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Title: The Arbitration Date of first publication: 1945 Author and Translator: Gilbert Murray (1866-1957) Author: Menander (341-290 BCE) Date first posted: August 5 2012 Date last updated: August 5 2012 Faded Page eBook #20120806 This ebook was produced by: James Wright & the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net THE ARBITRATION The _Epitrepontes_ of Menander _Uniform with this volume_ EURIPIDES ALCESTIS (_24th Thousand_) BACCHÆ (_29th Thousand_) ELECTRA (_54th Thousand_) HIPPOLYTUS (_38th Thousand_) IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS (_32nd Thousand_) MEDEA (_33rd Thousand_) RHESUS (_9th Thousand_) THE TROJAN WOMEN (_39th Thousand_) ARISTOPHANES THE FROGS (_24th Thousand_) SOPHOCLES OEDIPUS, KING OF THEBES (_24th Thousand_) THE ANTIGONE AESCHYLUS AGAMEMNON (_14th Thousand_) THE CHOËPHOROE (_5th Thousand_) THE EUMENIDES (_4th Thousand_) THE SUPPLIANT WOMEN (SUPPLICES) (_4th Thousand_) PROMETHEUS BOUND (_4th Thousand_) THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES (_4th Thousand_) THE PERSIANS THE ORESTEIA (_Collected Edition_) * * * * * THE RAPE OF THE LOCKS The _Perikeiromenê_ of Menander THE ARBITRATION The _Epitrepontes_ of Menander THE FRAGMENTS TRANSLATED AND THE GAPS CONJECTURALLY FILLED IN BY GILBERT MURRAY, O.M. FORMERLY REGIUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD _London_ GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1945 [Illustration: BOOK PRODUCTION WAR ECONOMY STANDARD] THE PAPER AND BINDING OF THIS BOOK CONFORM TO THE AUTHORIZED ECONOMY STANDARDS _Printed in Great Britain by_ UNWIN BROTHERS LTD., LONDON AND WOKING Menander, the most famous representative of the "New Comedy," was born in 342 B.C., about 140 years after Euripides, 80 years after Plato, 40 after Aristotle, a contemporary of Epicurus and Zeno the Stoic. INTRODUCTION There is great fascination in the fragments of Menander. I find it not merely in the ease and "Attic salt" of his style, or the subtle and kindly realism of his characters. There is a charm even in his conventionalities--the situations and stage tricks, now old-fashioned, which he caught at a moment when they were still young and fresh. But most of all I am attracted by his philosophy of life, ironic and yet tender, which seems to express the mind of the sensitive and highly civilized society in which he lived. It needed some fortitude in a fourth-century Athenian to keep his head and his temper in a war-ridden world where Athens' best hopes lay in ruins and men must be content, not too bitterly, to "live not as we would, but as we can." In _The Arbitration_ especially, the actual dramatic interest of the fragments preserved to us kept me wondering and trying to guess how the story was worked out, till at last I was writing the missing scenes and making up a complete play. Like the Homeric rhapsodes or "singers of stitched songs," I have "stitched" wherever possible and only invented when forced to it. The plays are certainly actable on a modern stage. My earlier attempt, of whose faults I am more conscious now than when I made it, has been performed in several places and shown that it can amuse an audience. The present attempt is perhaps more ambitious, both because _The Arbitration_ is a more serious and mature work than _The Rape of the Locks_, and because the gaps are harder to fill. Free and natural as it is in outward appearance, there can be little doubt that the New Comedy, like all or almost all Greek drama, was in its essence the performance of a religious ritual. It took the form of what we may call a Nativity Play, celebrating the annual discovery, when all the earth seems dead, of that Renewal of Life which we think of as the New Year or the Spring, but which was to the Greeks a Being far more personal. This ritual in its simplest shape, still to be found in some Easter celebrations in Italy and Eastern Europe, used the symbol of a divine babe or lamb or young animal to typify the new life. Its birth or arrival was the gist of the celebration. At another stage, represented by Euripides' _Ion_ and several fragmentary Greek tragedies, the rite has developed into drama, and the birth into a heroic myth. An outcast baby, found in the wild woods, and perhaps suckled by a mare, a cow, or some wild animal, is really the son of a god and a royal maiden and, after suitable adventures or sufferings, is duly "recognized" and accepted as the king or hero-founder of his tribe. The baby, though its presence is essential, is no longer the centre of interest. It is either allowed to relapse into the background or else its Recognition is delayed till the divine child is old enough to be a mysterious hero. Another unintended result of this dramatization is that the god is made to play a somewhat questionable part. We may see him at his best in a magnificent hymn in Aeschylus' _Suppliant Women_ (verses 524-600), where the heroine's sufferings form an element in a high, inscrutable purpose, and a virgin birth by the touch of the divine hand gives life to a miraculous child "perfect in blessedness"; at his worst probably in the _Ion_, where Apollo well deserves the curses which his deserted victim hurls at him in his own temple precinct. We know of no tragedies of this type after the _Ion_. It may well be that the divine ravisher was increasingly felt to be an unsuitable and indeed an impious figure. At any rate, the ritual was about this time transferred from the tragic to the comic stage, and the story brought down to a human level. In New Comedy the outcast babe is the fruit of some forbidden or secret amour, and the Recognition exalts him not to divinity but merely to wealth and fortune. The place of the god is taken, to use Aelian's contemptuous words, by "Menander's young puppies misconducting themselves at midnight festivals" (_Hist. Nat._ VII, 19). The transference was not an entire success. Piety indeed was saved; but the more human and lifelike the general story became, the harder it was to feel much sympathy for the baby's father, who nevertheless has to be something like the hero of the play. In this play, for instance, it is hard to combine the Charisius whom we see and whom his friends describe to us with the tipsy rioter who did violence to Pamphile. His scene of repentance and bitter self-reproach--all of it, I hasten to add, the work of the real Menander makes him forgivable, but still not easy to understand. We might come nearer to understanding if we listened to what Callisto had to say on the subject, or indeed if we reflected on the actual proceedings of those all-night festivals once universal throughout Europe, from ancient dances in worship of some Artemis or Dionysus to the May-day junketings of eighteenth-century England. Most, if not all, of them might have accepted as their motto the famous refrain of the _Pervigilium Veneris_: Cras amet qui numquam amavit, quique amavit cras amet.[1] _The Arbitration_ is among the most frequently quoted of Menander's plays. It belongs to his later style. It is less farcical than either the _Locks_ or the _Samian Woman_, which is the only other play about which we have enough left to form a judgement. It has more of the smooth long speeches, in conversational style with a quiet undercurrent of wit, which were so highly appreciated in antiquity. On the other hand, the plot is richer, more romantic, and more skilfully developed; there is much deeper emotional tension. In character also, though the female parts in Menander are always good, the two earlier plays have no one comparable to Habrotonon. As for my own work, although the extant fragments of papyrus probably cover rather more than half the play, considerably more if we count the long passages where only two or three letters at the beginning or end of a line have been preserved, I found it much harder than in the _Locks_ to conjecture the rest of the plot with any approach to confidence. I have only tried to observe Menandrian conventions and, as far as I can hope to understand it, the Menandrian spirit. I have used chiefly the texts of Jensen and Koerte; have often consulted Mr. Frost's scholarly translation; and in matters of interpretation must express my deep obligations to the masterly treatise of Wilamowitz. On one important and doubtful problem (v. p. 123) I have accepted an attractive guess of Professor D. S. Robertson. [Footnote 1: "To-morrow let him love who never has loved, and he who has loved let him love to-morrow."] CHARACTERS CHARISIUS, _a Young Athenian_ PAMPHILÊ, _Wife to Charisius_ ONÊSIMUS, _Personal Servant to Charisius_ SMÎCRINÊS, _Father to Pamphilê_ SÔPHRONÊ, _Nurse to Pamphilê_ CHAERESTRATUS, _Next-door-Neighbour to Charisius_ SÎMIAS, _Older Friend to Chaerestratus_ HABROTONON, _or, for short_, HABRO, _Harp-player at Chaerestratus's House_ CÂRION, _Cook at Chaerestratus's House_ SYRISCUS, _a Charcoal-burner_ DÂVUS, _a Shepherd_ CALLISTO, _an Arcadian nymph transformed into a Bear by Artemis_ _An old Duenna in charge of_ HABROTONON, _Guests at House of_ CHAERESTRATUS, SYRISCUS'S _Wife and a Baby_. [THE SCENE _is the country near Athens. A tree in the foreground; the House of_ CHARISIUS (_A_) _back Left, that of_ CHAERESTRATUS (_B_) _back Right_.] ACT I CÂRION, _the Cook, with_ ONÊSIMUS. CÂRION The man who entertains this dancing girl, Only just married, isn't he? That's odd. ONÊSIMUS Yes, not so long. Five months and thirteen days. CÂRION A daughter of old Smîcrinês, they say? Young and attractive, eh? ONÊSIMUS Well, that depends On taste. But yes, no doubt she has been admired, Not only by her husband. CÂRION Eh? Who else? Tell me. ONÊSIMUS I can't. I've absolutely sworn To keep the whole thing secret. CÂRION Yes, quite right. That's what I always do; swear secrecy, And then, to show you know what "secret" means, Tell them another secret of your own. There's hardly a house I cook for, where I don't Worm out the family troubles. For my art's sake I must. Unless I know their state of mind How can I give my clients what they want? Come, out with it! I've got these innocents' dinner All planned. I'm quite free. ONÊSIMUS Well, in confidence, I don't mind telling you. CÂRION I'll pay you back, Trust me, with scandals quite as rich as yours. All knowledge comes in useful. ONÊSIMUS In my case It certainly has. You see, I found it out Two weeks back, while the master was away At Ephesus. No one in the house but me Knows anything. . . . Ah, there's old Sôphronê, Her nurse. [_Enter_ SÔPHRONÊ, _walking slowly_. She must be in it. But she can't Do much. And we've forbidden her to hold Any communication with her mistress. [SÔPHRONÊ _stops; touches her eyes with her fingers; then hitches her cloak up by lifting her right arm in the air_. Well, Sôphronê, who are you looking for? SÔPHRONÊ The master. Has he come yet? ONÊSIMUS Smîcrinês? No. You be off! You know the rule. No message. No mischief. SÔPHRONÊ I am going. [_Exit_ SÔPHRONÊ. CÂRION What's all this? Do you give orders? ONÊSIMUS I and the Young Master. You see, as soon as ever he came back, I asked to have a word with him alone, And told him. Didn't he go up in smoke! He's awfully grateful, though. CÂRION You told him what? ONÊSIMUS It puts me in a different position From all the others. I'm his confidant. He's grateful to me. CÂRION What for? ONÊSIMUS Why, because I told him. CÂRION Told him what? ONÊSIMUS Besides, I'm there To watch; the mistress doesn't know I know. CÂRION You know what? ONÊSIMUS There's no pleasure in the world Like knowing everything there is to know, Especially when no one knows you know it. CÂRION What is it, man? What do you know? ONÊSIMUS I'll tell you. [_Whispers in_ CÂRION'S _ear_. CÂRION Impossible! ONÊSIMUS It's true. CÂRION How does he take it? ONÊSIMUS He's furious, and of course can't say a word. That's the worst thing. He's got to keep it dark. CÂRION Good God! Then that explains these harp-players And banquets! . . . It's all frightfully upsetting For me. I need a whole new bill of fare. I planned a feast for lovers; just a gay, Light-hearted, liquid, joyous, merrymaking, And now . . . He really loved his wife, you say? ONÊSIMUS He did, devotedly. Not now, of course; No; now we act together, he and I, We watch and punish her as she deserves. CÂRION That's it. The man is thinking of his wife The whole time. It's all done to punish her. God bless me, it's a banquet of revenge, Dark, bitter, fierce. [_He sits down, ruminating._ ONÊSIMUS Well, what's your story? CÂRION Story? ONÊSIMUS You promised me a story as good as mine. CÂRION Man, I can't think of stories. I have duties To think of. That's enough. ONÊSIMUS You promised me A scandal. CÂRION Did I?--oh, well; old Telônes Is bankrupt. Will that do? ONÊSIMUS Why no; I never Heard of the man. That's no good. CÂRION Callicles Is said to have a second wife in Smyrna. I can't do more for you. I must get to work. ONÊSIMUS Some details, please! CÂRION (_ruminating_) A bitter resinous sauce With salted tunny; an old fighting cock With mustard; no, with some Arabian spice That burns. Oh, how my master Labdacus Would have enjoyed this problem. I must take Plenty of time . . . Good Lord, the guests arriving Already! ONÊSIMUS Here! You haven't paid your debt. [_Exeunt into House B._ [_Enter from the town_ SÎMIAS _and_ CHAERESTRATUS. SÎMIAS I wish you'd think again, Chaerestratus, Why should you lend your house, day after day, To help Charisius to neglect his wife And waste his substance on this dancing girl? CHAERESTRATUS She's not a dancing girl; she's a musician; A good musician, too, and well behaved. I like him, Sîmias, and I like the girl, And if he wants my house . . . They make a noise, Those lads, but do no harm; besides, you're there, And you'd make any place respectable. You know Charisius hardly looks at her. SÎMIAS While you do nothing else. CHAERESTRATUS He doesn't mind . . . That's what annoys me. First, the man deserts His own wife. So far I don't criticize. I have no wife, and his I never met. For all I know, she may be just the sort No reasonable man could help deserting. But then he goes out of his way to hire This elegant, well-mannered harp-player, And treats her with contempt--at any rate With stark bad manners, hardly speaks to her . . . SÎMIAS Why should he? She's a slave, a hired companion. CHAERESTRATUS A slave, a hired . . . Oh yes. I know these girls; They're all humbugs and liars. It's their business. . . . Still, this one has good manners. SÎMIAS All the same, Why should you let Charisius have your house To revel in? The thing's discreditable To both of you, and seemingly no pleasure To anyone. CHAERESTRATUS Why? Well, I hardly know. I couldn't well refuse him. Certainly I never saw a drearier diner out. If in his own house he was drearier still, I only wonder why it's not his wife Does the deserting. If she came and asked me, I'd let the unfortunate woman have this house To revel in till she died. SÎMIAS Then all the more . . . CHAERESTRATUS Why do I do it? Why? Because I like it. Who wouldn't like it? It's a constant pleasure-- Free gratis, too--to see Habrotonon, Study her movements, listen to her music, Sometimes to talk with her. Come. In we go. [_Exeunt into House B._ [_Enter_ CHARISIUS, _gloomy, from his own house_. _He speaks off._ CHARISIUS Porter! I shall be out again this evening; And if your mistress asks . . . if anyone Who calls wishes to know where he can find me, I am at a drinking party with some friends. Say we expect the same young harp-player, A very fine musician, whom we all Greatly admire . . . [_Enter_ HABROTONON _with_ DUENNA. DUENNA There, darling, you hear that! You can't say you're neglected, when they all Admire you so. . . . Charisius, here she is, Fresh as a rose, and tuned like her own harp! Come, ducky, speak to him. HABROTONON (_stiffly_) Good evening, Sir. CHARISIUS (_stiffly_) Good evening. Go in, please. You'll find them waiting, I'll follow afterwards. [_Exit_ HABROTONON _to House B._ CHARISIUS _waits_. DUENNA Lovely she is, just lovely. . . . And the bill, Twelve drachmae for to-night. (_trying it on_) And then the night That you forgot, five days ago. CHARISIUS Forgot? Did I? DUENNA You did indeed, and I don't wonder. No thought you had for anything but her. Twice you forgot. That's three nights altogether. Thirty-six drachmae. [_Enter_ ONÊSIMUS. CHARISIUS Here you are. ONÊSIMUS What's that? [CHARISIUS _gives money and exit to House B._ DUENNA _takes the money and puts it in her mouth_. DUENNA Good-night, Sir. Blessings on you. ONÊSIMUS You old fraud! Stop! DUENNA (_with mouth full_) There were three nights he forgot to pay. He knows he did. He admits it. ONÊSIMUS Every night You had your money. He sent me myself. To pay you, and I did. Spit out that cash! Out with it, quick. It's no good gobbling at me. [_Exit, pursuing_ DUENNA. PROLOGUE [_Enter the Nymph_ CALLISTO, _wearing a bearskin with the head and jaws over her head_. Are we alone? My mistress, Artemis, Nowhere about? No; if she were, I'd hear Far off the clanging of that silver bow. No doubt she's off on the Arcadian hills, Playing her regular part, always the same! How well I know it all: The Huntress bright Who roams a virgin through the virgin woods, Fleet as the winds and free; lover of all The young wild forest life, the kids and fawns, And pards, and us poor bears, and everything, And shows her love, combined with marksmanship, By shooting us! Just like these goddesses! No reasoning power! No common sense at all! Nothing but charm of manner and good looks! And such a mass of fads! To think that I In old days believed everything she said, Took all her ways as models to adore; Yes, and should do so still, and still be just As narrow, if I'd never been a bear! It's that that saved me. You must know me now; Callisto, once beloved of Artemis. Her chosen friend, and virginal as she Until. . . . Well, really, was I much to blame? They never think, these virgin goddesses; It pleases them to stay eternally Unloved, and then they fly into a rage When we poor nymphs are different. If she wished All of us Oreads to be like herself, Why did she set us dancing, those long nights, In ecstasy and longing, on till dawn Through the dark woods? Others were roaming, too, Young gods, and fauns, and satyrs, all half-drunk With songs and moonlight. What could she expect? She wouldn't listen. She went wild with rage, And, seeking out some awful punishment, Some lesson I should learn and not forget, Transformed me on the spot, and sentenced me To fourteen years' hard labour as a Bear. I did learn lessons! It's an education Beyond the Schools, to have been a real she-bear. I roamed the Arcadian forests, fed on fruits And honeycomb, had fresh cubs every spring, Suckled them, licked them into shape, and then Forgot them and had others. I accepted Simple things simply. All my ways became Just what the Stoic, Zeno, recommends, Self-serving, with no master and no slave: I had no vain desires; I asked for no Rare food, or costly wine; no cooks, no clothes, No purse, no pride; and never cared at all What other she-bears said or thought of me. Those fourteen innocent years have taught me lessons I've not forgotten, lessons utterly Beyond her comprehension. She has never Learnt anything at all. She still keeps up The same old ways, the same old Festivals, The same old dances by the same old moon. She calls on all her votaries to attend And then, of course, as anyone might guess, Sometimes the same thing happens as with me, And all these gods and mortals lose their wits, And women suffer! So it has happened here. This innocent girl herself, this Pamphilê, Goes mad with fear. Her baby is snatched away By that old Nurse and hidden like a crime, From husbands, fathers, and all murderous males. She dares not speak. Her secret shuts her off From all she loves. She watches day by day There, at the window, for a silent sign The Nurse gives, passing by without a word: "I have seen him;" "He is safe;" "In danger;" "dead." [_For the first sign she touches her eyes; for the second lifts her right arm; for danger, arms round waist; for dead, arms straight down._ Alas, these humans! Always overwise And harassed by the strange laws they devise For their own torment; always surfeited With fears more painful than the things they dread; Always so eager that the strong shall wreak For every sin due vengeance on the weak, And most on women. If they ever knew The truth . . . but who could show them what is true, As now they are? The book of life that I In my green forest read so innocently And wisely, they have never understood. . . . Poor baby, I would help it if I could. [_Exit_ CALLISTO. _Enter from the House B_ CHAERESTRATUS. CHAERESTRATUS (_speaking off_) All right. I have no wish to interrupt. I'll walk about outside. I like fresh air. And if there's any billing to be done Or cooing, I have not the slightest wish To bill nor yet to coo. [_Enter from House A_ SMÎCRINÊS. SMÎCRINÊS (_to the Porter_) No, I'll not wait. When he returns you'll tell him that I called. The thing's past understanding. When his father First made proposals to me, I enquired Most carefully about him. They all told me Charisius was a god-fearing young man, The makings of a frugal son-in-law And a good husband. CHAERESTRATUS (_aside_) It's old Smîcrinês, The father-in-law. I wonder what he's heard. SMÎCRINÊS I can't think what the Devil's come to him. Dinners and drinking parties every night! A famous cook engaged at goodness knows What fee! And then the wine the fellow drinks! It just amazes me. It's not so much The intoxication; it's the awful price: So much a spoonful! I can't understand How any conscience can consent to it. CHAERESTRATUS (_aside_) I thought so. Obviously he has heard some talk. Now he'll come raging in to stop all these Love-feasts! It's not my business, but I think He'll go back sorry he came. SMÎCRINÊS My daughter brought him Four talents, and he doesn't choose to be Her housemate. He lives out. He's paying twelve Drachmas a day to that old madam! CHAERESTRATUS Yes. Twelve is the price. He's got his details right. SMÎCRINÊS Twelve for one day! Enough to keep a man A month and six days! CHAERESTRATUS How exact! Two obols A day; the dole that keeps a slave in gruel And leaves him hungry! [_Enter_ SÎMIAS _from House B_. SÎMIAS Hi, Chaerestratus, Your absence will be noticed. CHAERESTRATUS My dear man, Do you see? SÎMIAS Who's that? CHAERESTRATUS The father of the bride. Doesn't he scowl; like a philosopher Gone pessimist. SÎMIAS No wonder. The poor man Is worried about your harpist. He's afraid The lawful wife indoors may find herself Turned out and her place taken. CHAERESTRATUS If you'd heard him Growling just now! SMÎCRINÊS How everything combines To thwart me! My wife dead; one daughter lost I did hope I could guard the livelihood Of this one that remains. SÎMIAS How did he get His information! I suppose some servant Has told him things. If we could ward him off For just a day or two we'd have a chance To get Charisius to give up these follies And be himself again. You'll have to help. CHAERESTRATUS I can't refuse my house, but, short of that, I'll help. I rather hate the whole affair. SÎMIAS You told me you enjoyed it. CHAERESTRATUS So I do; But somehow. . . . Well, let's put an end to it. It's easy enough. Why shouldn't I, right now Go up to him and tell him the whole story; Or, better still, invite him to come in And see things for himself. Let the old fool Burst if he wants to. SÎMIAS Silence on your life! That would wreck everything beyond repair. Don't talk so. SMÎCRINÊS (_rising_) I'll go home. CHAERESTRATUS Yes, do, by all means: Or, better still, to the Devil. SMÎCRINÊS I'll go home, I want first to make certain of the facts About my daughter's treatment; then I'll think Calmly what line to take about the man. [_Exit_ SÎMIAS Ought we to warn Charisius that he's here? CHAERESTRATUS Yes, rather. What an old pest! That's the way To break a household up. SÎMIAS I only wish He'd break up others. [_Singing heard off_ CHAERESTRATUS Others? SÎMIAS And begin By one next door. CHAERESTRATUS Do you mean mine? SÎMIAS Yes, my friend, Yours. But meantime let's warn Charisius. CHAERESTRATUS Mine? . . . But let's go in. I see a noisy crowd Making this way, young lads and not too sober. It's better not to meet them. SÎMIAS Can you help it? Unhappy man, these are our fellow-guests! [_Exeunt into House._ CHORUS OF REVELLERS I long to be a loony, A laughing, leaping loony; As mad as all those others Renowned in tragic story, Who run so wild and moony On murdering their mothers. I don't know which the best is, Alcmaeon or Orestes; They both get rather gory When murdering their mothers. I don't want all the bother Of murdering my mother. I don't want blood and slaughter; Red wine is what I'm after; It's wine I want and laughter, With no allaying water. Oh, when the night is moony, And springtime soft and spoony, It's then I'll be a loony, With no allaying water, A laughing, leaping loony With no allaying water! [_They straggle into the House._ ACT II ONÊSIMUS _alone_. ONÊSIMUS A slippery business, all the life of man! Take me, now. All my duties summed together, My fatherland, my refuge and my law, My judge of every right and every wrong, Is just my master. And, God only knows How slippery _he_ is! Still, we stand together, We two. We're partners now in my discovery. As soon as he got back from Ephesus, I went straight up, took him aside, and told him. So naturally he's grateful--Naturally, He must be grateful. . . . This old man, of course, Annoys us and will soon annoy us more. No doubt his daughter's told him half the story, Young Habro and the cook and the rare wines, And what they all cost, and lots more as well. I don't suppose she said one word about Her own affair, which started all the trouble. All right, it's up to me. If the old man Knew everything, of course he'd take our side, But can we tell him? Obviously we can't, A husband can't proclaim his own dishonour. Impossible! . . . Well, since I'm not allowed To let the man know what he doesn't know, I've got to make him un-know what he knows. That's a bit puzzling. [_Enter_ SMÎCRINÊS _from House A_. Oh, good morning, Sir. SMÎCRINÊS Look here, rogue; are you honest? ONÊSIMUS That is hardly For me to say, Sir. You might ask my master. SMÎCRINÊS I'd sooner ask your mistress. I've just come From talking to her, and I have some questions To put to you. ONÊSIMUS Ah, yes, Sir! These young wives; They're sensitive. They do exaggerate, Their feelings are so strong. You can't believe All that a young wife says. SMÎCRINÊS Ah, that's so, is it? They lie like troopers to defend their husbands? I thought as much. No, come; tell me the truth, I've heard unpleasant stories in the town . . . ONÊSIMUS About our mistress? SMÎCRINÊS No, you fool, about Your master. ONÊSIMUS Oh, I'm glad, Sir. Then there's nothing To worry about. Of course you need not heed them, People in Athens would say anything, Just for the pleasure of inventing. SMÎCRINÊS Ah; That's what _she_ says. ONÊSIMUS She does? (_To himself._) Good business! Yes, Of course she does!--I heard some talk myself About these parties the young man next door Is giving. SMÎCRINÊS What? It's not my son-in-law Who gives them? ONÊSIMUS Oh, no, no! Of course it's young Chaerestratus, who lives there. He's unmarried And rich, and, I'm afraid, Sir, not quite wise. He's lost his head over a pretty girl Who plays the harp. SMÎCRINÊS They say my son-in-law Is always there? ONÊSIMUS Why, yes, Sir; pretty often. He felt . . . we both felt . . . we could be some use To his young friends by keeping things decorous, And seeing he's not cheated. He's so helpless. SMÎCRINÊS Keep them decorous, does he? Doesn't he Stay out all night? The porter said. . . . ONÊSIMUS Oh, no, Sir! When he's been late, I've let him in myself. He's not the man to enjoy that kind of thing. SMÎCRINÊS Now, once for all, who is it pays the bills? Is it my son-in-law? ONÊSIMUS What an idea! My master!--Oh, I see how that's got round. Quite often it's arranged that I myself Should overlook the bills, to see our host Is not being cheated. Some one must have seen me, And thought, of course, it was my master's money. SMÎCRINÊS Thanks, my good fellow. You're an honest man. You've taken a great burden off my mind. I'll tell my daughter I did wrong to doubt her. [_Exit to House._ ONÊSIMUS How easy lying is! And how convenient! And think what trouble people give themselves Telling the truth! To know it and not tell it Is my plan--Well, we've got young Pamphilê Fixed. If she tells of us we tell of her. I'll go and let the master know he's safe. [_Exit, as_ DÂVUS _and_ SYRISCUS, _followed by_ SYRISCUS'S WIFE _carrying a baby, enter. As_ ONÊSIMUS _goes off_, SYRISCUS _catches at him_. SYRISCUS Here! Wait a moment. ONÊSIMUS No. I'm busy. [_Exit._ DÂVUS (_to_ SYRISCUS) Stop! SYRISCUS You won't face justice! DÂVUS You're blackmailing me, Confound you! . . . You can't have what isn't yours. SYRISCUS We need an arbitrator. DÂVUS Oh, all right. For God's sake find one. SYRISCUS Who do you think would do? DÂVUS I don't mind. Anyone . . . It serves me right. Why did I give him anything? SYRISCUS Look there. [SMÎCRINÊS _comes out of the House_. Will that man do? DÂVUS All right. SYRISCUS Excuse me, Sir, But might I ask you, if you'd be so kind, To spare us a few moments of your time? SMÎCRINÊS You? What about? SYRISCUS We are having a dispute, A matter of business. SMÎCRINÊS Well, what's that to me? SYRISCUS We want an honest judge to arbitrate Between us. If there's nothing to prevent you, Do be our judge. SMÎCRINÊS You'll come to a bad end, You two; rascals in goatskins walking round And arguing points of law! SYRISCUS Yes, Sir, but still . . . The thing's quite short and easy to explain. Please, father, as a kindness! In God's name [_In a rhetorical manner._ I beg you, don't reject us. At all times And in all regions Justice should prevail, And, in the common interest of mankind, 'Tis the concern of all who pass to see Justice upheld. DÂVUS (_to himself_) Not half an orator, This chap I've got mixed up with! Why on earth Did I go shares? SMÎCRINÊS You promise to accept My judgement? SYRISCUS Yes, whatever it may be. SMÎCRINÊS All right, I'll hear the case. Why shouldn't I? Come, you who've not said anything, begin. DÂVUS I'll start a bit back, just to make things clear, Before he came in. I was with my sheep Alone, up in the wood beyond those farms. About a month ago it was; I found A baby laid out with a necklace on him And stuff like this. SYRISCUS That's what it's all about. DÂVUS He says you're not to speak! SMÎCRINÊS You'll have my stick About you if you talk before your turn. DÂVUS And quite right too! SMÎCRINÊS Go on. DÂVUS I'm going on. I picked it up and took it home to rear As mine. At least, that's what I meant at first; Then, in the night came second thoughts, the kind That always come at night. "Why should I take To nursing babies? How can I afford it? Do I really want more worries than I've got?" Well, that's how I was feeling when, at dawn, Again I took the sheep out, and this man Came to the same place . . . he's a charcoal-burner . . . To saw some stumps. I'd known him well before. We fell to talking and he saw that I Was in bad spirits. "Why so glum," he said, "What's wrong, mate?" Well, I couldn't hold my tongue! I told him the whole business, how I'd found The baby and picked it up; and, straight away, Before I'd finished speaking, he began Begging me, breaking it at every point, "Oh, Dâvus, as you hope for any luck, Give me that baby. Do! Fortune will bless you, And set you free! I have a wife," he said, "Who had a baby, and it died." He meant That woman there, who's carrying the baby. SMÎCRINÊS You begged him, you? SYRISCUS I did, Sir. DÂVUS The whole day He kept on worrying at me, till at last I agreed and gave it, and he went away Showering his blessings on me. Why, he took And kissed my hands! SMÎCRINÊS You kissed his hands? SYRISCUS I did. DÂVUS So off he went; and now he suddenly Comes at me, with his wife, and makes a claim To all the stuff . . . just odds and ends, no value . . . I found there with the baby, and complains Because I keep it and won't give it him. I say he should be thankful that he's got, Out of my find, the share he asked me for. He has no right to come cross-questioning me Whether I gave him everything I found. Suppose he'd been there and we'd found the things Together, why, we'd only have gone halves; Each would have had his share. . . . And now, good Lord, When you weren't there and I found everything That was found, you must have the lot, and I Nothing at all! There's only one thing more, I gave you something that was mine to give; Well, if you like it, keep it; if you don't, Or if you've changed your mind, then give it back. That isn't cheating me nor yet yourself. But first to accept my gift with thanks, and then Come bullying to take everything I've got, It can't be done. That's all I have to say. SYRISCUS He's finished? SMÎCRINÊS Yes, you heard. He's finished. SYRISCUS Good. I follow on. He and he only found The baby. What he says is quite correct. That's how it happened, father. I deny Nothing. I begged and prayed him for the child, And got it. All quite true. But then a shepherd, One of his mates, to whom he'd talked about it, Brought me the news that with the child he'd found Some ornaments. To claim those ornaments Here comes the owner. . . . Pass the baby, wife . . . This person, Dâvus, asks you for his clothes, Necklets and tokens of identity. They were put out, he says, for him to wear, And not for you to swallow. That's his claim, And I, his legal representative . . . You made me so by giving him to me . . . Endorse that claim. That is the point, your Honour. And, as I see it, all you have to do Is to pronounce due judgement about these Gold trinkets or whatever else they are; Should they be kept, according to the gift Of the unknown mother, till the child can use them, Or handed to this robber of the child, As being first finder of what isn't his? Do you ask me why I didn't claim the things The first day, when I asked him for the baby? Because I had no right to speak for him At that time. I've not come to claim the things Now for myself. No "going halves" for me; No "finding's keeping." If your finding leaves An innocent person wronged, I call it theft. Besides, Sir, think: this child may prove to be Of higher birth than ours. If he's brought up Among day-labourers, won't he think their ways Common and fly to his own natural bent: Seek some high-class adventure, carry arms, Hunt lions or run races in the Games? You've often seen the tragedies, I'm sure; You know the sort of thing. One . . . Neleus, was it? And Pelias . . . you remember? . . . They were found By an old goatherd, in a goatskin, just Like mine; and when he saw they were his betters He told them all the story, how he found them And took them in; then he produced a bag All crammed with tokens of identity, Which taught them the whole truth about themselves And turned the one-time goatherds into kings. Had Dâvus found that bag, why he'd have sold The tokens in the hope of making, say, Some dozen drachmas, and those splendid princes Would, all their lives, have not known who they were! It can't be right that I should have the baby To rear and feed, while Dâvus grabs the tokens, The sole clue to its future, and destroys them. By tokens before now men have been saved From marrying their sisters; men have found Their mothers in distress and rescued them; One woman saved her brother--all through tokens! And life is full of pitfalls, which a man Can only avoid by looking far ahead And using all the clues available. "If you don't like it, give it back," he says, And counts that a strong point. No. Quite unfair! We prove you're bound in justice to disgorge The baby's clues, and you reply by claiming To take the baby himself, and so be free To play the rogue with everything of his That chance may have preserved. There. That's my case. Give judgement, Sir, as you consider just. SMÎCRINÊS That's easy. Everything that was laid out Beside the baby is the baby's own. That's my decision. DÂVUS Good; and what about The baby itself? SMÎCRINÊS By Zeus, I can't award The baby to the man who is trying to rob it. The baby must be his who brought it help And stopped you when you meant to do it wrong. SYRISCUS God bless you, Sir! DÂVUS No, damn it! That's too bad! Too bad, by Zeus the Saviour! I who found Everything, must be stripped of everything? My whole find going to the fool who found Nothing! You mean, I've got to give them up? SMÎCRINÊS That's my decision. DÂVUS It's a shocking judgement. Plague take me, it's a scandal! SMÎCRINÊS Come, be quick. DÂVUS Lord Zeus, what treatment! SYRISCUS Here, let's see the things. Untie that bag. I know that's where you keep them . . . Please, wait a bit, Sir, till he gives them up. DÂVUS Why did I ever trust this man to judge? SMÎCRINÊS Quick, jailbird! Hand them over. DÂVUS It's a scandal! A scandal! (_He hands over the wallet._) SMÎCRINÊS Got them all? SYRISCUS I think I have, Unless he swallowed some of them while I Was pleading, and he knew that he was caught. DÂVUS I couldn't have believed it! SYRISCUS Thank you, Sir. Good-bye. I wish all judges were like you. [_Exit_ SMÎCRINÊS. DÂVUS The unfairness of it all! By Hercules, I never heard of such a shocking judgement. SYRISCUS You tried to cheat. DÂVUS Oh, you impostor, you! You'll keep them for the baby, I don't think! I'll watch you night and day. SYRISCUS Oh, take a walk! Amuse yourself! [_Exit_ DÂVUS. Now, wife, pick up these trinkets And take them in to the master. We'll stay here To-night; then home, after the rents are paid, To-morrow. First, though, for a proper list. You've got a box? No box? Well, fold your dress To hold them. (SYRISCUS _and his_ WIFE _sit down and examine the tokens_.) [_Enter from House B_ ONÊSIMUS. ONÊSIMUS Never was a slower cook Seen in this world! By this time yesterday They were half through dessert. SYRISCUS This seems to be A sort of cock, a stout one. Take it, wife. A gold thing set with stones. A double axe. ONÊSIMUS Hello, what's this? (_Comes and looks over_ SYRISCUS'S _shoulder_.) SYRISCUS A queer gold-plated ring, Gold upon iron. The seal a bull or goat, I can't say which. But here's the artist's name; Kleostratus, the inscription says. ONÊSIMUS Let's look! [ONÊSIMUS _seizes the ring_. SYRISCUS Humph! Who the devil . . . ONÊSIMUS It is! SYRISCUS What is? ONÊSIMUS This ring. It's it! SYRISCUS It's what? I don't know what you mean. ONÊSIMUS This is Charisius's, my master's ring. SYRISCUS You're cracked. ONÊSIMUS The one he lost. SYRISCUS Put down that ring, Confound you! ONÊSIMUS Let you keep our ring? I like that. Where did you get it from? SYRISCUS By all the gods, This is too bad! That's what it is to try To save the treasures of an orphan child. Everyone's first thought is to grab at them. Put down that ring, I tell you. ONÊSIMUS Are you joking? I swear by all the gods, this is my master's. SYRISCUS I'd sooner have my throat cut, any day Than let this man . . . All right. My mind's made up. I'll go to law with all the thieves in Greece, One after the other. It's the baby's stuff, Not mine . . . A golden twist. Here, take it, wife. Some torn red silk. Yes; take them all inside. [_Exit_ WIFE _to House B_. Now what have you to say to me? ONÊSIMUS To say? This ring's Charisius's. It's this, he told me, He lost once on a spree. SYRISCUS Oh, well, I serve His friend next door. So keep it if you like, Yourself, or let me have it to produce When wanted. ONÊSIMUS H'm. I'd like to keep the thing. SYRISCUS It's all the same to me. I think we're bound For the same house here, aren't we? ONÊSIMUS Yes; but now They're having company. It mightn't be Quite tactful to reveal all this just now To the young master. Will to-morrow do? SYRISCUS To-morrow'll do. I'm ready to submit The whole dispute to any judge you like, One speech each side. I've not done badly that way Already. No more charcoal stumps for me! I'll take to law suits. It's the only way For honest men to live their lives to-day. [_Exeunt both into House B._ ACT III ONÊSIMUS _alone_. That ring! I've started off five times or more To show it to the Master. Then somehow When I've come up and got him to myself, I daren't . . . I sometimes doubt if it was wise To tell him the other thing. "God damn the rogue Who told me!" is what he mutters to himself When he's alone. I've heard him. Yes, quite often He says that . . . H'm, suppose he made it up With her? Well, that would be the end of me! To have told her secret, fatal! Bad enough Even to have known it. . . . Yes, I am sure it's best To make no further trouble. Why, even now We're in for a quite fairly devilish row. [_Enter_ HABROTONON _from the House of_ CHAERESTRATUS. HABROTONON (_speaking off_) Excuse me, gentlemen! . . . I beg you, Sir, You only cause me annoyance . . . Well, if ever A helpless girl was made a laughing stock! They said the man had fallen in love with me; It's not love, it's repulsion; something quite Inhuman! He won't even let me sit At the same table. I must keep far off! ONÊSIMUS (_musing over the ring_) Return it to the man I got it from? That's hardly sensible. HABROTONON The wretched man, What is he wasting all that money for? For all he has got from me, I'm qualified To carry the holy basket to the Goddess, Lord save us! "Free from contact with a male For three days." ONÊSIMUS What on earth am I to do? I ask you; what on earth? [_Enter_ SYRISCUS _from the House of_ CHARISIUS. HABROTONON _begins to take notice_. SYRISCUS Where can he be? I've hunted for him everywhere inside (_seeing_ ONÊSIMUS). Hullo! Look here, mate. Either give me back That ring or show it to the man you mean To show it to. Let's get the business settled. I can't wait longer. ONÊSIMUS See, man; it's like this. It really does belong . . . so much I know For certain . . . to Charisius. But I somehow Don't like to show it him. It's much the same As telling him he's the father of that baby The ring was found with. SYRISCUS How do you mean, you fool? ONÊSIMUS He lost it last year at the Tauropolia; So much we know. There was an all-night dance, Women as well as men. One can but think He gave it as a present to some girl He got mixed up with. I suppose it's she Who had this baby and left it in the wood. If one could find the girl, and then produce This ring, it would be clinching; but not now. To show it now would only make suspicion And trouble. SYRISCUS It's your business, anyhow, Not mine. But if you're trying to put me off, Or if you expect to make me pay you something To get it back, you make a great mistake. I don't go halves in anything! ONÊSIMUS All right. Who asked you to? SYRISCUS I've got a job in town Just now, but when it's finished, I'll come back And see what's to be done. [_Exit_ SYRISCUS. HABROTONON Onêsimus, Is it the child the woman there indoors Is nursing, that this charcoal-burner found? ONÊSIMUS Yes, so he says. HABROTONON It's such a pretty creature! Poor child! ONÊSIMUS And lying beside it was this ring, My master's. HABROTONON What an awful thing! Just think! That baby is your master's son, your own Young master. You can't mean to leave him there In slavery! You could be hanged for that. ONÊSIMUS I don't know what to do. I've just explained, Nobody knows the mother. HABROTONON And you say He lost the ring at last year's Tauropolia? ONÊSIMUS They'd all of them been drinking, so the boy Said who attended him. HABROTONON He must have wandered Away alone, and fallen upon some girl Fresh from the women's midnight dance--Why, once A thing like that happened when I was there. ONÊSIMUS When you were there? HABROTONON Yes, that was last year, too. I had come to play the harp at what they call The Younger Girls' dance, and this girl was there Among them, laughing. I could join their play Myself then. At that time I didn't know What a man was. ONÊSIMUS (_ironically_) Says you! HABROTONON (_indignant_) By Aphrodite, I swear! ONÊSIMUS This girl, you don't know who she was? HABROTONON I could find out. I know she was a friend Of some one in my party. ONÊSIMUS Did you hear Her father's name? HABROTONON No, I know nothing more. I am sure I'd know her if we met again. My goodness, she was pretty! And, they said, From a rich house. ONÊSIMUS Most likely it's the same. HABROTONON I don't know. She was with us, but strayed off. Then later, all of a sudden, back she came Running, in tears, tearing her hair. She'd spoilt A lovely mantle, soft Tarentine silk; It was all tatters. ONÊSIMUS Did she have this ring? HABROTONON She may have had. She didn't show it me. I won't invent things. ONÊSIMUS What am I to do? HABROTONON That's your look-out . . . But if you're sensible, And ask for my advice, you'll go and show him His ring. Suppose that girl was a free maiden. He can't be left not knowing what he's done. ONÊSIMUS First, let us find out who the woman was. There, Habro, that's a job for you and me Together. HABROTONON No, I couldn't; not until I really know for certain who the man was Who wronged her. I should be afraid to go And tell those ladies I was with a story That might be false. That ring may well have been A pledge that one of his companions took, And then lost. Or he may have been at dice And put the ring up as a stake; or perhaps He owed some debt and had no cash, and so Paid with the ring. Hundreds of things like that Happen at drinking bouts. Until I know The man who wronged her I don't want to seek That girl out or spread any kind of gossip To anyone. ONÊSIMUS No; I'm afraid you're right. Then, what the Devil . . . HABROTONON Look, Onêsimus. What do you say to this? The thought has just Struck me. Suppose . . . suppose I make the whole Adventure mine. I'll take the ring and go In there to play to them. ONÊSIMUS Go on. Explain. Though I can guess. HABROTONON He'll see it on my finger. He'll ask me where I got it; and I'll say, "At last year's Tauropolia, when I was An innocent girl." All that that other girl Went through I'll tell as happening to myself . . . I know it well enough! ONÊSIMUS Magnificent! HABROTONON Then, if it strikes a chord in him, he'll come Bursting to question me . . . He's tipsy, too; He'll blurt out the whole story without waiting For me to speak. I'll just say "Yes" to all He says, and never risk making mistakes By speaking first. ONÊSIMUS Oh, good! Better than good! HABROTONON I'll hang my head and all that, and just murmur The obvious things. It's safe enough. "How cruel You were to me! A cave-man!" ONÊSIMUS Capital! HABROTONON And "Oh, how violently you threw me down!" And "That poor cloak I ruined"! That's the kind Of talk. But first of all I'll go indoors And get the baby, and drop a tear, and kiss it, And ask the woman where she got it. ONÊSIMUS Glory! HABROTONON And bring it in; and then the final stroke; "So now you are a father!" and I show him The foundling. ONÊSIMUS Oh, Habrotonon, what cheek! What devilry! HABROTONON If once we have the proof, And know that he's the father, then we'll make Inquiries at our ease to find the mother. ONÊSIMUS (_suspiciously_) There's one thing you've not mentioned. You'll be given Your freedom. If he once believes that you're The mother of his child he'll have you freed. HABROTONON (_musing_) I don't know. Oh, I wonder! ONÊSIMUS You don't know? Don't you? Look here, do I get any good From all this? HABROTONON Yes, by the Two Goddesses! However it ends, I owe it all to you. ONÊSIMUS Ah, but suppose, when once you've caught your man, You leave things, and forget about the true Mother; that leaves me planted. HABROTONON Why should I Do that? Do you think I'm pining for a baby? If only I could be free! Oh, God in heaven, After all this, that's the reward I pray for! ONÊSIMUS I hope you get it. HABROTONON You accept my plan? ONÊSIMUS With all my heart. And if you do try on Some funny business, there'll be time enough To fight you. Trust me, I'll know what to do. Just for the present, though, I'll wait and see. HABROTONON You do agree, then? ONÊSIMUS I agree. HABROTONON Then quick, Give me the ring. ONÊSIMUS There! HABROTONON Thanks. O blessed Goddess, Persuasion, hear me! Teach me how to tell My story right, and may the end be well! [_Exit_ HABROTONON. ONÊSIMUS By Jove, she has initiative, that girl! She finds there isn't any road to freedom Through love; that's a blind alley; so she turns The opposite way. . . . Yes, I suppose I'll always Remain a slave. A moonstruck, drivelling ass! Can't think ahead! . . . Of course, if she has luck I might get something. . . . That'd be only fair . . . Fair? What a calculation, to expect Fair dealing from a woman! You poor fool! I only hope there's no new trouble brewing . . . The mistress, too. She's in a slippery place. They may find, any time, some free man's daughter Was mother to that baby. If they do, He'll marry her in a twinkling, and dismiss Our Pamphilê to her father. In that case, I'm nicely saved out of the wrath to come . . . Well, I've kept clear this time! And after this I abjure all meddling. Catch me ever again Poking my nose in other folks' affairs, Or telling tales--I give you leave to cut My tonsils out! . . . But who's this coming up? Oh, Smîcrinês again; back from the city; And showing signs of mental perturbation! (_amused_) I shouldn't wonder if he'd heard some news Not fully in accord with what I told him. I'd better vanish quietly and pretend Not to have seen him. Yes, and first find out For certain what young Habro's been about. [_Exit_ ONÊSIMUS _as_ SMÎCRINÊS _enters_. SMÎCRINÊS I hate this gossip. I believe they want To make a fool of me. "Never at home; Drunken; extravagant;" I don't believe it. The city is humming with that sort of scandal. Well, this time I'm determined to find out The actual truth of the matter. For three nights They said, he hasn't slept at home; he's drinking, And bringing open shame upon his parents With some disreputable harpist girl. And yet that honest fellow I talked with here Assured me that he had really lived at home These last three days, and any previous trouble He had had with Pamphilê had quite blown over. He struck me as truthful. Pest! How can I tell Which to believe? I didn't like those people In Athens. They enjoyed tormenting me, Knowing I hate extravagance. They grinned Into my face and rattled off this story Of special cooks and feasts and dancing girls And dice and noise and laughter. Very likely They made it all up, just to worry me. If so, well, I won't let it. After all That servant knew the facts. One man who knows Is worth a hundred gossips. And besides I have another witness, who knows all And cares for me, and for my property, And her own happiness. My daughter says All's well. I must believe my only child. [_Guests burst tumultuously out of_ CHAERESTRATUS'S _House_. But what's all this? The party breaking up? I warned Charisius not to get mixed up With people of that sort. That man next door's Impossible. How could he ever hope To keep him straight? CÂRION (_off_) I won't be just turned out Like this, Sir! You're insulting my profession. [_Enter_ CÂRION, _pushed out by_ SÎMIAS. SÎMIAS Go, go. The party's finished. CÂRION What? Before They've tasted my best sauce? It isn't decent. You'll never get another cook to make Such sauces--all this fuss about a baby! SMÎCRINÊS Quite a _recherché_ feast that man next door Is giving! CÂRION Insult upon insult! No; I won't endure it. Off they slink and leave Their food untouched. I swear if ever again They give a feast and one of them comes begging For a good cook . . . well, they can go to Heaven And get one! SMÎCRINÊS Tell me, Cook; what's happening here? CÂRION What's happening? Why they're making me a jest In Athens, all because that stupid girl Breaks in with, first, her ring and, next, her baby, And upsets everyone, and vows it's his. And he's struck dumb and has acknowledged it, And no one knows which way to look; and so They're all gone, leaving me a laughing-stock. SMÎCRINÊS All gone? CÂRION Charisius and the harping girl Are there alone, and that infernal baby. SMÎCRINÊS Charisius? Why's he there? CÂRION The party's spoilt, And when a party's spoilt the whole town thinks The cook's to blame. SMÎCRINÊS But why Charisius? Why Charisius? CÂRION First, they said I took too long Preparing. Every self-respecting Cook Needs time. SMÎCRINÊS You said Charisius. You must mean The host, Chaerestratus. CÂRION Of course I mean The host, the father of this wretched baby; His name's Charisius, and that's his house, Next door. Then, secondly, they laid my things In the wrong order . . . SMÎCRINÊS Oh, get out! Get out! CÂRION What? I protest. [SMÎCRINÊS _drives_ CÂRION _out_. SMÎCRINÊS Then those who lied to me Were my own household! The loud streets and gutters Spoke the bare truth, and not quite all the truth. Damnation! . . . But this simplifies the case. I'll send my agent to insist at once That he restores my daughter and her dowry. She's still quite young. I'll find her a good husband In spite of them. This daughter I can save. [_Enter_ CHAERESTRATUS _and_ SÎMIAS. CHAERESTRATUS O Hercules, enough! Where's Sîmias? Let's get away at once. . . . By Helios, yes, I liked that girl, and I don't understand Charisius. I don't like it. SÎMIAS Nor do I. I always told you so. SMÎCRINÊS Thank God my daughter Is childless! How much harder it would be To take her back if she had borne that man A child . . . (_going up to them_) Excuse me, Sirs, I think you both Were dining with Charisius. Is it true This friend of yours gave here, day after day, A series of continuous drinking-bouts In a hired house? He was ashamed, I hear, To show his face at home, but not ashamed To breed a bastard from a prostitute . . . CHAERESTRATUS No, you're in error, Sir. This house is mine. The mother of that child is a musician Of charm and talent. If your son-in-law Displeases you, no doubt you have every right To take your daughter home and break the marriage, But that's no reason to come meddling here Using strong language . . . SÎMIAS Hush! (_to_ SMÎCRINÊS) I think you wrong Charisius. I know nothing of this amour He seems to have had, but I'm quite sure it's finished. His manner to this girl . . . we all have noticed . . . Is most reserved. He's an unhappy man, Of that I'm sure. I beg you to think well Before you add to his unhappiness. SMÎCRINÊS Think about _him_? Why, wouldn't that be meddling And interfering, just the things your friend Objects to? He would sooner I went home Taking my daughter with me? Very good. That's what I've come to do; that's why I summon You two men, in accordance with the law, To bear true witness how Charisius lives, And how he has clearly shown himself unworthy To be my daughter's husband. Is that clear? SÎMIAS I beg, before you ask us, Smîcrinês, You'll make quite sure it's what you really wish. I have known Charisius many years. I know His nature, and am sure that these last days Something has made him mad, unlike himself. Speak to him as a father. All the shame You heap upon Charisius will spring back And strike your innocent daughter. SMÎCRINÊS These last days! When did he get this harping girl with child? What was his nature then? It's not my nature To leave my daughter wedded to a rake Who wastes her dowry on his harping girls And cooks. SÎMIAS I tell you he is not like that. He simply hates the sort of thing men call A life of pleasure; "Drunk with so-and-so"; "Fifty gold Darics on a single feast . . ." "This girl to-night and that to-morrow." No, It's not his style. He has a natural pride, I know, which makes him feel that sort of life Disgusting. SMÎCRINÊS He has deceived you, as he once Did me. But not again; no, not again Or call me no Athenian! What, that man My son-in-law? Him and his natural pride! I hope it chokes him. What does he expect? To live upon her dowry, and spend his days Drunk in the tavern where he found that slut, And live with her, thinking that we don't know, And take his little bastard for his heir . . . SÎMIAS Good-bye, Sir. That's enough. [_Exit_ SÎMIAS _and_ CHAERESTRATUS. SMÎCRINÊS I must be calm. It's strange how they defend him. It may be He once was honest. It must be that woman, That harping harlot, has corrupted him, She and her brat . . . I'll have her whipped from Athens! [_Enter_ SYRISCUS. SYRISCUS It's rather a delicate business; here's my wife, Insists that I must see that harper girl And find if Dâvus really gave us all The trinkets. . . . Ah, that kind old gentleman Who helped me so! I'm sure he'd introduce me . . . Allow me to congratulate you, Sir; True happiness is to make others happy, And that you have done indeed. It's all your work; That poor lost baby saved, the father found Both re-united to the lovely mother, All thanks to you! SMÎCRINÊS Infernal impudence! Who sent you here to mock me? Out, you dog! SYRISCUS Help! Help! What have I done? This is a case For arbitration--peaceful arbitration . . . [_Exit_ SMÎCRINÊS, _driving_ SYRISCUS _before him_. ACT IV SMÎCRINÊS _and_ PAMPHILÊ _come out of_ CHARISIUS'S _House, talking_. SMÎCRINÊS For you, my child, I am making the whole business As easy as possible. You take no part In the discussion; you make no complaint, No charges. Nobody need hear a word Of his own wasteful conduct or the wrongs He has done to _you_. All that I don't discuss. My case is amply strong enough without it. "I gave my daughter to this man believing He was a man of substance; now I find He is not in a position to support her, And take her back. Who wouldn't?"--As for you, My dear, don't be afraid that you'll be left Stranded. I know a man of good position, A friend to me, steady and well-connected, Who'll marry you at once. PAMPHILÊ Oh, father, stop! Please--though I feel it's really you, not I, Who ought to say all this. You are so much wiser Than I, and put things better. But this time I think it's I who see what's right and true. If he's committed some great public crime, That's for the law to deal with, not for me. But if it's only something personal To me, it's odd that I've not noticed it. I don't know what it is. No doubt I'm stupid; A woman seldom has the brains to judge Of public things, but surely in her own Sphere, where she's touched herself, she is fairly sharp. I don't feel wronged; but if you think I am, Please tell me what he has done! I only know The old accepted law for man and wife; That, all life long, he should be kind to her, And she, all life long, do what pleases him. Well, Father, I have always found him just The husband that I wished, and everything That has pleased one of us has pleased the other. I call that a good husband--but he's ruined, You say; so now you mean to change me over To one with property enough to save me From all my troubles. Has he enough for that? Where will you find such riches as can ever Repay me for the man you take away? And what of justice, what of decency, If I who was full partner in his wealth Am not allowed to share his poverty? As for this man who means to marry me-- (Which God forbid, and which while I have will And strength left in me, he shall never do!) Suppose he, too, has losses, do you mean To pass me on to a third? And if he fails, To a fourth? How far do you intend to go, Handing me round for your experiments On Fortune? . . . Father, when I was a girl, It was your business to decide what husband To give me to. The choice was yours to make. But once you've chosen and I have left your house-- My marriage is my own; and if I now Judge wrongly it's my own life that I wreck. Father, I beg you by our hearth and home, Don't take me from this man into whose arms You gave me. I ask simply what is fair And kind. If you refuse, well, you'll have got Your way by force, and I must try to bear My lot without being utterly ashamed. SMÎCRINÊS My child, I am saving you from certain ruin. PAMPHILÊ "Saving"! But if your saving is a thing You can't persuade me to, it's more a slave You make me than a daughter. SMÎCRINÊS My dear child, Is it a case for arguing and persuading? Isn't it obvious? Don't the facts themselves Cry out? However, if you want me also To argue, I'll just put a point or two. First, child, your marriage is already wrecked, Wrecked both for him and you. It's possible He may enjoy himself, but certainly You won't. You'd wish to be a loving wife? You'll never be allowed. He doesn't want you. If you persist in staying, do you mean him To keep two houses? One for his new fancy And one for you? He won't like the expense. Everything doubled. All the household feasts, Two Thesmophoria parties--very costly-- Two Skira feasts. Meantime, try to imagine Your own life. Don't we know what it will be? "Excuse him for to-day: urgent affairs At the Piraeus." Off he goes, and doesn't Come back, and you'll be hurt. You'll wait alone Hour after hour, not dining till he comes; You fasting while he's drinking with that girl! God bless me, even now he has left the house To join his harp-player. All right, I say; You leave it too, for ever! PAMPHILÊ May I speak? I know Charisius. What I said about him Just now is really true. He has never been Unkind to me before. Something has changed him In these last weeks. It may be I've displeased him In some way I don't know. Some day he'll speak About it and perhaps I can explain, And be a better wife, and he'll forgive me . . . At least, he may. And then he'll change again And be himself. For me, I am quite content To wait and hope. To go on as we are At least a year or two will not use up My dowry. I can live quite modestly. And save on the housekeeping. I love my husband And want to keep him. SMÎCRINÊS Can you hope to keep him? Does _he_ want to keep _you_? You have a rival. More than a rival. PAMPHILÊ Only a dancing girl! All young men have these fancies . . . though I never Thought that _he_ would; fancies that come and go; Sudden, not lasting things. I am not afraid. SMÎCRINÊS It's not an equal battle, Pamphilê, An honest woman matched against a whore: They have the odds all round; they cheat and lie; They have no shame; they flatter and deceive In ways you never dream of; they know more; They know the world, they know men's weaknesses . . . PAMPHILÊ I am more to him than a dozen dancing girls! SMÎCRINÊS Ah, but it's not a dozen. It's just one; One only, and she the mother of his child. He acknowledges the boy, accepts her word, And next thing, I suppose, will set her free And lodge her in this house. . . . You have no child. PAMPHILÊ (_collapsing_) Father, I'll go. This woman has more right Than I have. She'll do better than I've done. Send Sôphronê to help me, and I'll follow. SMÎCRINÊS Good, child; I knew that you'd be reasonable. I'll fetch her; an old Nurse can give the sort Of comfort that you need. PAMPHILÊ (_embarrassed_) Leave special orders That she is to be admitted. SMÎCRINÊS Special orders? PAMPHILÊ I mean, the porter might not understand. He might not let her in. SMÎCRINÊS Not let her in? Bless me, I never heard such impudence. I'll bring her here myself. I'll let them see You have a father and a home and friends. [_Exit_ SMÎCRINÊS. PAMPHILÊ Friends, have I? Is there one that I can trust? No one but Sôphronê; and there's no comfort In her. If only she had had the courage To help me at the first to tell Charisius! But no; she said it was a thing all men Are merciless about. It hurts their pride Somehow. . . . Why can't they leave it to the Goddess? Our sin is against her, not against them. One might have thought that, if he knew, he'd feel Pity, as I should for another girl So battered. . . . But of course I don't know how A man would feel, and Sôphronê was sure. "Hide everything," she said; "Hide everything. Hide most of all the child, and never dream Of seeing him again. It's the only way To save his life." Oh, I've grown almost blind With weeping. . . . If I only had a mother Or sister; I could tell my sister best. She would have understood. But now . . . no sister No child, no husband, none that I dare speak to . . . And Artemis, they say, never forgives. [_She sits, forward L, pondering. Enter_ HABROTONON _from House R., carrying the baby, wrapped in a torn crimson silk shawl. The two women do not see each other._ HABROTONON I'll take him with me and search--What, whimpering, is he? Poor mite! I've no idea what's wrong with him. [_Sits, back near House._ PAMPHILÊ Is there no merciful god to pity me? HABROTONON Dear pretty, never mind! We'll find your mother; We'll search the city for her. PAMPHILÊ (_rising_) Well, I'll go. [_She moves slowly towards the House_; HABROTONON _sees her for the first time, and stares_. HABROTONON (_rising_) Lady! One moment! PAMPHILÊ Did you call me? HABROTONON Yes. Please look at me, and see if you remember Something. (PAMPHILÊ _gazes at her_.) It is! It's she! Oh, I'm so glad. PAMPHILÊ Who are you? What do you mean? HABROTONON Give me your hand. Poor darling; tell me, did you go last year To see the Tauropolia in a red Tarentine silk? PAMPHILÊ (_her eyes on the baby's shawl_) Woman, where did you get That baby? HABROTONON Do you recognize the shawl? My dear . . . My dear, don't be afraid of me! PAMPHILÊ That's not your own child? HABROTONON No; I've passed it off As mine . . . oh, not to do his mother wrong, But to get time to find her. And I have! I've found you! You're the girl I saw that night! PAMPHILÊ (_bursts into tears, then grasping her_) The man! Who was that man? HABROTONON Charisius. PAMPHILÊ No! . . . Oh, bless you! Do you know it? Are you sure? HABROTONON Certain. But you: you came out of his house. Aren't you his wife? PAMPHILÊ Yes. HABROTONON Happy, happy woman! Some merciful god has pitied both of you. [_Knocks are heard on the door of House L._ Stop! Someone next door knocking! Take me in. Here! To this house. I'll tell you everything. [_Exeunt into House R._ [_Enter_ ONÊSIMUS _from House L._ ONÊSIMUS He's dotty! Upon my word he's going mad! He _is_ mad! No, but really, by the Gods, He's off his head, Charisius, I mean, My master. It's a cardiac paroxysm Of the Black Gall, or something. I don't see How else you can explain it. There he stood Just now, ever so long, against the door, Peering and listening, while just outside Old Smîcrinês was grumbling to his daughter All, I suppose, about this mess of ours. As men of the world, I hardly like to tell you How he kept changing colour: "O my sweetest," He cried. "What things you say!" and beat his head-- His own head! Then again, after a bit, "God help me, what a wife I have had and lost!" Then, when he'd heard all that there was to hear, And crept away at last to his own room, What groans and tearing of the hair! Just one Continuous raving! "Blackguard that I am," He kept on, "when I had done a thing like that, And made myself the father of a bastard, To feel no pity, show no spark of mercy To her in just the same plight! Barbarous! Utterly heartless!" He's in such a state, Half-mad, cursing himself and looking murder, It's dangerous. I am all shrivelled up with fear. As he is now, if he caught sight of me, Who first obliged him with the information About that baby, he might kill me dead. No one has seen me slip out of the house, But where to go to now, or what to think . . . Ah! Someone coming out! I'm lost, I'm done for! O Zeus the Saviour, save me if you can! [_Hides in the branches of the tree R._ [_Enter_ CHARISIUS. CHARISIUS Am I a paragon? Always with an eye For how things look! Such a discerning judge Of honour and dishonour! So correct And irreproachable in private life! Some Power above has given me just the medicine I needed, just the right appropriate thing To make me see my vileness! "What," it says, You miserable creature, puffed with pride And fine words, so you can't forgive your wife For--what? For being wronged, not doing wrong. I'll make you see yourself in the same mess, Blundering. I'll show you her all love and kindness To you, and you all angry pride to her. That ought to teach you what you are: pig-headed, Hard-hearted, and most wretched all at once. You heard her with her father? How like you! "I am the partner of his life," she said: "I cannot run away from the misfortune That's fallen upon him." Now, my high and mighty Barbarian, what do you mean to do with her? . . . Go, clasp her to your heart; beg her forgiveness! Or may all Furies . . . ! H'm. Of course there'll be Her father too. He's sure to be hot-headed And violent when he knows. Oh, damn her father! I'll tell him bluntly: "My good Smîcrinês, Let me alone. My wife's not leaving me. Why make these storms and bully Pamphilê? . . ." [ONÊSIMUS, _peering round, falls out of tree with a crash_. What? You again? What are you doing here? ONÊSIMUS Oh, this is quite bad; very bad. Ye Gods Above me, help! Don't leave me in this soup! CHARISIUS You dirty dog, have you been skulking here And listening? ONÊSIMUS No; I swear. I've just come out This moment. CHARISIUS Is there nothing one can keep From you? I catch you hiding everywhere, Onêsimus, listening to every word. . . . ONÊSIMUS Isn't it natural I should try to hide When you go round, like murder and damnation? CHARISIUS Here, rogue, I'll teach you to know everything. [ONÊSIMUS _runs away_; CHARISIUS _pursues him_. [_Enter from the House_ HABROTONON. HABROTONON Stop! Or you'll show that you yourself know nothing. CHARISIUS Who's this? You?--What have you to do with this? Why aren't you in the house, minding that baby? HABROTONON I have given it to its mother. It's not mine. CHARISIUS Not yours? Not?--How? Was that whole tale a fraud Of you two knaves?--Keep off, I'll see you later. HABROTONON Which will you do, send me away, or listen To what we have to say, and learn the truth? CHARISIUS The truth . . . from two false disobedient slaves? HABROTONON Yes, hidden truth by a slave's trick revealed. ONÊSIMUS I was so frightened, Master. I just wanted To experiment on you, to find you out . . . CHARISIUS To find me out . . . to experiment on me? ONÊSIMUS The woman made me. I take my oath she did. [_Clasps_ CHARISIUS'S _knees_. CHARISIUS Don't pull me about, you rogue! HABROTONON Don't beat the man! Listen! It's great news. Listen!--Your own wife, No poor strange girl, is mother to that child. CHARISIUS I wish to God it could be so. HABROTONON It is. So may Demeter love me! CHARISIUS Fairy tales. You're telling me! HABROTONON A fairy tale come true! CHARISIUS That boy is Pamphilê's? An hour ago You told me it was mine. HABROTONON Yes. So it is. CHARISIUS And Pamphilê's? Habro, I'm serious. Don't wing me with false hopes. HABROTONON The wings will bear you. I told you I was at the Tauropolia Last year, and that I saw--all that was true-- A girl alone, who ran out of the darkness Weeping and terrified . . . CHARISIUS Brute that I was! HABROTONON I did not know her name, but I remembered Her face. CHARISIUS You ought to have told me this before! HABROTONON How could I tell you till I knew myself? CHARISIUS Yes, I see that. HABROTONON I had no clue, no guess, Who the girl was, till now at your own door I have seen her. CHARISIUS, _deeply moved, sits silently thinking_. ONÊSIMUS There! I told you long ago She'd had a baby . . . HABROTONON Stupid! Hold your tongue! CHARISIUS (_rising_) The wrong I did was greater than I knew. I'll ask her to forgive me. I'll go now. [_Turning on his way to the House._ I owe you a great debt. I promised you, Freedom, Habrotonon, when I believed You the child's mother. Well, that promise holds. ONÊSIMUS What about me? I found the ring. I started The whole affair. CHARISIUS You rascal! All the mischief You've made . . . HABROTONON must be forgiven, Master, now. Without him I should never have unravelled The secret; you would never have won back Your wife and child. Rogue as he is, to you He has been always faithful. CHARISIUS Yes; he's been True to his master. . . . Well, I'll trust you still. [_Exit into House A._ HABROTONON (_to herself, deeply moved_) Freedom! O Saviour Gods, I bless your name! ONÊSIMUS (_jubilant_) I knew I'd pull it off. I always do. ACT V _Enter_ SÎMIAS _and_ CHAERESTRATUS _talking_. SÎMIAS We mustn't seem to avoid a friend in trouble. The child is his. He gave the girl his word For that before a dozen witnesses. There's no way out. Well, you must just remain A good friend to Charisius--Good, remember, And true! That girl is not a common slave; In heart and character she's a free woman. Besides, she's now the mother of his child. Therefore, Halt! No more ogling of the harpist! CHAERESTRATUS Why should you think I need all this advice? I've no desire to ogle anyone, Nor offer anyone condolences, Nor yet congratulations. I'd just sooner Be left alone. You go to him. SÎMIAS All right. I'll do my best to find some words of comfort For poor Charisius and his bonny boy! Well, here goes! (_seeing_ HABROTONON) Prudence, prudence! [_As he goes into the House_, HABROTONON _enters and is going towards the House when_ CHAERESTRATUS _speaks_. CHAERESTRATUS (_stiffly_) Pray allow me, To offer you my warm congratulations. I hear you are promised freedom. HABROTONON Thank you, Sir, That is so. CHAERESTRATUS And perhaps still further honours? HABROTONON What higher honour is there? CHAERESTRATUS Marriage? HABROTONON No; I have not heard of any. CHAERESTRATUS But that child . . . HABROTONON Is with his mother. I'm just going to her. CHAERESTRATUS His mother? HABROTONON Pamphilê. CHAERESTRATUS (_amazed_) Has Pamphilê Bought it, or what? You said the child was yours. HABROTONON I had my reasons. CHAERESTRATUS Then that rigmarole You told . . . HABROTONON Has served its purpose. Now we know Not all of it was true. CHAERESTRATUS A lie to make him Believe the child was yours! HABROTONON Yes. Slaves are good At lying. It's our chief accomplishment. CHAERESTRATUS You did him a great wrong! Made him confess The child was his! HABROTONON It was. The ring proved that. And when I once knew that, I had the clue To find its mother. CHAERESTRATUS But why should you find her? If she was found you lost all claim upon him. You were no more the mother of his child; Why should he set you free? HABROTONON I took that risk. CHAERESTRATUS That risk! The risk of being held a slave For ever! HABROTONON What a slave I should have been, And worse, if I had tried to hide the truth? CHAERESTRATUS I never knew a slave before who felt In that way. HABROTONON Why, what else was there to do? Slave as I am, and hungering to be free, I have a woman's heart. How could I leave That child cast out and helpless, a free child Born of a gentle house? Or how could I Forget that wronged girl at the midnight feast? Great liars as we slaves are, we can be honest. CHAERESTRATUS You had your freedom safe, and took the risk Of losing it again! HABROTONON Safe, would you say? No; any chance might have upset my story And covered me with shame. [_Enter_ MAID _from House R. with tray_. Are those the tokens? You're taking them to the mistress? Leave them here. I'll take them (_exit_ MAID). Think how deadly these would be Against me! Look, except Charisius' ring, They are all her things, not mine (_looking through them_). I never wore Gold chains and precious stones . . . though once I had A silver cup like that . . . rather like that. CHAERESTRATUS You, as a child? HABROTONON Oh, I was quite a baby. It had my name engraved, like Pamphilê's On this. CHAERESTRATUS It looks as if there'd been some name Cut out here; and then Pamphilê's inscribed Above it. HABROTONON Oh, of course the cup is hers! I never meant to claim it. I don't even Remember properly what mine was like. CHAERESTRATUS (_looking at the cup_) There was some name; but not Habrotonon. HABROTONON Habrotonon! Who'd give a child a name Like that, a poor hired slave-performer's name, Like "Pegs-and-strings" or "Catgut"? No; I had A real name once. CHAERESTRATUS What was it? HABROTONON I don't know. Some grown-up name. They never called me by it . . . They called me . . . Oh, just silly baby names. CHAERESTRATUS What was your father's name? HABROTONON How should I know? I called him Dadda. I was very little. CHAERESTRATUS (_with the cup_) A K I can make out, and perhaps an L; Kle, Kleo-- HABROTONON Kleo-- No; I'm only guessing. I half thought . . . That's enough! I can quite see What you expect; you think I'm going to tell you The usual slave's romance, how I was born Quite free and rich, but captured in the wars Or lost at sea. You won't believe a word! Why should you? I've no shred of proof to back My fables. CHAERESTRATUS I believe your every word. I know you are free at heart, too true, too proud For tricks that one can pardon in a slave. But do try to remember. Any detail Might give us clues . . . HABROTONON I haven't any clues! I knew so little. I can just remember Men fighting in the streets. I lost my doll. And a man came and took me by the hand And said: "Come on, my dear. The other children Are waiting." So he took me to the Gate, And there there was a crowd, and I was put Among the smallest girls, and we were sold Quickly, in bunches, to the slave-dealers. Then later I was taught to play the harp And given that stupid name . . . Oh, it's all useless. I don't know where it was. I don't remember My father's name. Most likely I never knew it. I have no proofs. CHAERESTRATUS What need have I of proofs? Charisius is your guardian? I propose To-day to ask him his ward's hand in marriage. HABROTONON No, no! I need some time to think; to learn How to be free; to sit and taste my freedom; Lie on the ground and whisper to the Earth "Free, Mother, free at last!" No more unclean, No more a coward! I want to wash my body, And clean my soul of slavish fears and stains; And be no more, in my own thoughts, as yours, That harp-girl who was hired to smile and play, Be kissed and revel at some drunken feast, Or else be beaten. I want time to breathe . . . --I must take in these things to Pamphilê. [_She picks up the tray. Enter from House_ SÎMIAS; _behind him_ ONÊSIMUS, _a large drinking cup in his hands, watches with interest_. CHAERESTRATUS _tries to hold_ HABROTONON, _but she slips by into the House_. CHAERESTRATUS But listen. Stay a moment. SÎMIAS What's all this? Chaerestratus, I warned you! CHAERESTRATUS Yes, you did! You did! But wasn't that some time ago? Hasn't there been a change? SÎMIAS (_taken aback_) Why, so there has. I always said that girl ought to be free. And if she's free . . . But you're so hasty. Come, Let's talk it over. [_Exeunt together to House B._ ONÊSIMUS There he goes again! After the harping girl! Well, I don't mind. That girl's too clever for me. I can never Quite make her out . . . I must say she's played fair About our partnership. I've got full pardon For everything, and special thanks for finding That baby. I've not got liberty, like her. But, Lord, why should I want it? She'll go free, And lodge alone and work and weave and sew, Eat little, wear cheap clothes, and sometimes get On her good days a chance to play that harp At temples: no more banqueting for her! I like a big house, plenty of good grub, Plenty of people, lots of news and gossip, And secrets to find out. Besides I'm now A privileged and powerful person, I'm Trusted with secrets! . . . She's a pretty baggage No doubt. Chaerestratus is quite right there. Ah, what it is to have a temperate Abstemious mind! (_takes a long drink_) If he'd had half my chances, I bet he never could have kept his hands Off such a girl. I can, by Jove, and will. Here comes . . . Hullo! I'll have a lark with him. [_Exit._ [_Enter_ SMÎCRINÊS _and_ _Sôphronê_, _arguing_. SMÎCRINÊS That's what you think? Plague take me, Sôphronê, If I don't break your head! You'll scold me too, Like all the others? Hasty, am I? Hasty, Claiming my daughter back, you god-forsaken Old reptile? Do you want me to sit smiling While her egregious husband wolfs up all Her dowry? And just talk and talk in hopes To save my property? You're like the rest . . . No, sharp's the word! So no more talk from you. I've no dispute with anyone except My daughter. As for you, I brought you here Simply to make my daughter change her mind, And be obedient--quickly--Sôphronê, On our way home . . . I think you saw that pond In passing . . . in that pond I mean to duck you All night until you choke, or may I never Know happiness again! I only want you To see I'm right and not keep picking quarrels. H'm, I must knock. The blessèd door is barred. Ho, boys, there! Porter! Someone hurry up And open. Why the Devil can't they hear me? [_Enter_ ONÊSIMUS (_still with the cup_). ONÊSIMUS Who's knocking at the door? Oh, Smîcrinês The furious, come to fetch his precious dowry And daughter! SMÎCRINÊS Yes, you infernal jackanapes. ONÊSIMUS How right you are! One sees you have a brain Both philosophic and executive, Good for abduction, good for burglary; Splendid, by Hercules! SMÎCRINÊS O Gods and devils! ONÊSIMUS Gods? So you think the Gods have time to apportion The appropriate bane and blessing, day by day, To each man? . . . Do you really, Smîcrinês? SMÎCRINÊS What are you talking about? ONÊSIMUS Let me explain. It's simple. There are cities in the world, At least a hundred thousand. In each city Say, thirty thousand citizens. The Gods, You think, keep watch on each of these, all day And every day, giving them all their due Of good and evil? SMÎCRINÊS What's all this? ONÊSIMUS I think That works the Gods too hard. "Then don't they care For human kind at all?" Of course they do. They've billeted on every citizen A special guardian, called his Temperament. He's our unsleeping watchman. Use him wrong, He'll plague you; right, and he's your preservation. (You've never read psychology? Of course not.) Our Temperament, why it's the God who guides Each one of us, the cause of all our troubles And pleasures. If you wish for happiness Implore this God not to go doing things Absurd or inconsiderate. SMÎCRINÊS What, you rascal? It's doing something inconsiderate now, My temperament? ONÊSIMUS Your temperament's the plague Of your whole life. SMÎCRINÊS Infernal impudence! ONÊSIMUS Well, really, do you think it a good thing To abduct one's daughter from her husband? Really? SMÎCRINÊS Who says it's a good thing? It's only a thing That must be done. ONÊSIMUS You see? The man maintains A bad thing is a thing "that must be done." Who sends him mad if not his Temperament? However, it so happens that, before You had time to do this bad thing, a pure chance Has saved you. You've come just in time to find Peace signed and those old troubles all washed out. Let this be a lesson to you, Smîcrinês. Don't let me ever catch you again behaving So violently! Come in now; no more talk Of grievances, and welcome to your arms Your grandson. SMÎCRINÊS Grandson, you infernal rogue? ONÊSIMUS (_laughing helplessly_) You wooden-head, you thought you were so clever, Like lots of other fathers! That's the way You watch over a marriageable girl! No wonder we've strange babies to bring up, Miraculous five-monthers! SMÎCRINÊS I don't know What you are talking about. ONÊSIMUS The old woman does, Unless I am much mistaken . . . Sôphronê, The Tauropolia; it was there my master Found her alone; she had somehow lost the choir She played in, and . . . you understand? SÔPHRONÊ Of course. ONÊSIMUS And now there's been a mutual recognition, And all's well. SMÎCRINÊS What does he mean, you wicked woman? SÔPHRONÊ "So Nature willed, who, heeding not man's laws Invented women for this very cause." SMÎCRINÊS Have you gone mad? SÔPHRONÊ Must I recite a whole Tragic oration from Euripides? I will if you can't see. SMÎCRINÊS It makes me sick, Your tragic stuff. You see only too well What this man means? SÔPHRONÊ Of course. I knew it all. ONÊSIMUS You bet your life. She knew it long ago, That old nurse. SMÎCRINÊS I'm disgraced. SÔPHRONÊ Not you, unless You choose to assume you are. SMÎCRINÊS It's terrible! SÔPHRONÊ There never was a grander stroke of luck, If this man's story is true. Our baby's father . . . ONÊSIMUS Is certainly Charisius. He admits it. SMÎCRINÊS Is that the word? Of course it's his; and now The scoundrel dares to claim that Pamphilê's Its mother, so as not to lose my dowry. He's welcome to his bastards. But my daughter Is different. She has always been obedient, And good. I don't believe a word of it. SÔPHRONÊ I know the child was hers. SMÎCRINÊS What reason have I To trust your word? SÔPHRONÊ Ask Pamphilê herself. SMÎCRINÊS She loves that scoundrel. She'd say anything To win him back to her. How do I know You're not all in a plot to torture me And save Charisius? SÔPHRONÊ Have you seen the tokens? [_Calling to the House._ Habrotonon, kindly bring those tokens out. [HABROTONON _brings them on the tray_. These were the things set out beside the baby When he was found. I know: I put them there; I kept close watch upon him all the time, And these are what I took from Pamphilê. SMÎCRINÊS (_examining them_) They're not all hers. I never saw that ring. SÔPHRONÊ Charisius' ring, that is. SMÎCRINÊS This silver cup, This wasn't Pamphilê's. HABROTONON Not hers? I wonder Can it be really mine? SMÎCRINÊS Yours? This cup yours? This was my elder daughter's cup. HABROTONON I am sorry. I thought it looked like . . . May I look again? [SMÎCRINÊS _snatches it up_. I know mine had my name engraved inside it. SMÎCRINÊS What name? HABROTONON I don't know. I was very little. Some grown-up name. They never called me by it. SMÎCRINÊS You don't know your own name. Perhaps you know Your mother's name? HABROTONON We only called her Mother. SMÎCRINÊS Where did your father live? HABROTONON It was some island, I think. SMÎCRINÊS Some island: which? (HABROTONON _is silent_) I never heard A feebler piece of fraud. I should have thought In your profession you'd acquire more skill. HABROTONON No, it's no good. It was a baby world I lived in. SMÎCRINÊS That's enough. Back to your quarters! One bastard grandchild's quite enough for me, Without a harping slave-girl for a daughter. [HABROTONON _turns away, discomfited_. SÔPHRONÊ _has been looking closely at her_. SÔPHRONÊ Grasshopper! HABROTONON (_turning suddenly_) Grasshopper! Who calls me that? Who is it? . . . Sôpho! No! You can't be Sôpho. SÔPHRONÊ (_embraces_ HABROTONON) Grasshopper darling! SMÎCRINÊS Stop! We have no proof! SÔPHRONÊ Be quiet, you stupid man! Haven't you said Enough of harsh things you'll be sorry for? ONÊSIMUS Great Gods! Chaerestratus must know of this! [_Exit to House B._ SÔPHRONÊ What happened, child, the day we lost you? Can you Remember anything? HABROTONON A little. I Was with my mother. SÔPHRONÊ On the temple steps. I left you while we tried to find a boat. HABROTONON Then suddenly she was gone. I couldn't find her. SMÎCRINÊS I found her. HABROTONON Yes; and then a man came up Smiling and said, "Come, dear; the other children Are waiting." SÔPHRONÊ So you went with him? HABROTONON Why, yes. SMÎCRINÊS Why did you go with him? HABROTONON He took my hand. Besides, he sounded kind. Only I lost My doll. SMÎCRINÊS I know. I found it by her body. HABROTONON And so he brought us to the slave-dealers Down by the quay, and sold us. SMÎCRINÊS Oh, my child! Forgive me. I have wronged you. I am old And bitter, and see all things through a blur Of loss and anger and bewilderment. So many evil things I have seen and suffered. By wars and wicked men: all whom I loved Lost but one daughter, whom I sought to save Too harshly, from dishonour--Sôphronê, Take this great news to Pamphilê. [SÔPHRONÊ _and_ HABROTONON _go in together_. Great wrongs They have suffered, both, but who dares speak the word Dishonour? Both I count as innocent And honourable women. [_Re-enter_ SÔPHRONÊ, _with_ HABROTONON, PAMPHILÊ _and_ CHARISIUS. PAMPHILÊ _carrying the Baby_. Clearista, You shall be free by nightfall. I shall pay Your price this afternoon. CHARISIUS Excuse me, Sir, This lady has done me a service past all counting, And I have promised faithfully myself To pay her ransom. [_Enter_ CHAERESTRATUS _with_ ONÊSIMUS. SÔPHRONÊ Well, be quick about it. Whoever it is. Her owners mustn't hear This story, or they'll raise her price beyond Your worst foreboding. CHAERESTRATUS Quite the contrary. Leave this to me. I have some little knowledge Of the Attic courts. I'll call upon these rascals And face them with the charge that "by mere fraud And violence they detain in slavery A free-born body." They'll give in at once. They must. SMÎCRINÊS What a remarkable young man! Such knowledge of the law and such good sense Combined! (_to_ CHARISIUS) My son-in-law, this man speaks well; Who is he? CHAERESTRATUS Sir, your second son-in-law, With your permission! [_Takes_ HABROTONON'S _arm_. SMÎCRINÊS This is all too much For me to understand. Yes; I'm bewildered. Clearista, what say you? HABROTONON Well, this time Yes. I am dreaming: how can I refuse a dream? Is this still you and I? So changed we seem And moved to a new world. Can this be me And yonder Sôpho and here Pamphilê, And father? A new world! PAMPHILÊ And where will you Place him to whom the world is really new, The man new-born, a symbol of that breath Each year by which the race is snatched from death? He has no past: his morning sweeps away All clouds. SMÎCRINÊS Nay, child, there is a yesterday Always. Past evil leaves a stress of dread Under all joy. Have not our sages said, When wounded men, lulled to oblivion deep By that Egyptian poppy, slowly creep Toward sense again, the first thing that they know Is pain, for pain is life? Each infant so By his first wailing makes good prophecy, For man 'tis pain to live and pain to die. SÔPHRONÊ Pain first, but after . . . wonder, longing, strife, Adventure, hopes and fears; all these are life; Defeat, success, the worship of some truth Or phantom, all the battle-joys of youth, And ways of thought that, as youth fades, may still Fill age with fragrance. Man, for good or ill, And all his race, is even as this child I saved, a frail thing, homeless in the wild, Part pain, part hope, all daring; and who knows Whence here it came or whither hence it goes? For this the Man-Babe lives, these things to do And suffer; thus he makes the world anew At each new birth, still facing to a day Unknown, and still the hero of his play. NOTES The scene is an open space with two Houses at the back, as usual in the New Comedy. The tree makes it easier for two people to be on the stage together without seeing each other--a situation which often occurs. The conceited and pedantic Cook is a regular New Comedy character, and so is the valet or personal attendant, a cunning rogue, stupid and not over-honest, but genuinely devoted to his young master. As to the names, they come from the stock of New Comedy. As in Restoration Comedy, they have meanings more or less suitable to the character; Pamphilê, "_All-dear_"; Onêsimus, "_Helpful_"; Sôphronê, "_Prudence_." Habrotonon, meaning something like "_softly or delicately tuned_," is a name suited to a harpist's profession. The two slave names Syriscus and Dâvus mean respectively, "_Little Syrian_" and "_Davian_," the Davi being a nomad tribe in Asia. Charisius has a suggestion of "Pleasantness," Smîcrinês a suggestion of "meanness." The names, however, are all real names taken from ordinary life; they are not artificial inventions like "Lady Wishfor't," "Sir John Brute," or "Sneerwell," in English comedy. ACT I p. 14. Sôphronê, as we shall see in Act V, is a silent person who gets her way. She has more brains and more experience than the others. p. 19. Chaerestratus is not a "young puppy," but an interesting character. He is torn between his obvious, though unspoken, love for Habrotonon, and his dislike of getting mixed up in a rowdy party or a dishonourable intrigue. p. 23. Small coins were usually carried in the mouth or the hand. (See Blaydes on Aristophanes, _Eccles_. 818.) For bulkier things a fold of the gown could be girded up as a pocket. p. 24. PROLOGUE.--Menander's Prologues seem generally to have come in this position, as second scenes after a first scene meant to rouse curiosity and require explanation. In parody of the tragic prologue, they are generally spoken by non-human characters with a touch of the absurd about them, like the goddess Ignorance in the _Rape of the Locks_. Callisto's account of herself here is roughly in agreement with the story told by Hygînus and others, though no one seems to have mentioned the "fourteen years' hard labour." Elsewhere she either remained a bear or became a constellation. p. 26. "all murderous males." By ancient law the father had an absolute right to decide whether the child presented to him should or should not be reared. If it proved to be the illegitimate child of his wife its chances would be small. p. 27. Smîcrinês (from _smikros_, "small") is said to have been a name used in Comedy for misers. This Smîcrinês has some miserly traits but is in general like one of the regular "cross old men." He becomes progressively humanized as the play proceeds. p. 28. Four talents, in gold about £960, was quite a large dowry for the time. Polemo in the _Locks_ was pleased with three. The purchasing power of money was vastly greater than now, and 10 per cent. a usual rate of interest. Two obols a day was the regular "dole" for a pauper. See Tarn in _The Hellenistic Age_ (Cambridge, 1932). p. 29. "Some pessimist philosopher." Philosophy was, for various reasons, a matter of great general interest at the time. Menander is said to have been a close friend of Epicurus. p. 32. "Young lads, and not too sober." This is the cue for the entry of a Chorus of professional Dancers, performing a sort of ballet as an _entr'acte_. The Chorus in the New Comedy had ceased to be an integral part of the play. The song supplied here is based on a famous lyric in the style of Anacreon. The youths are garlanded and wild but not tipsy. They may be so when the revel breaks up in Act III. ACT II p. 34. These soliloquies, intended partly to reveal character, partly just to keep the audience informed, however unrealistic they seem to us, were a favourite device of Menander's, and show one side of his art. p. 34. Young Habro: I venture, in accordance with a common Greek custom, to shorten Habrotonon's name. pp. 38-53. This scene, which has given the play its name, is fortunately preserved in full on the papyrus, together with the rest of the Act. Dâvus is a rough rustic; Syriscus a more brainy and polished oriental; but both are poor slaves in goatskin cloaks. p. 45. Nêleus and Pelias: Both were heroes of tragedies of the Nativity Play type. To our taste this speech is obviously too long. To the original audience there was amusement in the references to tragedy and also in the surprising rhetorical fluency of the charcoal-burner. p. 49. "After the rents are paid." Apparently Syriscus and Dâvus were tenants of Charisius and had come up for a rent-day. p. 52. "His friend next door. . . . The same house." Did the two neighbouring villas have their slave-quarters in common? ACT III p. 54. Note how Onêsimus is constantly shifting from one extreme to another, from over-confidence to terror, from belief in his own cleverness to suspicion that he has made a fool of himself. See, for example, his changes on pp. 65 and 84, or the last words in Act IV, p. 92. It is in this Act that Habrotonon's character first becomes visible. She is a free-born and courageous girl, now a slave. She has learned enough of the impudence and cynicism of her trade, to be able to use them when necessary, but essentially her feelings towards the exposed baby, the wronged girl and the tipsy and ill-mannered young man, are those of a free woman, womanly, self-respecting, and generous. Menander treats with a curious reticence the tragedy which forms the background of Habrotonon. It is indicated by a phrase or two, like "I know it well enough" on p. 61, and the mention of her innocence at the time of last year's Tauropolia, but does not come out clearly, if I read the author's intention right, till the end of the play. The real slave, Onêsimus, is incapable of understanding her. p. 54. Habrotonon apparently came away at some early stage of the dinner, and returned to the company during dessert, though, owing to Cârion's inordinate delays dessert had not yet been reached. "Free from contact": in the strict sense. He had not even shaken hands with her. p. 56. Tauropolia. This is the first mention of a feast called Tauropolia in Attica. It seems to refer to the festival of Artemos Tauropolos at Brauron, in which we happen to know that there was a dance or performance of young girls--over the age of ten--pretending to be bears. p. 57. "That this charcoal-burner found." Habrotonon did not know it was the shepherd who really found the baby. p. 59. Tarentine. A "Tarentine" was a light, almost diaphanous wrap made of the byssus, or fine linen of South Italy. The word is also applied to silk. p. 61. "I know it well enough." Evidently Habrotonon's owners had not made her go out as a _hetaira_ to banquets until quite lately. This fits in with the intensity of her feelings about the unknown girl at the Tauropolia and about slavery in Act V. p. 72. Daric. A Persian gold coin with a head of Darius. ACT IV pp. 75 ff. A curious critical question arises about the opening of this Act. There is a gap in our text of about 23 lines in one place and about 94 later, just before Habrotonon's entrance. It must have contained Smîcrinês's scene with his daughter, persuading her to leave her husband. Now it so happens that on a papyrus published by Weil in 1879 there is a speech of 44 lines in which a young wife pleads with her father not to make her leave her husband. It is headed in the papyrus "Euripides," and seems to have been set as a school exercise. It is certainly not Euripides, and almost certainly came from some play of the New Comedy. Professor D. S. Robertson has made the very attractive suggestion that it comes from this play and this place. The fit is not perfect; but the situation is extremely similar; and the line of pleading is just what Pamphilê might well have used. Her speech gives a fine picture of a loving and dutiful wife, according to the ideas of Menandrian Athens, but of course one must also remember her secret. She knows that there is an excuse for Charisius which must not be mentioned. p. 78. The Thesmophoria and Skira were two of the great Athenian festivals. It seems curious that they should bulk so large in the supposed expenses of Charisius, but that is characteristic of ancient Greek life, or indeed that of any simple society; a very frugal daily life with great outbursts on the important festivals. pp. 82 ff. This recognition scene must be taken slowly and involves a good deal of silent acting. It is a characteristic of Menander's style to alternate scenes in which the language is everything with others in which little is said and much indicated. p. 84. "As men of the world." Onêsimus frankly addresses the audience. This deliberate breach of the illusion is a trick that has lasted on from Aristophanes to modern farce. p. 84. In the stage convention doors usually opened outwards. You knocked to warn people in the street. p. 85. The bitter self-reproach of Charisius is interesting and shows the vast gulf between the moral ideas of Menander and those of Wycherley or Congreve. He is ashamed of his own action; at the same time it makes him understand his wife's. She had been carried away by the excitements of the Midnight Revel, as he was, and also was far less a free agent. pp. 87 ff. Habrotonon speaks with calm, almost with authority; Charisius is angry and bewildered; Onêsimus utterly frightened. ACT V p. 98. "Pegs-and-strings or Catgut." See p. 117. "Habrotonon" was a name denoting her profession as a slave musician. Her real name, we find, was Clearista. p. 100. The slave dealers. They would naturally gather round a besieged or sacked town to buy up prisoners of war or children whose parents were lost or could not take care of them. Xenophon tells how Agêsilaus, King of Sparta, made arrangements for protecting such children and old people when he took a town (_Ages._ I. 21). p. 100. A free woman would normally have a "guardian" of some sort, to be responsible for her before the law. As Habrotonon had no husband or older male relation it seems that Charisius, if he had bought her and set her free, would act. p. 101. "work and weave and sew." The virtuous free woman without a family was apt to have a hard life, as we see from Terence. pp. 103 ff. Onêsimus, presumably under the influence of his wine, proceeds to talk philosophy. Philosophers were a strong influence in Athens at the time. p. 111. "Grasshopper." The Greek name of the cicada, "Tettix," was sometimes given to children. We even hear of men so called. GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD London: 40 Museum Street, W.C.1 Cape Town: 58-60 Long Street Toronto: 91 Wellington Street West Bombay: 15 Graham Road, Ballard Estate Wellington, N.Z.: 8 Kings Crescent, Lower Hutt Sydney, N.S.W.: Bradbury House, 55 York Street Transcriber's Notes:- Pg 18 Omitted character name, CÂRION, inserted before dialogue "Man, I can't think of stories." Minor punctuation errors and omissions corrected. [The end of _The Arbitration_ by Gilbert Murray]