the child from me directly, and lay him down at our door.

Some commentators read vestram januam, appone, lay him down before your door. But Davus tells Simo, A. III. S. II., (page 51, line 13,) that Glycera intends to have a child laid at his door. It could have answered no purpose, moreover, to have placed Glycera’s child at her own door. We must rather suppose that Davus wished Simo to think that Glycera had sent the infant to Pamphilus as its father. Vide Note 174.

Davus.—You may take some of the herbs from that altar, and strew them under him.

“Altar, Altare, Ara, a place or pile whereon to offer sacrifice to some deity. Among the Romans, the altar was a kind of pedestal, either square, round, or triangular; adorned with sculpture, with basso-relievos, and inscriptions, whereon were burnt the victims sacrificed to idols. According to Servius, those altars set apart for the honour of the celestial gods, and gods of the higher class, were placed on some pretty tall pile of building; and, for that reason, were called altaria, from the word alta and ara, a high elevated altar. Those appointed for the terrestrial gods, were laid on the surface of the earth, and called aræ. And, on the contrary, they dug into the earth, and opened a pit for those of the infernal gods which were called βοθροι λακκοι, scrobiculi. But this distinction is not every-where observed: the best authors frequently use ara as a general word, under which are included the altars of the celestial and infernal, as well as those of the terrestrial gods. Witness Virgil, Ecl. 5.

where aræ plainly includes altaria; for whatever we make of Daphnis, Phœbus was certainly a celestial god. So Cicero, pro Quint. Aras delubraque Hecates in Græcia vidimus. The Greeks, also, distinguish two sorts of altars; that whereon they sacrificed to the gods was called βωμος, and was a real altar, different from the other, whereon they sacrificed to the heroes, which was smaller, and called εσχαρα. Pollux makes this distinction of altars in his Onomasticon: he adds, however, that some poets used the word εσχαρα, for the altar whereon sacrifice was offered to the gods. The Septuagint version does sometimes also use the word εσχαρα, for a sort of little low altar, which may be expressed in Latin by craticula, being a hearth, rather than an altar.”—Chambers’ Cyclopædia.

Scaliger thinks that the altar mentioned by Terence was the altar usually placed on the stage of a theatre during representation, and consecrated to Bacchus in tragedy, and to Apollo in comedy. It is most probable, that one of the ἐσχάραι is alluded to by our author in this passage. The ἐσχάραι were low altars which stood before the doors in Athens: they were dedicated to the ancient heroes.

Davus.—That if my master should require me to swear that I did not do it, I may take the oath with a safe conscience.

The Greeks paid very great regard to oaths. They divided them into two classes. The first kind was the μέγας ὅρκος, or great oath, when the swearer called the gods to witness his truth; the second was the μικρὸς ὅρκος, when the swearer called on other creatures. They usually, when falsely accused of any crime, took an oath to clear themselves. This oath was sometimes administered in a very singular manner: the oath of exculpation was written on a tablet, and hung round the neck, and rested on the breast of the accused, who was then compelled to wade into the sea about knee-deep: if the oath was true, the water remained stationary; but, if false, it instantly rose up, and covered the tablet, that so dreadful a sight as a false oath might be concealed from the view of mankind. The Athenians were proverbial for their sincere regard for truth. Vide Velleius Paterculus, B. 1. C. 4., also, in B. 2. C. 23: we are told

“Adeò enim certa Atheniensum in Romanos fides fuit, ut semper et in omni re, quicquid sincerâ fide generetur, id Romani Atticâ fieri, prædicarent.”—Marcus Velleius Paterculus, B. 2. C. 23. L. 18.

The Athenians behaved with so much good faith and inviolable honour in all their treaties with the Romans, that it became a custom at Rome, when a person was affirmed to be just and honourable, to say, he is as faithful as an Athenian.

Davus. (to himself.) The father of the bride is coming this way; I abandon my first design.

Davus’s first design was (we are to suppose) to go to Simo as soon as Mysis had placed the child at the door, and acquaint him that Glycera had sent him Pamphilus’s child. This would have compelled Simo to suspend the marriage until he had ascertained the real nature of Glycera’s claims on his son. Though Davus’s speech is not usually read aside, we cannot suppose that Mysis heard him say, that Chremes, the bride’s father, approached, because, in the ninth scene of the same act, (vide p. 78, l. preantepen,) he tells her, “that was the bride’s father,” and she replies, “you should have given me notice then.”

This certainly seems a little over-acted on the part of Davus, considering that he knew Chremes to be so very near him. If we conclude that Davus acted his part with the proper gestures, and accompanied the above words with the very natural action of looking round him, to see if any other person was visible near Simo’s door; it appears extremely improbable that he should not have seen Chremes, who was near enough to hear all that passed between Davus and Mysis. Davus intended that what passed between Mysis and himself should be overheard by Chremes, whom he knew to be but a very few yards distant. It seems extraordinary, therefore, that Davus should make use of an expression which compelled him to run the risk of being obliged to recognise Chremes if he looked round, and, if he did not, of raising a suspicion in his mind, that Davus knew him to be there: either circumstance must effectually have spoiled the stratagem, to deter Chremes from the match. To solve this apparent inconsistency, we must suppose that Chremes, wishing, for obvious reasons, to overhear what passed between Mysis and Davus, had, at the entrance of the latter, withdrawn himself behind a row of pillars, or into a portico, or cloister, (which were common in the streets of Athens, and were also built upon the Roman stage,) lest his presence, which Mysis knew of, as he had questioned her, should be a check upon their conversation; from which he, of course, expected to learn the truth respecting the child at Simo’s door, as he knew that Mysis was the servant of Glycera, and Davus the servant of Pamphilus.

NOTE 176.

Mysis.—The deuce take you, fellow, for terrifying me in this manner.

Dii te eradicent, ita me miseram territas.

Literally, May the gods root you up. An ingenious French critic informs us, that the Romans borrowed this expression from the Greeks, who say, “to destroy a man to the very root:” and, that the Greeks borrowed it from the eastern nations. We have a similar expression in English, to destroy root and branch.

This reading must be erroneous, because, so far from having always avoided the match, Chremes himself originally proposed it to Simo, (vide p. 15, l. 18.) and afterwards renewed his consent to it. (Vide p. 58. l. 24.)

NOTE 178.

Davus.—’Tis true, I saw old Canthara, with something under her cloak.

There is great ingenuity displayed in the conduct of this scene. Davus affirms this, as Donatus observes, “Hoc dicit ut leviter redarguat Mysis, non ut vincatur,” that Mysis may easily confute him; and prove that it is the child of Pamphilus which must terrify Chremes. He contradicts her, that she may (in Chremes’ hearing) enter into the proof of what she says. Instead of Cantharam, Nonnius thinks that Terence meant cantharum, a large jug; and that he intended Davus to say, that the child was brought to Glycera’s house in a large cantharus. Vide Nonnius’s Miscell., B. 1, and his remarks on the whole of this scene.

Mysis.—Thank Heaven, that there were some free-women present when my mistress was delivered.

No person could appear as a witness in the Athenian courts of justice, who was not free-born, and also possessed of a fair character. Those who were ἄτιμοι, infamous, were not permitted to give testimony. In particular cases, strangers and freedmen were admitted as witnesses. Every person who was appealed to as a witness, was compelled either to state what he knew of the affair, or to swear that he was ignorant of all the circumstances of it: if he refused to give any answer whatever, he incurred a heavy fine.

To accuse a person of intoxication was considered in Athens and Sparta as one of the greatest affronts that could possibly be committed. Very severe laws were framed in Greece for the punishment of those who were seen in a state of intoxication. The Athenian archons suffered death, if detected in this vice. The Greeks accused the Scythians of having taught them habits of drunkenness. The Spartans affirm, that Cleomenes became first drunk, and afterwards mad, by his associating and drinking with them.

Davus.—One falsehood brings on another: I hear it whispered about that she is a citizen of Athens.

The citizens of Athens were called γηγενεῖς, or sons of the earth, and ἀστοὶ. They were called also τεττιγες, or τεττιγοφορους, wearers of grasshoppers; this appellation, authors have derived differently. Tretzes thinks it was to designate them as fluent orators. Lucian considers it merely as a distinction to divide them from the slaves: and others say, it was because they thought that grasshoppers sprung from the earth; and therefore chose them for the symbol of a people who pretended to the same origin: vide Note 154. The Athenians were called also πολίται. The citizens were divided by Cecrops into four tribes, (vide Poll., B. 3. 64,) each tribe was divided into three classes, and each class into thirty families. The names of the tribes were, 1. Κεκροπὶς, 2. Αὐτόχθων, 3. Ἀκταία, 4. Παραλιά. These names were afterwards changed by Cranaus, (vide Plut. in Solon,) and also by Ericthonius and Erectheus. When the number of the inhabitants increased, new tribes were added. To obtain the Athenian citizenship was deemed so glorious, that foreigners of the very first rank eagerly sought this distinction; which it was extremely difficult to gain: as the Athenians would never admit any persons but those who had signalized themselves by their virtue and bravery.

The Athenian laws did not allow of polygamy: if Glycera, therefore, had been proved to be a citizen, her marriage with Pamphilus would have been valid; and Philumena, if married to him, must have been divorced. We are to suppose, that the apprehension of this circumstance induces Chremes to break off the marriage.

These words are usually read as addressed directly to Chremes; but it appears more probable that Terence intended Davus to speak them as if he meant no one to hear what he said, and yet contrive to raise his voice loud enough for Chremes to overhear him pretend to be alarmed, lest what Mysis had been saying should do any mischief. This feigned consternation was calculated to strengthen Chremes’ belief of the genuineness of the previous scene.

The usual reading is cruciatum hinc abripi; but hinc cannot be necessary to the sense, and spoils moreover the harmony of the line. Neither of the two ancient manuscripts of Terence, in the royal library at Paris, have hinc. There are a great many disputed readings in the plays of Terence, which, by a reference to the various ancient MSS. of our author now extant, might probably be determined. An edition of the plays, regulated by the authority of these MSS., would doubtless be highly serviceable. The most learned woman of her age, Madame Dacier, whose translation of Terence is alone sufficient to perpetuate his name and her own, in her preface to that inestimable work, speaks at length, and in very high terms, of the MSS. of Terence, in the library of his most Christian Majesty. She expresses herself as follows: “I found in them (the MSS.) several things which gave me the greatest pleasure, and which satisfactorily prove the correctness of the most important alterations which I have made in the text, as to the division of the acts, which is of great consequence.” Madame D. reckons the MSS. to be eight or nine hundred years old. Vide Madame Dacier’s Translation of Terence, Edition of Rotterdam, 1717, Preface, page 38. Among the books which his holiness Pope Sixtus V. caused to be removed to the Bibliotheca Vaticana, which he placed in the old Vatican palace, or the Palazzo Vecchio, there was a very curious MS. of the comedies of Terence, which was particularly valued for the representation which it contained of the personæ, or masks, worn by the ancient actors. It was also extremely curious in other respects. Those who enjoy an opportunity of consulting this MS. might derive much and very profitable amusement from a perusal of it. If it still remain in Rome, it may be seen, on application to the chief librarian, who is generally a member of the sacred college. A very curious MS. of Virgil, of the fourth century, written in the Literæ unciales, and Henry VIII.’s MS. de Septem Sacramentis, were formerly shewn to strangers with the before-mentioned MS. of Terence.

Davus.—That’s the bride’s father: I wished him to know all this; and there was no other way to acquaint him with it.

Terence here (say the critics) obliquely praises himself, and the art which he has displayed in this scene. The only scenes of a similar nature, (I mean where the plot is carried on by a concerted conversation intended to be overheard by some person who thinks it genuine,) which are equal to this scene in the Andrian, are the ninth scene of the second act, and the first scene of the third act of Shakspeare’s comedy of Much Ado about Nothing.

The before-mentioned scene from the Andrian has been wholly omitted by Sir R. Steele. Sealand does not renew his consent to the marriage till the end of the fifth act.

M. Baron has introduced Crito earlier than he appears in the Latin play, and closes the fourth act with Glycera’s appeal to Chremes; and two subsequent scenes between Glycera, Mysis, Pamphilus, and Davus. Glycera’s appeal to Chremes is extremely pathetic. It concludes with the following lines:—

Davus.—Do you think that a thing of this sort can be done as well by premeditating and studying, as by acting according to the natural impulse of the moment?

“It is an observation of Voltaire’s, in the Preface to his comedy of L’Enfant Prodigue, that although there are various kinds of pleasantry that excite mirth, yet universal bursts of laughter are seldom produced, unless by a scene of mistake or æquivoque. A thousand instances might be given to prove the truth of this judicious observation. There is scarce any writer of comedy who has not drawn from this source of humour. A scene, founded on a misunderstanding between the parties, where the characters are all at cross-purposes with each other, never fails to set the audience in a roar; nor, indeed, can there be a happier incident in a comedy, if produced naturally, and managed judiciously.

“The scenes in this act, occasioned by the artifice of Davus concerning the child, do not fall directly under the observation of Voltaire; but are, however, so much of the same colour, that, if represented on the stage, they would, I doubt not, have the like effect, and be the best means of confuting those infidel critics who maintain that Terence has no humour. I do not remember a scene in any comedy where there is such a natural complication of pleasant circumstances. Davus’s sudden change of his intentions on seeing Chremes, without having time to explain himself to Mysis; her confusion and comical distress, together with the genuine simplicity of her answers; and the conclusion drawn by Chremes from the supposed quarrel; are all finely imagined, and directly calculated for the purposes of exciting the highest mirth in the spectators. The words of Davus to Mysis in this speech, “Is there then,” &c., have the air of an oblique praise of this scene from the poet himself, shewing with what art it is introduced, and how naturally it is sustained. Sir Richard Steele had deviated so much from Terence in the original construction of his fable, that he had no opportunity of working this scene into it. Baron, who, I suppose, was afraid to hazard it on the French theatre, fills up the chasm by bringing Glycerium on the stage. She, amused by Davus with a forged tale of the falsehood of Pamphilus, throws herself at the feet of Chremes, and prevails on him once more to break off the intended match with Philumena. In consequence of this alteration, the most lively part of the comedy in Terence becomes the gravest in Baron: the artifice of Davus is carried on with the most starch formality, and the whole incident, as conducted in the French imitation, loses all that air of ease and pleasantry, which it wears in the original.”—Colman.

Crito is what Scaliger calls a catastatic character, because he is the chief personage of the catastasis, (καταστασις,) vide Note 144, and introduced for the purpose of leading the way to the catastrophe of the piece.

The inhabitants of the island of Andros were subject to the Athenian laws, which prohibited women from bequeathing by will more than the value of a medimnum (μεδιμνον) of barley. The medimnum was equal to four English pecks and a half. Therefore, as Chrysis had not the power of bequeathing her property, Crito claimed it as heir at law. The Athenian laws relating to wills were very numerous, and very strict in guarding against an improper appropriation of property. Slaves, foreigners, minors, and adopted persons, as well as those who had male heirs, were, by the laws of Solon, rendered incapable of making a will.

Those persons who had no offspring of their own, frequently adopted the children of others, who inherited their estates. Sometimes foreigners were adopted, after having received the freedom of the city. A person who succeeded to the property of another, as heir at law, was bound, under a heavy penalty, to take care, (if on the spot,) that funeral honours were paid to the deceased. This was reckoned a point of great importance: the Greeks were willing to proceed to any extremity rather than suffer their friends to want the rites of sepulture, as we see in Lucretius, who describes the outrageous actions to which the people were driven during a plague; when they committed acts of the greatest violence, rather than permit their friends to want funeral honours.

NOTE 189.

Mysis.—Bless me! whom do I see? Is not this Crito, the kinsman of Chrysis? It is.

Quem video? estne hic Crito, sobrinus Chrysidis.

Sobrinus means literally a mother’s sister’s child, or what we call in English, a maternal cousin-german: but this particularity is not admissible in a translation.

Here is an additional instance of Terence’s infinite attention to manners, and of his success in presenting to his readers a perfect copy of the customs and habits of the Greeks. Crito, though he alludes to the death of Chrysis, avoids any mention of death; and breaks off in a manner which is infinitely more expressive than words could have been. Some of the ancients, the Greeks in particular, studiously avoided, as much as possible, any direct mention of death, which they accounted to be ominous of evil; and always spoke of human mortality, (when compelled to mention it,) in soft and gentle expressions. They were even averse to write θανατος, death, at full length; and not unfrequently expressed it by the first letter θ; thus, if they wished to write down the circumstance of any person’s decease, they wrote the name of the deceased, and affixed to it the letter θ, vide Note 113, also Isidor. Hispal. Orig. B. 1. C. 23. In breviculis, quibus militum nomina continebantur, propria nota erat apud veteres, quæ respiceretur, quanti ex militibus superessent, quanti in bello excidissent, τ in capite versiculi posita superstitem designabat, θ verò ad unius cujusque defuncti nomen adponebatur.

And the example of others will teach me what ease, redress, and profit, I have to expect from a suit at law: besides, I suppose by this time, she has some lover to espouse her cause.

Madame Dacier, in a brilliant and acute critique, has explained this passage in a most perspicuous and comprehensive manner.

“Présentement qu’un étranger comme moi aille entreprendre des procès, les exemples des autres me font voir combien cela serait difficile dans une ville comme celle-ci.”

“I have found, in a copy of Terence’s plays, a marginal note, in my father’s hand-writing, to the following effect: Hunc locum non satis potest intelligere qui librum Xenophontis περὶ Ἀθηναίων πολιτείας non legerit. He who has not read the short treatise of Xenophon on the civil government of the Athenians, can never perfectly comprehend the full force of this passage. I profited by this information: I have read this short treatise, and have been extremely pleased with it: the trouble the perusal cost me has been amply repaid, as I have ascertained by reading this treatise, that the inhabitants of those cities and islands which were subject to the Athenian government were obliged, when they had a suit at law pending, to plead it in Athens, before the people: it could be decided no where else. Crito, therefore, could not have expected impartial judgment from that tribunal, which would certainly have favoured Glycera, the reputed sister of Chrysis, who had settled in Athens, in preference to a stranger like Crito. So much for the success of the affair: next the delays are to be considered, which, to a stranger, are so doubly annoying. For law-suits at Athens were protracted to an almost endless length: the Athenians were such a very litigious people, and had so many law-suits of their own, and celebrated so many festivals, that they had very few days to spare, and the suits of strangers were so lengthened out, and deferred from time to time, that they were almost endless. In addition, moreover, to the uncertainty, and the delay, there was a third inconvenience, still more disagreeable than either of the others, which was, that in a case of that kind, it became necessary to pay court to the people at a great expense. Crito, therefore, had sufficient reason to feel repugnant to engage in a process which might be so protracted and so expensive, the event of which (to say no worse) was extremely precarious. I hope I have rendered this passage perfectly clear.”—Madame Dacier.

Chremes.—Cease your entreaties, Simo; enough, and more than enough, have I already shewn my friendship towards you: enough have I risked for you.

Monsieur Baron, in his Andrienne, has given a literal translation of this scene between Simo and Chremes, which, from its serious cast, appears, perhaps, with more dignity in a poetical dress, than it would have received from prose. A learned translator of Terence, who was also an ingenious critic and a successful dramatist, speaks of Baron’s play in the following terms: “Its extreme elegance, and great superiority to the prose translation of Dacier, is a strong proof of the superior excellence and propriety of a poetical translation of this author:” (Terence.) Colman’s Notes on Terence’s Plays.

The celebrated writer, who made this remark, has himself employed verse throughout the whole of his translation of our author’s plays: and, in the preface to that work, has delivered his opinion very strongly in favour of the composition of comedy in verse, even in the most comic scenes: and argues, that as Terence wrote in verse, a translation of his plays ought to be in verse also.

I must observe that though the comedies of Terence certainly are not prose, yet they are a species of verse so nearly approaching to prose, that many eminent critics have denied that they were written with any regard to measure: they are, therefore, as well calculated, perhaps, as prose, for comic expression. But we have in English no measure at all similar to that used by Terence, nor have we, in my opinion, any measure of verse whatever, in which the most humorous passages in comedy can be so forcibly expressed as they may be in prose. The practice of modern dramatists entirely favours this opinion. Our great Shakspeare, even in tragedy, changes from verse to prose, when he introduces a comic scene, as we see in Hamlet, A. 5. S. 1, 4., Coriolanus, A. 2. S. 1., Antony and Cleopatra, A. 2. S. 6, 7, Othello, A. 2. S. 11, A. 3. S. 1. Could the wit of Congreve, Farquhar, Cibber, Sheridan, and many other eminent English dramatists (among whom I may number Mr. Colman himself,) have been measured out into verse without a diminution of the poignancy of its expression? If the answer to this question be, as I think it must, in the negative, it must surely be decisive against the general introduction of verse into comedies; a species of writing, in which THE RIDICULOUS, according to Aristotle, ought to claim a principal share.

Athens, the most celebrated city of Greece, was the capital of that part of Achaia, which, lying towards the sea-shore, (ἀκτὴ,) was called Attica. It was called Athens after Minerva, (vide Note 94,) Cecropia after Cecrops, and Ionia after Ion. The circumference of this city, at the time of its greatest prosperity, is computed at twenty-three English miles. A much greater space was enclosed within the walls than was required by the usual inhabitants of the city, because, in time of war, the country people were compelled to take refuge within the walls. Aristophanes tells us, (in his Knights,) that these country people, in time of war, dwelt in huts, resembling bee-hives in shape, which were erected in the squares, and other open places.

This accounts for the magnitude of the city, so disproportionate to the usual number of inhabitants in time of peace, when they did not amount to a hundred thousand persons. Athens was governed by kings for the space of 460 years: by magistrates, chosen for life, during about 300 years more: after that time, their rulers were allowed to hold their offices for ten years only; and, at last, for no longer than one. The citadel, or upper city, which was called the Ἀκρόπολις, was ornamented with the most magnificent temples, monuments, and statues. It contained the temples of Minerva, Neptune, Aglauros, Venus, and Jupiter. Dicearchus tells us, that the enormous disproportion in the size of the temples which were magnificent, and of the houses which were low and small, considerably diminished the beauty of the city. Athens was sometimes called the academy of the Roman empire, and the fountain of learning: learned men, and philosophers of different countries, resorted to this celebrated city in great numbers. The Romans scarcely considered a liberal education as completed, without the student received his final polish at Athens. (Vide Horace Sat., B. 2. S. 7. L. 13., Pliny, 7. E. 56.) After a career of glory, which must render the name of Athens immortal, that city sunk beneath the all-conquering power of the Romans, B. C. 85; and the Athenians never regained their importance in the scale of nations.

Athens is now called Setines; Dr. Chandler gives it the name of Athini. It contains 15,000 inhabitants, and is the see of a Greek archbishop.

NOTE 194.

There is a grave severity in his countenance; and he speaks with boldness.

Tristis severitas inest in voltu.

Gravity, among the ancient philosophers, was recommended as one of the greatest ornaments of old age.

Old men, among the Greeks, sometimes affected the manners and exercises of youth: a species of weakness which the literary men of their age reprobated with very poignant ridicule. Theophrastus admirably exposes people of this sort in his portraiture of those who begin to learn in old age. (Vide Theoph. Moral Characters.)

NOTE 195.

Simo.—Seize this rascal directly, and take him away.

——Sublimem hunc intrò rape quantum potes.

There is a sort of pun here upon the word sublimem. Terence alludes to the prisons where slaves were confined, which, in Athens, were usually in the loftiest part of the house: so that Simo says, take him up, and also take him up to the top of the house: this is the force of the word sublimem in this passage.

Slaves, in Greece, were treated with great indulgence, and never chained but for some heinous fault, or when they were brought into the slave-market, (vide Plautus’s Captives, A. 1. S. 2,) and then they were only worn for a short time. As Simo here commands that Davus should be put into chains, we are to suppose him to be exasperated to the utmost, which naturally leads ad finem epitaseos, to the end of the epitasis. The anger of Simo, the distress of Pamphilus and Glycera, the imprisonment of Davus, and the anxious suspense of Charinus, are what Scaliger (Poet, B. 1. C. 9.) calls the negotia exagitata, or the confused and disturbed state of affairs, which the catastrophe is to reduce in tranquillitatem non expectatam, into a sudden and unexpected tranquillity.

The word commotum seems to have been imperfectly understood by Donatus and some other commentators, who have interpreted it as signifying motion; and would translate the line thus, “I’ll make you caper! I’ll make you dance to some tune, sirrah!” which is extremely foreign to its true meaning. Simo uses the phrase commotum reddam instead of commovebo, for the sake of a pun which Terence makes with the word reddam: which cannot be perfectly preserved in English.

In the seventh scene of the second act, Davus jests upon the empty larder, and says,

Simo is quite nettled at this severe joke, which leads him to think his stratagem discovered, and he cries out Tace: hold your tongue; upon which, Davus, delighted with his success in tormenting his master, says to himself Commovi, I’ve ruffled him now. Simo accidentally overhears this, and most severely retorts on him his own expression,

Ego jam te commotum reddam: I will ruffle you now, rascal; I will pay you back your ruffling.

The wit of the sentence depends on the word reddam; which allows of a double construction, as reddo taken separately, signifies to pay back, to requite, and to retaliate. Simo may, therefore, be understood to say, that he pays him back the ruffling he received. But, for this conceit, Simo would have said, Commovebo, which is Davus’s own word: the sense would then have been clearer, though Terence has the same expression in another scene in this play,

where reddo has the same meaning with facio: which is frequently used by Plautus, as “ludos facere.”

NOTE 197.

Can he be so weak? so totally regardless of the customs and laws of his country?

The Athenian laws prohibited a citizen from marrying with a woman who was not a citizen, vide Note 181. A law was passed by Pericles, that the children of a marriage in which both parties were not citizens, should be considered as νοθοι, illegitimate. Pericles himself violated this law, when he had lost all his legitimate children.

As this is one of the most lively and interesting, so it is also one of the most instructive scenes of this comedy. How noble are the sentiments! How engaging the mutual affection of the father and son, which, in spite of their disagreement, is visible in all they say to each other. How amiable are the efforts of Chremes to soften the anger of the justly-offended Simo! He forgets his own disappointment, and the slight his daughter Philumena had received from Pamphilus, and endeavours to reconcile him to his father. It is impossible to read this beautiful scene, without being both affected and improved by the perusal of it.

NOTE 198.

Persons are suborned hither too, who say that she is a citizen of Athens. You have conquered.

The subornation of false witness was punished in Athens with the greatest severity. Both the suborner and the perjured were subject to the same punishment. Upon a third conviction, the offender was branded with infamy, and forfeited his estate. The Athenians, in general, were so celebrated for their love of truth, that the words an Attic witness were used proverbially to designate a witness, whose truth and honour were proof against corruption.

NOTE 199.

If you insist on your marriage with Philumena, and compel me to subdue my love for Glycera, I will endeavour to comply.

This speech is exceedingly artificial. Pamphilus, in the hearing of Chremes, the father of his intended wife, confesses his love for another; and owns, that it must cost him a severe struggle to conquer his affection for her, and resolve to wed Philumena. The knowledge of this was sufficient to deter Chremes from giving his daughter to Pamphilus.

I implore only, that you will cease to accuse me of suborning hither this old man. Suffer me to bring him before you, that I may clear myself from this degrading suspicion.

“Pamphilus had all the reason in the world to endeavour to bring Simo and Crito together, that so he might clear himself of such a scandal as his father very reasonably imputed to him. And this was all the young gentleman’s design, but the poet had a far greater, which the audience could not so much as suspect: namely, the discovery of Glycerie, which comes in very naturally.”—Echard.

NOTE 201.

Chremes.—Simo, if you knew this stranger as well as I do, you would think better of him; he is a worthy man.

M. Baron in this and the following scenes gives almost a literal translation from Terence: and the Andrienne concludes exactly in the same manner with the Latin play; excepting the affranchisement of Davus, with which M. Baron makes Pamphilus reward his faithful services.

In the Conscious Lovers, Sir R. Steele changes Crito into Isabella, the aunt of Indiana, whose real birth is discovered by Sealand’s making her a visit, to inquire into the nature of her connexion with young Bevil: the discovery is made by Sealand himself, who recognizes one of the ornaments worn by his daughter. He gives Indiana willingly to her preserver Bevil, jun., and Lucinda, who was intended to be the wife of Bevil, was, upon his marriage with her sister Indiana, given to Myrtle, the lover whom she herself had always favoured.

The word sycophant was an epithet of peculiar opprobrium at Athens, and of very singular derivation. In a season of great scarcity, a law was passed at Athens, prohibiting the exportation of figs; and afterwards, through neglect, remained unrepealed. Hence, those malicious men who informed against those who transgressed it, were called συκοφάνται, and this appellation was afterwards always applied to false witnesses, and busy and malicious informers.

Crito.—Chrysis’ father, who received him, was my relation, and, at his house, I’ve heard that shipwrecked stranger say, that he was an Athenian: he died in Andros.

The word recepit, in this sentence, alludes to the Roman customs respecting foreigners. Crito had just before used the term applicat, he applied for assistance. When an exile or foreigner arrived at Rome, he was said applicare, to apply to some person to become his patron; as every stranger at Rome was compelled to obtain the protection of one of the citizens, who succeeded to his effects at his death: jure applicationis. When a Roman citizen agreed to accept of a foreigner as his client, he was said recipere, to receive him.

Crito.—At least I think it was Phania: one thing I am sure of, he said he was from Rhamnus.

Rhamnus was a small town in the north of Attica, and only a few miles to the north-west of Marathon. It seems to have been famous for little but a magnificent temple of Nemesis, and an exquisite statue of that goddess, sculptured by Phidias; hence she was sometimes called Rhamnusia, thus by Ovid,

We must not understand Crito to mean, that Phania was a Rhamnusian, because we know that he and Chremes both resided in the city of Athens. Phania probably was prevented, by the confusion of the war, from obtaining a vessel at the Piræus, or either of the Athenian ports; and therefore returned to Rhamnus, and embarked for the opposite coast of Attica. Phania might, therefore, call himself Rhamnusius from Rhamnus, as being bound from Rhamnus to Smyrna, or any other Asian port. Some, instead of Rhamnus and Rhamnusius, read Rhamus and Rhamusius.

Crito.—Ipsa est. Chremes.—Ea est. Terence has shewn his usual art in the arrangement of these two speeches. Upon hearing the true name, one would have expected that the father would have been the first to recognize it, but he prudently delays until Crito confirms the truth of his testimony by agreeing to the name of the long-lost Pasibula. This is finely imagined by the author, as Chremes might very well be supposed to suspect that this discovery was a trick of Davus’, (who might have heard of the loss of this infant daughter,) and taken Crito for an accomplice in the conceived imposture. Chremes, therefore, waited to know whether Crito recognised the name of Pasibula, which, if the story had been false, must have been unknown to him: for the high character of Pamphilus placed him beyond the reach of suspicion.

Simo.—Chremes, I hope you are convinced how sincerely we all rejoice at this discovery.

In many of the old editions of our author, this passage is written omneis nos gaudere; this variation has a reference to the measure of the verse. I have seen one edition in which the line is written omnis nos gaudere.

Some commentators interpret these words from Pamphilus and Simo, (Nempe and Scilicet,) as a hint to Chremes, respecting the dowry which they expected to receive with Glycera; and think that the actor who personates Simo ought to produce a bag of money, that he may “suit the action to the word.” An ingenious critic, speaking of this vague and fanciful conjecture, observes, as follows: “This, surely, is a precious refinement, worthy the genius of a true commentator. Madame Dacier, who entertains a just veneration for Donatus, doubts the authenticity of the observation, which is ascribed to him.” Certainly, if either of the words could be wrested to such a meaning, it must be Nempe, but Terence has represented Pamphilus as a character, so noble, generous, and high-spirited, that we cannot consistently suppose that he would suffer any mercenary considerations to delay for a single moment his acceptance of his beloved Glycera, when offered to him by her father.

NOTE 208.

Chremes.—Pamphilus, my daughter’s portion is ten talents.

A Table of the Money current in Greece.

Those who wish for complete information respecting the ancient and modern real money, and money of account, may be fully satisfied by consulting the following writers on the subject.

Augustinus, Arbuthnot, Budæus, Boisard, Bircherod, Bonneville, Bouteroue, Camden, Du Bost, De Asse, Folkes, Fleetwood, Goltzius, Guthrie, Gerhart, Greaves, Hardouin, Joubert, Krause, Kelly, Lowndes, Le Blanc, Locke, Lord Liverpool, Marien, Morel, Mezzabarba, Norris, Occo, Oiselius, Patin, Pinkerton, Ricard, Richebourg, Raper, Simon, Snelling, Souciet, Seguin, Sirmond, Spanheim, Smith, Tristran, Ursinus, Vicus, Vaillant.

NOTE 209.

Simo.—Why do you not immediately give orders for her removal to our house?

Grecian women, in the situation in which Glycera is represented to have been, were usually well enough to go abroad in a litter in one day’s time. This topic is introduced by the poet, in order that Davus may be spoken of, and delivered from confinement; because his remaining in prison would have been contrary to the rules of comedy.

NOTE 210.

Simo.—Because he is now carrying on things of great weight, and which touch him more nearly.

There is a pun in the original, which I have attempted to preserve in the translation by a circumlocution which I trust on such an occasion will be deemed allowable. The critics remark, that Terence, by Simo’s pleasantry, (vide Note 211,) intended to shew that he was thoroughly reconciled to his son. (Vide Note 92.)

Simo.—He is chained.
Pam.—Ah! dear Sir, that was not well done.
Simo.—I am sure I ordered it to be well done.
S. Vinctus est.
P. Pater non rectè vinctus est.
S. Haud ita jussi.

The jest in this sentence turns on the word rectè, which refers to an Athenian custom of binding criminals’ hands and feet together. Simo (A. 5. S. 3. p. 86.) orders Dromo to bind Davus in the manner before mentioned: (atque audin’? quadrupedem constringito.) Pamphilus says, non rectè vinctus est: rectè has a double meaning, it signifies rightly, and also straight. Simo pretends to take it in the latter sense, which makes his son’s speech run thus, He is not bound straight or upright: to which Simo replies, I ordered he should not be bound straight, but crooked, or neck and heels. I trust I have made the force of this pun clear to the unlearned reader: the turn given it in the English translation is borrowed from Echard.

Pam. (to himself.)—Any one would think, perhaps, that I do not believe this to be true, but I know it is because I wish it so. I am of opinion, that the lives of the gods are eternal, because their pleasures are secure and without end.

“Epicurus observed, that the gods could not but be immortal, since they are exempt from all kinds of evils, cares, and dangers. But Terence gives another more refined reason, which more forcibly expresses the joy of Pamphilus; for he affirms that their immortality springs only from the durability of their pleasures. This passage is very beautiful. Pamphilus prefaces what he is going to say by the expression, “Any one would think, perhaps;” this was in a manner necessary to excuse the freedom which, arising from his joy, makes him assign another reason for the immortality of the gods than those discovered by the philosophers, particularly by Epicurus, whose name was still fresh in the recollection of every person, and whose doctrines were very generally received and adopted.” Madame Dacier.

NOTE 213.

Pam.—There is now no impediment to our marriage.
Nec mora ulla est, quin jam uxorem ducam.

Pamphilus does not mean by this expression, that he was not married before, but that now that he has his father’s consent to his union, he can ducere uxorem, lead his wife publicly to his own house with the usual ceremonies. The latter phrase ducere uxorem, to marry, took its rise from the custom of leading the bride from her father’s to her husband’s house, in a ceremonial procession. For an account of the marriages of the Greeks, vide Notes 116, 117, 118. Marriages, among the Romans, were of three kinds. The first, and most binding, by which women of rank and consideration were married, was called confarreatio: when the parties were joined by the high priest, in the presence of a great number of witnesses; and ate a cake made of meal and salt. The second kind of marriage was usus, when the parties lived together for one year. The third kind was called coemptio or mutual purchase, in which the bride and bridegroom gave each other a piece of money, and repeated over a set form of words.

NOTE 214.

Char. (aside.)—This man is dreaming of what he wishes when awake.

The optative influence, (if I may so call it,) on the visions of the night, here alluded to by Terence, has been described at length by a celebrated poet, in verses which charm the ear with their melody, and which command the approbation of the judgment as a faithful portraiture of nature. Their author wrote verses, which, in harmony of measure, excelled those of all the Roman poets, excepting Ovid.

Do you, Davus, go home, and order some of our people hither, to remove her to our house. Why do you loiter? go, don’t lose a moment.

Davus.—I am going. You must not expect their coming out: she will be betrothed within, &c.

The concluding lines of the play from “You must not expect,” &c., were not originally spoken by the actor who personated Davus, but formed a sort of epilogue, spoken by a performer, called Cantor; who also pronounced the word Plaudite, with which the comedies and tragedies of the Romans usually terminated. Vide Note 217, also Quintilian, B. 6. C. 1., and Cicero and Cato. Horace expressly tells us, that the Cantor said the words, vos plaudite.

Some editors give nearly twenty lines of dialogue between Chremes and Charinus respecting the marriage of the latter with Philumena, but those additional lines are spurious. The critics have decided that the play should terminate with the winding up of Pamphilus’s intrigue, and that that of Charinus should be left to the imagination: as the action must languish, if continued after the interest felt for the principal characters has subsided. Davus here addresses the spectators, as does Mysis, in A. 1. S. 4. Commentators deem this a blemish in the composition of the piece. These addresses, in ancient comedies, were not, I imagine, made to the spectators in general, but to those persons who stood on the stage during the performance, as the chorus, or as musicians.

“All the ancient copies have the Greek omega, Ω, placed before the words, ‘clap your hands,’ and before ‘Farewell, and clap your hands,’ in other plays: ‘which,’ says Eugraphius, ‘are the words of the prompter, who, at the end of the play, lifted up the curtain, and said to the audience, ‘Farewell, and clap your hands:’ thus far Faernus. Leng, at the end of every play, subscribes these words, Calliopius recensui, and says Calliopius was the prompter; and he quotes the same words of Eugraphius, which I have here quoted from Faernus. If Ω stands for any thing more than ‘Finis,’ (as some imagine to be placed there by transcribers to signify the end,) it may be designed for the first letter Ωδος, which is the Greek for Cantor: and Horace, in his art of poetry, says,

“Bentley supposes this Cantor to have been Flaccus the musician, (mentioned in the title,) who, when the play was over, entreated the favour of the audience: but I should rather think Calliopius to have been the Cantor, if there was any foundation in antiquity for his name being at the end of the plays; but the name seems fictitious to me by the etymology thereof, and it being used in this place. It is indeed at the end of every play, in all the three manuscripts in Dr. Mead’s collection except Phormio, which is the last play in the prosaic copy; and the only reason for Calliopius recensui not being there, is, doubtless, because the play is imperfect, some few verses being out at the conclusion; ω precedes the farewell in one of the doctor’s copies, ο in another, and the largest copy has neither. What is independent of the action of the play, as the last two lines are, may be looked upon as an epilogue, and was probably spoken by the same person, whether player, prompter, or cantor.”—Cooke.

At the end of a play, the Romans closed their scenes, which, instead of falling from the roof of the theatre downwards, as among the moderns, were constructed something similarly to the blinds of a carriage; so that when the stage was to be exposed to the view of the spectators, the scene or curtain was let down, and when the piece was concluded, it was drawn up again. The ancients originally performed their plays in the open air, with no scenery but that furnished by nature. As they became more refined, they erected theatres, and introduced scenes, which they divided into three kinds: 1. tragic, 2. comic, 3. pastoral. Some very valuable information on this subject may be gathered from M. Perrault’s Notes on Vitruvius, who has described the various sorts of ancient scenes. Ovid, in the following verses, describes the original simplicity of the Roman dramatic entertainments:

Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been left unchanged unless indicated below. Obsolete and alternative spellings were left unchanged.

Note 108 has two footnotes that were lettered sequentially and were moved to the end of the Note. Missing anchor was added to Note 50. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside down, reverse order, or partially printed letters and punctuation, were corrected. Final stops missing at the end of sentences and abbreviations were added. Duplicate letters at line endings or page breaks were removed. Punctuation and accent marks were normalized.

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	Year of Rome.
The Andrian	587
The Step-mother	588
The Self-tormentor	590
The Eunuch	592
The Phormio	592
The Brothers	593

	equal to		worth (sterling)
£.				s.	d.	qrs.
Lepton	0			0	0	0¹¹⁄₁₁₂
Chalcus	7	Lepta	0	0	0	0¹¹⁄₁₆
Dichalcus	2	Chalci	0	0	0	1³⁄₈
Hemiobolus	2	Dichalci	0	0	0	2³⁄₄
Obolus	2	Hemioboli	0	0	1	1½
Diobolus	2	Oboli	0	0	2	3
Triobolus	3	Oboli	0	0	4	0½
Hemidrachm	3	Oboli	0	0	4	0½
Tetrobolus	4	Oboli	0	0	5	2
Pentobolus	5	Oboli	0	0	6	3½
Drachm	6	Oboli	0	0	8
Didrachm	2	Drachms	0	1	4	2
Tetradrachm	4	Drachms	0	2	9	0
Stater of silver	4	Drachms	0	2	9	0
Pentadrachm	5	Drachms	0	3	5	1
Stater of gold	25	Drachms	0	17	2	1
Stater of Philip	28	Drachms	0	19	3	0
Stater of Alexander	28	Drachms	0	19	3	0
Stater of Cyzicus	28	Drachms	0	19	3	0
Stater of Darius	48	Drachms	1	13	0	0
Stater of Crœsus	48	Drachms	1	13	0	0
Homerical talent	75	Drachms	2	11	6	3
Mina	100	Drachms	3	8	9	0
The smaller Ptolemaic talent	20	Minæ	68	15	0	0
The smaller Antiochan talent	60	Minæ	206	5	0	0
The Attic talent	60	Minæ	206	5	0	0
The smaller Euboic talent	60	Minæ	206	5	0	0
The great Attic talent	80	Minæ	275	0	0	0
The great Ptolemaic talent of Cleopatra	86⅔	Minæ	297	18	4	0
The Eginean talent	100	Minæ	343	15	0	0
The Rhodian talent	100	Minæ	343	15	0	0
The insular talent	120	Minæ	412	10	0	0
The great Antiochan talent	360	Minæ	1237	10	0	0

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Terence's Andrian, a comedy, in five acts

TERENCE’S ANDRIAN.

W. R. GOODLUCK, Jun.

PREFACE.

LIFE OF TERENCE,

THE ARGUMENT.

PROLOGUE.

THE ANDRIAN.

ACT I.

Scene I.

Scene II.

Scene III.

Scene IV.

Scene V.

ACT II.

Scene I.

Scene II.

Scene III.

Scene IV.

Scene IV.

Scene VI.

Scene VII.

ACT III.

Scene I.

Scene II.

Scene III.

Scene IV.

Scene V.

Scene VI.

Scene VII.

Scene VIII.

ACT IV.

Scene I.

Scene II.

Scene III.

Scene IV.

Scene V.

Scene VI.

Scene VII.

Scene VIII.

Scene IX.

Scene X.

ACT V.

Scene I.

Scene II.

Scene III.

Scene IV.

Scene V.

Scene VI.

Scene VII.

Scene VIII.

NOTES.

Transcriber’s Note:

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE