No More Learning



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CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER
14641
LETTY'S GLOBE
HEN Letty had scarce passed her third glad year,
WHE And her young, artless words began to flow,
One day we gave the child a colored sphere
Of the wide earth, that she might mark and know,
By tint and outline, all its sea and land.
She patted all the world; old empires peeped
Between her baby fingers; her soft hand
Was welcome at all frontiers. How she leaped,
And laughed, and prattled in her world-wide bliss!
But when we turned her sweet unlearned eye
On our own isle, she raised a joyous cry:
"Oh yes! I see it; Letty's home is there! "
And while she hid all England with a kiss,
Bright over Europe fell her golden hair!
HER FIRST-BORN
IT
T WAS her first sweet child, her heart's delight;
And though we all foresaw his early doom,
We kept the fearful secret out of sight;
We saw the canker, but she kissed the bloom.
And yet it might not be: we could not brook
To vex her happy heart with vague alarms,
To blanch with fear her fond intrepid look,
Or send a thrill through those encircling arms.
She smiled upon him, waking or at rest;
She could not dream her little child would die;
She tossed him fondly with an upward eye;
She seemed as buoyant as a summer spray
That dances with a blossom on its breast,
Nor knows how soon it will be borne away.
XXV-916
OUR MARY AND THE CHILD MUMMY
WH
HEN the four quarters of the globe shall rise,—
Men, women, children, at the judgment-time,—
Perchance this Memphian girl, dead ere her prime,
Shall drop her mask, and with dark, new-born eyes


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CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER
Salute our English Mary, loved and lost:
The Father knows her little scroll of prayer,
And life as pure as his Egyptian air;-
For though she knew not Jesus, nor the cost
At which he won the world, she learned to pray;
And though our own sweet babe on Christ's good name
Spent her last breath, premonished and advised
Of him, and in his glorious church baptized,-
She will not spurn this old-world child away,
Nor put her poor embalmèd heart to sham
THE BUOY-BELL
ow like the leper, with his own sad cry
Enforcing its own solitude, it tolls!
H
That lonely bell set in the rushing shoals,
To warn us from the place of jeopardy!
O friend of man! sore vexed by Ocean's power,
The changing tides wash o'er thee day by day;
Thy trembling mouth is filled with bitter spray:
Yet still thou ringest on from hour to hour.
High is thy mission, though thy lot is wild:
To be in danger's realm a guardian sound;
-
In seamen's dreams a pleasant part to bear,
And earn their blessing as the year goes round;
And strike the keynote of each grateful prayer
Breathed in their distant homes by wife or child.


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(B. C. 185-159? )
BY THOMAS BOND LINDSAY
HE Comedy of Manners, to which the work of Terence
belongs, represents in general the contemporary life of the
people in its superficial aspect; the state of society which
it depicts changes rapidly, and the comedy itself often loses interest
except to the student of past forms of social development. The Eng-
lish comedies of this class that have retained popular favor, owe their
continued existence rather to the power of the presentation than to
their subject-matter. Where, however, the
life of a particular community has evidently
and forcibly affected the succeeding history
of the world, the case is different: the life
of such a people at such a time becomes of
cosmopolitan importance. In estimating,
then, the permanent value of the comedies
of Terence, we must consider both the sub-
ject of his work and the quality of the
workman. No amount of artistic subtlety
can produce an enduring monument from
perishable material; a marble statue is not
formed from clay, nor are noble thoughts
evolved from trivial platitudes. On the
other hand, the barren-minded or unskillful
fashioner may make the marble valueless as clay itself, and sink
men's highest aspirations to the level of the street-boy's slang. The
influence of Greek life and thought upon modern Europe is as remark-
able as it is undisputed. The power of Terence to represent this
life, as it was in the third century before Christ, will appear as we
proceed. Suffice it for the present to suggest that his treatment of
it was cosmopolitan, natural, and formally almost perfect. It was
cosmopolitan, because as an African slave, writing at Rome and in
the Roman speech, of the life of the Greeks, he had that perspective
which in some form or other local, chronological, or tempera-
mental-is essential to clear vision and to the appreciation of rel-
ative values. It was natural, because he had the facts all before him

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in the works of the Greek writers whom he followed, because he
was young, and because he was an artist. It was formally almost
perfect, because he used with an artist's power a speech form that
had put off the crudities of his literary predecessors, and had become
the most nearly perfect medium for the expression of thought that
the world has ever known.
Roman comedy, as it has come down to us, is almost entirely
founded on Greek models. Of the indigenous Latin comedy which
preceded the translation made by Nævius (who died 204 B. C. ) from
the Greek, we know very little. The conflicts of rustic raillery at
the vintage season, and at other festivals, gave rise to the Fescen-
nine verses, which were probably modified by Etruscan influence and
developed into the 'Saturæ,'- dramatic medleys with some musical
accompaniment, upon which the later literary Saturæ of Lucilius,
and his successors Horace, Persius, and Juvenal, were based.
Among the Oscans in southern Italy there arose a form of comedy
called the Fabula Atellana. ' This seems to have contained a large
pantomimic element, and produced the stock characters of Macco the
stupid, Bucco the glutton, Pappus the vain old man, and Dosennus
the wily rascal. The Romans possessed-in common with all Ital-
ians, both ancient and modern- a keen sense of the ridiculous, a tal-
ent for repartee, a gift of improvisation, and an art of mimicry, that
might well have formed a really national comedy from these rude
beginnings, had they not come into competition with the finer forms
of Greek dramatic art. As a matter of fact, however, the influence
of this national drama upon the literature of Rome was insignificant;
and so far as extant writings are concerned, Roman comedy means
the works of Plautus and Terence. Both these men found their mod-
els in the new Attic comedy,- a form that differed essentially from
the Attic comedy of Aristophanes: the latter was distinctly political
in tone, and was marked externally by the presence of the chorus;
while its successor, represented by Menander, dealt almost without
exception with the relations of private life, corresponded very closely
with the society comedy of modern times, and had eliminated the
chorus altogether.
The picture of Greek life furnished by Menander and the other
comedy-writers of his time assumed two quite different forms as
it was represented on the Roman stage,-in the earlier period by
Plautus, in the later period by Terence. The times themselves
had changed. When Plautus wrote, the Roman people was practi-
cally homogeneous: filled with a national, almost provincial spirit,
contemptuous of foreigners and foreign ways, uncritical, careless of
literary form, ready to be easily amused, looking to the stage for
strong points and palpable hits rather than for fine discriminating


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character studies and subtle suggestions of humorous situations. The
audiences of Plautus were more ready to laugh than to smile, more
affected by wit than by humor. The temporary theatre was the
gathering-place of the whole community,- restless, impatient, eager
to see something done rather than to hear something said; to be
amused rather than to be instructed. The years that intervened
before the production of the first of Terence's plays brought many
important changes. The earlier rude brutality of strength had been
modified to a calmer consciousness of power; the stern stoicism of
the elder Cato had been softened by the finer elements of the Epicu-
rean system; and more than all, the influence of Greek art and Greek
culture had begun to permeate the nation, and to form an educated
literary class, distinct from the body of the people. In the former
generation there had been men who recognized the value of the
Greek spirit: such men as Scipio the Elder, and Fulvius Nobilior,
both friends of the poet Ennius. But the men of the younger gen-
eration had made this Greek culture their own; had not only recog-
nized its value but actually assimilated it.
Terence came into intimate contact with the leading men of this
movement, the so-called Scipionic circle; Scipio Emilianus, Lælius,
and Furius Philo received him into such cordial intimacy that he
was even suspected and accused of giving out, as his own, works that
were in reality the product of their minds. This charge has never
been refuted. In fact, Terence refers to it in the prologue to the
'Adelphi,' in such a way as to make it highly probable that he rather
admitted than disclaimed the aid with which his enemies reproached
him.
Thus, while the earlier writers, including the dramatists, had ap-
pealed to the general public, Terence and his successors looked to
the literary class for approbation and encouragement. The earlier
men had written, the later cultivated literature, until we find even
Horace openly proclaiming his indifference to the judgment of the
uncritical many.
―
written by Sueto-
In spite of the fact that the life of Terence -
nius during the early part of the second century A. D. -is extant,
there is doubt as to many of the facts concerning his career. He
was probably born in 185 B. C. , and came to Rome from Carthage
when very young.
He was a slave in the family of Terentius Luca-
nus, from whom his name is derived. He was educated with great
care, and came early into contact with the young men of the best
Roman families, with whom he kept up an intimate friendship until
his death. The fact that such a friendship could exist between an
emancipated slave and men of the old Roman nobility causes less
surprise when we remember that the slaves in Rome were frequently


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men of excellent education; and that the fortune of war might easily
bring a man of noble birth and high rank into that position. There
is indeed no parallel between the slavery of ancient times and that
which existed, for instance, in America until so recently.
Terence's first play - the 'Andria' was brought out in 166 B. C.
There is a story that he carried the MS. to Cæcilius, who was the
recognized successor of Plautus, and the arbiter of dramatic success
at this time; and that the great man bade the youth in his shabby
clothes sit down upon a stool at the foot of his couch, and read to
him while he continued the dinner which the coming of Terence had
interrupted. After listening to a few lines from the opening scene,
which Cicero often referred to as a model of narrative style, Cæcilius
indicated his admiration by placing the young poet beside him at the
table. The other five comedies of Terence were put upon the stage
during the next five years; and soon after the production of the
'Adelphi in 160 B. C. , Terence set sail for Greece, whence he never
returned. He died in the following year, but the circumstances of
his death are variously related. It was said that he was returning
with a large number of MSS. when the ship that carried him was
wrecked. It seems to have been more commonly believed, however,
that grief at the loss of these MSS. , which he had sent home before
him, caused his death. Suetonius states that he was of medium stat-
ure, slender figure, and dark complexion.
The 'Andria,' which was the earliest of Terence's works, is so
called from the fact that the heroine, Glycerium, came to Athens
from the island of Andros, where she had been shipwrecked with her
uncle Phania, to whom she had been intrusted by her father Chremes,
an Athenian, on the occasion of his journey into Asia. Upon the
death of her uncle, she is adopted by an Andrian, and brought up
with his own daughter Chrysis. When this man dies, the two girls
come to Athens; and Pamphilus, whose father Simo has arranged his
marriage with a younger daughter of this same Chremes, falls madly
in love with Glycerium. Davus, the slave, is eager to help Pamphi
lus, but anxious to avoid the anger of Simo. Finally by a stratagem
he brings it about that Chremes refuses to consent to the marriage
of the younger daughter with Pamphilus. A cousin from Andros
appears on the scene, and makes the astonishing but satisfactory
revelation that the supposed Glycerium is really the long-lost elder
daughter of Chremes himself. Thus all objections to the marriage
are removed. As usual in the plays of Terence, there is an under-
plot. Here Charinus is as desperately in love with a younger daugh-
ter of Chremes as is Pamphilus with her sister.
In the progress
of the play, Pamphilus is obliged to seem to consent to carry out
his father's wishes, which interferes decidedly with the happiness of


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Charinus. The resolution of one plot is of course the disentangling
of the other.
The 'Andria' is the most interesting and the least amusing of
the comedies of Terence. It has more pathetic situations and less of
the real comedy element than any of the others. It is indeed rather
what the French call a "comédie larmoyante. " This play was trans-
lated into English during the reign of Edward VI. , and has been
imitated by Baron in his 'Andrienne. ' It furnished too some of the
scenes in Moore's 'Foundling. ' The best imitation however is Steele's
'Conscious Lovers. ' The plot of the latter play is an improvement
on that of Terence, but the characters are less carefully drawn.
The Hecyra' (The Stepmother), was brought out in 165 B. C. ; but
as it came into competition with a rope-dancing entertainment, it
was unsuccessful and was withdrawn, to be reproduced in 160. It has
the fatal fault of dullness, and has never found an adapter. The
prologue is interesting for the information it contains on the subject
of the management of the Roman theatre.
The 'Hautontimorumenos' (The Self-Tormentor) contains a highly
original character in the person of Menedemus the father, whose
severity to his son causes him such deep distress that the anxiety and
sympathy of his neighbor Chremes are aroused. He goes to Mene-
demus, and protests that he is killing himself by his self-imposed
laborious penance. Menedemus's repulse of his neighbor's kind offices,
and inquiry as to why he should concern himself so deeply about
other men's affairs, is the occasion for the famous line-
―
"I am a man: all that concerns my fellow-men is my concern,».
a line at which the whole house rose and shouted its applause. It
was indeed a summary, an epigrammatic statement, of the new doc-
trine of a broader interest: "To be a Roman citizen is much; to be a
man is more. " It marked the transition from a narrow provincial
view of the world to that which recognized the brotherhood of men.
We may well imagine that at this time, when the new party in
politics, as well as in literature, was struggling for development as
opposed to repression,― was claiming that Rome could be truly great
only as she absorbed and assimilated the best that all the world
could offer her,—such an expression would catch the enthusiastic
spirit of a Roman audience. The play, like the 'Andria,' has little
comic force; but as the Spectator observes, while there is not in the
whole drama one passage that could raise a laugh, it is from begin-
ning to end the most perfect picture of human life that ever was
exhibited. It has been imitated in Chapman's comedy 'All Fools. '
The 'Eunuchus' was brought out in 161 B. C. On the Roman
stage it was by far the most popular of all Terence's plays. It has
a vivacity, a continued interest, a grouping of lively characters, that


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almost redeems its author from Cæsar's reproach of lack of "comic
power. "
The parasite Gnatho is a new type; less like the broadly
flattering parasites of Plautus, more like the delicate and artful flat-
terers of Juvenal or of Shakespeare. The braggart captain too,
Thraso, is free from the incredible extravagances of Plautus's Miles
Gloriosus, and yet ridiculous enough in his boastfulness to fill his
rôle of laughing-stock. A new trait is his desire to pose as a wit,
and his tendency to repeat old stories.
The Eunuchus' has been imitated by Aretine in 'La Talanta,'
by La Fontaine in 'L'Eunuque,' by Bruyès in 'Le Muet,' and by
Sir Charles Sedley in 'Bellamira. '
The 'Phormio' appeared in the same year with the 'Eunuchus,'
and takes its name from that of the parasite; who, however, is
neither an imitation of the parasites of Plautus, nor a repetition of
the new type shown in the Gnatho of the 'Eunuchus. ' He is a well-
meaning, sympathetic, but somewhat impecunious gentleman, who is
anxious to arrange things to the general satisfaction as well as to
his own.
There is a quiet humor in the scene between Demipho,
the anxious father, and the gentlemen whom he has called in to
advise him, that is characteristic of Terence. Demipho turns to the
first of the visitors, Hegio, and says, "You see how things stand:
what am I to do? Tell me, Hegio;" and Hegio replies, "What! I?
I think you will do well to consult Cratinus. " So Demipho turns to
the second friend: "Tell me, Cratinus. ". "Who, I? "-"Yes, you. "
-
-
"Well, I think you should do that which is best for yourself. It
seems to me like this: it is only fair and right that what this boy of
yours did in your absence should be considered null and void, and I
think the court will hold it so; that's my opinion. " Demipho returns
to Hegio: "Now then, Hegio. "-"I have no doubt that our friend
here has spoken after due consideration: but many men, many minds;
each has his own way of looking at things. It does not seem to me
that what has been done in regular legal form can be undone, and it
is a bad thing to undertake. " So Demipho looks to the third man,
Crito, to settle the matter. "Well, Crito, what do you say? " — "I
think the matter needs further deliberation. It is an important case. "
Hegio inquires if they can serve him further, and as Demipho replies,
"No, you have done remarkably well," they solemnly file out, leav-
ing Demipho to remark to himself, "I am decidedly more undecided
than I was before. "
The 'Adelphi' (The Brothers), the last of Terence's comedies,
was brought out in 160 B. C. The chief interest of the piece is due
to the contrast between the two brothers. Demea, the elder, is a
hard-handed, tight-fisted countryman, a Pharisee of the strictest sect.
Micio, the younger, is open-hearted and open-handed, and inclined to
leniency towards the faults and follies of youth. He is a bachelor,


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and has adopted Eschinus, the elder son of his brother. Ctesipho,
Demea's younger son, has been brought up by his father on the
most approved principles; and outwardly at least, justifies his father's
boasts of the success of his system. When Eschinus runs away
with a music-girl, Demea's regret at the disgrace of the family is tem-
pered with satisfaction at the failure of his less strait-laced brother's
methods of education. The discovery, however, that Eschinus is not
the principal in the affair, but is only acting for his moral brother,
Ctesipho, opens Demea's eyes, and causes him to reverse his judg-
ment as to the wisdom of an extreme severity. The 'Adelphi' is as
full of human nature as the 'Hautontimorumenos,' and affords even
more marked examples of Terence's inimitable success in character-
drawing. The 'Adelphi' has been often imitated in whole or in
part: the contrasting characters of the two brothers have been par-
ticularly attractive to modern playwrights.
The closest imitation is that of Baron in 'L'École des Pères. '
Molière used it in 'L'École des Maris. ' Diderot seems to have had
Micio and Demea in mind in writing his 'Père de Famille. ' Shad-
well based his 'Squire of Alsatia' on the 'Adelphi. ' The principal
characters in Cumberland's 'Choleric Man' come from the same
source. Kno'well in Ben Jonson's 'Every Man in his Humour' has a
strong resemblance to Micio. Fagan's 'La Pupille,' Garrick's 'Guard-
ian,' and John Hare's 'A Pair of Spectacles,' all owe more or less to
Terence's play.
The most striking characteristic in these six plays of Terence is
the broad grasp of human nature. His characters are alive, not be-
cause he seizes their salient features and forces them upon us, but
because he shows us each individual fitting himself into his own
place according to the fundamental laws that govern temperament
and character, whatever their immediate environment may be. The
characters of Plautus, in spite of the Greek setting of his plays, are
Romans: the characters of Terence are neither Greeks nor Romans,
but men and women. Dramatists and novelists often produce strong
effects in character-drawing by placing some dominant quality in the
foreground, and massing everything else behind it. We remember
Mr. Micawber because he was always waiting for something to turn
up; but we remember Major Pendennis because he was Major Pen-
dennis. This very fact gives to the characters of Dickens, as to
those of Plautus, an apparently greater individuality; but often at
the expense of truth. Men and women are not built up around
single qualities, unless indeed they be monomaniacs; and the greater
artists like Thackeray and Terence show us, not the dominant quality
with the man attached to it, but the man himself affected more or
less by the dominant quality.


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Terence shares with Horace that urbanity, that spirit of modera-
tion and mutual concession, which is the almost inevitable result of
the association of men in large numbers. Angularities wear off by
friction; and this quality of urbanity, developed by the friction of
life in the great Roman city, became a marked feature of later Latin
literature, and remains as the special heritage of French literature
to-day.
The expression of real tenderness, the feeling that lies in the
region between sport and earnest, is rare among the Romans. Sen-
timent that is neither passion on the one hand nor sentimentality
on the other does not readily lend itself to forms of words. In his
power to present this finer feeling, Terence is excelled by only one
among Roman writers, Catullus,-
"Tenderest of Roman poets nineteen hundred years ago. "
With Catullus, too, Terence shares that indefinable quality of charm
which has no less distinct a place in literature than in society,-
that gift of the gods which turns readers of Charles Lamb, of Heine,
of Stevenson, into friends and almost lovers. Indefinable, indeed;
but surely resting on those two qualities so eminent in all these
authors, spontaneity and grace. We require of the lyric poet that
he express emotion; we expect the epic poet to deal with action: in
the dramatist we look for development of emotion through the will
into action. The first may ignore the result of the emotion; the
second may merely imply the motive of the action: but the drama-
tist must trace the cause to its effect.
In the skill with which this development of plot and character is
carried on, Terence ranks with the greatest dramatists. The lead-
ing emotion - the motive—of all his plays is love; and as the plot
moves on, we may trace the working out of this emotion in the
whole action of the piece. In the delineation of character there
are no mere superficial portraits, no over-intensified high lights; all is
simple and consistent. We find none of the broad strokes of Plau-
tus, no impressionist pictures, but always the fine suggestive detail
of the etcher. Here, as elsewhere, Terence closely followed his Greek
models. In his systematic use of double plots, however, he showed
his ability to fit his material to his purpose. The Roman stage de-
manded more action than a single Greek comedy afforded. By a
skillful combination of two Greek plays into one, Terence secured
the added action without loss of continuity.
In creative force, Terence is undoubtedly inferior to his great
predecessor. His characters all belong to a few types. The warm-
hearted, open-minded young man, careless of conventions, but gen-
erous and faithful to his own standard of honor; the easy-going,


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indulgent father, a man of the world, whose motto is, "Boys will be
boys;" the stern old man, grumbling at the degeneracy of the times,
forgetting that he himself was ever young; the weak, devoted
mother, who can see no faults in her darling boy; the suave plau-
sible parasite, ever on the lookout for his own advantage, serving
others often, but always himself; the fine-spirited young girl, whom
misfortune has placed in the false position of a slave, whose weak-
ness is her strength,-loving, constant, and faithful; slaves of vari-
ous sorts, some wily enough to scheme successfully for their masters'
success, some dull enough to involve their masters in unnecessary
and unlooked-for complications, some honestly devoted, some cun-
ningly subservient, - these and some few other characters appear
in all the plays; but each one, drawn by a master hand, is simple,
natural, and consistent.
The diction of Terence was the model of his successors. He
marks, indeed, no less an epoch in the development of the language
of the Romans than in the progress of their views of life; and in
both, the changes, the permanence of which his power assured, were
similar. In language as in life, Terence stands for sweet reasonable-
ness, for moderation, for sympathetic kindliness, for elegance, for art
for classicism. His work brought into Latin literature that element
of perfect style which it retained in Cicero and in Horace; which it
lost in the later empire in the hands of Seneca and Fronto; which
reappeared in France.
So too in his philosophy of life and manners,
he finds a follower in Horace, a stern opponent in Juvenal — and an
appreciative audience in modern Paris. It is indeed the philosophy
of compromise, not that of strong enthusiastic conviction. Terence,
like Horace, has alwa been a favorite author with men of wide
experience; while Plautus, like Juvenal, appeals to the reader whose
youth-of years or of heart-knows no fine distinctions.
――
While the moderation of Terence's diction precludes his use of the
forceful energetic word-strokes that lend themselves so well to quota-
tion, the very fineness of his art furnishes many phrases that became
proverbial; such as-Lovers' quarrels are love's renewal; Silence is
praise enough; You are singing the same old song; Hence these
tears; I am a man-all that concerns my fellow-men is my concern;
Many men, many minds; He is holding a wolf by the ears; Not too
much of anything.
As regards the effect of Roman comedy on Roman morals much
might be said, and on both sides. There is undoubtedly a laxity of
view concerning the relations of the sexes that does not commend
itself to modern minds. On the other hand, it is to be remembered
that the increase of wealth and luxury, tending to make of marriage
a matter of mutual material advantage,—a legal relation, looking to


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the establishment of the family-forces the playwright to step out-
side the conventions of society if he would deal with love as an
emotion and as the basis of romantic attachment. Terence meets
this difficulty by supposing his heroine to be ineligible, owing to pov-
erty, or to her position as a slave or a foreigner. Thus the romantic
element in the attachment is justified. In every case, however, she
is discovered to be the daughter of a wealthy Athenian citizen, the
stigma of ineligibility is removed, and the curtain is rung down to
the sound of wedding-bells. Thus the playwright finds his field, and
yet conventional morality is satisfied.
A comparison of the two great Roman comedy-writers will show
that Terence has the broader view, Plautus the more definite focus;
Terence is cosmopolitan, Plautus is national; Terence's pathos is the
deeper, that of Plautus the more evident; Terence has subtler humor,
Plautus a bolder wit: in Terence there is less vivacity of action, less
variety of incident; on the other hand, there is a smoother flow of
action and a greater consistency of plot. The vituperative exuberance
of Plautus is replaced in Terence by the more gentlemanly weapon
of polished irony; while Plautus reveals his close acquaintance with
the narrow lanes of the Subura, Terence introduces us to the lan-
guage of the aristocratic quarter of the Palatine; Terence is careful
of the dramatic unities of time and place, to which Plautus is indif-
ferent; the versification of Terence is smoother and more elegant,
that of Plautus is stronger and less monotonous; Terence wins his
victories in the library, Plautus on the stage; Terence seeks to teach
his audiences what good taste demands, Plautus tries to give them
what they want. After reading one of Plautus's plays we are eager
to read another; after reading one of Terence's, we are anxious to
read it over again.
If we may attribute a distinct purpose to Terence, it was this: to
introduce a finer tone into both the life and language of his country-
men, by picturing for them in the purity of their own idiom the
gentler and more human life of Greece. Not only the critics, but the
subsequent history of Roman life and Roman literature, assure us
that he did not fail.
Thomas Band
Lundes


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BIBLIOGRAPHY. -The best English editions of Terence are those of
Bentley, Parry, and Wagner. The best translation is that of Colman.
The best sketch of his life and work is that by Sellar, in his 'Roman
Poets of the Republic. ' Substantially the same article appears in the
'Encyclopædia Britannica' in an abridged form. There is a very full
account in Dunlop's 'History of Roman Literature. '
FROM THE SELF-TORMENTOR'
Opening Scene: Enter Chremes, and Menedemus with a spade in his
hand; the latter falls to digging.
CHR
HREMES- Although this acquaintanceship between us is of
very recent date, from the time in fact of your purchasing
an estate here in the neighborhood, yet either your good
qualities, or our being neighbors (which I take to be a sort of
friendship), induces me to inform you, frankly and familiarly,
that you appear to me to labor beyond your years, and beyond
what your affairs require. For, in the name of gods and men,
what would you have? What can be your aim? You are, as I
conjecture, sixty years of age or more. No man in these parts
has a better or more valuable estate, no one more servants; and
yet you discharge their duties just as diligently as if there were
none at all. However early in the morning I go out, and how-
ever late in the evening I return home, I see you either dig-
ging or plowing, or doing something, in fact, in the fields. You
take respite not an instant, and are quite regardless of yourself.
I am very sure that this is not done for your amusement. But
really I am vexed how little work is done here. If you were to
employ the time you spend in laboring yourself, in keeping your
servants at work, you would profit much more.
Menedemus- Have you so much leisure, Chremes, from your
own affairs, that you can attend to those of others—those which
don't concern you?
Chremes-I am a man and nothing that concerns a man
do I deem a matter of indifference to me. * Suppose that I wish
either to advise you in this matter, or to be informed myself: if
*«I am a man," etc. : "Homo sum: humani nihil a me alienum puto. » St.
Augustine says that at the delivery of this sentiment, the theatre resounded
with applause; and deservedly, indeed, for it is replete with the very essence
of benevolence and disregard of self.


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what you do is right, that I may do the same; if it is not, then
that I may dissuade you.
Menedemus - It's requisite for me to do so: do you as it is
necessary for you to do.
Chremes-Is it requisite for any person to torment himself?
Menedemus It is for me.
-
Chremes-If you have any affliction, I could wish it other-
wise. But prithee, what sorrow is this of yours? How have you
deserved so ill of yourself?
Menedemus - Alas! alas! [He begins to weep. ]
Chremes - Do not weep; but make me acquainted with it,
whatever it is. Do not be reserved; fear nothing; trust me, I
tell you.
Either by consolation, or by counsel, or by any means,
I will aid you.
Menedemus
Do you wish to know this matter?
Chremes - Yes; and for the reason I mentioned to you.
Menedemus-I will tell you.
Chremes-But still, in the mean time, lay down that rake;
don't fatigue yourself.
Menedemus
By no means.
Chremes - What can be your object? [Tries to take the rake
from him. ]
―――――
pray!
-
-
Menedemus-Do leave me alone, that I may give myself no
respite from my labor.
Chremes I will not allow it, I tell you. [Taking the rake
from him. ]
Menedemus-Ah, that's not fair!
Chremes [poising the rake] — Whew! such a heavy one as this,
―
Menedemus
Such are my deserts.
Chremes - Now speak. [Laying down the rake. ]
Menedemus-I have an only son, a young man,-alas! why
did I say, "I have"? . rather I should say, “I had" one, Chre-
mes: whether I have him now or not is uncertain.
Chremes-Why so?
-
There is a poor woman here,
a stranger from Corinth; her daughter, a young woman, he fell
in love with, insomuch that he almost regarded her as his wife:
all this took place unknown to me. When I discovered the
matter, I began to reprove him; not with gentleness, nor in the
way suited to the lovesick mind of a youth, but with violence, and
Menedemus · You shall know.
―


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after the usual method of fathers. I was daily reproaching him,
"Look you, do you expect to be allowed any longer to act
thus, myself your father being alive: to be keeping a mistress
pretty much as though your wife? You are mistaken, Clinia;
and you don't know me if you fancy that. I am willing that you
should be called my son just as long as you do what becomes
you; but if you do not do so, I shall find out how it becomes me
to act towards you. This arises from nothing, in fact, but too
much idleness. At your time of life I did not devote my time
to dalliance; but in consequence of my poverty, departed hence
for Asia, and there acquired in arms both riches and military
glory. " At length the matter came to this: the youth, from
hearing the same things so often, and with such severity, was
overcome. He supposed that I, through age and affection, had
more judgment and foresight for him than himself. He went off
to Asia, Chremes, to serve under the king.
Chremes-What is it you say?
Menedemus-He departed without my knowledge; and has
been gone these three months.
Chremes - Both are to be blamed—although I still think this
step shows an ingenuous and enterprising disposition.
Menedemus-When I learnt this from those who were in the
secret, I returned home sad, and with feelings almost overwhelmed
and distracted through grief. I sit down: my servants run to
me; they take off my shoes; then some make all haste to spread
the couches, and to prepare a repast: each according to his abil-
ity did zealously what he could, in order to alleviate my sorrow.
When I observed this, I began to reflect thus:-
"What! are so
many persons anxious for my sake alone, to pleasure myself only?
Are so many female servants to provide me with dress? Shall I
alone keep up such an expensive establishment, while my only
son, who ought equally to enjoy these things, or even more so,
inasmuch as his age is better suited for the enjoyment of them,
-him, poor youth, have I driven away from home by my sever-
ity! Were I to do this, really I should deem myself deserving of
any calamity. But so long as he leads this life of penury, ban-
ished from his country through my severity, I will revenge his
wrongs upon myself,- toiling, making money, saving, and laying
up for him. " At once I set about it: I left nothing in the house,
neither movables nor clothing; everything I scraped together.
Slaves, male and female, except those who could easily pay for
-:
―――――――


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their keep by working in the country,- all of them I set up to
auction and sold. I at once put up a bill to sell my house. I
collected somewhere about fifteen talents, and purchased this
farm; here I fatigue myself. I have come to this conclusion,
Chremes, that I do my son a less injury while I am unhappy;
and that it is not right for me to enjoy any pleasure here, until
such time as he returns home safe to share it with me.
Chremes-I believe you to be of an affectionate disposition
towards your children; and him to be an obedient son, if one
were to manage him rightly or prudently.
But neither did you
understand him sufficiently well, nor he you,-a thing that. hap-
pens where persons don't live on terms of frankness together.
You never showed him how highly you valued him, nor did he
ever dare put that confidence in you which is due to a father.
Had this been done, these troubles would never have befallen you.
Menedemus-Such is the fact, I confess; the greatest fault is
on my side.
Chremes-But still, Menedemus, I hope for the best; and I
trust that he'll be here safe before long.
Menedemus-Oh that the gods would grant it!
Chremes-They will do so. Now if it is convenient to you
the festival of Bacchus is being kept here to-day- I wish you to
give me your company.
Menedemus- I cannot.
Chremes-Why not? Do, pray, spare yourself a little while.
Your absent son would wish you to do so.
Menedemus. -It is not right that I, who have driven him hence
to endure hardships, should now shun them myself.
Chremes-Is such your determination?
Menedemus-It is.
-
Chremes-Then kindly fare you well.
Menedemus-And you the same. [Goes into his house. ]
Chremes [alone] - He has forced tears from me, and I do pity
him. But as the day is far gone, I must remind Phania, this
neighbor of mine, to come to dinner. I'll go see whether he is
at home. [Goes to Phania's door, makes the inquiry, and returns. ]
There was no occasion for me to remind him: they tell me he
has been some time already at my house; it's I myself am making
my guests wait. I'll go in-doors immediately. But what means the
noise at the door of my house? I wonder who's coming out. I'll
step aside here. [He stands aside. ]


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Enter Clitipho, from the house of his father Chremes
Clitipho [at the door, to Clinia within]-There is nothing,
Clinia, for you to fear as yet: they have not been long, by any
means; and I am sure that she will be with you presently along
with the messenger.
Do at once dismiss these causeless appre-
hensions which are tormenting you.
Chremes [apart]-Who is my son talking to? [Makes his
appearance. ]
Clitipho [to himself]- Here comes my father, whom I wished
to see: I'll accost him. Father, you have met me opportunely.
Chremes-What is the matter?
Clitipho-Do you know this neighbor of ours, Menedemus ?
Chremes-Very well.
Clitipho-Do you know that he has a son?
Chremes-I have heard that he has; in Asia.
Clitipho- He is not in Asia, father; he is at our house.
Chremes - What is it you say?
Clitipho- Upon his arrival, after he had just landed from the
ship, I immediately brought him to dine with us; for from our
very childhood upwards I have always been on intimate terms
with him.
―――――――――――――――
Chremes-You announce to me a great pleasure. How much
I wish that Menedemus had accepted my invitation to make one
of us, that at my house I might have been the first to surprise
him, when not expecting it, with this delight! —and even yet
there's time enough-
Clitipho-Take care what you do; there is no necessity,
father, for doing so.
Chremes - For what reason?
-
Clitipho-Why, because he is as yet undetermined what to
do with himself. He is but just arrived. He fears everything,-
his father's displeasure, and how his mistress may be disposed
towards him. He loves her to distraction: on her account this
trouble and going abroad took place.
Chremes I know it.
Clitipho-He has just sent a servant into the city to her, and
I ordered our Syrus to go with him.
Chremes-What does Clinia say?
Clitipho-What does he say? That he is wretched.
Chremes-Wretched? Whom could we less suppose so? What
is there wanting for him to enjoy everything that among men,
XXV-917
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in fact, are esteemed as blessings? Parents, a country in pros-
perity, 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.
Clitipho-Aye, but he 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.
Chremes - 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.
Clitipho- What is it you are saying to yourself?
Chremes- 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. "
Clitipho-I believe so.
Chremes- 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 anywhere out of the way. [Goes into his house,
and exit Clitipho. ]
Enter Clitipho
Clitipho [to himself] — 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 partici-
pate 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


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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 own advan-
tage. " 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.