Adelphi; or, The Brothers (594-767)

I can see no reason here, Hegio, that I should be so greatly commended. I do my duty; the wrong that has originated with us I redress. Unless, perhaps, you thought me one of that class of men who think that an injury is purposely done them if you expostulate about any thing they have done; and yet are themselves the first to accuse. Because I have not acted thus, do you return me thanks?

Oh, far from it; I never led myself to believe you to be otherwise than you are; but I beg, Micio, that you will go with me to the mother of the young woman, and repeat to her the same; what you have told me, do you yourself tell the woman, that this suspicion of Aeschinus's fidelity was incurred on his brother's account, and that this Music-girl was for him.

If you think I ought, or if there is a necessity for doing so, let us go.

You act with kindness; for you'll then both have relieved her mind who is now languishing in sorrow and affliction, and have discharged your duty. But if you think otherwise, I will tell her myself what you have been saying to me.

Nay, I'll go as well.

You act with kindness; all who are in distressed circumstances are suspicious,

speaking at the door to SOSTRATA. Do as I told you, Sostrata; I'll go find Aeschinus, that lie may know how these matters have been settled. Looking round. But who was it knocking at the door?

apart. Heavens, it is my father!—I am undone !

Aeschinus !

aside. What can be his business here?

Was it you knocking at this door? Aside. He is silent. Why shouldn't I rally him a little? It would be as well, as he was never willing to trust me with this secret. To AESCHINUS. Don't you answer me?

confusedly. It wasn't I knocked at that door, that I know of.

Just so; for I wondered what business you could have here. Apart. He blushes; all's well.

Pray tell me, father, what business have you there?

Why, none of my own; but a certain friend of mine just now brought me hither from the Forum to give him some assistance.

Why?

I'll tell you. There are some women living here; in impoverished circumstances, as I suppose you don't know them; and, in fact, I'm quite sure, for it is not long since they removed to this place.

Well, what next?

There is a girl living with her mother.

Go on.

This girl has lost her father; this friend of mine is her next of kin; the law obliges him to marry her.

aside. Undone!

What's the matter?

Nothing. Very well: proceed.

He has come to take her with him; for he lives at Miletus.

What ! To take the girl away with him?

Such is the act.

All the way to Miletus, pray?

Yes.

aside. I'm overwhelmed with grief To MICIO. But what of them? What do they say?

What do you suppose they should? Why, nothing at all. The mother has trumped up a tale, that there is a child by some other man, I know not who, and she does not state the name; she says that he was the first, and that she ought not to be given to the other.

Well now, does not this seem just to you after all?

No.

Why not, pray? Is the other to be carrying her away from here?

Why should he not take her?

You have acted harshly and unfeelingly, and even, if, father, I may speak my sentiments more plainly, unhandsomely.

Why so?

Do you ask me? Pray, what do you think must be the state of mind of the man who was first connected with her, who, to his misfortune, may perhaps still love her to distraction, when he sees her torn away from before his face, and borne off from his sight forever? An unworthy action, father!

On what grounds is it so? Who betrothed her?

Was it to be expected that a young woman of her age should sit at home, waiting till a kinsman of hers should come from a distance? This, my father, you ought to have represented, and have insisted on it.

Ridiculous! Was I to have pleaded against him whom I was to, support But what's all this, Aeschinus, to us? What have we to do with them? Let us begone:— What's the matter? Why these tears?

weeping. Father, I beseech you, listen to me.

Aeschinus, I have heard and know it all; for I love you, and therefore every thing you do is the more a care to me.

So do I wish you to find me deserving of your love, as long as you live, my dear father, as I am sincerely sorry for the offense I have committed, and am ashamed to see you.

Upon my word 1 believe it, for I know your ingenuous disposition: but I am afraid that you are too inconsiderate. In what city, pray, do you suppose you live? You have debauched a virgin, whom it was not lawful for you to touch. In the first place then that was a great offense; great, but still natural. Others, and even men of worth, have frequently done the same. But after it happened, pray, did you show any circumspection? Or did you use any foresight as to what was to be done, or how it was to be done? If you were ashamed to tell me of it, by what means was I to come to know it? While you were at a loss upon these points, ten months have been lost. So far indeed as lay in your power, you have periled both yourself and this poor girl, and the child. What did you imagine—that the Gods would set these matters to rights for you while you were asleep, and that she would be brought home to your chamber without any exertions of your own? I would not have you to be equally negligent in other affairs. Be of good heart, you shall have her for your wife.

Hah!

Be of good heart, I tell you.

Father, are you now jesting with me, pray?

I, jesting with you! For what reason?

I don't know; but so anxiously do I wish this to be true, that I am the more afraid it may not be.

Go home, and pray to the Gods that you may have your wife; be off.

What! have my wife now?

Now.

Now?

Now, as soon as possible.

May all the Gods detest me, father, if I do not love you better than even my very eyes!

What! better than her?

Quite as well.

Very kind of you !

Well, where is this Milesian?

Departed, vanished, gone on board ship; but why do you delay?

Father, do you rather go and pray to the Gods; for I know, for certain, that they will rather be propitious to you,

I'll go in-doors, that what is requisite may be prepared. You do as I said, if you are wise. Goes into his house. AESCHINUS alone.

What can be the meaning of this? Is this being a father, or this being a son? If he had been a brother or familiar companion, how could he have been more complaisant ! Is he not worthy to be beloved? Is he not to be imprinted in my very bosom? Well then, the more does he impose an obligation on me by his kindness, to take due precaution not inconsiderately to do any thing that he may not wish. But why do I delay going in-doors this instant, that I may not myself delay my own nuptials? Goes into the house of MICIO.

speaking to the people within. I'll go and tell them there's no delay on our part.

But see here's the very man: O Micio, I have been seeking you this long time.

Why, what's the matter?

I'm bringing you some new and great enormities of that hopeful youth.

Just look at that!

Fresh ones, of blackest dye.

There now—at it again.

Ah, Micio! you little know what sort of person he is.

I do.

O simpleton! you are dreaming that I'm talking about the Music-girl; this crime is against a virgin and a citizen.

I know it.

So then, you know it, and put up with it!

Why not put up with it?

Tell me, pray, don't you exclaim about it? Don't you go distracted?

Not I: certainly I had rather

There has been a child born.

May the Gods be propitious to it.

The girl has no fortune.

So I have heard.

And he—must he marry her without one?

Of course.

What is to be done then?

Why, what the case itself points out: the young woman must be brought hither.

O Jupiter! must that be the way then?

What can I do else?

What can you do?: If in reality this causes you no concern, to pretend it were surely the duty of a man.

But I have already betrothed the young woman to him; the matter is settled: the marriage takes place to-day. I have removed all apprehensions. This is rather the duty of a man.

But does the affair please you, Micio?

If I were able to alter it, no; now, as I can not, I bear it with patience. The life of man is just like playing with dice:

O rare corrector! of course it is by your art that twenty minae have been thrown away for a Music-girl; who, as soon as possible, must be got rid of at any price; and if not for money, why then for nothing.

Not at all, and indeed I have no wish to sell her.

What will you do with her then?

She shall be at my house.

For heaven's sake, a courtesan and a matron in the same house!

Why not?

Do you imagine you are in your senses

Really I do think so.

So may the Gods prosper me, I now see your folly; I believe you are going to do so that you may have somebody to practice music with.

Why not?

And the new-made bride to be learning too?

Of course.

Having hold of the rope,

Like enough; and you too along with us, if there's need.

Ah me! are you not ashamed of this?

Demea, do, for once, lay aside this anger of yours, and show yourself as you ought at your son's wedding, cheerful and good-humored. I'll just step over to them, and return immediately. Goes into SOSTRATA'S house.

O Jupiter! here's a life! here are manners! here's madness! A wife to be coming without a fortune! A musicwench in the house! A house full of wastefulness! A young man ruined by extravagance! An:old man in his dotage!—Should Salvation herself

Upon my faith, my dear little Syrus, you have taken delicate care of yourself, and have done your duty

apart. Just look at that—there's an instance of their good training!

to himself. But see, here comes our old man. Addressing him. What's the matter ? Why out of spirits?

Oh you rascal!

Hold now; are you spouting your sage maxims here?

If you were my servant—

Why, you would be a rich man, Demea, and improve your estate.

I would take care that you should be an example to all the rest.

For what reason ? What have I done ?

Do you ask me ? in the midst of this confusion, and during the greatest mischief, which is hardly yet set right, you have been getting drunk, you villain, as though things had been going on well.

aside. Really, I wish I hadn't come out.