Читать книгу The Greatest Christmas Books of All Time - Люси Мод Монтгомери - Страница 9

We have already said that the natural mimicry of the Italian peasantry no doubt for ages indulged itself in uncouth performances of a dramatic nature, which developed later into those mimes and farces, the forerunners of Roman comedy and the old Medley-Satura. We have also shown how powerfully Rome came under the influence of Greek literature and Greek art; and how the first actual invasion of Rome by Greek literature was made under Livius Andronicus, who, in 240 BC, produced the first play before a Roman audience translated from the Greek into the Roman tongue. What the history of native comedy would have been, had it been allowed to develop entirely apart from Greek influence, we shall never know, since it did come powerfully under this influence, and retained permanently the form and character which it then acquired.

When Rome turned to Greece for comedy, there were three models from which to choose: the Old Athenian Comedy of Eupolis, Cratinus, and Aristophanes, full of criticism boldly aimed at public men and policies, breathing the most independent republican spirit; the Middle Comedy, which was still critical, directed, however, more at classes of men and schools of thought than at individuals; and New Comedy, the product of the political decadence of Greece, written during a period (340–260 BC) when the independence which had made the trenchant satire of the Old Comedy possible had gone out of Greece. These plays aimed at amusement and not at reform. Every vestige of politics was squeezed out of them, and they were merely society plays, supposed to reflect the amusing and entertaining incidents of the social life of Athens. The best known writers of New Comedy were Philemon, Apollodorus, and Menander, only fragments of whose works have come down to us.

Which of these models did the Romans follow? There is some evidence in the fragments of the plays of Nævius, a younger contemporary of Andronicus, and who produced his first play in 235 BC, that he wrote in the bold spirit of the Old Comedy, and criticized the party policies and leaders of his time. But he soon discovered that the stern Roman character was quite incapable of appreciating a joke, especially when its point was directed against that ineffably sacred thing, the Roman dignity. For presuming to voice his criticisms from the stage the poet was imprisoned and afterward banished from Rome.

Perhaps warned by the experience of Nævius, Roman comic poets turned to the perfectly colorless and safe society plays of the New Comedy for translation and imitation. They not only kept within the limitations of these plays as to spirit and plot, but even confined the scene itself and characters to some foreign city, generally Athens, and for the most part were careful to exclude everything Roman or suggestive of Rome from their plays.

Judging from the remaining fragments, there must have been many writers of comedy during this period of first impulse; but of all these, the works of only two are preserved to us. These are Titus Maccius Plautus, who died in 184 BC, and Publius Terentius Afer, commonly known as Terence, who was born in 195 BC, and died in 159 BC These two writers have much in common, but there are also many important points of difference. Plautus displays a rougher, more vigorous strength and a broader humor; and, within the necessary limitations of which we have spoken, he is more national in his spirit, more popular in his appeal. Terence, on the other hand, no doubt because he was privileged to associate with the select and literary circle of which Scipio and Lælius were the center, was more polished and correct in style and diction. But while he thus gains in elegance as compared with Plautus, he loses the breezy vigor of the older poet.

As an illustration of the society play of the New Comedy, we are giving with some abridgment the Phormio of Terence, which we have taken the liberty of translating into somewhat free modern vernacular. This is perhaps the best of the six plays of Terence which we have, and was modeled by him after a Greek play of Apollodorus. It is named Phormio from the saucy parasite who takes the principal rôle. The other characters are two older men, brothers, Demipho and Chremes; two young men, sons of these, Antipho and Phædria; a smart slave, Geta; a villainous slave-driver, Dorio; Nausistrata, wife of Chremes, and Sophrona, an old nurse. The scene, which does not change throughout the play, is laid in Athens. As for the plot, it will develop itself as we read.

A shock-headed slave comes lounging in from the direction of the Forum and stops in front of Demipho's house. He carries in his hand a purse of money which, it appears, he has brought in payment of a debt:

Friend Geta paid me a call yesterday; I've been owing him a beggarly balance on a little account some time back, and he wanted me to pay it. So I've got it here. It seems that his young master has gone and got married; and this money, I'm thinking, is being scraped together as a present for the bride. Things have come to a pretty pass, to be sure, when the poor must all the time be handing over to the rich. What my poor gossip has saved up out of his allowance, a penny at a time, almost starving himself to do it, this precious bride will gobble up at one fell swoop, little thinking how hard Geta had to work to get it. Pretty soon he will be struck for another present when a child is born; for another when its birthday comes around, and so on, and so on. The mother will get it all; the child will be only an excuse. But here comes Geta himself.

The private marriage of the young man Antipho, mentioned in this slave's soliloquy, is one of the important issues of the play. The real situation is revealed in the following conversation between the two slaves. After the payment of the money and an interchange of civilities, says the friend:

Davus. But what's the matter with you?

Geta. Me? Oh, you don't know in what a fix we are.

Da. How's that? Ge. Well, I'll tell you if you won't say anything about it. Da. O, come off, you dunce, you have just trusted money with me; are you afraid to lend me words? Besides, what good would it do me to give you away? Ge. Well, listen then. You know our old man's brother Chremes? Da. Well, I should say. Ge. And his son Phædria? Da. As well as I do you. Ge. Both the old men went away, Chremes to Lemnos, and his brother to Cilicia, and left me here to take care of their two sons. My guardian spirit must have had it in for me. At first I began to oppose the boys; but there—my faithfulness to the old men I paid for with my bones. Then I just gave it up and let them do as they pleased. At first, my young master Antipho was all right; but his cousin Phædria lost no time in getting into trouble. He fell in love with a little lute-player—desperately in love. She was a slave, and owned by a most villainous fellow. Phædria had no money to buy her freedom with—his father had looked out for that; so the poor boy could only feast his eyes upon her, tag her around and walk back and forth to school with her. Antipho and I had nothing else to do, so we watched Phædria. Well, one day when we were all sitting in the barber-shop across the street from the little slave-girl's schoolhouse, a fellow came in crying like a baby. When we asked him what the trouble was, he said: "Poverty never seemed to me so dreadful before. Just now I saw a poor girl here in the neighborhood crying over her dead mother. And there wasn't a single soul around, not an acquaintance or a relative or any one at all to help at the funeral, except one little old woman, her nurse. I did feel sorry for the girl. She was a beauty, too." Well, he stirred us all up. Then Antipho speaks up and says: "Let's go and see her; you lead the way." So we went and saw her. She was a beauty. And she wasn't fixed up a bit either: her hair was all hanging loose, she was bare-footed, unkempt, eyes red with weeping, dress travel-stained. So she must have been an all-round beauty, or she couldn't have seemed so then. Phædria says: "She'll do pretty well." But Antipho—Da. O yes, I know, he fell in love with her. Ge. But do you know how much? Wait and see how it came out. Next day he went straight to the nurse and begged her to let him see the girl; but the old woman wouldn't allow it. She said he wasn't acting on the square; that the girl was a well-born citizen of Athens, and that if he wanted to marry her he might do so in the legal way. If he had any other object it was no use. Our young man didn't know what to do. He wanted to marry her fast enough, but he was afraid of his absent father. Da. Why, wouldn't his father have forgiven him when he came back? Ge. What, he allow his son to marry a poor girl that nobody knew anything about? Not much! Da. Well, what came next? Ge. What next? There is a certain parasite named Phormio, a bold fellow—curse his impudence! Da. What did he do? Ge. He gave this precious piece of advice. Says he: "There is a law in Athens that orphan girls shall marry their next of kin, and the same law requires the next of kin to marry them. Now I'll say that you are related to this girl, and will bring suit against you to compel you to marry her. I'll pretend that I am her guardian. We'll go before the judges; who her father was, who her mother, how she is related to you—all this I'll make up on the spur of the moment. You won't attempt any defense and of course I shall win the suit. I'll be in for a row when your father gets back, but what of that? You will be safely married to the girl by that time." Da. Well, that was a jolly bluff. Ge. So the youth was persuaded, the thing was done, they went to court, our side lost the suit, and Antipho married the girl. Da. What's that? Ge. Just what I say. Da. O Geta, what will become of you? Ge. I'll be blessed if I know. I'm sure of one thing, though: whatever happens, I'll bear it with equanimity. Da. That's the talk! You've got the spirit of a man! But what about the pedagogue, the little lute-player's young man? How is he getting on? Ge. Only so so. Da. He hasn't much to pay for her, I suppose? Ge. Not a red; only his hopes. Da. Has Antipho's father come back yet? Ge. No. Da. When do you expect him? Ge. I'm not sure, but I have just heard that a letter has been received from him down at the custom-house, and I'm going for it now. Da. Well, Geta, can I do anything more for you? Ge. No. Be good to yourself. Good-by.

We see from the foregoing conversation what the situation is at the opening of the play, and can guess at the problems to be solved by the development of the action: How shall Phædria obtain the money with which to buy his sweetheart? and how shall Antipho's father be reconciled to the marriage so that he may not annul it or disown both the young people upon his return?

The two cousins Antipho and Phædria now appear, each envying the seemingly happy lot of the other, and deploring his own. Antipho has already repented of his hasty action, and is panic-stricken when he thinks of the wrath of his father. While Phædria can think only of his friend's good fortune in being married to the girl of his heart. Geta's sudden appearance from the direction of the harbor strikes terror into Antipho, and both the cousins retire to the back of the stage. The slave is evidently much disturbed, though the young men can catch only a word now and then.

Desirous, yet fearful of knowing the worst, Antipho now calls out to his slave, who turns and comes up to him.

Antipho. Come, give us your news, for goodness' sake, and be quick. Ge. All right, I will. Ant. Well, out with it, then. Ge. Just now at the harbor—Ant. What, my—Ge. That's right. Ant. I'm done for!

Phædria has not Antipho's fear-sharpened imagination to get Geta's news from these fragmentary statements, and asks the slave to tell him what it is all about.

Geta. I tell you that I have seen his father, your uncle. Ant. [frantically]. How shall I meet this sudden disaster? But if it has come to this, Phanium [his wife], that I am to be separated from you, then I don't want to live any longer. Ge. There, there, Antipho, in such a state of things you ought to be all the more on the watch. Fortune favors the brave, you know. Ant. [with choking voice]. I'm not myself to-day. Ge. But you must be, Antipho; for if your father sees that you are timid and meek about it, he'll think of course that you are in the wrong. Ant. But, I tell you, I can't do any different. Ge. What would you do if you had some harder job yet? Ant. Since I can't do this, I couldn't do that. Ge. Come, Phædria, there's no use fooling with this fellow; we're only wasting our time. Let's be off. Phæd. All right, come on. Ant. O say, hold on! What if I pretend to be bold. [Strikes an attitude]. Will that do? Ge. Stuff and nonsense. Ant. Well, how will this expression do? Ge. It won't do at all. Ant. How is this? Ge. That's more like it. Ant. Is this better? Ge. That's just right. Keep on looking that way. And remember to answer him word for word, tit for tat, and don't let the angry old man get the better of you. Ant. I—I—w-won't. Ge. Tell him you were forced to it against your will—Phæd. By the law, by the court. Ge. Do you catch on?—But who is this old man I see coming up the street?

Antipho casts one look of terror down the street, cries: "It's father himself, I just can't stay," and takes to his heels.

Phæd. Now, Geta, what next? Ge. Well, you're in for a row; and I shall be hung up by the heels and flogged, unless I am much mistaken. But what we were advising Antipho to do just now, we must do ourselves. Phæd. O, come off with your "musts"! Tell me just what to do. Ge. Do you remember how you said when we were planning how to get out of blame for this business that "Phormio's suit was just dead easy, sure to win"? Well, that's the game we want to work now—or a better one yet, if you can think of one. Now you go ahead and I'll wait here in ambush, in case you want any help.

They retire to the back of the stage as Demipho enters from the direction of the harbor. The old man is in a towering rage, for he has heard the news, which by this time is all over town. After listening awhile to his angry soliloquy, and interjecting sneering comments sotto voce, Geta and Phædria conclude that it is time to act. So Phædria advances to his uncle with an effusive welcome:

Phæd. My dear uncle, how do you do? Demipho [crustily]. How are you? But where is Antipho? Phæd. I'm so glad to see—Dem. Oh, no doubt; but answer my questions. Phæd. Oh, he's all right; he's here in the house. But, uncle, has anything gone wrong with you? Dem. Well, I should say so. Phæd. What do you mean? Dem. How can you ask, Phædria? This is a pretty marriage you have gotten up here in my absence. Phæd. Why, uncle, you aren't angry with him for that, are you? Dem. Not angry with him, indeed? I can hardly wait to see him and let him know how through his own fault his indulgent father has become most stern and angry with him. Phæd. Now, uncle, if Antipho has been at fault in that he wasn't careful enough of his purse or reputation, I haven't a word to say to shield him from blame. But if some one with malicious intent has laid a trap for him and got the best of him, is that our fault, or that of the judges, who often decide against the rich through envy, and in favor of the poor out of pity? Dem. But how is any judge to know the justice of your case, when you don't say a word in self-defense, as I understand he didn't? Phæd. Well, in that he acted like a well-bred young man; when he came before the judges, he couldn't remember a word of his speech that he had prepared; he was so bashful.

Seeing that Phædria is getting along so well, Geta decides to come forward.

Ge. Hail, master! I'm very glad to see you home safe again. Dem. [with angry irony]. Hail! A fine guardian you are! A regular pillar of the family! So you are the fellow that I left in charge of my son when I went away?

Geta plays injured innocence, and wants to know what Demipho would have had him do. Being a slave, he could neither plead the young man's cause nor testify in his behalf.

Dem. O, yes; I admit all that. But even if the girl was never so much related, he needn't have married her. Why didn't you take the other legal alternative, give her a dowry, and let her find another husband? Had he no more sense than to marry her himself? Ge. O, he had sense enough; it was the dollars he lacked. Dem. Well, he might have borrowed the money. Ge. Borrowed it? That's easier said than done. Dem. He might have gotten it from a usurer on a pinch. Ge. Well, I do like that! As if any one would lend him money in your lifetime!

The old man, beaten to a standstill, can only fall back upon his obstinate determination, and vow that he won't have it.

Dem. No, no; it shall not be, it cannot be! I won't permit this marriage to continue for a single day longer. Now, I want to see that other fellow, or at least find out where he lives. Ge. Do you mean Phormio? Dem. I mean that woman's guardian. Ge. I'll go get him for you. Dem. Where is Antipho now? Ge. O, he's out somewhere. Dem. Phædria, you go hunt him up and bring him to me. Phæd. Yes, sir; I'll go find him right away. Ge. [leering at Phædria as the latter passes him]. You mean you'll go to Pamphila [Phædria's sweetheart].

Demipho, left alone, announces that he will get some friends together to advise him in the business, and prepare him for his interview with Phormio. The act ends with the prospect pretty dark for Antipho, and with no plan of action formed in his behalf.

We are now introduced, at the opening of the second act, to the actor of the title rôle, the keen-witted, reckless parasite, Phormio. He is accompanied upon the stage by Geta, who is telling him the situation. Geta beseeches Phormio to come to their aid, since he is, after all, entirely responsible for the trouble. Phormio remains buried in thought awhile, and then announces that he has his plans formed, and is ready to meet the old man.

[Enter Demipho and three friends from the other side of the stage. Demipho is talking to his friends.]

Dem. Did you ever hear of any one suffering more outrageous treatment than I have? I beg you to help me. Ge. [apart to Phormio]. My, but he's mad! Phor. You just watch me now; I'll stir him up. [Speaking in a loud enough tone to be overheard by Demipho]. By all the powers! Does Demipho say that Phanium isn't related to him? Does Demipho say so? Ge. Yes, he does.

Demipho is caught by this bait, as Phormio had intended, and says to his friends in an undertone:

I believe this is the very fellow I was seeking. Let's go a little nearer.

Phormio continues in a loud voice to berate Demipho for his neglect of the supposed relative, while Geta noisily takes his master's part. Demipho now interrupts this sham quarrel, and after snubbing Geta, he turns with mock politeness to Phormio.

Dem. Young man, I beg your pardon, but will you be kind enough to tell me who that friend of yours was that you are talking about, and how he said I was related to him? Phor. O, you ask as if you didn't know. Dem. As if I didn't know? Phor. Yes. Dem. And I say that I don't know. Now do you, who say that I do, refresh my memory. Phor. Didn't you know your own cousin? Dem. O, you make me tired. Tell me his name. Phor. The name? Why, certainly.

But now the name by which he had heard Phanium speak of her father has slipped from his mind, and he is forced to awkward silence. Demipho is quick to see his embarrassment:

Well, why don't you speak? Phor. [aside]. By George! I'm in a box! I have forgotten the name. Dem. What's that you say? Phor. [aside in a whisper to Geta]. Say, Geta, if you remember that name we heard the other day, tell it to me. [Then determining to bluff it out, he turns to Demipho]. No, I won't tell you the name. You are trying to pump me, as if you didn't know it already. Dem. [angrily]. I pump you? Ge. [whispering]. It's Stilpho. Phor. [to Demipho]. And yet what do I care? It's Stilpho. Dem. Who? Phor. [shouting it at him]. Stilpho, I say. Did you know him? Dem. No, I didn't, And I never had a relative of that name. Phor. No? Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Now if he had left a matter of ten talents—Dem. Confound your impudence! Phor. You would be the first to come forward, with a very good memory, and trace your connection with him for generations back. Dem. Well, have it as you say. Then when I had come into court. I should have told just how she was related to me. Now you do the same. Come, how is she related to me? Phor. I have already explained that to those who had a right to ask—the judges. If my statement was false then, why didn't your son refute it? Dem. Don't mention my son to me! I can't possibly express my disgust at his folly. Phor. Then do you, who are so wise, go before the magistrates and ask them to reopen the case. [This, according to the law of Athens, was impossible.]

Demipho has twice been completely beaten in a war of words—once by Geta and now by Phormio. He chokes down his rage as best he can, and now makes a proposition to his enemy. He is still too angry to express himself very connectedly.

Dem. Although I have been outraged in this business, still, rather than have a quarrel with such as you, just as if she were related to me, since the law bids to give her a dowry, take her away from here, and make it fui minæ. Phor. Ho! ho! ho! Well, you are a cheerful idiot! Dem. What's the matter? Have I asked anything wrong? Or can't I get even what is my legal right? Phor. Well, really now, I should like to ask you, when you have once married a girl, does the law bid you then to give her some money and send her packing? On the contrary, it is for the very purpose that a citizen of Athens may not come to shame on account of her poverty, that her next of kin is bidden to take her to wife. And this purpose you are attempting to thwart. Dem. Yes, that's just it—"her next of kin." But where do I come in on that score? Phor. O pshaw! don't thresh over old straw. Dem. Sha'n't I? I vow I shall not stop until I have accomplished my ends.

After further badgering and bear-baiting on the part of Phormio, Demipho finally falls back upon his dogged determination as before, and gives his ultimatum:

See here, Phormio, we have said enough. Unless you take immediate steps to get that woman away, I'll throw her out of the house. I have spoken, Phormio.

Phormio is not to be outdone in bluster, and adopting Demipho's formula, as well as his tone and gestures, he says:

And if you touch that girl except as becomes a free-born citizen, I'll bring a cracking suit against you. I have spoken, Demipho.

So saying, he turns and swaggers off the stage, much to the secret delight of Geta, the impotent rage of Demipho, and the open-mouthed amazement of the three friends.

Demipho now appeals to his friends for advice as to how to proceed in this crisis; but they are so obsequious in their manner, and so contradictory in their advice, that Demipho is in greater perplexity than before, and decides to take no action at all until his brother Chremes comes home. He accordingly leaves the stage in the direction of the harbor, his three friends having already bowed themselves out.

This temporary disposition of Antipho's case is fittingly followed by the appearance of the young man himself in self-reproachful soliloquy that he should have run away and left his young wife in the lurch. Geta appears, and tells Antipho all that has passed in his absence, much to Antipho's gratitude and relief, though he sorely dreads the return of his uncle, who, it seems, is to be the arbiter of his destiny.

Phædria and his troubles now claim the center of the stage. As Antipho and Geta stand talking, they hear a pitiful outcry, and looking up, they see a black-browed, evil-faced, typical stage villain, who we presently discover is Dorio, the slave-driver who owns Phædria's sweetheart. Things have evidently come to a crisis with that young man. He is following Dorio, and imploring him to wait three days until he can get money enough to buy his sweetheart. But Dorio says he has a customer who offers cash down. After much entreaty, however, he tells Phædria that if the money is forthcoming before to-morrow morning he will consider the bargain closed. So there Phædria's business is brought to a head, and the attention of us all must be at once turned to what has suddenly become the paramount issue. What is to be done? Phædria is too hysterical to be of any help in the matter, and Antipho tells the faithful and resourceful Geta that he must get the money somehow. Geta says that this is liable to be a pretty difficult matter, and doesn't want to undertake it, but is finally persuaded by Phædria's pitiful despair to try. He asks Phædria how much money he needs.

Phæd. Only six hundred dollars. Ge. Six hundred dollars! Whew! she's pretty dear, Phædria. Phæd. [indignantly]. It's no such thing! She's cheap at the price. Ge. Well, well! I'll get you the money somehow.

The third act gives a picture of the situation from the point of view of the two old men, Demipho and Chremes, for the latter has just returned from Lemnos, and now comes upon the stage fresh from his travels, in company with his brother. We now discover for the first time what is probably the real reason for the opposition to Antipho's marriage to the orphan girl.

Dem. Well, Chremes, did you bring your daughter with you, for whose sake you went to Lemnos? Chr. No, I didn't. Dem. Why not? Chr. When her mother saw that I was delaying my coming too long, and that my negligence was harming our daughter, who had now reached a marriageable age, she simply packed up her whole household, and came here to hunt me up—so they told me over there. And then I heard from the skipper who brought them that they reached Athens all right. Dem. Have you heard what has happened to my son while I was gone? Chr. Yes, and it's knocked all my plans into a cocked hat. For if I make a match for my daughter with some outsider, I'll have to tell him categorically just how she comes to be mine, and who her mother is. I was secure in our proposed match between her and Antipho, for I knew that my secret was as safe in your hands as in my own; whereas if an outsider comes into the family, he will keep the secret as long as we are on good terms; but if we ever quarrel, he will know more than is good for me [looking around cautiously, and speaking with bated breath]; and I'm dreadfully afraid that my wife will find it out in some way. And if she does, the only thing left for me to do is to take myself off and leave home; for my soul is the only thing I can call my own in this house.

From this it develops that Chremes has had a wife and daughter in Lemnos, and now lives in wholesome fear of his too masterful Athenian spouse.

Geta now comes upon the stage in fine spirits, loud in his praises of the shrewdness of Phormio, with whom he has just concluded a scheme for getting the money. He is in search of Demipho, and is surprised to find Chremes on hand as well. Meanwhile, Antipho has come cautiously upon the stage in search of Geta, just as the latter goes boldly up to the two old men. As yet unseen by any one, Antipho retires to the back of the stage, and overhears the following conversation:

Ge. O, how do you do, good Chremes! Chr. [crustily]. How are you? Ge. How are things with you? Chr. One finds many changes on coming back, as is natural enough—very many. Ge. That's so. Have you heard about Antipho? Chr. The whole story. Ge. [to Demipho]. O, you've been telling him? [To Chremes]. It's a shame, Chremes, to be taken in that way! Dem. I have been discussing the situation with him. Ge. I've been thinking it over, too, and I think I have found a way out of it. Chr. How's that, Geta? Dem. A way out of it? Ge. [in a confidential tone]. Just now when I left you, I chanced to meet Phormio. Chr. Who's Phormio? Ge. That girl's—Chr. O, I see. Ge. I thought I'd test the fellow, so I got him off alone, and said: "Now, Phormio, don't you see that it's better to settle this matter in a friendly way than to have a row about it? My master is a gentleman, and hates a fuss. If it wasn't for that he would have sent this girl packing, as all his friends advised him to do." Ant. [aside]. What in the world is this fellow getting at? Ge. "Do you say that the law will make him suffer for it if he casts her out? Oh, we've looked into that point. I tell you you'll sweat for it if you ever get into a law-suit with that man. He's a regular corker. But suppose you do win out; it's not a matter of life and death, but only of damages. Now here, just between ourselves, how much will you take, cash down, to take this girl away and make us no more trouble." Ant. [aside]. Good heavens, is the fellow crazy? Ge. "For I know that if you make any sort of an offer, my master is a good fellow, and will take you up in a minute." Dem. Who told you to say that? Chr. There, there, we couldn't have gained our point better. Ant. [aside]. I'm done for! Dem. Well, go on with your story. Ge. At first the fellow was wild. Chr. Come, come, tell us how much he wants. Ge. How much? Altogether too much. Said he: "Well, a matter of twelve hundred dollars would be about right." Dem. Confound his impudence! Has he no shame? Ge. That's just what I said. Said I: "What if he were marrying off an only daughter? Small gain it's been to him not to have raised a girl. One has been found to call for a dowry just the same." Well, to make a long story short, he finally said: "I've wanted from the first to marry the daughter of my old friend, as was right that I should; but, to tell you the honest truth, I've got to find a wife who will bring me in a little something, enough to pay my debts with. And even now, if Demipho is willing to pay me as much as I am getting from the other girl to whom I am engaged, I'd just as soon turn around and marry this girl of yours." Dem. What if he is over his head in debt? Ge. Says he: "I have a little farm mortgaged for two hundred dollars." Dem. Well, well! Let him marry her; I'll give him that much. Ge. "And then there's a bit of a house mortgaged for two hundred more." Dem. Ow! that's too much. Chr. No, that's all right. Let him have that two hundred from me. Ge. "Then I must buy a little maid for my wife," says he, "and I've got to have a little more furniture, and then there's all the wedding expenses. Put all that down at an even two hundred more." Dem. [in a rage]. Then let him bring as many suits as he wants to. I won't give a cent. What, is the dirty fellow making game of me? Chr. O, do please keep still! I only ask that you have your son marry that girl that we know of. This girl is being sent off for my sake; so it's only right that I should pay for it. Ge. Phormio says to let him know as soon as possible if you are going to give Phanium to him, in order that he may break his engagement with the other girl; for her people have promised the same dowry. Chr. Well, we will give it to him, so let him break his other engagement and marry the girl. Dem. And a plague on him into the bargain! Chr. [to Demipho]. Very fortunately, I have brought some money with me—the rent I have collected from my wife's Lemnian estate. I'll take it out of that, and tell her that you needed it.

The two old men go into Chremes' house; and now Geta finds himself confronted by the indignant Antipho, who has hardly been able to contain himself during this (to him) inexplicable dialogue, in which his wife was being coolly bargained away. It is only with the greatest difficulty that Geta can make the angry bridegroom appreciate the ruse by which the money has been obtained for Phædria's use. In the end Antipho goes off to tell the news to Phædria. Demipho and Chremes now come out, the former with a bag of money in his hand. He wants it understood that no one can cheat him; he is going to be very business-like and have ample witness to the transactions. Chremes' only desire is that the business may be settled as soon as possible. Demipho now tells Geta to lead the way to Phormio, and they start toward the Forum. Chremes' troubles are only in part allayed. His Lemnian daughter's marriage with Antipho seems now safely provided for, but where is his Lemnian daughter and her mother? That they are here in Athens fills him with terror. He paces back and forth in deep thought, muttering:

Where can I find those women now, I wonder?

And just at this moment out from Demipho's house comes old Sophrona, Phanium's nurse, who also seems to be in great distress:

O, what shall I do? Where shall I find a friend in my distress, or to whom shall I go for advice? Where get help? For I'm afraid that my young mistress is going to get into trouble from this marriage that I persuaded her into. I hear that the young man's father is very much put out about it. Chr. [aside]. Who in the world is this old woman coming out of my brother's house? So. But want made me advise her as I did, though I knew that the marriage was a bit shaky, in order that for awhile at least we might be sure of our living. Chr. [aside in great excitement]. By Jove! unless I'm much mistaken, or my eyes don't see straight, that's my daughter's nurse! So. And I can't get any trace of the man who is her father. Chr. [aside]. Shall I go up to her, or shall I wait until I understand better what she's talking about? So. But if I could only find him now, I'd have nothing to fear. Chr. [aside]. It is Sophrona; I'll speak to her. [Calling softly]. Sophrona! So. Who is this I hear calling my name? Chr. Look here, Sophrona. So. [finally looking the right way]. My goodness gracious! Is this Stilpho? Chr. No. So. No? Chr. [drawing her cautiously away from the vicinity of his house]. Say, Sophrona, come away a little from that door, will you? And don't you ever call me by that name again. So. O, my goodness, aren't you the man you always said you were? Chr. Sh! So. What makes you so afraid of that door? Chr. I've got a savage wife shut up there. I gave you the wrong name on purpose, that you might not thoughtlessly blurt it out in public sometime, and so let my wife here get wind of it. So. And so that's the reason why we poor women could never find you here. Chr. Tell me now what business you have with this household from which you have just come out. Where are those women? So. [with a burst of tears]. O dear me! Chr. How? What's that? Aren't they alive? So. Your daughter is. But the mother, sick at heart over this business, is dead. Chr. That's too bad! So. And then, considering that I was just a lonely old woman, in a strange city without a cent of money, I think I did pretty well for the girl, for I married her off to the young man the heir of this family here. Chr. What, Antipho? So. Why, yes! Chr. You don't mean to say he's got two wives? So. O gracious, no! This is the only one. Chr. But what about that other girl who is said to be related to him? So. Why, this is the one. Chr. [beside himself with joy and wonder]. You don't mean it! So. That was a cooked up scheme that her lover might marry her without a dowry. Chr. Thank heaven for that! How often things come about by mere chance that you wouldn't dare hope for! Here I find my daughter happily married to the very man I had picked out for her! What my brother and I were taking the greatest pains to bring about, here this old woman, without any help from us, all by herself, has done. So. But now, sir, we've got to bestir ourselves. The young man's father is back, and they say he's in a terrible stew about it. Chr. O, there's no danger on that score. But, for heaven's sake, don't let any one find out that she's my daughter. So. Well, no one shall find it out from me. Chr. Now you follow me, we'll talk about the rest inside. [They go into Demipho's house.]

Demipho and Geta appear in a brief scene, in which the former grumblingly comments upon the bargain which they have just made with Phormio. He disappears into his brother's house. Geta, left alone, soliloquizes upon the situation and sums it up so far as it is known to him. As he disappears into Demipho's house, the latter is seen coming out of his brother's house with his brother's wife, Nausistrata, whom in fulfilment of his promise he is taking in to see Phanium in order to reconcile the bride to the new arrangements that have been made for her.

And just at this moment Chremes comes rushing out of his brother's house; he calls to Demipho, not seeing in his excitement that Nausistrata is also on the stage.

Chr. Say, Demipho! Have you paid the money yet? Dem. Yes, I've tended to that. Chr. Well, I wish you hadn't. [Aside as he sees his wife]. Gracious! There's my wife! I almost said too much. Dem. Why do you wish it, Chremes? Chr. O, that's all right. Dem. What do you mean? Have you talked with the girl on whose account I'm taking Nausistrata in? Chr. Yes, I've had a talk with her. Dem. Well, what does she say? Chr. She can't be disturbed. Dem. Why can't she? Chr. O, because—they're so fond of each other. Dem. What difference does that make to us? Chr. A great deal. And besides, I've found that she's related to us, after all. Dem. What's that? You're off your base. Chr. No, I'm not. I know what I'm talking about. I remember all about it now. Dem. Surely, you are crazy. Naus. I beg you won't do any harm to a relative. Dem. She's no relative. Chr. Don't say that. She gave the wrong name for her father. That's where you make your mistake. Dem. Nonsense! Didn't she know her own father? Chr. Yes, she knew him. Dem. Well, then, why didn't she tell his right name? Chr. [apart to Demipho, in low, desperate tones]. Won't you ever let up? Won't you understand? Dem. How can I, if you tell me nothing? Chr. O, you'll be the death of me. Naus. I wonder what it's all about. Dem. I'll be blest if I know. Chr. Do you want to know? I swear to you there's no one nearer to her than you and I. Dem. Good gracious! Let's go to her, then. Let's all together get to the bottom of this business. [He starts toward his house with Nausistrata]. Chr. I say, Demipho! Dem. Well, what now? Chr. [angrily]. Have you so little confidence in me as that? Dem. Do you want me to take your word for it? Do you want me to seek no further in the matter? All right, so be it. But what about the daughter of our friend? What's to become of her? Chr. She'll be all right. Dem. Are we to drop her, then? Chr. Why not? Dem. And is Phanium to remain? Chr. Just so. Dem. Well, Nausistrata, I guess we will excuse you. [Exit Nausistrata into her own house]. Now, Chremes, what in the world is all this about? Chr. Is that door tight shut? Dem. Yes. Chr. [leading his brother well out of earshot of the house]. O Jupiter! The gods are on our side. My daughter I have found—married—to your son! Dem. What? How can that be? Chr. It isn't safe to talk about it here. Dem. Well, go inside then. Chr. But see here, I don't want even our sons to find this out. [They go into Demipho's house.]

Antipho has seen Phædria's business happily settled, and now comes in, feeling very gloomy about his own affairs. His deep dejection serves as a happy contrast to the fortunate turn of his affairs which we have just witnessed. In his unsettled state he starts off to find the faithful Geta, when Phormio comes on the stage, in high spirits over his success in cheating the old men out of their money in behalf of Phædria. It is his own rôle now, he says, to keep well in the background. Now the door of Demipho's house opens and out rushes Geta, shouting and gesticulating:

O luck! O great good luck! How suddenly have you heaped your choicest gifts on my master Antipho this day! Ant. [apart]. What can he mean? Ge. And freed us all from fear! But what am I stopping here for? I'll throw my cloak over my shoulder and hurry up and find the man, that he may know how things have turned out. Ant. [aside]. Do you know what this fellow is talking about? Pho. No, do you? Ant. No. Pho. No more do I. Ge. I'll run over to Dorio's house. They are there now. Ant. [calling]. Hello, Geta! Ge. [without looking back]. Hello yourself! That's an old trick, to call a fellow back when he's started to run. Ant. I say, Geta! Ge. Keep it up; you won't catch me with your mean trick. Ant. Won't you stop? Ge. You go hang. Ant. That's what will happen to you, you rogue, unless you hold on. Ge. This fellow must be one of the family by the way he threatens. But isn't it the man I'm after—the very man? Come here right off. Ant. What is it? Ge. O, of all men alive you are the luckiest! There's no doubt about it, Antipho, you are the pet child of heaven. Ant. I wish I were. But please tell me how I am to believe it. Ge. Isn't it enough if I say that you are fairly dripping with joy? Ant. You're just killing me. Pho. [coming forward]. Why don't you quit your big talk, Geta, and tell us your news. Ge. O, you were there, were you, Phormio? Pho. Yes, I was; but hurry up. Ge. Well, then, listen. Just now, after we gave you the money in the Forum, we went straight home; and then my master sent me in to your wife. Ant. What for? Ge. Never mind that now, Antipho; it has nothing to do with this story. When I am about to enter the woman's apartments, the slave-boy Mida runs up to me, plucks me by the coat and pulls me back. I look around, and ask him what he does that for; he says, it's against orders for any one to go to the young mistress. "Sophrona has just taken the old man's brother Chremes in there," he says, "and he's in there with 'em now." As soon as I heard that, I tiptoed toward the door of the room—got there, stood still, held my breath and put my ear to the key-hole. So I listened as hard as I could to catch what they said. Ant. Good for you, Geta! Ge. And then I heard the finest piece of news. I declare I almost shouted for joy! Ant. What for? Ge. What do you think? Ant. I haven't the slightest idea. Ge. But, I tell you, it was the grandest thing! Your uncle turns out to be—the father of—Phanium—your wife! Ant. What? How can that be? Ge. He lived with her mother secretly in Lemnos. Pho. Nonsense! Wouldn't the girl have known her own father? Ge. Be sure there's some explanation of it, Phormio. You don't suppose that I could hear everything that passed between them, from outside the door? Ant. Now I think of it, I too have had some hint of that story. Ge. Now I'll give you still further proof: pretty soon your uncle comes out of the room and leaves the house, and before long he comes back with your father, and they both go in. And now they both say that you may keep her. In short, I was sent to hunt you up and bring you to them. Ant. [all excitement]. Well, why don't you do it then? What are you waiting for? Ge. Come along. Ant. O my dear Phormio, good-by! Pho. Good-by, my boy. I declare, I'm mighty glad it's turned out well for you.

Antipho and Geta hurry away to Demipho's house, while Phormio retires up a convenient alley to await future developments.

The only problem now remaining on Phormio's side is how to keep the money that has been given him by the old men, so that Phædria may not be again embarrassed; on the side of the old men the problem is to get back their money. How the poet treats us to the liveliest scene of all after the more important matters have been settled, is now to be seen. Demipho and Chremes come upon the stage, congratulating each other upon the happy turn which their affairs have taken.

Dem. I ought to thank the gods, as indeed I do, that these matters have turned out so well for us, brother. Chr. Isn't she a fine girl, just as I told you? Dem. Yes, indeed. But now we must find Phormio as soon as possible, so as to get our six hundred dollars back again before he makes away with it.

Phormio now walks across the stage in a lordly way without seeming to see the old men, and goes straight to Demipho's door, upon which he raps loudly and calls to the attendant within:

If Demipho is at home. I want to see him, that—Dem. [stepping up from without]. Why, we were just coming to see you, Phormio. Pho. On the same business, perhaps? Dem. Very likely. Pho. I supposed so. But why were you coming to me? It's absurd. Were you afraid that I wouldn't do what I had promised? No fear of that. For, however poor I may be, I have always been particularly careful to keep my word. And so I have come to tell you, Demipho, that I am ready; whenever you wish, give me my wife. For I put all my own private considerations aside, as was quite right, when I saw that you wanted this so much. Dem. [who does not know quite what to say]. But my brother here has asked me not to give her to you. "For," says he, "what a scandal there will be if you do that! At the time when she could have been given to you honorably it was not done; and now it would be a disgrace to cast her off." Almost the same arguments that you yourself urged upon me not long ago. Pho. Well, you have got gall! Dem. What do you mean? Pho. Can't you see? I can't even marry that other girl now; for with what face could I go back to her after I had once thrown her over? Chr. [prompting Demipho, sotto voce]. "Then I find that Antipho is unwilling to to let his wife go"—tell him that. Dem. And then I find that my son objects to letting his wife go. But come right over to the Forum, if you please, Phormio, and sign this money back to me again. Pho. How can I, when I have already used it to pay my debts with? Dem. Well, what then? Pho. [pompously]. If you are willing to give me the girl you promised for my wife, I'll marry her: but if you want her to stay with you, why, the dowry stays with me, Demipho. For it isn't right that I should lose this on your account, when it was for the sake of your honor that I broke with the other girl who was offering the same dowry. Dem. Go be hanged, with your big talk, you jail-bird! Do you suppose that I don't see through you and your tricks? Pho. Look out, I'm getting hot. Dem. Do you mean to say you would marry this girl if we gave her to you? Pho. Just try me and see. Dem. [with a sneer]. O yes, your scheme is to have my son live with her at your house. Pho. [indignantly]. What do you mean? Dem. Come, give me that money. Pho. Come, give me my wife. Dem. [laying hands on him]. You come along to court with me. Pho. You'd better look out! If you don't stop—Dem. What will you do? Pho. I? [Turning to Chremes]. Perhaps you think that I take only poor girls under my protection. I'll have you know I sometimes stand as patron to girls with dowries too. Chr. [with a guilty start]. What's that to us? Pho. O nothing. I knew a woman here once whose husband had—Chr. O! Dem. What's that? Pho. Another wife in Lemnos—Chr. I'm a dead man. Pho. By whom he had a daughter; and he's bringing her up on the quiet. Chr. I'm buried. Pho. And these very things I'll tell his real wife. Chr. Good gracious, don't do that! Pho. Oho! You were the man, were you, Chremes? Dem. [in a rage]. How the villain gammons us! Chr. You may go. Pho. The deuce you say! Chr. Why, what do you mean? We are willing that you should keep the money. Pho. Yes, I see. But what, a plague! do you mean? Do you think you can guy me by changing your minds like a pair of silly boys? "I won't, I will—I will, I won't, again—take it, give it back—what's said is unsaid—what's been agreed on is no go"—that's your style. [He turns to go away]. Chr. [apart]. How in the world did he find that out? Dem. I don't know, but I'm sure I never told any one. Chr. Lord! it seems like a judgment on me! Pho. [gleefully, aside]. I've put a spoke in their wheel! Dem. [aside]. See here, Chremes, shall we let this rascal cheat us out of our money and laugh in our faces besides? I'd rather die first. Now make up your mind to be manly and resolute. You see that your secret is out, and that you can't keep it from your wife any longer. Now what she is bound to learn from others it will be much better for her to hear from your own lips. And then we will have the whip hand of this dirty fellow. Pho. [overhearing these words, aside]. Tut! tut! Unless I look out, I'll be in a hole. They're coming at me hard. Chr. But I am afraid that she will never forgive me. Dem. O, cheer up, man. I'll make you solid with her again, more especially since the mother of this girl is dead and gone. Pho. Is that your game? I tell you, Demipho, it's not a bit to your brother's advantage that you are stirring me up. [To Chremes]. Look here, you! When you have followed your own devices abroad, and haven't thought enough of your own wife to keep you from sinning most outrageously against her, do you expect to come home and make it all up with a few tears? I tell you, I'll make her so hot against you that you can't put out her wrath, not if you dissolve in tears. Dem. Confound the fellow! Was ever a man treated so outrageously? Chr. [all in a tremble]. I'm so rattled that I don't know what to do with the fellow. Dem. [grasping Phormio's collar]. Well I do. We'll go straight to court. Pho. To court, is it? [Dragging off toward Chremes' house]. This way, if you please. Dem. [hurrying toward his own house]. Chremes, you catch him and hold him, while I call my slaves out. Chr. [holding off]. I can't do it alone; you come here and help.

Demipho comes back and lays hold of Phormio, and all engage in a violent struggle mingled with angry words and blows. Phormio is getting the worst of it, when he says:

Now I'll have to use my voice. Nausistrata! Come out here! Chr. Stop his mouth. Dem. [trying to do so, without success]. See how strong the rascal is. Pho. I say, Nausistrata! Chr. Won't you keep still? Pho. Not much.

Nausistrata now appears at the door of her house; Phormio, seeing her, says, panting but gleeful:

Here's where my revenge comes in. Naus. Who's calling me? [Seeing the disordered and excited condition of the men]. Why, what's all this row about, husband? Who is this man? [Chremes remains tongue-tied]. Won't you answer me? Pho. How can he answer you, when, by George, he doesn't know where he is? Chr. [trembling with fear]. Don't you believe a word he says. Pho. Go, touch him; if he isn't frozen stiff, you may strike me dead. Chr. It isn't so. Naus. What is this man talking about, then? Pho. You shall hear; just listen. Chr. You aren't going to believe him? Naus. Good gracious, how can I believe one who hasn't said anything yet? Pho. The poor fellow is crazy with fear. Naus. Surely it's not for nothing that you are so afraid. Chr. [with chattering teeth]. Wh-wh-who's afraid? Pho. Well then, since you're not afraid, and what I say is nothing, you tell the story yourself. Dem. Scoundrel! Shall he speak at your bidding? Pho. [contemptuously]. O you! you've done a fine thing for your brother. Naus. Husband, won't you speak to me? Chr. Well—Naus. Well? Chr. There's no need of my talking. Pho. You're right; but there's need of her knowing. In Lemnos—Chr. O don't! Pho. unbeknown to you—Chr. O me! Pho. he took another wife. Naus.[screaming]. My husband! Heaven forbid. Pho. But it's so, just the same. Naus. O wretched me! Pho. And by her he had a daughter—also unbeknown to you. Naus. By all the gods, a shameful and evil deed! Pho. But it's so, just the same. Naus. It's the most outrageous thing I ever heard of. [Turning her back on Chremes]. Demipho, I appeal to you; for I am too disgusted to speak to him again. Was this the meaning of those frequent journeys and long stays at Lemnos? Was this why my rents ran down so? Dem. Nausistrata, I don't deny that he has been very much to blame in this matter; but is that any reason why you should not forgive him? Pho. He's talking for the dead. Dem. For it wasn't through any scorn or dislike of you that he did it. And besides, the other woman is dead who was the cause of all this trouble. So I beg you to bear this with equanimity as you do other things. Naus. Why should I bear it with equanimity? I wish this were the end of the wretched business; but why should I hope it will be? Am I to think that he will be better now he's old? But he was old before, if that makes any difference. Or am I any more beautiful and attractive now than I was, Demipho? What assurance can you give me that this won't happen again?

Phormio now comes to the front of the stage and announces in a loud official voice to the audience:

All who want to view the remains of Chremes, now come forward! The time has come.—That's the way I do them up. Come along now, if any one else wants to stir up Phormio. I'll fix him just like this poor wretch here.—But there! he may come back to favor now. I've had revenge enough. She has something to nag him with as long as he lives. Naus. But I suppose I have deserved it. Why should I recount to you, Demipho, all that I have been to this man? Dem. I know it all, Nausistrata, as well as you. Naus. Well, have I deserved this treatment? Dem. By no means! but, since what's been done can't be undone by blaming him, pardon him. He confesses his sin, he prays for pardon, he promises never to do so again: what more do you want? Pho. [aside]. Hold on here; before she pardons him, I must look out for myself and Phædria. Say, Nausistrata, wait a minute before you answer him. Naus. Well? Pho. I tricked Chremes out of six hundred dollars; I gave the money to your son, and he has used it to buy his wife with. Chr. [angrily]. How? What do you say? Naus. [to Chremes]. How now? Does it seem to you a shameful thing for your son, a young man, to have one wife, when you, an old man, have had two? Shame on you! With what face will you rebuke him? Answer me that? [Chremes slinks back without a word]. Dem. He will do as you say. Naus. Well, then, here is my decision: I'll neither pardon him, nor promise anything, nor give you any answer at all, until I have seen my son. And I shall do entirely as he says. Pho. You are a wise woman, Nausistrata. Naus. [to Chremes]. Does that suit you? Chr. Does it? Indeed and truly I'm getting off well—[aside] and better than I expected. Naus. [to Phormio] Come, tell me your name. What is it? Pho. Mine? It's Phormio; I'm a great friend to your family, and especially to Phædria. Naus. Phormio, I vow to you I am at your service after this, to do and to say, so far as I can, just what you want. Pho. I thank you kindly, lady. Naus. No, upon my word, you've earned it. Pho. Do you want to begin right off, Nausistrata, and do something that will both make me happy and bring tears to your husband's eyes? Naus. That I do. Pho. Well, then, invite me to dinner. Naus. With all my heart, I do. Dem. Come then, let's go inside. Chr. Agreed; but where is Phædria, my judge? Pho. I'll soon have him here.

And so ends this merry play, as the whole party moves toward Chremes' house, where, let us hope, all family differences were forgotten in the good dinner awaiting them.

Meanwhile the man before the curtain reminds us that we still have a duty to perform:

Fare you well, my friends, and give us your applause.