Heautontimorumenos; or, The Self-Tormenter (188-238c)

For what reason?

Why, because he is as yet undetermined what to do with himself. He is but just arrived. He fears every thing; his father’s displeasure, and how his mistress may be disposed toward him.

He loves her to distraction: on her account, this trouble and going abroad took place.

I know it.

He has just sent a servant into the city to her, and I ordered our Syrus to go with him.

What does Clinia say?

What does he say? That he is wretched.

Wretched? Whom could we less suppose so? What is there wanting for him to enjoy every thing that among men, in fact, are esteemed as blessings? Parents, a country in prosperity, friends, family, relations, riches?

And yet, all these are just according to the disposition of him who possesses them. To him who knows how to use them, they are blessings; to him who does not use them rightly, they are evils.

Aye, but lie always was a morose old man; and now I dread nothing more, father, than that in his displeasure he’ll be doing something to him more than is justifiable.

What, he? (Aside.) But I’ll restrain myself; for that the other one should be in fear of his father is of service to him.[*]

What is it you are saying to yourself?

I’ll tell you. However the case stood, Clinia ought still to have remained at home. Perhaps his father was a little stricter than he liked: he should have put up with it. For whom ought he to bear with, if he would not bear with his own father? Was it reasonable that he should live after his son’s humor, or his son after his? And as to charging him with harshness, it is not the fact. For the severities of fathers

are generally of one character, those I mean who are in some degree reasonable men.[*] They do not wish their sons to be always wenching; they do not wish them to be always carousing; they give a limited allowance; and yet all this tends to virtuous conduct. But when the mind, Clitipho, has once enslaved itself by vicious appetites, it must of necessity follow similar pursuits. This

is a wise maxim, to take warning from others of what may be to your own advantage.

I believe so.

I’ll now go hence in-doors, to see what we have for dinner. Do you, seeing what is the time of day, mind and take care not to be any where out of the way.

What partial judges are all fathers in regard to all of us young men, in thinking it reasonable for us to become old men all at once from boys,

and not to participate in those things which youth is naturally inclined to. They regulate us by their own desires,—such as they now are,—not as they once were. If ever I have a son, he certainly shall find in me an indulgent father. For the means both of knowing and of pardoning[*] his faults shall be found by me; not like mine, who by means of another person, discloses to me his own sentiments.

I’m plagued to death,—when he drinks a little more than usual, what pranks of his own he does relate to me! Now he says, Take warning from others of what may be to your advantage. How shrewd! He certainly does not know how deaf I am at the moment when he’s telling his stories. Just now, the words of my mistress make more impression upon me. Give me this, and bring me that, she cries; I have nothing to say to her in answer, and no one is there more wretched than myself.

But this Clinia, although he, as well, has cares enough of his own, still has a mistress of virtuous and modest breeding, and a stranger to the arts of a courtesan. Mine is a craving, saucy, haughty, extravagant creature, full of lofty airs. Then all that I have to give her is—fair words[*]—for I make it a point not to tell her that I have nothing. This misfortune I met with not long since, nor does my father as yet know any thing of the matter.

If my love-affairs had been prosperous for me, I am sure she would have been here by this; but I’m afraid that the damsel has been led astray here in my absence. Many things combine to strengthen this opinion in my mind; opportunity, the place, her age, a worthless mother, under whose control she is, with whom nothing but gain is precious.

Clinia!

Alas! wretched me!

Do, pray, take care that no one coming out of your father’s house sees you here by accident.

I will do so; but really my mind presages I know not what misfortune.

Do you persist in making up your mind upon that, before you know what is the fact?

Had no misfortune happened, she would have been here by this.

She’ll be here presently.

When will that presently be?