Adelphoe (The Brothers) by Terence (160 BC)

According to the production notes, which were preserved along with the text, this was Terence’s sixth and final play, performed in 160 BC. It certainly feels like a summation of the mature side of his style, what with the interest in character and situations for their own sake and hardly any comedy at all. It’s as if Terence is using the conventions of comedy to achieve something more akin to a novel, undertaking investigations of psychology and personality, albeit tumbled into stereotypical comedy situations – just, without any of the actual comic effect.

Backstory

There are two elderly brothers, Micio who lives in Athens and Demea who farms just outside. Demea had two sons: he gave Aeschinus to his brother to raise, keeping and raising the other, Ctesipho, himself. Micio is an easy going, urbane bachelor; Demea is married, strict and hard working.

Now young men, Ctesipho has fallen in love with a lute player, and Aeschinus with a poor girl. For most of the play Aeschinus takes upon himself the scandal and intrigue of his brother’s affair with the lute girl. So:

  • Micio, relaxed town man, raised Aeschinus
  • Demea, strict farmer, raised Ctesipho

The set is, as usual, two houses facing onto a street in Athens, being the houses of Micio and of Sostrata, a widow.

The plot

Enter Micio

Micio is a suave, confident bachelor. He explains the premise of the whole play which is the contrasting approach to parenting of the two brothers: Micio thinks that if you treat a son openly and generously, he will be honest and open with you and everyone he meets. He thinks that if you impose authority by force and fear you will simply teach your son to tell lies. A young man forced to do good out of fear will only do it so long as he thinks he’s being watched; a young man raised with kindness will be open and sincere with everyone. But his brother, Demea, profoundly disagrees, and is always scolding Micio for being soft.

Enter Demea

Demea looks dirty and careworn. He immediately starts complaining to his brother about Aeschinus’s latest exploits. Aeschinus has broken into a house, beaten up the master and carried off a young woman. Everyone is telling Demea about it. He berates Micio for the slack way he raised Aeschinus and wishes he’d raised him strictly, like the son he kept, Ctesipho, who is a model of restraint and decorum.

Micio says this is all rubbish. Aeschinus is only doing what he and Demea dreamed of doing when they were young but didn’t have enough money. If Demea had any humanity, he’d let Ctesipho behave the same.

Demea is outraged but Micio gets cross. He knows Aeschinus stays out late, drinking, has a mistress. He doesn’t mind, finds all that natural for a young man and is happy to pay. Demea begins to criticise his brother again, but Micio says, once and for all, Demea gave him his son to raise and he is Micio’s responsibility alone.

After a pause Demea changes tone and says he’s really worried, but, yes, OK, it’s Micio’s decision. And so he takes his leave and departs. Micio now admits that he, too, is worried about Aeschinus but didn’t want to admit it. Aeschinus has been the round of all the whores and cost him a lot of money and worry. Then, abruptly, announced he wanted to get married and Micio thought he was finally going to settle down but… then this latest event makes it look like he’s slipping back into his old ways. And so he exits heading into town.

Enter Aeschinus, Bacchis, Parmeno and Sannio

Quite a big problem with reading Terence is he uses the same names in every play. I have fresh in my mind the noble Bacchis and the comic servant Parmeno from The mother-in-law and now here are two completely different characters but with the same names.

So Aeschinus is the wastrel son raised by Micio, Bacchis is the music-girl, Parmeno is his slave and Sannio is a slave dealer. It soon becomes clear the Aeschinus has abducted Bacchis from Sannio’s possession – stolen her – and Sannio has trailed him all the way here complaining. Now, at orders from Aeschinus, Parmeno thumps Sannio to get him to let go of Bacchis, who he’s just grabbed. Parmeno thumps him then bundles Bacchis into Micio’s house.

Sannio goes on complaining that Bacchis is his property and Aeschinus has stolen her and is he going to pay? Aeschinus threatens to have him whipped but, significantly, Sannio says he can’t do that to a free man i.e. you can threaten slaves like that, sonny jim, but not free men like me.

Anyway, Aeschinus comes down to business. The girl cost Sannio 2,000 drachmas, he’ll pay the same to buy her. In fact he thinks she’s a freeborn citizen, but he’s prepared to pay. Think it over, pimp. And with that he goes into Micio’s house, leaving Sannio alone onstage.

Sannio soliloquises about the downsides of his profession, being threatened and beaten up by impassioned young men, or cheated of his money.

Enter Syrus

Syrus is Aeschinus’s smooth slave. He tells Sannio to be realistic and settle with his master. He knows he’s loaded his girls and is just about to set off to Cyprus i.e. he needs to settle in a hurry. So Syrus suggests he accepts 1,000 drachmas cash. Sannio complains that he’s being had and instead gives Syrus a bribe to get him to persuade Aeschinus to pay the full amount. Syrus says he’ll see what he can do.

Enter Ctesipho

Ctesipho strolls in soliloquising about the merits of his brother, Aeschinus. He strolls up to Syrus and prasies his brother for taking on the responsibility, suffering the ‘hard words and gossip’, in order to make Ctesipho happy.

Enter Aeschinus briskly and Ctesipho sets about profusely thanking him to his face. Aeschinus tells Ctesipho to go in to see ‘her’, while he takes Sannio off to town to settle with him.

By this stage it’s pretty clear that Aeschinus has done his brother a big favour by abducting the slave girl Bacchis from the dealer Sannio on his behalf. Aeschinus now sets off into town followed by Sannio still whining about his money.

Ctesipho briefly reappears to tell Syrus to pay off Sannio as soon as possible; if he makes a fuss, it’ll reach his father’s ears. Syrus draws himself up and loftily assures Ctesipho everything will be sorted. Now just go inside and enjoy the girl and start getting things ready for dinner; he, Syrus, will be back from the harbour soon with the fish. All the men exit.

Enter Sostrata

Sostrata is the widow who lives next door. She’s talking to the nurse, Canthara. It quickly becomes clear that Sostrata has a daughter who is pregnant by Aeschinus and reaching her time. Canthara assures her that, once the damage was done, Aeschinus has turned out to be a real gentleman, calling round every day, attentive and kind.

Enter Geta

Geta is Sostrata’s elderly servant and he rushes on in a great tizzy, declaring disaster, collapse, misery, disgrace. He dances up and down with rage and fantasises about tearing down the house next door and subjecting all its inhabitants to a beating, one by one.

Finally he notices the two women and tells them why he’s in such a rage. He with his own eyes has just seen Aeschinus carrying Bacchis away from Sannio and has drawn completely the wrong conclusion. He tells Sostrata that although they invested all their hopes in Aeschinus for respectability and to marry Sostrata’s daughter who is expecting his baby – he has gone and abandoned them!!

Sostrata ponders this disastrous news then makes some decisions: if Aeschinus persists he will take him to court; she still has the ring he gave her daughter as a pledge of marriage. For the present she sends Geta off to her relative Hegio to tell him the whole story. She tells Canthara to go and get the midwife, then goes back into her house.

Enter Demea

Demea has heard that his son, the one he brought up, Ctesipho, was in on the raid on the pimp’s house. Demea has got it totally wrong, believing ‘his’ son is good and virtuous and has been led astray by his debauched city brother, Aeschinus.

Enter Syrus

Syrus enters carrying a basket of fish he’s bought in the market and hands it through the door of the house to servants to prepare, all the time maintaining a conversation with Demea. Demea is scandalised that everyone is taking Aeschinus’s abduction of the slave girl so calmly, and Syrus teases him by agreeing that Aeschinus is a bad boy while his own son, Ctesipho is, of course, a model of morality.

Syrus draws an ironic comparison between himself, as a servant, supervising the other servants in treating and preparing the fresh fish just right, and Micio and Demea as fathers, preparing their boys just right. Then he goes into Micio’s house leaving Demea fuming.

Enter Hegio

Enter Hegio talking to Geta who has been explaining to him how Aeschinus has broken his vow to the girl he seduced and got pregnant. Outrage, Hegio vows that ‘they’ won’t get away with this.

Demea steps forward to say hello but is treated very coldly by Hegio who promptly tells him everything. In Hegio’s account the rogue Aeschinus seduced and impregnated this girl, later made tearful protestations to the widowed mother that he would make everything right and marry her; but now has abducted a slave girl to live with and dumped his fiancee.

At which point they all hear the birth pangs of Pamphila from inside the house: ‘Ah, the pain! Juno Lucina, help me, save me, save me!’ I’ve now read the exact same single line declared by a pregnant woman from inside a house where she’s given birth in half a dozen of these plays and realised it’s a standard, stock and highly stylised moment and phrase, with little claim to realism. It is designed to intensify the drama of the moment, and the importance of the young rogue hero having impregnated the love interest.

In this case it intensifies Hegio’s dramatic determination to go take Aeschinus to court, to use the law and any other means necessary to protect the widowed mother and orphaned daughter. In response Demea promises to go find his brother and sort things out. Geta and Hegio go into Sostrata’s room leaving Demea alone onstage.

Demea self-righteously reflects that he warned his brother that indulging his son would end in tears, and here we are. He exits and Hegio returns, telling Sostrata he will find Micio and force him to force his son to do what is right. And off he goes into town to find him.

Enter Ctesipho and Syrus from Micio’s house

Syrus has (deceitfully) told Ctesipho that his father (Demea) has gone back to his farm. Ctesipho is relieved and wishes Demea would spend more time there. He wants to spend all day (and night) with the slave girl but worries what excuse to give his father. Say you were doing business with a friend or businessman, replies clever Syrus. In fact Demea hoves into view at just this moment so Syrus pushes Ctesipho back into MIcio’s house and tells him to be quiet; he’ll handle his father.

Enter Demea

Demea bemoans the fact that he is always the first to hear bad news, to find things out. Hearing this, Syrus makes an aside to the audience that Demea is always the last to hear anything. Anyway, one of his farmworkers has told him that Ctesipho is not on the farm, as Syrus told him, so now he’s all confused.

Syrus steps forward and bamboozles Demea with a load of fibs about Ctesipho having been to Demea’s farm, alright, but having come back in a towering rage and punching poor Syrus a couple of times. Why? For Syrus’s alleged role in the abduction of the slave girl. This pleases Demea: he is proud of his son for taking such a high moral line. Good Ctesipho! But he wants to know where his brother, Micio, is.

Syrus gives Demea a set of comically complicated street directions. Sceptically and hesitantly Demea says, OK, I’ll try and find him at the place you indicated, and exits. Leaving Syrus to reflect that with this old fool off his hands and Aeschinus late returning, there’s a window of opportunity for him to enjoy a wee drams and the best titbits from lunch, and he goes into Micio’s house.

Enter Micio and Hegio

Hegio has clearly found Micio and put his accusations to him, but Micio has completely disabused him and cleared everything up. Far from abandoning Pamphila and Sostrata, Aeschinus remains true to them. ,He just abducted the slave girl for his brother. Much relieved, Hegio praises Micio as an honest fellow. Should Hegio tell Sosastra? No, Micio thinks it will be better coming from him, and so they go into Sosastra’s house together.

Enter Aeschinus

He comes on in a state of confusion and unhappiness. He’s bumped into Sostrata’s nurse, Canthara, who rudely told him they all know about him running off with a slave girl and abandoning her, her mistress and Pamphila. Aeschinus can’t tell them the truth because that would compromise his brother, Ctesipho, and the whole point of the exercise was to try and keep the latter’s reputation clean.

He realises he has to confront the women and so stands in front of Sostrata’s house, feeling very nervous. Eventually steels himself and knocks on the door. He steps back and to his horror his own father Micio steps out.

Seeing him standing there, suave Micio decides to tease his son. He fabricates a story, claiming he has only just been introduced to their next-door neighbours by a friend of his. He elaborately explains that the mother is a widow and has a grown-up daughter who, under Attic law, must marry her next-of-kin. This (fictional) friend of Micio’s has just taken him to meet the mother and daughter and asked him to be witness to their marriage. Now this (fictional) friend of Micio’s is going to take the girl away to Miletus.

Well, of course, Aeschinus is horrified. When his father continues to tease him by saying the women put up some cock and bull story about the daughter being in love with, and pregnant by, another man, and how he and his friend from Miletus dismissed this as moonshine — Aeschinus can’t contain himself and burst out passionately, ‘What about that first man?’ What if he is real and what if he still loves her?

And pretends to be amazed when he sees that Aeschinus is crying. [This strikes me as being pointlessly cruel and not funny.]

At this point Micio, also, realises he’s gone far enough and comes clean: he knows Aeschinus seduced the girls, made her pregnant, promised to marry her, and is still in love with her. But why didn’t he confess all this to Micio nine months earlier? Everything could have been arranged. They could have had a lovely wedding. He concludes with the simple promise: ‘Cheer up. You shall marry her.’ (p.371).

Aeschinus thinks he’s teasing but Micio assures him he isn’t. Aeschinus hugs his father and tells him he loves him: this is typical of Terence characters who are all, at bottom, very decent chaps.

Micio goes into his house leaving Aeschinus onstage to deliver a little paragraph about how much he loves his father, ‘a man to love and cherish in one’s heart.’ And he goes into Micio’s house.

Enter Demea

If you remember, Demea was sent on a wild goose chase by Syrus looking for his brother on the other side of town. Now he staggers back on stage, tired and cross. Micio comes out of his house and Demea confronts him with what he thinks will be the devastating news that his son has compounded the crime of abducting the slave girl with now seducing a freeborn woman.

Micio calmly and quietly tells him that he knows. Demea asks him what he’s going to do. Micio calmly announces the pair will be married and move into his house. Demea asks him if he’s pleased with this situation and Micio calmly admits he’s not, but you have to make the best of what life throws at you.

Infuriated, Demea asks him what about the slave girl Aeschinus is accused of abducting? Is he going to sell her on? No, replies Micio. She shall remain in the household. Demea is scandalised but Micio finally loses his temper with his brother. His son is going to be married. He should be happy and join in the celebrations. And with that he goes into Sostrata’s house to fetch the women.

Demea only has time to lament the decadence of the times when Syrus staggers out of Micio’s house, very drunk.

Enter Syrus

Syrus is very obviously drunk and cheeks Demea (calling him ‘Father Wisdom’) which makes the latter even more disgusted and furious. Demea is in the middle of giving him a good telling off when one of Micio’s other servants, Dromo, calls out from the doorway saying Ctesipho wants him.

Now Demea has been looking for Ctesipho all day so starts forward. Syrus tries to stop him, having promised to protect Ctesipho from his father, but Demea pushes forward and goes into Micio’s house. Oops. Syrus decides to make himself scarce and go sleep off the booze he’s had at lunchtime.

Enter Micio

From Sostrata’s house. He calls back inside to Sostrata telling her everything’s ready on his side for the wedding. There’s a tremendous hammering and Demea comes bursting out of Micio’s house. He confronts Micio with the fact that he’s been hiding his son from him.

Micio calmly tells him that none of this detracts from Demea’s wealth. Micio is happy to pay for everything.

Demea then says it’s not the money, it’s the morals.

Micio replies that he in fact sees lovely traits in both boys: good sense, intelligence, deference when required. He’s confident they’ll both grow into fine young men.

Demea says that’s as well as maybe but tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn he’s going to take his boy back to the farm, and the girl, and have them working all the hours that God sends, getting sunburned and covered in dirt and grime.

Micio indulges his brother but says, well, at least for tonight come and celebrate with us. They go into Micio’s house.

So you can see how this scene is a kind of setpiece comparison and contrast between the two brothers.

Re-enter Demea alone

Demea is spruced up and wearing smart party clothes. He has a long soliloquy in which he compares himself with his brother. He’s always been the country bumpkin, mannerless, surly and tight-fisted, while his brother has always been relaxed and affable with a smile for everyone. Demea has worked his fingers to the bone, scrimped and saved, and yet what’s the result? Both of his sons hate him and love his careless, affable brother. Well, just for once he’s going to have a go at being soft and winning.

Enter Syrus

Syrus comes out of Micio’s house to politely ask whether Demea is leaving and is astonished when Demea goes out of his way to be courteous and polite to him. He goes back into Micio’s.

Enter Geta

From Sostrata’s house. He is surprised when Demea acts graciously to him and says he deserves to be rewarded for serving his master’s interests.

Enter Aeschinus and Syrus

From Micio’s house. Aeschinus complains to his father that a huge fuss is being made, with flute girls and a choir being hired. Demea gives him some fatherly advice which is to skip all that, knock a hole in the fence, and invite the girl and her mother straight round. Aeschinus is delighted and hugs him.

Rather surprisingly the servants take him literally and go back through Micio’s and start knocking down the fence between the two properties, literally uniting the two families.

Demea then has another surprising suggestion. He suggests that his brother should marry the widow Sostrata. Micio tells him not to be so silly, but Demea gets Aeschinus on his side and they both start to pressure Micio into marrying her. After not very much more coercion, Micio surprisingly agrees.

Demea is casting round for more good deeds to do and next brings up Hegio. He’s been a good father to the girl, is a good man and now one of the family, but he is poor. He prevails on Micio to gift him the parcel of land he owns just outside of town. Initially reluctant, Micio gives in.

In an aside Micio makes clear that he is sort of taking revenge on is brother. For when Syrus comes out to announce that the garden fence is down, Demea boldly declares that Micio should give Syrus his freedom! Demea ironically lists Syrus’s qualities and his recent achievements, such as helping to steal and pay for the slave girl. Surely these deserve a reward. And he recruits Aeschinus to the cause. Aeschinus enthusiastically agrees.

And so Micio, with a blow (apparently the legal form for freeing a slave) makes Syrus free. Syrus promptly asks if his wife, Phrygia, can also be freed, and Micio reluctantly agrees. But he draws the line when Demea goes on to suggest he gives Syrus an allowance to live on.

He asks his brother what’s brought all this generosity on and Demea delivers a rather sharp lecture, announcing that he wanted to show his boys that what they think is Micio’s good nature and charm doesn’t derive from a way of living which is sincere or good, but from weakness, indulgence and extravagance. He says if Aeschinus and Ctesiphon dislike his ways then he washes his hands of them and they can spend and squander Micio’s money.

On the other hand, they may find as they grow that they need a word of advice as well as his support from time to time, in which case he will be there for them.

Aeschinus asks what Demea’s decision is about Ctesiphon and his slave girl. ‘Oh, he can keep her,’ replies Demea, but she must be his last. Micio tells his brother ‘well done’ and then, like all Terence’s plays, it ends very abruptly, with Micio turning to the audience and simply saying: ‘Now give us your applause!’

THE END.


Credit

Page references are to the 1976 Penguin paperback edition of Terence: The Comedies, edited and translated by Betty Radice.

Roman reviews

Eunuchus (The Eunuch) by Terence (161 BC)

‘Whatever’s happened here, it wasn’t my fault.’
(The cowardly servant Parmeno to his master Demea, page 212)

In her introduction, the editor and translator of the Penguin edition, Betty Radice, observes that The Eunuch was Terence’s most popular play and is also the most Plautine of his plays, as if these are coincidental facts. When I opened the The Ghost by Plautus I was laughing by the end of the first page. By contrast, wading through Terence’s play, The Self-Tormentor, made me want to stop reading Terence altogether, it was so contrived, impenetrably complex, and without a single laugh in the entire text. Plautus is my man.

Fortunately, The Eunuch is a lot clearer and a lot funnier than The Self-Tormentor. According to Suetonius’s life of Terence, it was performed twice in one day at the Megalensian Games in 161 BC and won its author 8,000 sesterces, ‘the highest fee ever paid for a comedy’. Like all Plautus and Terence’s plays, it is based on a Greek original, in this case by the Greek playwright Menander.

Incidentally, this play is apparently the earliest surviving Latin text to use the word ‘eunuch’, making it an important resource for academic histories of the (very varied roles played by) ‘the eunuch’ in the ancient world.

The plot

As usual, the scene consists of a street and two houses, showing the front doors of Demea, father of two errant sons, and Thais, a courtesan. As usual, the worthy father, Demea, is struggling to cope with two sons who have made inappropriate love matches: Phaedria is in love with a courtesan, Chaerea is in love with a slave girl.

Phaedria and Parmeno

Parmeno is the elderly family servant. When Phaedria tells him he is mad with love for Thais, Parmeno tells him to grow up, pay up and get rid of her.

Enter Thais

Phaedria goes weak at the knees. Thais apologises to him for locking him out of her house the day before but then goes on to give some key exposition. Thais says her mother came from Samos and lived on Rhodes. A merchant made her a present of a little girl stolen from the area where the play is set, Attica. The little girl knew her father and mother’s name but not where she came from or whether she was free or slave. The merchant had bought her off pirates who claimed to have stolen her from Sunium. This kidnapped girl was brought up alongside Thais as her sister. Then Thais found a ‘protector’, a soldier, Thraso, who brought her here to Athens (where the play is set) and set her up as his courtesan. is soldier, Thraso, then went off to Caria and Thais has found a new protector/sponsor/lover in Phaedria. And that brings the backstory up to date.

But there’s more. Recently Thais’s mother died, leaving the house and goods to her brother, including the foster sister. Since the latter was pretty and could play the lyre, Thais’s brother put her up for sale and, in a spectacular coincidence, she was bought by Thais’s very same protector, the soldier Thraso. He has recently returned to Athens, intending to give Thais the girl as a servant but, when he found out that Thais has been seeing another man (i.e. Phaedria) Thraso changed his mind. He won’t come to see her or hand over the slave girl while Phaedria is on the scene.

So now she gets to the point: will Phaedria agree to lie low for several days so that Thraso can resume his position as her lover, and give her the gift of the slave girl – so that Phaedria can then do a good deed and track down the girl’s family and return her to them?

Phaedria is angry. He thinks it’s all a story to cover wanting to go back to the soldier. Hasn’t he bought her everything? Only yesterday he paid 2,000 drachmas for an Ethiopian slave girl and a eunuch Thais said she wanted. Doesn’t he buy her whatever she wants?

Thais begs, pleads and wears him down and eventually Phaedria promises to leave town for a couple of days so the soldier can return and give Thais the slave girl. But he begs her to remain loyal in her heart. Then Phaedria turns and walks back into his father’s house. Nothing especially funny about this, is there?

Thais tells the audience one further fact, which is that she thinks she’s already identified and contacted the slave girl’s brother and he’s coming to meet her (Thais) today to discuss the matter. Then she goes into her house.

Re-enter Phaedria and Parmeno

Phaedria weeps and wails but we aren’t to take his anguish seriously; he is played for a figure of fun. He instructs Parmeno to fetch the eunuch and Ethiopian slave girl and give them to Thais and to keep an eye on his rival. Then he shoulders his bag and walks offstage, planning to stay out of town for the two days he agreed with Thais.

Enter Gnatho

Gnatho is the bumptious servant of the soldier Thraso. He is bringing the slave girl Pamphila to give to Thais. Parmeno is impressed and says the slave girl is even more beautiful than Thais.

Gnatho soliloquises, saying how proud he is of his status and profession of sponger and hanger-on. He gives a little explanation of the key requirements of the trade, namely to agree shamelessly with whatever your patron says.

The old servant Parmeno overhears all this, then cocky Gnatho spots him and likes the way he looks glum, indicating that he and his master (Phaedria) are not doing well with Thais. Good. Gnatho shows off the slave girl to Parmeno and teases him and then goes into Thais’s house. Having delivered the slave girl, he makes a few choice comments to Parmeno then exits.

Enter Chaerea

Chaerea is Demea’s other son, younger brother to Phaedria. He is a very young man in a frenzy about his new love. Parmeno overhears him talking, rolls his eyes, and pities his poor master (Demea) for having two such lovestruck puppies for sons. Chaerea announces he’s in love with a plump and juicy girl. Parmeno asks how old. 16. Parmeno rolls his eyes. As Chaerea goes on to describe falling in love with her in the street, and that she was accompanied by one of those spongers, Parmeno realises he’s talking about Pamphila, the slave girl who Gnatho has just delivered to Thais.

Parmeno explains all this and that she’s been given as a present to Thais by her soldier lover. ‘What, the rival to his brother?’ says Chaerea. ‘Yes,’ replies Parmeno. Parmeno goes on to explain that Phaedria is giving Thais the old eunuch he brought home yesterday. Not that smelly old man, Chaerea says. How unfair it is that he’ll get to be under the same roof with the fair Pamphila etc.

At which Parmeno jokes that maybe he, Chaerea, could pretend to be a eunuch and gain access to Thais’s house. YES, shouts Chaerea, yes, he can wear a eunuch outfit and pretend to be the gift from Phaedria to Thais. That way he can be close to his new beloved all day long, yes, YES! And he bundles Parmeno into Demea’s house to help dress him up as a eunuch, despite all the latter’s protestations that it was only a joke, he didn’t mean it seriously, he’ll be the one to suffer when it’s all found out etc.

Enter Thraso

Thraso is the middle-aged soldier and lover of Thais. He is a version of that well-established type, the miles gloriosus, full of sound and fury about his brave military exploits, while in fact being a pompous coward and bore.

Thraso enters accompanied by his sponger, Gnatho. Parmeno hears them arrive and opens Demea’s front door to spy on them. He watches while Gnatho shamelessly sucks up to Thraso, laughing at all his bad jokes and nodding at his stories about being the favourite of the king of Caria.

GNATHO: Heavens above, what wisdom! Every minute spent with you is something learned. (p.202)

Thraso asks Gnatho whether Thais loves him and the sponger, of course, insists that she is devoted to him i.e. reassuring Thraso’s delicate ego, as spongers are paid to do.

Enter Thais

Thais enters from her house and encounters Thraso and Gnatho. The soldier says he hopes she likes the slave girl Gnatho gave to her a bit earlier on and invites her for dinner. Parmeno takes the opportunity to present Phaedria’s gifts to Thais. He calls for the Ethiopian slave girl to be brought out, and Thraso and Gnatho make comedy insults about how relatively cheap she looks. Then Parmeno has Chaerea dressed as a eunuch brought out and presented to Thais. She is struck by how handsome Chaerea is, as are Thraso and Gnatho. I think Thraso makes a joke to the effect that, given half a chance, he’d have sex with this handsome eunuch (p.186).

Thais takes her new properties into her house while Thraso tries to mock Parmeno for having a poor master, but Parmeno easily gets the better of him, and strolls away. Gnatho quietly laughs at Thraso being mocked but hurriedly adopts a straight face when Thraso turns to him.

Thais re-enters with an elderly woman slave, Pythia. Thais tells Pythia to take good care of the new acquisitions and that, if Chremes turns up, to tell him to wait. Then she goes off to dine with Thraso and Gnatho, leaving the stage empty.

Enter Chremes

Chremes is the young man who Thais thinks is the next of kin of the slave girl she grew up with and who Thraso has just given to her, Pamphila. He enters and delivers a long speech explaining he’s puzzled why Thais contacted him, asked him a load of questions about a long lost sister, and then asked him to come see her today. He wonders whether Thais is going to pretend that she’s the long lost sister, but Chremes knows the sister would only be about 16, and Thais is much older, so it can’t be her.

Chremes knocks on the door, Pythia opens it and asks Chremes to wait for her mistress but he, suspicious and irritated, says no, so Pythia calls for another servant to take Chremes to see Thais at Thraso’s dinner, and they exit.

Enter Antipho

Antipho is a friend of Chaerea’s. A bunch of the lads had decided to club together for dinner and Chaerea’s meant to be organising it but he’s disappeared, so the lads chose Antipho to find him and ask what’s going on. At just this moment Chaerea emerges from Thais’s house but dressed as a eunuch so Antipho is understandably astonished. But Chaerea explains to him the whole scam, how he’s madly in love with the young slave who’s just been given to Thais as a present, how Parmeno suggested he pretend to be the eunuch Phaedria planned to give to Thais, how it’s worked like a dream, how he’s even been tasked with looking after her, how she’s had a bath and emerged fragrant and beautiful.

Chaerea goes on to explain how all the other serving girls left them to go off and bathe so he…locked the door and…apparently had sex with Pamphila!

This is quickly skipped over as Antipho is interested in the dinner. Chaerea says he rearranged it to take place at Discus’s house. Antipho invites Chaerea to come to his place and change out of the eunuch’s clothes first, and off they both go.

Enter Dorias

Dorias is a maid of Thais’s. She’s just come back from the dinner party where things turned sour. When Chremes turned up, Thais insisted he be brought in. But Thraso thought he was a rival for Thais’s affections, got very angry and insisted that Pamphila be brought in, in retaliation. Thais insisted that a slave girl should not be invited to a dinner and so they had a big argument.

Enter Phaedria

Phaedria should, of course, be at the family farm in the country, as he’d promised Thais. But he couldn’t keep away and has come all the way back to town, casual-like, just to catch a glimpse of his beloved.

Enter Pythias

Which is the exact moment when Pythias, Thais’s head slave, comes bursting out of her house, livid with anger. She explains to an astonished Phaedria that the eunuch who he, Phaedria, recently gave to Thais was no eunuch at all but has raped Pamphila, tearing her clothes and messing her hair. She’s inside now, in floods of tears. Pythias blames Phaedria but Phaedria disavows any knowledge that the eunuch was not a eunuch, and says he’ll go look for the eunuch straightaway. Maybe he’s in the family home, so he goes into Demea’s house to see.

Re-enter Phaedria

Phaedria almost immediately re-enters dragging the real eunuch, Dorus, out of his house. Dorus is wearing Chaerea’s clothes (Chaerea having insisted they do a swap) so Phaedria mistakenly accuses him of stealing his brother’s clothes and making ready to flee. But when he presents Dorus to Pythia and Dorias, Thais’s servants, they both claim never to have seen him before. This is not the rapist!

They all cross-question the eunuch who quickly explains that Parmeno and Chaerea came and ordered him to swap clothes with Chaerea, then they both left. Now they all understand. Chaerea impersonated the eunuch in order to be near Pamphila and then raped her.

Phaedria is terribly embarrassed. It looks like he might be in on the scam, and it certainly reflects badly on his family. So in an aside he tells Dorus to reverse his story and deny everything he’s just said. When the bewildered man does so, Phaedria says the man is an obvious liar and he’ll take him into his house to ‘torture’ him to find out the truth

Re-enter Chremes

Pythias and Dorias are just wondering whether to tell Thais about all this when Chremes re-enters. He’d got drunk at Thraso’s dinner party and now he makes a bit of a pass at Pythias (Thais’s female head slave) who primly fends him off. Instead she extracts from Chremes the fact that there was a big argument at Thrasos’s dinner party.

Enter Thais

Thais is still angry from the argument at Thrasos’s dinner party. She warns her servants that Thraso is on his way to reclaim Pamphila but that he’ll do so over her dead body. She’ll have him horsewhipped first.

First of all she briskly tells Chremes that Pamphila is his long lost sister. Not only that, but Thais hereby gives her to him, free, gratis. Chremes is immensely grateful though not quite as surprised or emotional as you might expect.

Then Thais tells Pythias to hurry inside and fetch the box of ‘proofs’ which prove Pamphila’s identity. But just then Thraso approaches.

Thraso is, of course, a seasoned soldier, albeit a bullshitting braggart. Thais instructs Chremes to stand up to him and hands him the proofs of Pamphila’s identity that Pythias has just fetched out of the house. There is comedy in the way Chremes is a complete milksop, refuses to face Thraso and wants to run off to the market to fetch help, but Thais physically restrains him and tells him to be a man.

THAIS: My dear man, you’re not afraid are you?
CHREMES: [visibly alarmed]: Nonsense. Who’s afraid? Not me. (p.200)

Thais and all her people go into her house.

Enter Thraso and followers

Enter Thraso and Gnatho with six followers. There is quite a funny parody of a military campaign, with Thraso bombastically issuing complex orders for storming Thais’s house to his motley crew of incompetent ‘soldiers’. Thais and Chremes appear at a window overlooking the action. Chremes is fearful while Thais gives a fearless and comic commentary on Thraso’s cowardly and ineffectual ‘military’ orders.

Thraso now parleys with Thais at her window. He reminds her that she promised him the next couple of days, no? And has gone back on her word? So that’s why he wants Pamphila back.

Now Chremes steps forward and confronts Thraso with the new facts: Pamphila is a) a free-born citizen b) of this region, Attica and c) Chremes’ sister. Therefore she cannot be anyone’s property. Thraso thinks he’s lying, but Chremes sends for the box of proof documents.

This is sort of funny if we buy into the play’s premises, but it is also a fascinating slice of social history on a huge subject, namely the definition and rights of free citizens and slaves in the ancient world.

Disheartened Thraso hesitates about what to do next. At which point his parasite, Gnatho, suggests they make a tactical withdrawal on the basis that women are well known for being perverse and so, if Thraso stops asking for something (which is making Thais obstinate), if he changes his approach, maybe Thais will change hers and come round. Rather doubtfully, Thraso calls off the ‘assault’ and he and his men all leave.

Enter Thais and Pythias

With Thraso gone, Thais turns her thoughts to Pamphila who she has discovered in her house with torn clothes and inconsolably weeping i.e. having been raped. Thais is furious with Pythias for letting it happen but Pythias explains that they’ve established it wasn’t the eunuch Phaedria gave her who raped Pamphila, it was Phaedria’s younger brother impersonating the eunuch who did it. At which point the culprit, Chaerea himself, strolls onstage, wearing the eunuch’s clothes.

Enter Chaerea

Chaerea had gone along to Antipho’s house to change for the lads’ party, but Antipho’s parents were home so he was scared to go in and has returned to Thais’s house by backstreets in case anyone recognises him. Now he sees Thais standing in her doorway and momentarily hesitates but decides to brazen it out and continue in character as the eunuch Dorus, so he steps forward.

But after a few exchanges of him pretending to be Dorus, Thais drops all pretences and calls him by his real name, Chaerea. About this point it began to dawn on me that Thais is the real ‘hero’ of this play, easily the most manly, resolute, strong and decisive character on the stage – and that, by the same token, all the men (Thraso, Chremes, Chaerea) are weaker and feebler and morally flawed than she is.

Thais and Chaerea come to an arrangement. Chaerea insists he meant no disrespect to Thais and that he genuinely loves Pamphila. Grudgingly, Thais accepts his apology, despite the scorn of her aggrieved servant, Pythias. In fact, Chaerea grovellingly offers to put himself completely under Thais’ guidance. She is a strong woman.

At this point they both see Pamphila’s brother Chremes approaching and Chaerea begs to be let inside so he can change out of his shameful costume. Thais laughingly agrees and they all go into her house.

Enter Chremes and Sophrona

Sophrona was Chremes’ and Pamphila’s nurse when they were small. Chremes has shown her the tokens Pamphila had and the nurse recognised them all. Now he’s brought the nurse along for the final ‘recognition scene’. The servant Pythias welcomes them and tells them to go into Thais’ house.

Enter Parmeno

As mentioned, Thais has emerged as the main driver of the plot. Usually it’s the cunning slave, in this case Parmeno, but in this play he has been totally overshadowed by Thais’ control of the narrative.

There follows a carefully staged and prepared scene in which Parmeno gets his comeuppance. He had swaggered onstage feeling very pleased with himself because his ruse (disguising Chaerea as the eunuch) had secured Chaerea his beloved, and he had also educated the young man in the ways of courtesans and their wicked ways (by which he is casting a slur on the house of Thais who is, we are reminded, a courtesan by trade).

Pythias, the angry housekeeper overhears all this, including the slur on her mistress and household, and decides to take Parmeno down a peg or two. She comes onstage pretending not to see Parmeno and lamenting and bewailing. When Parmeno asks her what the matter is, Pythias tells him that the young man he introduced into Thais’s household, Chaerea, assaulted Pamphila but now it has emerged that the latter is a free citizen, and has a well-born brother, and the brother has found out and had Chaerea tied up and is about to administer the traditional punishment for adultery and rape – castration!!!

Parmeno is devastated and thrown into a complete panic about what to do, specially when Pythias goes on to tell him that everyone blames him for what’s happened, and are looking to punish him, too. At this moment they both see the two errant sons’ father and Parmeno’s master, Demea, coming up the street. Pythias advises Parmeno to tell Demea everything, before disappearing back onto Thais’ house.

Enter Demea

Parmeno greets his old master and tells him everything (one son in love with Thais, the other in love with a slave woman who’s in Thais’s house, impersonated a eunuch to gain admission, was caught in a rape and is tied and bound and about to be punished). Suitably appalled, Demea rushes into Thais’ house to rescue his son.

Enter Pythias

Re-enter Pythias crying with laughter. Oh, she tells the audience, the comedy of misunderstandings she has just seen! And only she understood why Demea was in a panic about his son being castrated (because she’d just invented it). Hardly able to speak for laughing, she tells Parmeno she properly took him in and made him look a right fool. Now both son and master are furious with him, Parmeno, blaming him for everything. She stumbles back into the house, helpless with laughter.

Enter Thraso and Gnathos

The braggart soldier and his parasite. Thraso has decided to throw himself on Thais’ mercy but they haven’t gone far before Chaerea bursts out of Thais’ house, delirious with happiness. He rushes up to a surprised Parmeno and hugs him and calls him the ‘author and instigator and perfecter’ of all his joys. Obviously the ‘recognition scene’ has just taken place and Pamphila has been confirmed as a free citizen of Attica and therefore an entirely eligible woman for Chaerea to marry. Also, Thais has agreed to marry Phaedria, and thus put herself and her household under Demea’s protection and patronage. It is an entirely happy ending for both sons and the father.

Parmeno dashes into Demea’s house and returns with Phaedria who they tell the good news: he is going to be married to his beloved Thais!

Thraso and Gnatho have overheard all this and Thraso drily remarks that it looks like all his hopes of winning Thais have been dashed. For once Gnatho can’t find words of sycophantic support. But Thraso asks him to make one last sally and see if he can remain in Thais’s good books, if only as a friend. Gnatho extracts a promise from Thraso that, if he pulls this off, Thraso’s house and table will be open to him (Gnatho) for evermore, which Thraso agrees to. Then Gnatho goes up to the two happy brothers.

Phaedria’s first response of Thraso’s offer of friendship is to tell Thraso to clear out and if he ever sees him in this street again, he’ll kill him (!).

Gnatho asks him to calm down, ushers Thraso aside, and speaks confidentially to Phaedria. He proposes a very cynical offer. He suggests that Phaedria accepts Thraso as his rival i.e. a sort of official lover for Thais. ‘What? Why?’ Phaedria asks.

Because Thraso is such a dimwit he presents no threat whatsoever to Thais and Phaedria’s love, but he is very prodigal with gifts and money. These he will lavish on Thais and thus keep her in the manner to which she is accustomed and which, let’s face it, Phaedria can’t afford. Hmm. The brothers confer. It is quite a tidy plan and they agree on it.

Lastly, Gnatho asks if he can be accepted into their circle of friends. Again the brothers agree, and with that, Gnatho mockingly presents them with Thraso! ‘For the laughs and everything else you can get out of him’ (p.218).

Gnatho calls Thraso over and announces that the deal has been struck. Thraso recovers his composure and starts to strut and swank, and the two brothers laugh at his pompousness and foresee years of milking him for his money and mocking his pretensions.

And that is the end. Phaedria abruptly turns to the audience, asks for their applause and they all go into Thais’s house.

*******

Dark thoughts

The Eunuch has plenty of genuinely funny moments, the increasingly funny role of the bombastic soldier Thraso, the comedy swapping of the eunuch’s identity, Chremes’ cowardice, Pythias’s humiliation of Parmeno and so on.

But at the same time, I struggled to get past the ‘otherness’ of Roman society. I can’t really get past the way the entire story rest on the buying and selling of slaves and giving and receiving them as gifts.

Then, when Chaerea rapes the sleeping Pamphila, the entire tone changed for me, and I found it difficult to find anything after that very funny.

And the casual way Phaedria remarks that the only thing which will extract the truth from Dorus is ‘torture’, the casual way Pythias declares that Chaerea is about to be castrated, and the casual references to the way slaves are routinely whipped as punishment – once again I found myself being brought up short and the smile being wiped right off my face by the casual references to hyper violence (torture, whipping, chains, even crucifixion) in these Roman plays.

Sunny thoughts

If you can manage to put those dark thoughts aside then, yes, this is a funny play, by far the funniest of the three I’ve read so far. I think this is because, even though the plot is quite convoluted, of two things:

  1. Once the backstory of the abandoned slave girl and the two brothers in love with two girls is established, everything follows reasonably logically from those premises.
  2. Second reason is that the scenes are quite long and leisurely meaning that – crucially, for me at any rate – the characters thoroughly explain what is going on, what is happening and what they intend to do. For example, the idea for Chaerea to dress up as a eunuch develops quite naturally out of Parmeno’s joke suggestion which then, as it were, gets out of hand. This scene has great psychological and/or comic realism, in the sense that all of us know the experience of making a jokey, off-hand remark which our interlocutor picks up and takes far more seriously than we’d intended, and which we then regret ever mentioning. 2,200 years ago the same experience was common enough to be a comic gag in onstage.

Compare and contrast these two attributes with Terence’s play The Self-tormentor where the plot very much does not follow from the basic premise, but is 1. the result of a whole series of ad lib schemes dreamed up by the naughty slave Syrus and 2. which he keeps to himself; which he does not explain; which may well keep the characters comically in the dark about what he’s up to, but also had the result that I couldn’t follow what was happening half the time and so gave up on the play and almost gave up on Terence as a whole.

The Eunuch restored my faith in Terence as a comic playwright and confirmed my determination to continue and read all six of his plays.


Credit

Page references are to the 1976 Penguin paperback edition of Terence: The Comedies, edited and translated by Betty Radice.

Roman reviews

Phormio by Terence (161 BC)

Editor and translator Betty Radice says there is no other character in surviving Roman plays quite like Phormio, the central protagonist of this play. He is an entrepreneurial trickster supreme. He offers his services to the two young ‘heroes’ for the sheer pleasure of exercising his expertise. Phormio is a comedy of intrigue as light and fast-moving as a French farce.

It is based on The Claimant, a play by the Greek playwright Apollodorus.

Phormio was performed at the Roman Games held in September 161 BC. The play is, as always, set in a street in front of houses but, unusually, three houses instead of two – those of the two mature men, the brothers Demipho and Chremes, with the addition of the house of Dorio, a slave dealer.

The plot

Enter Davos the slave dealer

Davos has come to repay a small debt owed to the slave Geta. He soliloquises on how unfair it is that slaves have to scrimp and save from their meagre rations to buy presents for their owners and their relatives who are completely oblivious of the effort involved.

Enter Geta

Geta is servant to his master Demipho. He appears at Demipho’s door, spots Davos, takes the debt owed, then launches into a lengthy bit of exposition. His master, Demipho, has an older brother, Chremes. Both these mature men went abroad at the same time and left him, Geta, in charge of their sons, Demipho’s son Antipho and Chremes’ son Phaedria.

Both of them promptly gave trouble. Phaedria fell in love with a lute player who works for the pimp Dorio (whose house is onstage) but doesn’t have a penny to ‘pay’ for her. [Does that mean she’s a sex worker? The status of some of the unfree women is often obscure.] Then Antipho falls in love with a beautiful young free citizen, Phanium, whose mother has just died leaving her penniless. But he was in a bind because his absent father (Demipho) would certainly disapprove on his return.

Geta goes on to explain the role of Phormio, the fixer supreme. They appealed to Phormio for help and Phormio said that, since the law requires that female orphans must be married to their next of kin, he, Phormio, will pretend to be a friend of Phanium’s father and take out a summons claiming Antipho is the next of kin. The court will decide Antipho has to marry Phanium, they’ll get married and when Demipho returns it will a) be a fait accompli b) if he’s angry, he can blame Phormio, who won’t care.

And that’s what’s happened and so Antipho and Phanium got married. But now Geta is understandably anxious about what his master will say when he gets back, having put Geta in charge of the boy.

And Phaedria his master? Still pursuing his hopeless suit. Well, a letter’s just arrived from him and Geta is just off to the post office to collect it. He bids Davos farewell, calls for his wife to come and take the money bag Davos gave him, then exits to the post office.

Enter Phaedria and Antipho

The two young men are gloomy. Antipho is very anxious how his father will react to a marriage he didn’t approve. Phaedria isn’t very sympathetic. He points out that Antipho has all that a young man could dream of – marriage to the beautiful, free, wellborn woman he loves. Whereas he, Phaedria, has to hang around the horrible pimp Dorio begging for a rare sighting of his beloved.

Enter Geta

Geta returns in a great state from the harbour and tells the boys that, as you might imagine, Antipho’s father has returned from abroad and will be home any minute. Antipho is thrown into a panic. Phaedria and Geta both try to calm him and tell him to say he was forced to marry Phanium by the court. Nothing he could do. But Antipho panics and runs off.

Geta and Phaedria agree to confront the old man and stick to the story about the law courts forcing Antipho to marry.

Enter Demipho

Demipho is tired after a long journey and has already heard the new about his son so enters ranting about filial disobedience and disrespect. Geta and Phaedria are to one side and overhear Demipho wondering what excuses they’ll dream up, and he anticipates the way they’ll blame it all on some court decision. Oops. Rumbled.

Phaedria steps boldly forward to brave Demipho’s wrath and defend his cousin. Then Geta steps forward and also takes Demipho’s criticism. But he points out that a slave can’t be a defendant in court nor give evidence so he quite literally could do nothing about the court case. Demipho insists on seeing the man who represented the girl in the case i.e. the trickster Phormio. So he sends Phaedria to go and fetch Antipho and Geta to go and fetch Phormio, then goes into his house.

Enter Phormio

Phormio immediately presents himself as a smart and self-confident young man. Geta has briefed him on the problem and Phormio delivers a long speech about his confidence in his own abilities.

Enter Demipho and three legal advisers

Phormio and Geta see Demipho come on but carry on a staged conversation as if he’s not there. Phormio makes a loud pretence of knowing Demipho’s cousin (who he’s just invented) a fine, upstanding, hard working but poor man named ‘Stilpo’. Phormio pretends to be indignant that Demipho has ‘cast him off’. Geta, for his part, pretends to defend his master as an honourable man.

Eventually they pretend to notice that Demipho is there, Geta exaggerates how much he’s been defending his master, and Phormio steps forward to shame Demipho for dropping this (entirely fictional) cousin Stilpo.

Demipho of course denies any knowledge of this Stilpo, but Phormio pushes on, saying he gave full details of his life and lineage to the court.

Demipho points out that the law says the next of kin of a female orphan should either be forced to marry her or to give her a dowry which will allow her to marry. Demipho promptly pulls out 500 drachmas and offers them to Phormio, saying that – assuming he is some kind of kin to this woman – this dowry quits his legal obligations and frees his son.

Phormio rudely points out that the court dealt with his son not him, since Demipho is beyond marrying age. This infuriates Demipho and Phormio enrages him even more by calmly suggesting they make up and be friends. On the contrary, Demipho never wants to see him again in his life.

Phormio then points out that a beautiful daughter-in-law will be a consolation in his old age. But Demipho says he is determined to kick her out of his house. At which point Phormio plays tough and says that, as her guardian, if any wrong is done her, Phormio will taker Demipho to court. And he saunters off, well pleased with himself.

Demipho orders Geta to go into his house and see if Antipho has come home yet. Then he turns to his three advisers.

The three lawyers

Demipho asks his three lawyers what they think and there is a purely comic scene in which they all hesitate to make a judgement, then give bland assurances, but say it is a difficult case and generally leave Demipho more confused than before he asked them. Then they exit. Demipho decides to go down to the docks and wait for his brother, who is also due home soon. He exits.

Enter Antipho

Antipho is anxious by nature. He enters soliloquising about his worries. Geta greets him and explains that his father knows all about it but Phormio put up a staunch defence aided, ahem, by yours truly.

Enter Phaedria and Dorio

They enter from Dorio’s house and are arguing. Phaedria is begging Dorio for the favour of spending some time with his beloved, Pamphila the lute girl. He tries every argument ‘eternal gratitude’, ‘friend of worthy family’ but Dorio sees through it all and says no, reducing Phaedria to tears. Phaedria sees Antipho and once again draws the contrast between them, telling him how very lucky he is. For it turns out that Dario has sold Pamphila. Phaedria is trying to persuade Doria to wait three days till he can raise the money to match the purchase price, 3,000 drachmas.

After Phaedria, Antipho and Geta all pile into him, Doria concedes that, if Phaedria can match the purchase price by tomorrow morning, when ‘the captain’ is turning up to pay and take Pamphila, then he can have her. Tomorrow morning. That’s the deadline. And he bows and goes into his house.

Antipho says they must help him and pressures Geta to talk to his master, Antipho’s father, Demipho. Not likely, not after the trouble he’s already in about Antipho’s marriage.

Phaedria raises the stakes by declaring he will follow his beloved to the ends of the earth or else…die in the attempt! This melodramatic statement causes Antipho to pile more pressure on Geta who thinks hard and then…announces he has a plan! But he will need Phormio’s help.

Geta tells Antipho to go into his house to comfort poor Phanium. He and Phaedria will go to find Phormium, and so they exit.

Enter Demipho and Chremes

We learn from their conversation that Chremes is back from a trip to Lemnos where he went to collect his daughter. This is because he is a bigamist. While he married a wife in Athens and had a son Phaedria, he was also keeping a second wife on Lemnos who bore him a daughter. She had been complaining about being neglected so he went to attend to her but…discovered she had left, with her daughter, to come to Athens to look for him. It puts Chremes in a quandary because if the girl turns up, he will be duty bound to provide a dowry and yet won’t want her to marry far outside the family because then he’ll have to reveal his relation to her, in which case his wife will find out he’s been keeping an alternative family, and will divorce him and take all his belongings.

(Well, you don’t need to be Einstein to work out that the daughter is going to turn out to be the Pamphila who Antipho has already married, which will relieve Chremes of the need to reveal his secret bigamy.)

Enter Geta

Geta is pleased as punch that Phormio, when he heard of Phaedria’s plight, immediately offered to help. But coming onstage, now, he sees that Chremes has arrived home. Uh oh, double trouble.

Geta steps forward and tells the two brothers the following story. He says he met Phormio and said that he knows how to fulfil everyone’s demands. That Demipho will drop any legal actions against Phormio if he agrees to a) accept the girl Phanium as his wife and b) a dowry from Demipho. ‘How much did he want?’ Demipho asks. ‘6,000 drachmas,’ Geta replies. Well, that’s too much. So Geta shrewdly drops ihis price, enumerating all the expense Phormio will have to go to and eventually settling on 3,000 drachmas.

Now this is precisely the sum Phaedria needs to buy Pamphila. Demipho angrily refuses but his brother, Chremes, comes to the rescue saying he’ll pay the dowry to Phormio, he has the cash now in the form of the rent he’s just collected on his wife’s property in Lemnos. Demipho and Chremes go into Demipho’s house to count out the cash.

Enter Antipho

Now early in this dialogue Antipho had opened the door and overheard everything. He is appalled that Geta seems to be bargaining away his beloved bride. Now he steps forward and confronts Geta. But Geta explains the plan. 1. Phormio will take the money from Demipho and promise to marry Phanium. 2. He will immediately give the money to Phaedria who can buy Pamphila off Dorio. 3. Phormio will come up with reasons to delay the wedding, augurs, superstitions etc until Phaderia’s friends have all chipped in to cover the 3,000 drachmas, then 4. Phormio will decide he doesn’t want to marry Phanium after all and give the 3,000 raised by Phaedria’s friends back to Chremes.

In other words, it is an elaborate form of loan, getting hold of 3,000 drachmas right now so Phaedria can buy Pamphila, then waiting for his friends to chip in the same amount, which Phormio will then give back to Demipho. Phaedria will get his girl. Antipho will remain married to his.

Antipho is still sceptical but Geta tells him to run off and tell Phaedria the plan, so he exits.

Re-enter Demipho and Chremes

They have the money. Demipho asks Geta to take him to Phormio. Chremes tells Demipho on his return to come and get his wife, who will go to see the girl Phanium and explain to her that she’s being passed on to Phormio, he’s a better match for her anyway, and this way she gets a dowry. Women are better at explaining that sort of thing. So Geta takes Demipho off to see Phormio.

Enter Sophrona

Enter Sophrona, ‘the old nurse’, from Demipho’s house. She starts lamenting that she’s made a terrible mistake in fixing up her mistress’s marriage. When Chremes sees her he is overcome with fear, and goes up to her. She says hello and refers to him as ‘Stilpo’ the name Phormio used all those scenes ago. Chremes begs her to keep her voice down and never use that name.

Aha. So she’s the nurse of his secret daughter, the result of the bigamous marriage on Lemnos. Clearly Stilpo was the name he used with this second family. But what is she doing here, Chremes asks. And where are ‘the others’ i.e. his second wife and their daughter?

Sophrona replies that the mother is dead, leaving them penniless, so she did the best she could and got the young mistress married to a fine gentleman. Yes but why is she coming out of Demipho’s house? The husband is the son of the owner. Obtusely, Chremes is astonished to learn that Antipho has two wives (takes one to know one). Then she explains, no, just the one. Antipho has married his secret daughter!

Chremes is delighted! This is exactly what he wanted to bring about, marrying his secret daughter to the son of his brother, thus keeping it all in the family with no messy revelations about his secret family. He couldn’t have hoped for better! There is a god (or gods)!

Chremes takes the old woman into Demipho’s house to learn more.

Enter Geta and Demipho

Well they gave Phormio the 3,000 drachma dowry as arranged and he promised to take Phanium off their hands. Geta plants the seed of doubt that he might not stick to his word, being a shifty so-and-so. Demipho tells Geta to go into Demipho’s house and tell Phanium that Demipho’s wife will be along in a minute with something to tell her. He goes into his house to fetch his wife.

Geta worries how it’s all ultimately going to pan out but goes into Demipho’s house to reassure Phanium that she is not going to be packed off to marry Phormio.

Enter Demipho and Nausistrata

Nausistrata is Chremes’ wife. Demipho has fetched her in order to go in and tell Phanium the news that she is being divorced from Antipho and packed off to marry Phormio. Demipho’s explaining what she has to do when Nausistrata lets slip that her husband is useless at managing her estates. Her father used to make 12,000 drachmas a year out of them. Now it’s much less. Demipho is dazzled by this revelation. I think it is the first indication that his brother has been concealing his income or using some of it for another purpose…

Enter Chremes

From Demipho’s house in a state of high excitement. He has, of course, just had an interview with his real daughter, Phanium, who he hasn’t seen for years, and established the wonderful solution to all his problems which is her marriage to his brother’s son, Antipho. Therefore he has to tell Demipho that the whole plan of giving her a dowry in order to marry her to Phormio…has been called off.

Except that he has to announce this news and justify it to Demipho with his wife present, the very wife he wants to conceal his bigamous affair from. Oops. Tricky. So there’s a page of deep anxiety / comedy while Chremes tries to get Demipho to stop asking so many awkward questions while his wife’s there.

Eventually, Demipho stops asking questions and Nausistrata, puzzled but resigned to the imponderable way of men, accepts that the girl is not now being packed off, which is just as well because she always liked her, and goes back into her house.

Chremes checks the door is shut and only now can tell the full truth to an astonished Demipho. But it’s too secret to talk about here in the open, so he hustles his brother indoors.

Enter Antipho

Anxious Antipho is pleased for his cousin, Phaedria, who now has his girl, but more anxious than ever about his own situation.

Enter Phormio

As at his last appearance Phormio is supremely pleased with himself. He lists the successes of his plan: he got the dowry money; paid off Dorio; took possession of the girl; handed her over to Phaedria whose dreams have come true.

Antipho reveals that he’s onstage and goes up to Phormio, and hears the good news confirmed. What is Phaedria going to do next? Take a leaf out of Antipho’s book and go into hiding from his father. And ask Antipho to defend him to his father just as, at the start of the play, Phaedria defended Antipho. Parallelism. Symmetry. Double plot.

Enter Geta

Very excited, proclaiming the blessings which have been showered on his master. The other two are non-plussed then increasingly frustrated at their inability to get Geta to spit it out. Finally, he comes out with it. Antipho’s wife is his father’s brother’s secret daughter and therefore…his step-cousin! And he’s been sent by the father’s to find Antipho and hustle him into their presence. And with that they both go into Demipho’s house.

Leaving Phormio onstage to have a brainwave about how he can permanently diddle the old men out of their money. He exits.

Enter Chremes and Demipho

Demipho and Chremes are agreeing that they need to find Phormio as soon as possible and reclaim their 3,000 drachmas now that there’s no need for him to marry Phanium. Phormio overhears this and anyway knows the truth of the situation from Geta, so he steps forward to confront them with a confident smile.

When they tell him the deal’s off and they want their money back he enjoys play-acting the aggrieved partner. He says he has cancelled all his other engagements to make way for the wedding. And paid for the feast. And invited guests. And turned down the other woman he was attached to, making humiliating apologies to her family. He can’t go back on any of that! It was to help them that he broke with a woman who was bringing him the same sum. So they are grievously wronging him. They fall to haranguing each other:

DEMIPHO: You hand over my money!
PHORMIO: You hand over my wife!

They threaten to take him to court to reclaim their money. It’s at this point that Phormio very suavely plays his trump card. He knows, he sweetly says, of a certain gentleman who kept a second family on the island of Lemnos, kept it completely secret from his loving wife and the wider community. Wouldn’t it be unfortunate if word about this immoral secret were somehow to leak out…

Chremes turns white, panics, and insists Phormio can keep the dowry, Hush money. Blackmail. Phormio’s word is to tell them to stop behaving like a couple of children. He’s about to walk away and that would have been that except that Demipho thinks they’re giving up too easily. He tells Chremes that now the secret is out his wife is bound to hear about it sooner or later, best if he braves it out and tells him herself. Demipho will support him and intervene to see them reconciled and this way they’ll get their money back (it’s clearly the money that’s motivating him).

Phormio overhears all this and comes back and accuses them of being a right pair of monkeys, continuing to cheat him after they’d made yet another deal. And he starts walking towards Chremes’ house and starts yelling out his wife’s name, Nausistrata.

The two fathers grab him, threaten to punch him or knock his teeth out or put an eye out. As they try to restrain him Phormio says he’ll see them in court for assault and continues to shout out Nausistrata’s name at the top of his lungs.

Enter Nausistrata

All this noise fetches Nausistrata out of her house. The fathers release Phormio who smiles broadly. He tells Nausistrata to touch her husband, she’ll find him frozen to stone. Amusingly, Chremes is so scared of her wrath he can only stammer at her to ignore everything he, Phormio, says.

But despite Chremes’s stammering and Demipho’s interventions, Phormio now proceeds to tell Nausistrata that on Lemnos her beloved husband married another woman and had a daughter, another family. Nausistrata is horrified and asks Demipho if it’s true.

Shamefacedly Demipho admits that it is but tries to make excuses: that Chremes was drunk, it only happened once, he never slept with her again etc. Oh, and now the woman’s dead in any case.

Nausistrata asks if she was worth this betrayal. She asks Demipho if she deserved this. She asks Demipho to repeat all she has been for her wretched husband during the decades. And can she ever trust him again. If a man does this once, and his wife isn’t getting any younger, will it happen again? And does this explain all his long ‘business trips’ to Lemnos? And does this explain why the rents from her property have been so low? Half the income was going to support his bigamous family?

Demipho can only mumble assent. Chremes is so petrified he can’t speak. Phormio has a broad smile on his face. Well done, Demipho. Things had all been agreed and signed off but you had to interfere!

Demipho can only say that Chremes has confessed and now begs for mercy.

Phormio realises he needs to step in sharpish to save his money. He now tells Nausistrata that he tricked her husband out of 3,000 drachmas so he could but a lute girl and marry her. Nausistrata doesn’t mind, she is still obsessed with revenge on Chremes and so she icily asks him whether he has the cheek to reprimand his son seeing how he behaved. At least his son only intends to have one wife! Unlike certain lying, cheating, philandering husbands she could mention!!

Nausistrata is now in the driving seat. She announces she will see her son, Phaedria, and abide by his decision. She asks Phormio’s name and he tells her and points out that he is a friend of the family and a very good friend of her son’s, and she thanks him and says that in future she will do what she can to further his interests. So Phormio a) doesn’t have to repay the 3,000 drachmas b) comes out smelling of roses with the real power behind the throne, Nausistrata.

Phormio has one last request: may he come to dinner? ‘Certainly,’ replies Nausistrata. ‘First go and fetch my son,’ so Phormio darts over to where Phaedria has been loitering by the side of the stage and escorts him, along with Nausistrata, into their house. Demipho follows a little behind, with Chremes, utterly ashamed and diminished, slowly following behind last of all.

Thoughts

The play proceeds, very like The Eunuch, like the peeling away of the layers of an onion. There’s the initial concern with the affairs of the two young lovers; interest slowly transfers to the details of the scams and tricks, in this case devised by Phormio; but by the end the focus has shifted to centre on a strong decisive woman who takes charge of everything and puts almost all the menfolk to shame, Thais in The Eunuch, Nausistrata in this play.


Credit

Page references are to the 1976 Penguin paperback edition of Terence: The Comedies, edited and translated by Betty Radice.

Roman reviews

Heauton Timorumenos (The Self-Tormentor) by Terence (163 BC)

‘I can’t understand it all’
(Menedemus at the climax of the plot, page 148, and he isn’t the only one)

The Self-Tormentor is based on an unnamed original by the Greek playwright Menander.

As usual the stage is a bare minimum, showing the front doors of two houses. In this play, however, they are not in the town but farmhouses in the countryside in Attica, the Greek region which contained Athens.

This is the least dramatic of Terence’s plays and relies on the dialogue to convey the complicated plots and counterplots of the characters.

Now listen with open minds, don’t interrupt, and allow me to present a play which doesn’t depend on action. (Prologue, page 102)

The self-tormentor of the title is the old father, Menedemus. Three months before the actions starts, he sent his son off to the wars and has been racked with guilt ever since.

The plot

Chremes and Menedemus

Chremes comes out of his front door as Menedemus walks by. The latter is in rough working clothes, looking exhausted, carrying a heavy hoe. Menedemus stops him, says this is the first time they’ve had a chance to talk since Menedemus bought the farm next to Chremes’s. Why does he work so hard? No matter how early Chremes is up or late he goes to bed he sees Menedemus labouring in the fields on his own. It’s feels not so much like he’s working hard, more that he’s tormenting himself. Why?

With tears in his eyes, Menedemus tells his story: he has a grownup son, Clinia. An old lady moved to the neighbourhood with a beautiful young daughter. Clinia fell madly in love with her but instead of being happy and supporting his son, Menedemus was on his case all the time, telling him to stop mooning about and being useless. Menedemus tells him that at his age he, Menedemus, was a poor man trying to find his way in the world, and so went off to serve a foreign king in Asia Minor. In the end he wore his son down with his nagging so much that Clinia did the same, upped and left and went to fight abroad.

At which point Menedemus was overcome with guilt. He looked round at his servants waiting on his every need in his big house and thought of his son in some squalid camp abroad and couldn’t bear it. So he auctioned off his slaves and all his property, sold his house and bought the land and farmhouse next to Chremes. And here he works his fingers to the bone and torments himself every day, imagining that making himself miserable will correct the wrong he’s done.

I’ve made up my mind that I can lessen the wrong done to my boy by making myself miserable. (p.106)

Chremes listens with tears in his eyes, tries to cheer Menedemus up, but the latter picks up his hoe and stumps off into his own house.

It was the tears in his eyes which made me realise in a flash that Terence is sentimental. In a play by Plautus no character has tears in their eyes unless it’s tears of rage or tears of hilarious laughter. By contrast, in Terence characters feel deeply for each other, are considerate of each other’s feelings, apologise to each other, see each other’s point of view. To revisit the Wikipedia quote about sentimental novels of the 18th century:

Sentimental novels relied on emotional response, both from their readers and characters. They feature scenes of distress and tenderness, and the plot is arranged to advance both emotions and actions. The result displays the characters as a model for refined, sensitive emotional effect and flatters the reader who is assumed to be refined and sensitive enough to appreciate the characters’ refinement and sensibility.

It is in this dialogue that the famous Terence quote about nothing human being alien from me occurs – Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto. It is on page one of the play, and during this little dialogue, that Menedemus asks:

MENEDEMUS: Chremes, can you spare a moment from your own affairs to listen to someone else’s – even if they don’t really concern you?
CHREMES: I’m human, so any human interest is my concern. (p.104)

So. Far from being a bold statement of a sweeping philosophical principle, this much quoted phrase turns out to be the kindly comment of one old boy to another one, encouraging him to open up and share his worries about his son. Completely different from how it reads out of context. And a bit disappointing.

Clitipho and Clinia

Anyway, Chremes is about to go into his house when he is surprised to see his son, Clitipho, coming out of it and speaking to someone inside. And even more surprised when his son reveals that he’s talking to Clinia, the Menedemus’s son, the boy whose unknown whereabouts prompted Menedemus’s commitment to a life of self-mortification. Turns out Clitipho met him disembarking from a ship and brought him here, as the two have been friends since they were boys.

When Chremes says they must tell the boy’s father at once, Clitipho cuts him off and tells him that poor Clinia is confused about what to do: he is still madly in love with the girl but respects and doesn’t want to upset his father. He’s sent his slave, Dromo, to the house of his beloved, Antiphila, and Clitipho sent their family slave, Syrus, to accompany him.

Chremes goes into his own house to meet Clinia and also to finalise preparations for a dinner party he’s hosting this evening.

Clitipho soliloquises

Leaving Clitipho alone onstage to soliloquise and tell us his friend is lucky compared to him because his beloved is honest and true. Whereas he, Clitipho is in love with a haughty mistress who demands gifts and presents which he can barely afford. Also wise words about how fathers judge their sons by the fathers’ feelings now, at their mature age, rather than remembering what it was like to be a young man and being more forgiving.

Enter Clinia

Clinia comes out of Chremes’ house, a bundle of nerves about seeing his beloved.

Enter Dromo and Syrus

Clinia and Clitiph see their slaves, Dromo and Syrus, approaching from the port, and further behind them a train of slaves carrying baggage. They overhear Dromo and Syrus complaining about the big baggage train they’re bringing and miserable Clinia jumps to completely the wrong conclusion – he concludes that the plain and simple girl he left behind, Antiphila, has found a rich lover who has lavished her with gifts, hence the huge baggage train.

No no no, said Dromo. The reverse. When they got to the house Antiphila shares with her old servant they found them living in puritan poverty and plainness. It’s an insight into the Roman ideal of the chaste, virginal woman: sitting quietly weaving; no guests; plainly dressed; no elaborate hairdo; no jewels. And as soon as the slaves told her that Clinia was back she burst into tears of joy (tears again) and hastened to return with them so Clinia is reassured that she’s still the simple girl he fell in love with.

Syrus surprises Clitipho by telling him they’ve also fetched his lady love, the haughty Bacchis. Clitipho isn’t pleased but Syrus explains that he has a plan: they’ll pretend that Bacchis is Clinia’s beloved. The boys are confused and Syrus tells them both to trust him.

Clitipho desperately wants to embrace Bacchis but Syrus insists he hides his love and bundles him onto Chremes’ house.

Enter Bacchis and Antiphila

Bacchis makes a speech praising Antiphila’s honesty and virtue. It’s a good example of the way Terence’s characters speechify at each other, delivering fine and noble sentiments in clear and lucid prose. It was this clear style which was so admired and copied in centuries to come, but makes for rather dull reading.

Anyway, Bacchis in effect praises Antiphila as the noblest and truest of women, while her suitor hides and overhears. Then he comes out of hiding and runs over to Antiphila who is overcome with emotion and swoons into his arms. Syrus observes all this but then hustles them all into Chremes’ house, presumably for the big dinner party which Chremes mentioned right at the start.

Next morning: enter Chremes

Chremes delivers a little soliloquy saying he’s resolved to tell miserable old Menedemus that his son has returned, and is even now in his (Chremes’) house.

Enter Menedemus

From his house, next door, and Chremes goes straight up to him and tells him his son has returned and is in his (Chremes’) house. Menedemus is overjoyed and wants to see him but Chremes counsels caution, saying his son is hiding and still scared of him. Menedemus wants to be all forgiveness but Chremes says he should be manly and resolute. He goes on to describe the woman his son (Clinia) has fallen in with under the misapprehension that Bacchis is Clinia’s beloved, for she is fussy and haughty and insisted on the best food and wine. If it wasn’t obvious before, you realise Bacchis exists to provide a foil and contrast with simple, honest, homely Antiphila.

Chremes then goes on to outline to Menedemus how he must behave, which was quite complicated and required exactly the concentration that editor Betty Radice warns about. Chremes warns Menedemus that if he’s too kind and forgiving, Clinia, Bacchis and the naughty slave Syrus will take advantage of him and milk him dry. Therefore he must playact being stern.

Menedemus sententiously remarks on how other people so often see our troubles and the solution far more clearly than we do. Chremes tells him to go home and lie low. Exit Menedemus.

Enter Syrus

A complicated dialogue with Chremes. When Syrus praises young Clinia and blames his father Menedemus for being tight with his money as the reason Clinia ran away from home, Chremes surprises him by blaming the family slave for not coming up with a clever ruse to satisfy both of them. To Syrus’s surprise, Chremes admits that, on occasion, he approves of slaves deceiving their masters (p.124). Chremes eggs Syrus on to devise a scheme to help Clinia and Menedemus be reconciled. Syrus warms to his task. Chremes goes into his house.

Enter Chremes dragging Clitipho

Now Chremes has been told that Bacchis is Clinia’s expensive, haughty beloved. So he’s just gone back into his house and discovered his own son, Clitipho, with his hand down Bacchis’s front and is outraged at his son’s terrible disrespect for his best friend. Syrus is furious that Clitipho has lost the self control he drummed into him a few scenes earlier and thus jeopardised the entire plan.

Syrus realises he’s got to pack Clitipho out of the way while he finalises his plan for inveigling Clinia with his father so, with Chremes’ approval, he pushes him offstage and tells him to go for a walk.

Now the plot gets so complicated I didn’t completely understand it. Syrus tells Chremes that Bacchis lent Antiphila’s mother 1,000 drachmas and with Antiphila as security. Antiphila’s mother died and Antiphila now owes Bacchis the money. Syrus lies that Bacchis is demanding the money from Clinia in exchange for which he can have the girl, Antiphila.

Syrus tells Chremes that he will now go to see Menedemus and explain the situation but add the new information that the girl, Antiphila, is in fact a well born woman who was kidnapped from Caria, so that if Menedemus buys her he will do very well out of the deal.

I don’t understand how Menedemus can buy a free woman. Or is Antiphila a slave? I hadn’t realised. But how she can be a slave if she’s well born and rich?

Chremes warns Syrus that he knows what Menedemus will say, he’ll refuse. That, replies Syrus, is exactly the response he wants. Is it, replies Chremes, mystified and I, also, had no idea what was going on. Comedy should probably be comprehensible.

Enter Sosastra

Sosastra is Chremes’ wife. She enters with the family nurse. She says this is the very ring they gave to their baby daughter when they exposed her [exposed her? abandoned her to die??] and sends the nurse back inside.

Now she comes up to Chremes and delivers some vital back story. Remember that time she was pregnant and Chremes told her to get rid of the child if it was a girl [!]. Well, she didn’t, after bearing it, she gave it to an old lady from Corinth to expose. Now she’s learned that the woman from Corinth disobeyed, and raised the girl as her own.

Chremes is furious for some very revealing reasons (p.131):

  1. his wife disobeyed him
  2. the old woman ‘might have made a living out of the child’ – does that mean pimped her out for sex?
  3. or she might have sold the child into slavery – is that worse than exposing her to die?

Anyway, Sosastra now tells Chremes that she gave the old lady a ring for the child and the girl who accompanied Bacchis to their house was wearing this ring. Syrus lets out a cry! Antiphila must be Chremes daughter, thought dead.

Chremes orders Sosastra to accompany him indoors where they’ll investigate further.

Syrus soliloquises

Syrus is alone onstage and soliloquises that if Antiphila is a free-born woman that dashes his plans for extracting money from Menedemus by getting the latter to buy her [I still don’t follow the details of this, or why, indeed, Syrus is trying to extract money from him; I thought all that was needed was a nice reconciliation between father and son who are both desperate to be reconciled; Syrus’s schemes just seem to be introducing needless complexity into a fairly simply situation.]

Enter Clinia

Clinia is over the moon that his beloved has turned out to be a) free born, and so a worthy bride b) Chremes’ long-lost daughter and so eminently acceptable to his father, Menedemus.

Yes, yes, says Syrus, but what about his friend, Clitiphon? They’ve got to keep up the pretence that Bacchis is Clinia’s beloved for Chremes’ benefit [I really don’t understand why and if they do, it’s only because Syrus cooked up this hare-brained scheme in the first place.]

Clinia objects that if he goes on pretending Bacchis is his beloved, it will wreck his plans getting Chremes to let him marry Antiphila. It will look very odd switching from one woman to Chremes’s daughter so suddenly.

Enter Bacchis

Bacchis soliloquises that she is very angry with Syrus for persuading her to take part in this charade with the promise of 1,000 drachmas. Oh. Is this why Syrus needs to extract 1,000 drachmas from Menedemus? Because he needs it to pay Bacchis? Why did he promise her this money in the first place?

Very loudly she tells her maid to hurry to a neighbouring farmhouse where her ‘captain’ is staying and tell him she’s being held here against her will. [This refers to the fact which Syrus told us earlier that he and Dromo discovered Bacchis being wooed by a captain who she was winding up and offering her favours for in return for money.

Going back and rereading the earlier scenes I see that Clitiphon was struggling to please his mistress, Bacchis, because she demands money from him and he’s penniless. Now I think I understand. Syrus is not only trying to reconcile Clinia and his father and pair Clinia off with Antiphila – he is at the same time attempting to win for Clitiphon his hoity-toity beloved, Bacchus, by giving her money as if from (penniless) Clitiphon. And he had planned to extract this money from Menedemus by getting him to buy Antiphila on the understanding she was a rich free-born woman who…? What? Would reimburse him for setting her free?

I still don’t fully understand. This ‘comedy’ is harder than a work of philosophy.

Now Syrus bangs on the door of Menedemus’s house and gets his slave, Dromo, to come out. Syrus tells Dromo to go into Chremes’ house and gather up all Bacchis’s maids and baggage and transfer it all into Menedemus’s house. In Plautus’s comedies, part of the fun came from fully understanding the scams the clever slave is pulling, and so being able to judge the risks, and spot instantly when something is going (comically) wrong.

Here, I haven’t a clue why Syrus is transferring Bacchis and her maids to Menedemus’s house and am waiting impatiently form someone to explain what the hell is going on.

Enter Chremes

Syrus greets Chremes and assures him the little plan he encouraged him to put in place earlier is coming to fruition. So Syrus proceeds to explain that Clinia has told his father, Menedemus, that Bacchis is not his mistress but Clitipho’s. Clinia is also telling his father that he has seen the newly discovered daughter, Antiphila and fallen in love with her and wants her hand in marriage.

Syrus asks Chremes to go along with this apparent pretence and agree to give Antiphila’s hand in marriage to Clinia because then Menedemus will give his son Clinia money to pay for the wedding – so this motivation of extracting money from Menedemus is becoming more obviously the central plank of Syrus’s schemes.

Chremes hesitates but Syrus hastens to add it will only be for a day, just pretend. Anyway, if he won’t do it there’s still the matter of the 1,000 drachmas which is owed to Bacchis, the loan made to the old woman with Antiphila as security. Syrus is sure someone as noble as Chremes will want to pay it off, and Chremes agrees to give Bacchis the money asap. Syrus slyly comes up with excuses why it will be better for his son Clitipho to give Bacchis the money, so Chremes goes into his house to fetch it.

Enter Clitipho

Exhausted from his walk and angry with Syrus for his stupid schemes until Syrus explains that his father is about to give hi the money he can give to Bacchis. Clitipho hugs him with delight as Chremes comes out of his house. He hands over the money to Clitipho who is thunderstruck and Syrus tells him to hurry into Menedemus’s house to present it to Bacchis. They both go into M’s house.

Enter Menedemus

As in all these plays, the convention is that someone coming out of a house is still talking to someone inside. In this case Menedemus is shouting to his son that he is delighted to learn that his son is not in love with the expensive courtesan Bacchis; it’s a great relief.

Menedemus announces to Chremes that his son, Clinia, is in love with Chremes’ rediscovered daughter and wants to marry her. Chremes explains that this is all a deception and a scam to extract money from him, Menedemus. Chremes tells Menedemus to go back into his house and tell Clinia Chremes agrees to the wedding. They both go into their respective houses

Menedemus returns a few minutes later and has a little soliloquy in which he admits that he himself is a bit slow and could be described as a blockhead or nitwit, but not as thick as Chremes.

What interest me about this little speech is that it isn’t about love or money, it’s about intelligence and keeping up with complex scams. It seems to me to be a comment on the play it is set in, a comment on the demands required of an audience to keep up. I failed. At various points I’ve had no idea what is going on and have had to go back and reread passages and refer to notes to understand.

Chremes comes out of his house and the two old men reconvene. Menedemus is now convinced his son is telling the truth when he says he wants to marry Antiphila, whereas Chremes shakes his head and thinks Menedemus is being conned. Except we, the audience, know he’s not, so the laugh is on Chremes. If you can call it a laugh.

Menedemus goes on to explain that Clitipho is definitely in love with Bacchis. He had a room assigned to them with a bed and they both nipped straight in, locked the door and started making love. Chremes is appalled, because he has seen how ruinously expensive Bacchis is. Chremes is determined to block their love and all of a sudden we realise their positions have been cleverly reversed. At the start of the play it was Menedemus lamenting his pig-headed obstinacy which had driven his son away and Chremes advising him to be forgiving and kind. Now it is Chremes who in his anger and anxiety wants to block his son’s love affair and says he doesn’t care if his son goes off ‘to the ends of the earth’ i.e. is making exactly the same mistake as Menedemus did.

MENEDEMUS: It’s scandalous: you give advice to others and are sensible abroad but you can’t help yourself at home. (p.146)

Changing the subject Menedemus asks what dowry Chremes will give with his daughter. After a pause Chremes says he’ll offer for a dowry everything he owns as that will shut his son up and realise he can’t be milked. Menedemus is surprised and puzzled but goes into his house to fetch the young people.

Enter Clitipho and Syrus

Fetched by Menedemus, who goes back into his house. Chremes confronts his son and tells him that he is giving everything he owns as dowry to Clinia, because he doesn’t trust his son who he’s seen lavishing money on a demanding mistress. He can always apply to Clinia if he needs money.

He effectively disowns Clitipho and casts Syrus off and walks back into his house.

At this point Syrus cooks up another scam. I have come to heartily loathe Syrus and his scams and find them the opposite of funny. They are contrived and sometimes incomprehensible. Now Syrus tells Clitipho to go into his parents house and ask them whether he is really their won at all, they have been so quick to cast him off. Surely his mother will spring to his defence. This doesn’t strike me as a particularly clever or likely plan, and Clitipho isn’t very keen, but he reluctantly goes into his parents’ house. Syrus disappears back into Menedemus’s house.

Enter Chremes and Sosastra

They have a dialogue I don’t really understand which ends with Chremes saying there’s no doubt Clitipho is Sosastra’s son, they share all the same faults. This is just hurtful and the opposite of comedy.

Clitipho comes out and begs them, in genuine anguish, to acknowledge that he is their son. Sosastra insists he is and Chremes too. But then Chremes proceeds to deliver a page-long dressing down of Clitipho for his lazy, loose-living, and for bringing into their house a greedy courtesan. Clitipho is reduced to miserable shame. He hates himself. Not that funny, is it? He begs his father to forgive him.

Enter Menedemus

Menedemus enters the scene, determined to intercede between Chremes and his son and make the former relent. Menedemus, Sosastra and Clitipho all beg him to forgive the boy. Reluctantly he says he will, on one condition. Anything, says Clitipho. That he marries respectably. Clitipho reluctantly agrees. Sosastra suggests a neighbour’s daughter but Clitipho rejects her as ugly and spotty.

Clitipho has a counter-suggestion, a girl he likes quite a lot, the daughter of our neighbour Archonides. Chremes agrees. Clitipho asks one favour: that his father forgives Syrus. Chremes cheerfully agrees and the play ends just like that. No regret at losing Bacchis who he’s made such a fuss about, no big reconciliation scene between Menedemus and his son, no marriage, no welcoming the audience to the marriage feast. It just ends as abruptly as someone turning off the radio. Very odd.

Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto

Terence’s most famous quote occurs on page 2 of this play. It means literally:

I am a human being; of that which is human, I think nothing estranged from me.

More smoothly as:

I am human, and think nothing human is alien to me.

I prefer the implications of the latter because it reinforces one of my core principles, which is a frank acceptance of human nature in all its gruesomeness. We are, after all, only animals which, through a quirk of evolution, happen to be able to ‘think’, sort of, sometimes.

Most history is horrific, most humans are disappointing, many are terrifying. We must make the best of life based on a realistic assessment of human history and behaviour. Denying these realities distorts our understanding of human nature, human history and human society, and undermines assessments of what realistic change and reform we can hope to effect.

Therefore I accept it, accept it all, all human behaviour, the killers and rapists, the paedophiles and génocidaires, the greedy billionaires and the drug addict muggers, alongside the sugar and spice and all things nice which the sentimental, naive and wilfully blind want human nature to consist of, and the huge territory between the extremes, where people are confused, uncertain, generally nice but sometimes stressed, angry or inexplicable. And that is what this quote means to me – signifying a complete, Nietzschean acceptance of the gritty reality of human nature.

Radice, on the other hand, translates it in the play as:

I am human, so any human affair is my concern.

Which may be a true translation but whose last few words seems to me to drastically expand the thought, making it far more pro-active and empathetic than my preferred version. Radice’s translation implies that all human affairs are my concern i.e. that I ought to be actively involved in them. It turns it from the detached and rather analytical acceptance of my version into a motto for Amnesty International.

Anyway:

1. It is a surprise and a letdown to encounter the phrase in its actual context and realise it comes from a very homely, domestic context, that of one old father lending an ear to his friend who wants to share his worries and guilt about his grown-up son.

2. Unintended by Terence, the phrase acquires a whole new resonance when you read it in the context of a play where the idea of exposing unwanted female babies to die was not only accepted as a common, socially acceptable activity, but was the basis for a popular comedy. One of the peculiar pleasures of the plays of Plutarch and Terence is you think you’ve got a handle on them, you think you are relating to the characters and their situations, when the bubble is burst by reference to one of the completely alien customs and assumptions which underlie their society such as the universal acceptance of slavery, of violent punishments, the silence and invisibility of so many of the women, or the universally accepted habit of abandoning babies on rubbish dumps.

In a way he hadn’t imagined at all, Terence’s phrase can be taken to refer to the way we, as 21st century readers, accept these alien conventions and practices – while utterly deprecating them with our conscious or moral minds, we nonetheless put our objections to one side and imaginatively accept them – in order to be able to relate to the characters and the plots of these plays and make it worthwhile bothering to read them at all.


Credit

Page references are to the 1976 Penguin paperback edition of Terence: The Comedies, edited and translated by Betty Radice.

Roman reviews

Hecyra (The Mother-in-Law) by Terence (165 BC)

As usual the set consists of a street in Athens showing the front doors of two houses belonging to the two old geezers of the story, Laches and Phidippus. Rather than a tale of two young men, this story concerns only one, Pamphilus, son of Laches. He has married Philumena, the daughter of his neighbour Phidippus, but his real love is a courtesan named Bacchis.

The plot

Enter Philotis and Syra

Syra is an old bawd and Philotis is a pretty young courtesan. They enter complaining about men. Philotis remarks that men are all the same, making promises then breaking them. Take young Pamphilus who swore again and again he’d remain true to his courtesan Bacchis, but then got married. Syra replies that the only thing to do is make sure you fleece them for every penny they’ve got, before they dump you and move on.

This studied cynicism reminds me very much of the attitudes expressed by characters throughout English Restoration comedy.

Enter Parmeno

An old servant, Parmeno, comes out of Laches’ house. Pamphilus is Laches’ son. When he sees the ladies, Parmeno politely asks how they are. It emerges that Philotis was taken off to Corinth for two years by ‘a brute of a soldier’ and had a thoroughly miserable time. She’s only just returned to Athens and is looking up the old gang. She’s just been to see Bacchis and can’t believe that Pamphilus has gone and got married.

Parmeno settles down to tell them the story. Pamphilus has always loved Bacchis but his father was getting on and started nagging him to marry and settle down. In the end he gave in and agreed to be married to the daughter of their next door neighbour, Phidippus. It was only as the reality began to sink in that he became increasingly upset and would take Parmeno for long walks and pour his heart out.

Long story short: they got married but Pamphilus didn’t touch her that night or any other. The marriage was unconsummated. Pamphilus began thinking about how he could return the girl to her family, without shame on all sides. He continued to see Bacchis but she, learning about his wife, became more demanding and naggy. Slowly Pamphilus began to compare the two women and realise that his wife, though less sexy and exciting, was ‘modest and retiring, as a lady ought to be.’

At this point an elderly relative died in Imbros, leaving the family his heirs and Pamphilus was packed off there, protesting at having to leave his wife. The wife passed into the care of his mother, Sostrata.

Philotis, by this stage, is bored of this long exposition. Get to the point! What of the marriage?

Well, the wife, Philumena, began to conceive a dislike of the mother in law. When she came into a room, the other went out. She didn’t talk to her. After a few weeks she said she had to go and see her own mother but never returned. Sostrata issued repeated requests for her to return which have been ignored.

Just yesterday old Laches went to see Philumena’s father to have it out, and Parmeno hasn’t heard the outcome. That’s all the gossip he knows. And so they bid goodbye to each other and leave on opposite sides of the stage. In other words, this opening scene has been one long exposition of the backstory.

Enter Laches and Sosastra

Laches is furious with his wife, spouting a stream of anti-women propaganda, saying they’re all the same and blaming her for driving his daughter-in-law from their house.

Enter Phidippus

So Philumena has left Laches’ house and returned to the house of her parents, which just so happens to be right next door. Her father emerges from his house, as so often at the start of these plays, still talking to someone within. [Maybe this convention was to establish the fact that there is a within, in what was probably a very basic ‘set’. Or maybe it was a quick way of establishing which characters are where as the play begins.] He is calling inside to his daughter (Philumena) and saying he’d really rather that she obeyed his orders and that he’s too kind-hearted to her.

Laches confronts him and asks him to explain why his daughter refuses to return to Laches’ house. Is she ill? Is it because she claims to be mistreated? He takes it as a personal insult.

Phidippus for his part says he doesn’t know why, Philumena refuses to tell him. She just swore on oath she can’t bear to be in the house when Pamphilus is away. Impasse. Well, so be it, Laches says he’ll accompany Phidippus into town on business and they exit.

Sosastra is still distraught that she’s getting the blame for all this. It’s so unfair of men to label all women the same, when she knows she’s gone out of her way to treat Philumena like her own daughter. She goes back into her house.

Enter Pamphilus and Parmeno

Pamphilus is wretched. He hates coming home to find his affairs in this state. Parmeno tries to encourage him by telling him his return will bring things to a head and resolve them. Pamphilus is the first to admit his wife had a lot to put up with from him (presumably, his ongoing infidelity with Bacchis) and he came to respect and love her for it. And now he wonders what on earth can have prompted such enmity between daughter and mother-in-law.

Parmeno thinks it might all be a fuss about nothing, given that women are like children, have no self-control and squabble over trifles.

They are interrupted by the sound of cries and kerfuffle from inside Phidippus’s house. Can Philumena be ill, having a fit? Now he mentions it, Parmeno is reminded that she did say she’d been having shivering fits of some kind. Beside himself with worry Pamphilus rushes into the house proclaiming his love for his wife.

Enter Sostrata

Sostrata has heard all the rumpus and is genuinely concerned for her daughter-in-law’s health. She prays to the gods that she stays well. She sees Parmeno who mentions that a) her son Pamphilus is returned b) he’s just run into the Phidippus house to find out what’s happening. Best leave him to it.

Enter Pamphilus

Pamphilus is shocked and upset. When his mother asks him whether it’s fever or fits he agrees with whatever she says to get her to shut up, then asks her to go into their house. She does. Then Pormeno starts to question him and he angrily tells the old servant to go down to the docks to help the lads with his (Pamphilus’s) luggage.

Now alone, Pamphilus shares with the audience what he’s just seen. He rushed in and discovered that – Philumena is heavily pregnant. That’s why she fled his house, that’s why she won’t go back, that’s why she refuses to see the mother-in-law. Pamphilus shouted something at her for her wickedness, turned and ran but her mother ran after him and fell at his knees begging him to listen.

She explained that Philumena was raped before she became engaged to Pamphilus. She and her mother were too ashamed to tell anyone. Now she begs him to keep it a secret and promises that, as soon as the baby is born, she will go expose it to die somewhere. So Pamphilus gave her his word and here he is back out on the street two minutes later, dazed and confused.

Much as he loves his wife he won’t be able to live with her after she’s had the baby and so he weeps tears at the thought of his long lonely life to comer. Self-pitying, melodramatic wimp that he is.

Re-enter Parmeno

Parmeno enters with some other slaves carrying Pamphilus’s luggage. He needs to get Parmeno out the way in case he hears Philumena’s brith cries and realises what is going on.

Parmeno chats with Sosia who accompanied Pamphilus on the voyage and tells him they had terrible weather.

Parmeno says hello to Pamphilus who promptly tells him he wants to run up to the acropolis and find a man he stayed with on Mykonos. Parmeno is cheesed off with having to run all these errands. Off he goes very sulkily.

Pamphilus is worrying what to do when he sees the two fathers coming along.

Enter Laches and Phidippus

They greet each other. First Laches asks after the dead relative, did he leave much? No. Then they move onto the subject of the wife, Laches explaining she’s been staying with her family, but Phidippus is going to send her back soon, nudging him and saying aren’t you, Phidippus?

Pamphilus delivers a speech in which he says he loves and respects is wife and her decision to leave is no fault of his, and some antagonism has sprung up between daughter and mother-in-law and that, if he has to make a choice, filial duty says he must choose his mother.

The fathers both ask Pamphilus to reconsider and take his wife back. Pamphilus says he loves her but no. He hopes she will be happy with a husband who is more worthy of her. And with that Pamphilus goes into his father’s house, leaving the two old men to marvel at his obstinacy.

They quarrel. Phidippus insists Laches’ son should either take his daughter back or, if he refuses, return her dowry and they’ll marry her to someone else, and with that he disappears into his house, leaving Laches alone on stage.

Laches laments that neither his friend Phidippus not his son take any notice of him. He’ll go into his house and vent his spleen on his poor wife, and he goes inside.

Enter Myrrina

Enter Phidippus’s wife and the mother of Philumena, swiftly followed by Phidippus himself. He heard a baby cry, went in to see his daughter, and instantly saw the truth. She’s just borne a child. Now Phidippus confronts his wife: he is puzzled why she tried to hide it from him.

Suddenly he comes up with the fantastical theory that Myrrina hid the baby from him as it would strengthen the tie between the two houses and she disapproves of her daughter’s marriage to Pamphilus. She means to dispose of the baby in order to weaken those ties because she never approved of the marriage in the first place because they knew their new son-in-law was having an ongoing affair with a courtesan…

This is, of course, completely untrue and makes Myrrina burst into tears because she has to put up with this abuse, because it’s better than revealing the shameful truth, which is that their daughter was raped.

Phidippus rabbits on, enumerating the reasons why he himself forgave Pamphilus for having a mistress, including: 1. it’s only natural in a young man, and 2. if Pamphilus had abruptly dumped his mistress, Phidippus would have worried that he might end up showing the same lack of commitment to their daughter.

Anyway, Phidippus blames Myrrina for everything and this, of course, makes her miserable because she can’t defend herself. He goes into her house leaving Myrrina to lament 1. that she doesn’t want to bring up a strange man’s baby and 2. her concern that Pamphilus won’t stick to his promise but will broadcast Philumena’s shame.

But, during this little soliloquy Myrrina reveals a KEY FACT. It was too dark the night she was raped for Philumena to see her assailant, and she wasn’t strong enough to seize anything of his. But he pulled a ring off her finger and took it away with her.

(Aha. The plot device of The Token. The Token which will identify her attacker and resolve the plot.)

With that Myrrina goes back into her house to confront her angry husband.

Enter Sostrata and Pamphilus

Because she appears to be the stumbling block to Philumena returning, Sostrata nobly offers to Pamphilus to leave their house in the city and go live with her husband (who prefers living at their country farm).

Pamphilus (knowing the true reason Philumena has absented herself) tells her not to be so silly. He won’t have her missing out on her friends and family in the city just because some silly girl has run away. Plus it reflects badly on him. Still, he tells her he is lucky to have such a caring mother who would make such a sacrifice for him.

During their conversation Laches has come out the house and hears her loving offer. He says he’ll welcome her at the farm and they’ll learn to live with each other. Sostrata goes in to pack, leaving father and son on stage.

Pamphilus is agonising because he does love his wife and he does want her back and yet he feels he mustn’t deceive everyone by bringing up another man’s child. Thus he puzzles Laches by continuing to insist he won’t take her back.

Enter Phidippus

As so often, a character comes on stage through a door, while still talking to someone back inside the house. In this case Phidippus is talking back to Philumena, telling her he is very cross with her about her behaviour, and with her mother, too.

Now Pamphilus is presented with a ‘comic’ dilemma, trying to talk on the same subject to two men, one of whom is in on the secret and the other (his father) who knows nothing about it.

Laches makes a start by telling Phidippus that his wife, Sostrata, is leaving for the country and so will no longer be a stumbling block to Philumena coming home. Phidippus replies that it’s not Laches’ wife’s fault, but his own wife’s.

Phidippus then tells Pamphilus he wants their family tie to remain but even if it’s broken and he won’t have Philumena back, he at least hopes he’ll take the child. a) Pamphilus is startled to learn that Phidippus has found out about the baby and b) Laches is mystified by this.

Phidippus tells Laches straight out that Philumena has just had a baby. Laches is delighted to become a grandfather but says he thinks it was very bad form for Philumena to keep it a secret from him and his wife. They both round on Pamphilus and tell him that even if he won’t take his wife back, he must take the child. Pamphilus is still surly and reluctant.

Laches totally misinterprets his son’s attitude. He thinks he is still devoted to his mistress, Bacchis and that’s why he is against his own wife and son. Laches delivers a lecture saying he was indulgent of his son’s passion for the courtesan and even prepared to pay the high bills she ran up (!) but now it’s time for him to grow up and assume his responsibilities.

Pamphilus angrily denies all of this, so Laches asks him what the real reason is. Reasonable request. But Pamphilus has reached a kind of hysterical crisis. He feels backed into a corner and so walks away from the two fathers.

The two men make plans. Laches tells Phidippus to hand over the baby, Laches will gladly raise his grandson. He’ll also see Pamphilus’s mistress and tell her to drop her hold over him. He calls inside his house for a servant to run and fetch her. Phidippus asks whether Laches needs him to assist at this interview. Um, probably not, thank you. So Phidippus exits to find a nurse for the baby and Laches goes into his house. Empty stage.

Enter Bacchis

Bacchis is a dignified mature woman of the world. Laches comes out of his house to see her. There follows a very dignified conversation between these two people of the world. Laches apologises in advance, for he doesn’t mean to cause offence. He recaps that he knows all about the long affair his son has had with her. But now it is spoiling his marriage. Because of Pamphilus love for her, his wife has left the house and his mother-in-law was planning to destroy the baby.

So Laches asks Bacchis to find another lover. Bacchis swears on oath that she hasn’t had relations with his son since he got married. Laches solemnly accepts this and asks her to go into Phidippus’s house and make the same statement to the womenfolk within. Bacchis swears she has only Pamphilus’s best interests at heart. A woman like her wouldn’t usually confront the wife she has been wronging but she is prepared to do this for Pamphilus. Laches is very impressed by her dignity and fine sentiments. He offers her the friendship of his house.

At this point Phidippus returns with a wetnurse for the baby. Laches calls him over and introduces him to Bacchis. When Laches tells him of her promise that she has not had relations with Pamphilus since he married, Phidippus is at first dismissive of her because she is a courtesan. But Bacchis says they can interrogate he servants under torture and will find what she says is true. Then she nerves herself to her task of going to face her lover’s wife and goes into Phidippus’s house.

(Under torture!)

Once again, a Terence play is devolving its focus onto a dignified and strong female character, true and honest where all the male characters have shown themselves to be weak and error-prone.

Laches delivers a little homily about how Bacchis’s good deed will rehabilitate her with his family and society at large, then goes into his house leaving the stage empty.

Enter Parmeno

I’d forgotten about this old retainer. Early in the play Pamphilus had sent him all the way to the acropolis on a wild goose chase to find some fellow from Myconos, solely, as we know, to get him away from the crying of the baby. Things have moved on a lot since then. Now he comes wearily back onstage and delivers a long complaint about spending the whole day hanging round looking for this supposed person.

Enter Bacchis

He’s barely arrived before Bacchis comes running out of the Phidippus’s house all excited. She tells him to go and fetch Pamphilus. Parmeno is comically reluctant to go on another wild goose chase and asks why. Bacchis excitedly tells him that Philumena’s mother, Myrrina, has recognised the ring she, Bacchis, is wearing. It’s the ring the rapist took off Philumena and which Pamphilus, sometime later, gave to Bacchis as a gift. It is The Token! So Parmeno goes off to get Pamphilus, leaving Bacchis alone on stage for a long soliloquy.

The recognition scene!

Bacchis explains the whole story, supplying all the missing links in the chain. She describes how one night nine months ago Pamphilus came to her house, a bit drunk, dishevelled and excited, and told her he had assaulted a woman in the street and torn this ring off her finger, and proceeded to give it to her as a gift. She still wears it.

And it is this ring which Myrrina has just recognised on Bacchis’s finger. When she asked about it Bacchis told her the whole story of the night Pamphilus gave her the ring. So Myrrina and Philumena now know the truth.

She enumerates the blessings she has just conferred with the recognition of the ring:

  • she’s saved Pamphilus’s son, who risked being exposed
  • she’s restored his wife to Pamphilus
  • she’s removed the suspicions of Laches and Phidippus about Pamphilus being a bad husband (for refusing to take back either his wife or son)

Bacchis says she is happy to have brought him happiness. She has acted unlike ‘other women of her sort’. She could, possibly, use the situation to her advantage, but won’t. Even though Pamphilus’s marriage hurt her, he was always a kind and respectful lover, so she is happy to do him so much good.

Altogether a very noble, moving speech. As so often the play feels mistitled. It should have been called ‘Bacchis’ or ‘The Courtesan’ since she plays this swing, pivotal role.

Enter Pamphilus

Enter Pamphilus with Parmeno, pestering him that he is quite sure of this message from Bacchis. If so, he is the luckiest man alive, and Pamphilus says he’ll give Parmeno anything he wants in gratitude for this fabulous news!

They finally arrive where Bacchis is standing and Pamphilus pours out his profuse gratitude. Bacchis calmly accepts it. It was a a pleasure. Pamphilus is polite to Bacchis, saying she is as beautiful and charming as ever. And Bacchis replies as gracefully, saying he is lovely.

But then she switches tone to announce that he was right to get married. His wife is ‘a true lady’. Pamphilus then asks a big favour. He asks her not to tell anyone. There’s no need for Laches or his father or mother to know. He makes a knowingly ironic comment:

PAMPHILUS: I’d rather this weren’t like the comedies, where everyone ends by knowing everything. In our case, the ones who ought to know, know already; and the others who don’t need to know shan’t be told or know a thing. (p.329)

This isn’t funny, exactly, but must have prompted a knowing smile from the audience. And indeed the entire comedy is like this, warm and mature and knowing. It deals very well with the relations of the two married couples and peaks in the dignity and kindness of the courtesan Bacchis. As so often, the nominal ‘hero’, the young man Pamphilus, seems like a small thing beside Bacchis’ grandeur.

Bacchis adds that the Phidippus family now also believe what Bacchis assured them, that he Pamphilus never slept with her after he was married. So he is cleared on all accounts.

Parmeno

The play ends wryly with Parmeno attracting Pamphilus’s attention and so Pamphilus goes over to him and doesn’t notice the real ‘hero’ of the story, Bacchis, walk quietly offstage, pausing to look back affectionately at her former lover.

Instead the play ends with Parmeno preening himself at how he saved Pamphilus from hell, the latter’s own words. Pamphilus assures him he did more than he can imagine, and leaves Parmeno thinking he was the instrument of the happy ending, though he doesn’t quite understand why.

This is a wry inversion of the convention whereby clever slaves really do sort everything out, as in Andria, Phormio or The Self-tormentor. Parmeno asks the audience to applaud and goes along with Pamphilus into Laches’ house.

THE END.

Thoughts

Editor and translator Betty Radice spends the two pages of her introduction saying The Mother-in-law has a case for being the warmest and most mature of Terence’s plays, with beautiful insights into married life, touching scenes, and the noble behaviour of Bacchis, a wise woman who trumps all the men.

What she doesn’t mention is that the central incident in the intrigue is a rape, and that the central figure of the play, who everyone cheers and claps to see redeemed and live happily ever after…is a rapist.

Compared to this central fact, all the other subtleties and niceties…well, they’re there, I registered them, I enjoyed them locally, but…


Credit

Page references are to the 1976 Penguin paperback edition of Terence: The Comedies edited and translated by Betty Radice.

Roman reviews

Andria (The Girl from Andros) by Terence (166 BC)

‘There’s scarcely a man to be found who’ll stay faithful to a woman.’
(Mysis the servant)

‘A father shouldn’t be too hard on his children whatever their faults.’
(Chremes)

The astonishingly detailed production notes, attached to the play in antiquity, tell us that Andria was first performed at the Megalensian Games in 166 BC. It is based on an original but unnamed play by the Greek playwright, Menander.

The set consists, as usual, of the front doors of two houses set next to each other, the house of Simo, father of the hero, and of Glycerium, the young female ‘love interest’

Back story

The play is set in Athens. There are two middle-aged men, Simo and Chysemum. Simo has a son, Pamphilus. Pamphilus has seduced and impregnated a young woman named Glycerium and has promised to marry her. But his father, Simo, has other ideas and has promised Pamphilus in marriage to the daughter of his friend Chremes, Philumena.

Everyone has always assumed that Glycerium was the sister of the girl she came to Athens with three years earlier, who was named Chryses. They came to Athens together from the island of Andros (hence ‘the girl from Andros’). Chryses set up as a courtesan and acquired a devoted following of young gentlemen. Sadly, she got sick and died just before the action of the play starts.

It was at the funeral of Chryses that Pamphilus first publicly revealed his loved for Glycerium when the latter ventured a little too close to the funeral pyre on which her friend was burning, and Pamphilus promptly leapt forward, embraced her, pulled her back and ended up kissing her in full sight of all the other mourners. His father, Simo, witnessed this and was appalled.

Meanwhile, young Pamphilus has a friend, Charinus, who is himself in love, with a young woman named Philumena, the daughter of Pamphilus’s father’s friend, Chremes. That’s what the ‘double plot’ means in practice – two young men in love with two young women; both in similar plights which are then ‘treated’ differently by the plot.

It’s worth noting that Glycerium, Pamphilus’s lady love and, in a sense, the crux of the plot, never actually appears onstage. She does, however, have one line – when she cries out from inside her house as she gives birth (exactly like Phaedria, another invisible love interest, does in Plautus’s Aulularis).

But this is one more line than Charinus’s lady love Philumena, the daughter of Chremes, is awarded, as she never appears at all. They are almost invisible cogs in the machine of the plot.

Rather than the love interests, the central figure of the play, as so often, is the canny slave, in this case Pamphilus’s slave, Davos, who devises a cunning plan to rescue his master and unite him with his girl. This plan goes badly wrong to begin with but he manages to recover it at the last minute, so that the play ends with a happy marriage.

The plot

Sosia and Simo

Simo, the father, explains the backstory of the play to the elderly family freed slave Sosia: the story of Chryses coming to Athens, her success in garnering lovers, how Simo knows that his son Pamphilus hung round in their set but wasn’t actually in love with her. How Simo’s neighbour Chremes has offered his daughter’s hand in marriage to Pamphilus, and that today is the day set for the wedding feast.

Simo goes on to say that a few days after he and Chremes sealed the deal, this neighbouring courtesan Chryses passed away. Simo attended the funeral and it was there that he saw his son dash forward to prevent Glycerium getting too close to Chryses’ pyre. Then Chremes got to hear about Pamphilus’ love for Glycerium and so called off the wedding of Pamphilus and his own daughter.

Sosia is confused: if the wedding has been called off, how come caterers are arriving and setting up for the wedding feast? Simo replies that he has two very specific aims: one, if Pamphilus refuses to take part in the wedding feast he’s staging, then he’ll have a real reason to rebuke him; two, if his rogue of a servant Davos has any tricks up his sleeve, Simo hopes he’ll deploy them here, at the fake wedding, rather than at the real one. [This slightly convoluted logic explains why a wedding feast is in preparation, even though the bride’s father, Chremes, has cancelled her participation in it.]

So the upshot of this rather complicated story is that Simo wants Sosia to supervise the setting up of the feast and keep his eye open for scams. So, with these instructions the freed slave Sosia goes through the door into Simo’s house.

Enter Davos

Davos is Pamphilus’s smart young slave who will emerge as the main driver of the play. Simo warns him that if he tries to pull off any smart tricks to help Pamphilus, Simo will have him whipped senseless then sent to the mills. As with all of Plautus’s plays, I am appalled at the way extreme violence is routinely threatened to all the slaves and for laughs! Simo exits leaving Davos alone onstage.

Davos soliloquises

Davos explains he wants to help his master, Pamphilus, but is understandably worried about getting into trouble with his actual owner, Simo – the man who just threatened him with a whipping!

Davos goes on to explain that Pamphilus and Glycerium are behaving like naughty children, specially as Glycerium is pregnant. They’re promoting the story that Glycerium isn’t Chryses sister at all, that she was shipwrecked as a baby off the coast of Andros. She was in the care of a merchant and they were both taken in by a kindly local. The merchant then died leaving the local to raise the orphan girl Glycerium alongside his own daughter, Chryses. But – and this is the important point – not only are the girls not sisters, but Glycerium is a freeborn Athenian. This, apparently, really matters. If she was the daughter of a slave and had grown up to become a courtesan, she would be no fit wife for a wealthy man’s son like Pamphilus. But if it can be proven that she is freeborn, that changes everything. She would be a worthy bride.

Having explained all this to the audience, Davos exits.

Enter Mysis

Mysis is a maid of Glycerium. She comes out of Glycerium’s house, as so often in these plays, calling back something to someone inside. She is being sent to fetch a noted midwife, Lesbia, to handle the delivery of Glycerium’s baby.

Enter Pamphilus

Pamphilus has heard from his father that the latter has organised his wedding today, without even telling him! He rants and raves and says he is cursed since he can’t refuse his father but doesn’t want to go through with marriage to a woman he doesn’t love.

Mysis steps forward and Pamphilus asks how her mistress i.e. Pamphilus’s beloved, Glycerium, is. Mysis replies that Glycerium is scared to death of giving birth and that she’ll be abandoned by Pamphilus. Upset, Pamphilus swears he will stick by her. He quotes the deathbed scene in which ailing Chrysis left Glycerium to Pamphilus’s care to protect and look after.

PAMPHILUS: Oh Mysis, Mysis, the words Chryses used of her are forever written in my heart. (p.51)

Pamphilus regards it as a sacred duty. Exit Mysis to fetch the midwife, Pamphilus moves to the side of the stage.

Enter Charinus

Enter Charinus and his servant Byrria. Charinus is Pamphilus’s best friend. He is in love with Philumena, who is a) the daughter of Chremes, Simo’s best friend and b) the very woman Pamphilus is supposed to be marrying today. He has just heard the news about the wedding feast and is distraught. Byrria is his down to earth slave, delivering cynical punchlines to Charinus playing the distraught lover.

Charinus and Pamphilus

Pamphilus moves back to centre stage and Charinus confronts him. Begs him not to marry Philumena today, as he himself is in love with her. Tells Pamphilus if he married Philumena it is the last he’ll see of him. Pamphilus quickly assures Charinus he is not in love with Philumena and has no intention of marrying her if he can help it. They make a pact: Pamphilus will do everything he can to avoid marrying Philumena if, at the same time, Charinus does everything he can to win her.

Enter Davos

Davos is excited to find his master and Charinus. He thinks he has the solution to their problems. He’s been hanging round Chremes’ house and there’s absolutely no preparation for a wedding there. So he tells Pamphilus and Charinus that the wedding feast is a fake. Simo is faking a wedding feast so that, if Pamphilus pulls out, he can land all the blame on him.

Charinus is delighted to learn it isn’t a real wedding, but Davos points out that just because Pamphilus is not marrying Philumena doesn’t necessarily mean Charinus will win her. He needs to go and ‘canvas’ her father’s friends. [Interesting insight into ancient marriage practices.]

Davos now proposes his plan. He tells Pamphilus to agree to the marriage. That way his father can have absolutely no reproach against him. ‘But what if I end up accidentally being married to Philumena?’ Pamphilus protests. Davos insists there’s no danger of that, because Chremes won’t let her marry him, because of his public display of affection for Glycerium. With Davos’s plan,:

  • Pamphilus will gain his father’s good wishes
  • all the blame for the failed wedding will fall on Chremes
  • and his father will be all the more favourable to finding him another bride

At that point they’ll manoeuvre him into accepting Glycerium. Pamphilus is understandably very doubtful about all this, but Davos talks him into it.

Enter Simo, shadowed by Byrria

Pamphilus’s father enters, but he is being tailed by Byrria, who’s been told by Charinus to follow him about and report everyone’s actions and responses. So he spies on the others while himself invisible.

1. When Simo tells Pamphilus that today is the day of his wedding, Pamphilus astonishes him by saying he will be guided by him in everything and will marry whoever he wants. Simo is astonished and Pamphilus meekly goes into the family house.

2. Byrria spied all thus, unseen, and is horrified because he thinks Pamphilus is reneging on his deal with his master. Byrria goes off to tell his master the bad news, leaving just Davos and Simo onstage.

Simo cross-questions Davos, convinced something is going on but Davos remains straight-faced and says he’s sure Pamphilus will obey his father. Davos tries to throw Simo off the scent by telling his son does have one grudge against him – that he’s tight with money and scrimping on this wedding feast. That nettles Simo.

Enter Mysis and Lesbia

Things are going just right when enter Mysis the serving girl who’s fetched Lesbia the midwife. As they go into Glycerium’s house they chatter for just long enough to blow up Davos’s plan, because Mysis tells Lesbia what a lovely young gentleman Pamphilus is, how he has sworn to remain loyal to her, and how she is about to have his baby!!!!

They enter the house and Simo explodes with indignation. But…at that moment Glycerium calls out in her labour pains to the goddess Juno Lucina and…Simo decides it’s all a con. It’s too contrived. She isn’t really having a baby, this is all some scam of Davos’s to horrify Chremes into cancelling the marriage.

Davos takes advantage of Simo’s misinterpretation to say that, ‘Yes, Simo is correct, it’s all a cunning scheme hatched by Glycerium to wreck the marriage and steal Pamphilus. Her next step will be to borrow a baby from somewhere and place it on Simo’s doorstep as if it is hers and Pamphilus’s.’

Simo thanks Davos for his loyal service and the latter goes into the house, leaving Simo to tell the audience that his next step is to ask Chremes to agree to hand over his daughter for the wedding.

Enter Chremes

Simo describes how he and Chremes have been friends since boyhood, and now he wants his daughter to marry Pamphilus. Chremes is sceptical, what about the foreign woman. Simo assures him that the young couple have fallen out, been trading insults, and so now is the time to quickly marry him to Philumena, and get him to redirect his affections into a respectable channel. Chremes asks how he knows this. Simo replies that Davos told him and he calls Davos out of his house.

Enter Davos

Simo tells Davis he has now, reluctantly, come round to trusting him and believes him when he says his son, Pamphilus, is a reformed character and definitely wants to marry Philumena. And that he’s just persuaded Chremes, here, to marry her off today! (Chremes exits to go home and prepare Philumena for the wedding.)

Davos keeps up a running commentary of asides to the audience in which he comically reacts to this disastrous news. Chremes agreeing to marry off his daughter?! The wedding going ahead?! This is a catastrophe. What can he do?

Exit Simo, enter Pamphilus

Simo goes into his house to tell Pamphilus the good news, while Davos laments that he’s going to get the blame for everything. And sure enough a few moments later Pamphilus bursts out of the house, furious. He accuses Davos of screwing everything up and asks him what punishment he thinks he deserves? Davos astonishes me by saying ‘Crucifixion’ (p.69). The casualness with which these violent punishments of slaves are tossed about never ceases to flabbergast me.

Enter Charinus

Charinus has just received Byrria’s mistaken report that Pamphilus intends to go ahead with the wedding, and now runs onstage to deliver a soliloquy on the perfidy of friends. Now he intends to find Pamphilus and heap abuse on him.

Pamphilus hears all this from the side of the stage then steps forward and apologises to Charinus. Charinus accuses Pamphilus of only falling in love with Philumena after he, Charinus, had declared his love for her. Pamphilus tells him he’s got it all wrong. It was Davos who persuaded him to agree to the marriage. They then both turn on poor Davos, who tries to defend himself, saying he’s a loyal slave and works day and night in his master’s best interests. Anyway, has anyone else got a better plan?

Enter Mysis

Mysis comes out of Glycerium’s house [the reader tries to ignore the absurdity of everyone discussing the inconvenience of Pamphilus’s foreign lover when her house is right next door to Pamphilus’s.] Mysis tells Pamphilus her mistress is desperate for him. Pamphilus assures Mysis that he will remain loyal to Glycerium no matter what.

During all this Davos comes up with another plan. He tells the two men he’s in a hurry to implement it so Pamphilus goes into Glycerium’s house to see his beloved. Charinus then pesters Davos to help him. Davos says his first loyalty is to his master but he’ll see what he can do. And Charinus exits, going home.

Davos tells Mysis to wait here for him and pops into Glycerium’s house. He re-emerges with the newborn baby and gives it to Mysis and tells her to lay it on Simo’s front door. He wants her to do it so that, later, if anyone asks him whether he did it, he can answer with a clear conscience that he didn’t.

Enter Chremes

But his cunning plan is interrupted when along comes old Chremes, father of the bride. Davos runs off, leaving Mysis alone.

Chremes is congratulating himself on having made all the preparations for the marriage of his daughter when he sees the baby on Simo’s doorstep. What is all this?

At this point Davos re-enters, talking out loud and pretending to have just come from the busy market. He spots the baby on the doorstep and loudly asks Mysis who the baby is and what it’s doing there (in order to persuade Chremes he has nothing to do with it). Davos cross questions Mysis very loudly for the benefit of Chremes who is listening. Mysis is bewildered by Davos asking questions he knows the answer to but he hisses at her to play along.

And so Chremes overhears Mysis explain that this baby is Glycerium’s and that Pamphilus is the father. Davos denies it and pretends to accuse Mysis of being part of a monstrous plot, saying the baby was smuggled in by the midwife and is not Pamphilus’s and is part of a plot to discredit Pamphilus and put Chremes off allowing his daughter to marry him.

Of course Chremes has overheard all this, in fact Davos staged the loud dialogue for his benefit. Now he steps forward and Davos play acts surprise that he’s been here all along. Chremes is predictably outraged by all he’s heard and insists on going into Simo’s house to confront him.

Enter Crito

At just this moment when things are hanging in the balance, enter Crito. He is a middle-aged man from Athens, cousin to the dead Chryses. He tells us that Chryses’ friend Glycerium appears to have inherited Chryses’ property but it should really go to him by rights. This is because Glycerium has always been thought of as Chryses’ sister but she isn’t. Crito is here to prove the story that she is not Chryses’ sister but an unrelated foundling. Of course he’s got a vested interest in doing so because then, as her nearest kin, he’ll get Chryses’ inheritance.

He’s already known to Mysis, who welcomes him and then takes him into the house to see Glycerium.

Simo and Chremes

Simo and Chremes come out of Simo’s house. Chremes is upset by what Simo is asking him, namely to marry his daughter to Pamphilus who is clearly in love with another woman – to marry his daughter into a loveless marriage, purely in an attempt to ‘reform’ young Pamphilus.

Chremes was willing to go along with it out of their old friendship, but now he hears rumours that the woman is a free citizen of Attica (the wider region surrounding Athens) and not only, that, but has had a baby by Pamphilus!

Enter Davos

At just this moment Davos comes out of Glycerium’s house rubbing his hands with glee because of the impact Crito’s arrival is going to have on everything.

Davos comes out the front door and stumbles into Simo and Chremes who promptly accuse him of lying when he said Pamphilus had argued with Glycerium, lying about their baby, and lying about Glycerium’s status as an Attican citizen.

Davos stutters with excuses and then blusters on about Crito having arrived and declaring that Glycerium is a free citizen of Attica, but Simo has had enough and calls out another one of his slaves, big lumbering threatening Dromo, to grab Davos and ‘string him up’ ready for a whipping. Dromo hustles Davos off into Simo’s house to be tied up.

At all these moments of physical threats to slaves I remember Mary Beard’s words that a working definition of a slave was someone you could offer physical violence to with no comeback (as long as it was your slave, that is).

Enter Pamphilus

Simo yells into Glycerium’s house for his son who comes out. They are both ready to give up. Simo is exhausted and tells his son that, since he is ready to disobey his father and shame his homeland in his infatuation with this woman, then why not just do it. He washes his hands of him (p.83).

SIMO: Why harass my old age with the folly of a boy like this?

Instead of yelping with joy, Pamphilus is overcome with remorse and offers to give up his beloved and do whatever his father wishes (p.84).

Simo accuses him of having arranged for this witness to appear to prove that Glycerium is freeborn as if it’s a really big deal. Pamphilus swears he hasn’t, that it’s only a coincidence and asks to call Crito out to prove so.

Chremes persuades Simo to accede to this wish. In fact it’s really notable how mellow and forgiving Chremes becomes. As father and son recriminate each other, Chremes intervenes to tell Simo he ought to be more forgiving. All the characters are, deep down, nice and well meaning.

Re-enter Crito

Turns out that Crito and Chremes know each other, so Crito’s bona fides are established from the start. Nonetheless, Simo is witheringly scornful and accuses him of being paid to bear witness that Glycerium is a freeborn woman because that makes Pamphilus’s marriage to her socially acceptable.

For his part, Crito gets very cross at being treated like a liar and proceeds to tell the key backstory which transforms the situation: 20 years ago a citizen of Attica was shipwrecked on the coast of Andros. With him was a small girl. The traveller lost everything in the wreck and the first person to offer help was the father of the little girl who grew up to be Chrysis. Well, this benefactor who helped the shipwreckees out was a relative of Crito (who is telling the story). The shipwrecked man died.

Suddenly Chremes becomes very interested and begs Crito to tell him the name of the shipwrecked man. When Crito reveals it was Phania, who claimed to be a citizen of Rhamnus, Chremes is thunderstruck: Phania was his brother! And he was taking Chremes’s young daughter to come and meet him (Chremes) when they were shipwrecked.

The identification is clinched when Pamphilus tells Chremes that Glycerium is not the girl from Andros’s original name – her original name was Pasibula. In other words – Glycerium is Chremes’s long-lost daughter!!!

At a stroke:

  1. Simo is reconciled to his son marrying Glycerium (‘The truth has reconciled me to everything’)
  2. Chremes is delighted to be reunited with his long-lost daughter
  3. Chremes is double delighted to have such a worthy son in law, Pamphilus, and offers him a dowry of 60,000 drachmas on the spot, which he accepts
  4. and Pamphilus:

Oh, I’m beside myself, my head’s in a whirl with hope and fear and delight at this marvellous, unexpected, immense good fortune! (p.86)

Pamphilus says Davos must help Glycerium over to their house for a celebration. ‘Oh, er, well, he’s a bit tied up,’ his father replies. He runs inside to get his slaves to untie him and a few moments later Davos comes out rubbing his arms and shoulders.

Charinus enters but unobserved by the other two, while Pamphilus is telling Davos that all his troubles are over – that Glycerium has been revealed as Chremes’s long-lost daughter and that both Chremes and Pamphilus’s dad have agreed to their marriage.

Davos is delighted, but not as much as Charinus for this means Pamphilus won’t be marrying Philumena after all, leaving her free for him!

Rush ending

The play ends in a spectacularly hurried flurry of phrases because Pamphilus announces they can’t wait for Chremes to come out of the house and have to go through the whole fol-de-rol of Charinus asking for the hand of his other daughter in marriage. Instead Pamphilus and Charinus both hurry into Glycerium’s house to fetch her to the feast, leaving Davos onstage to wind up with the extremely brief words:

You needn’t wait for them to come out again; the other betrothal and any other business will take place in there. Now give us your applause! (p.90)

Thoughts

Double plot

I’ve read that Terence’s contribution to dramaturgy was developing the ‘double plot’ which a) makes the plays more complicated and sophisticated b) gives more scope for comedy. But as you can see, although there’s a sort of parallel between the two young men Pamphilus and Charinus being in love with two young women, Glycerium and Philumena, it’s very one-sided. All the emphasis is on the Pamphilus-Glycerium story and Charinus only has a handful of scenes, in most of which he whines unattractively, and Philumena never makes an appearance.

Above all, none of it is very funny, certainly not as laugh-out-loud funny as Plautus. Probably in performance a lot of the scenes which feature asides, especially the ones featuring Davos, these might be funny if done well by a good comic actor. But there is nothing intrinsically funny in any of the scenes. It’s cleverly and elaborately constructed, it moves at a cracking pace, but it lacks the wisecracking, rackety, gagfest feel of a Plautus play.

Related to this is the way the characters are all, at bottom, nice and well meaning. Their opinions, like the two I’ve quoted as epigraphs to this review, are eminently sensible. This explains why Terence’s plays were recommended to be taught in schools by no less of an earnest figure than Martin Luther. The ending doesn’t come as a shock and comic surprise – it feels more like the inevitable conclusion given that everyone is so basically nice. There is no wicked baddie driving the action, just a few genuine misunderstandings and misaligned intentions which take a little sorting out and then everyone can be happy.


Credit

Page references are to the 1976 Penguin paperback edition of Terence: The Comedies edited and translated by Betty Radice.

Roman reviews

Miles Gloriosus by Plautus (c.200 BC)

The Latin title translates as The Boastful Soldier. It was based on a (now lost) Greek original titled Alazon or The Braggart (as Plautus tells us in the prologue). The play was so popular in its day and after, that the title gave its name to a stock character type, the miles gloriosus, the stereotype of the swaggering vainglorious but, in reality, cowardly soldier who featured in comedies for the next 1,500 years, appearing in Shakespeare and other European authors,

The characters all have Greek names and the play is set in the Greek city of Ephesus and, once you start reading the biggest surprise about the plot is how peripheral to it the boastful soldier is. The play opens with a short scene showing the boastful soldier, Pyrgopolynices, outside his house accompanied by his parasite or sycophant Artotrogus for some comic banter. As mentioned in previous reviews, parasitus is the word used for this character type but Watling thinks it is better translated as ‘table companion’ i.e. a man who sucks up to a rich patron, is flattering and amusing and is rewarded with a place at his table. The relationship is made crystal clear when, after flattering Pyrgopolynices with an account of the huge number of men he has killed in heroic encounters, Pyrgopolynices declares:

PYRGOPOLYNICES: Go on as you are doing, my man, and you will never go hungry. I give you the freedom of my table. (p.155)

The essence of the ‘parasite’s role is captured in this phrase. Anyway, Pyrgopolynices says he needs to round up his troop and go to the forum to pay some recruits he’s recently gathered for the King of Seleucia, so off he and Artotrogus go.

The plot

Enter Palaestrio

Enter the clever slave, Palaestrio, and he becomes the central character of the first half of the play, the prime mover of the plots and its scams.

Palaestrio explains in a lengthy speech that he previously lived in Athens where he served a young Athenian, Pleusicles. Pleusicles had a girlfriend named Philocomasium. Pleusicles was sent on a diplomatic mission to Naupactus and, while he was out of town, Pyrgopolynices ingratiated himself with the girl’s mother, bringing her presents, paying court to the young woman until one day, when the mother’s back was turned, Pyrgopolynices abducted Philocomasium, carrying off to the port and by ship back here to Ephesus.

The loyal slave Palaestrio tried to go to his master with this bad news but was himself captured by pirates and given (by an enormous coincidence) to the same soldier, Pyrgopolynices, as his slave.

Palaestrio secretly sent a letter to his former master telling him where he and Philocomasium were. As a result Pleusicles has now come to Ephesus and is staying with an old man, Periplectomenus, who lives next door to Pyrgopolynices.

So this play can be categorised as one of Plautus’s next door comedies, along with Trinummus, Aulularia, Menaechmi and Pseudolus, which all use the same device of situating the homes of the two main characters next door to each other.

So as the play opens, both Palaestrio and the abducted Philocomasium are living in Pyrgopolynices’s house in Ephesus – her lover Pleusicles is staying in the house next door – and Palaestrio has cut a hole in the party wall between the two houses to allow the two lovers to see each other another (p.157). And hug and kiss.

So deep down the structure is very simple. The ‘problem’ of the play is that although the lovers are pretty much physically reunited already, some way must be found to get Pyrgopolynices to formally relinquish his ‘ownership’ of Philocomasium so that she becomes free to marry Pleusicles.

Sceledrus sees the kissers

First, however, there is a problem which drives the first half of the plot. One of Palaestrio’s fellow servants, the ‘stupid slave’ Sceledrus, has spotted Pleusicles and Philocomasium having a snog. If he tells Pyrgopolynices, then the reunion of the lovers will be over before it’s started.

Therefore Palaestrio cooks up a holding manoeuvre, which is to persuade Sceledrus that Philocomasium’s identical twin sister has come to town with her fiancé and that it was this identical twin sister who Sceledrus saw snogging Pleusicles, her legitimate fiancé (p.161).

This triggers a lot of comic business such as Philocomasium lounging in the soldier’s house so Sceledrus can see her there, then nipping through the hole between the two houses (while Sceledrus keeps a close watch on the front doors of both houses) so that she can emerge from Periplectomenus’s house in the guise of a completely different woman, while the bewildered Sceledrus had close watch on the two front doors and so is utterly convinced she can’t have got from one house to the next.

It’s worth noting that Philocomasium plays a central part in creating and maintaining the illusion of the identical twin, calling herself Honoria when in the guise of the Pleusicles’ beloved in Periplectomenus’s house.This is an unusually prominent and leading role for a young woman in a Plautus play. (And obviously it’s another play featuring identical twins, as in Menaechmi, albeit fake or non-existent identical twins.)

Anyway, with Palaestrio, Philocomium and Periplectomenus all ganging up to assure Sceledrus that he saw Philocomium’s twin sister kissing Pleusicles – and with some comic business of him going into first one house then the other and seeing Philocomium in both, Sceledrus eventually, reluctantly, comes to believe it himself. He is forced to grovellingly apologise to Periplectomenus for manhandling Philocomium earlier, when he thought she was guilty of the kiss, and comes to fear the whole thing is some kind of plot to have him (Sceledrus) sold off in shame, allowing Palaestrio to take the position of top dog in Pyrgopolynices’s household (where he is already a favourite).

The conspirators

Once Sceledrus has gone back into the Captain’s house, enter canny Palaestrio, the young lover Pleusicles and next door’s Periplectomenus. It is clear they are all on the same page, all friends, and all determined to help young Pleusicles.

At first they all agree that Periplectomenus is the ideal host and Pleusicles is very grateful for all his help and goes on to sing Periplectomenus’s praises and Periplectomenus joins in, explaining that, at the age of 54, he is a considerate host and a well-mannered guest, a lovely man all round.

When one of them asks if he doesn’t miss his dead wife, this scene morphs into a disquisition on the evil of wives and the joys of bachelorhood, displaying the same general anti-women animus – call it sexism or misogyny – as all the other plays. Mind you, he also sings the praises of not having any children, so it’s more pro-male freedom than anti-women, as such. And anyway, a few minutes earlier, he was full of praise for the way Philocomium played the role of the innocent twin sister outraged at the slave Sceledrus’s accusations.

Periplectomenus is about to launch into a long disquisition on the deficient table manners of the poor when Palaestrio tactfully reminds them that maybe they ought to return to the business in hand i.e. plans to take the Captain down a peg or two and to help Pleusicles obtain his lady love.

Palaestrio’s plan

Palaestrio tells them his plan. He asks Periplectomenus is he knows of an attractive woman who’d be up for playing a trick, with a maid. Periplectomenus says he does, knows just the woman, very attractive and willing to do anything for pay.

Well, Palaestrio’s plan is to pay this woman to pretend for a day to be Periplectomenus’s wife, and live with him, but to take the pretence a step further by pretending she is secretly in love with Pyrgopolynices. What they’ll do is take a ring of Periplectomenus’s, say he has given it to his wife, then Palaestrio will say he has been asked by the wife to give this ring to the Captain as a token of her secret love. He’ll immediately be inflamed with the urge to seduce her, and the game will be afoot.

So Periplectomenus agrees to a) give Palaestrio a big ring he usually wears and b) go and get the woman (and her maid) who he thinks will be willing to play the role.

Palaestrio and Lurcio

Paleatrio knocks on the Captain’s door and it is opened by his servant Lurcio. There follows a rather laboured exchange in which Palaestrio establishes that Sceledrus has drunk himself into a stupor fuelled by the wine that the potboy, Lurcio, has provided him with. That’s to say they’ve been illegally drinking the master’s wine so when Palaestrio threatens to expose him, Lurcio decides to go into hiding for a bit. Good. That’s one more servant out of the way (given that Sceledrus is sleeping off his boozy lunch).

Introducing Acroteleutium and Milphidippa

An interlude in which Periplectomenus introduces to Palaestrio the two women he mentioned earlier, the clever, attractive, canny Acroteleutium and her maid, Milphidippa. Acroteleutium makes it clear that she totally understands the role she must play and is all-too-willing to take down that ‘public pest, that big-mouthed menace to women, that scent-reeking hairdressers’ delight, Pyrgopolynices (p.188).

Good. Palaestrio tells them to go into Periplectomenus’s house while he goes to find the Captain in the forum, there to tell him that Periplectomenus’s wife is madly in love with him and give him Periplectomenus’s ring as a token of her infatuation.

Palaestrio fools Pyrgopolynices

We witness the scene in which Palaestrio gives Pyrgopolynices the supposed love token from Periplectomenus’s supposed wife. That’s the easy bit. The next bit is more dicey. Palaestrio points out that Pyrgopolynices can hardly seduce Periplectomenus’s wife if that other girl, Philocomium, is hanging round. True, the Captain replies, what should he do? Well, Palaestrio says, he just happens to know that the girl’s twin sister and mother have arrived in Ephesus looking for her (the Captain is suitably surprised). Best thing would be to let her keep whatever jewels and clothes he’s given her to date, and hand her back to her family in a polite and respectful way (p.190).

Milphidippa and Pyrgopolynices

All this time they’ve been walking across stage to the Captain’s house and, at this point, see someone come out of Periplectomenus’s house. It’s the maid. Palaestrio tells the Captain to hide so they can see what she’s about. Milphidippa, perceiving that they are overhearing her, goes out of her way to play her part, loudly describing how desperately her mistress is in love with the legendary Pyrgopolynices.

Overhearing all this, Pyrgopolynices is tempted to have a shot at the maid but Palaestrio tells him to hold back and wait for the mistress herself. First Palaestrio nips over to the maid and has a few words to check she’s up to speed with the plot and will describe her mistress as swooning for love; then he nips back to Pyrgopolynices and advises him to play hard to get.

Then the maid is introduced to Pyrgopolynices for a comic dialogue, with both playing the roles Palaestrio has suggested for them, commenting all the way through and, in asides, mocking Pyrgopolynices’s preposterous posturing.

Eventually Milphidippa is dispatched to fetch her mistress. So this brings to a head the issue of what to do with the other woman, Philcomium. First some jokes. When Palaestrio tells the Captain that her twin sister is staying next door, Pyrgopolynices, wonders if he should have a shot at her, too; when Palaestrio says the twins’ mother is currently resting on the ship that brought them from Athens, Pyrgopolynices wonders about having a pot at her as well; and when Palaestrio says the twin’s chaperone is also staying next door (meaning Pleaucles) Pyrgopolynices asks whether he’s an attractive youth – to all of which Palaestrio ironically comments that Pyrgopolynices is an unstoppable bull, a veritable stallion! (p.197)

But no, first things first, they have to dispense with Philocomium and Palaestrio recommends it will be best coming from the captain himself. So Pyrgopolynices goes into his house to give Philocomium her marching orders.

The conspirators

Out of Periplectomenus’s house come the old bachelor himself, Acroteleutium, Milphidippa and  Pleusicles i.e. the conspirators are all assembled and Palaestrio runs them once more through the parts they are to play and what they are to say. They decide that Acroteleutium is not merely to tell the Captain how much she fancies him, but to tell him she has divorced Periplectomenus and now owns the house next door. This is to allay any scruples the Captain might have about swiving a woman in her husband’s house (unlikely though the existence of any such scruples might be).

It also occurs to me that part of the pleasure of a scam like this, for the audience, whether in an ancient play or in modern scams like The Italian Job or Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, is that there is a certain glee in watching comic conspirators come up with a comic plan and work through its details. We, the audience, become part of the fun.

A further element to the scam is that Pleusicles is to dress up as the captain of a ship (described in detail on p.200). He is to tell Philocomium, in front of Pyrgopolynices, that her mother has ordered the ship to set sail back for Athens and she must come straight away if she is to be on it. I.e. it is a scam to get her to leave immediately, thus clearing the way for Pyrgopolynices’s supposed conquest.

In case Pleusicles hasn’t guessed it yet, Palaestrio will come with them, ostensibly to help carry the girl’s luggage, but in fact to set sail with them never to return. At which Pleusicles promises to give the slave his freedom. (Freeing the clever slave is as central to the happy resolution of these plots as the marriage of the lovers.) They all go back into Perplectomenus’s house except for Palaestrio.

Re-enter Pyrgopolynices

Pyrgopolynices tells Palaestrio he has successfully persuaded Philocomium to leave his house. Took a while, comments Palaestrio. Yes, she refused to go until I gave her you, says Pyrgopolynices. She wouldn’t leave without you and so I give you to her and will set you free when all this is over. (Obviously this was a joke to the contemporary audience, but brings home just how central the freedom of the slave character was to these plots.)

Anyway, right on cue arrive Acroteleutium and Milphidippa, ready themselves to play their parts, and then speak up in loud voices intended to be overheard by the Captain and Palaestrio, who hide to one side of the stage. In a very funny series of exchanges Acroteleutium tells her maid how madly, foolishly she is in love with the great hero, while Palaestrio sycophantically tells the Captain such passion is only the due of such a great man.

Acroteleutium pretends to be able to scent and intuit that great man is not in his house but is outside, here, somewhere nearby and pretends to swoon with passion. She sends her maid to talk to him. Milphidippa approaches Pyrgopolynices and Palaestrio and says she has produced her mistress, as promised. Pyrgopolynices asks what she wants of him. Milphidippa replies her mistress wants him to visit her in her house. Pyrgopolynices is momentarily reluctant to visit her in another man’s house until the maid tells him, as planned, that Acroteleutium has divorced her husband and the house is now hers. At which Pyrgopolynices enthusiastically agrees and says he’ll be along in a minute.

Milphidippa returns to Acroteleutium, tells her the Captain’s message and they go back inside Periplectomenus’s house.

Pleusicles as ship’s captain

Next thing Pyrgopolynices and Palaestrio spy Pleusicles dressed as a ship’s captain coming along the street. He comes swaggering up and knocks at the Captain’s door. Pyrgopolynices and Palaestrio ask who he is and he plays his part perfectly, saying he is the ship’s captain and that Philocomium’ mother is waiting for her. Keen to get rid of Philocomium, Pyrgopolynices tells Palaestrio to get some slaves to carry all the girl’s gold and jewellery, clothes and valuables down to the ship.

So out comes Philocomosium pretending to be distraught at having to leave the Captain, who of course, takes her worship and distress as only fitting such a hero as himself.

The whole thing is nearly ruined when Philocomium pretends to swoon with tragic distress and Pleusicles catches her and take the opportunity of having a quick snog, and Pyrgopolynices thinks he catches sight of them and is momentarily suspicious. But Palaestrio manages to intervene with some bluster and the slaves appear carrying all her luggage and Pyrgopolynices is mollified and off Philocomium and Pleusicles go.

Palaestrio takes the opportunity for a prolonged and fake-impassioned farewell to Pyrgopolynices, telling him how much he will miss his inspiring example and, with heavy dramatic irony, how Pyrgopolynices will soon realise who were his true slaves and who his disloyal ones. Then he exits.

Pyrgopolynices’s come-uppance

Now the stage is set for the comic catastrophe. A slave boy comes out of Periplectomenus’s house and tells him his mistress is waiting within, overflowing with passion. But when Pyrgopolynices goes inside, the audience hears a rumpus and commotion. This then spills out onstage where Periplectomenus accuses Pyrgopolynices of seducing another man’s wife in his house, and gets his slaves to arrange Pyrgopolynices for a serious flogging by laying him out flat and spread-eagled and holding him down. Not only this but he has one of his cooks brandish a sharp knife and declare he is ready to gut Pyrgopolynices and use his intestines as baubles for the little slave boy (p.210). Or do they mean castrate him? It’s not totally clear.

They actually beat Pyrgopolynices a few times as he begs them to stop at which point Periplectomenus extracts from him a promise, a pledge, that he will never take revenge on anyone for this day’s events or the flogging he’s received. Pyrgopolynices desperately agrees, vowing to take no revenge on anyone or let him be impotent for life. He even agrees to hand over 100 drachmas to the cook for the privilege of not being cut open, and willingly hands over his tunic, cloak and sword into the bargain.

Thus the play ends with the young lovers safely escaped, the canny slave given his freedom, and the braggart soldier stripped and humiliated.

The final humiliation comes when Sceledrus returns with the slaves who have carried all Philocomium’s baggage down to the harbour, and tells Pyrgopolynices that the ship’s captain was none other than her long-term lover. At which point Pyrgopolynices groans and realises how completely he’s been had, and all arranged by that ‘double-dyed villain’, Palaestrio who he has just given his freedom.

At which point one of the actors, unnamed, turns to the audience and bluntly says:

Give us your applause.

THE END.


Credit

Page references are to the Penguin paperback edition of The Pot of Gold and Other Plays by Plautus, translated by E.F. Watling and published by Penguin in 1965.

Related link

Roman reviews

Aulularia (The Pot of Gold) by Plautus (c.200 BC)

Aulularia or the Pot of Gold

Aulularia literally means little pot but this play’s title is most often translated into English as ‘Pot of Gold’. It’s a classic ‘new comedy’ in that it is entirely domestic in focus and revolves around an obstructive father blocking a happy marriage of the younger generation although, as you’ll see, the focus is really on the psychological problems of the father, namely his monomaniacal miserliness, rather than his blocking tactics.

All the other characters are really incidental to milking the comic potential of this one obsessive old man. Thus the young ‘hero’ only appears three times and his daughter, Phaedria, the love interest, never appears at all, we just hear one line of her from inside Euclio’s house as she cries out in labour, something I was surprised by in this play but, once I came to read the same event occurring in other Plautus plays and even in plays by Terence, I came to realise was a stock convention.

From a translation/editorial point of view the most notable thing about this edition is that the editor, E.F. Watling, himself wrote i.e. invented, the final quarter of the play, which is missing from all manuscripts.

The plot

Prologue by Lar familiaris

Euclio is an old man and miser. His house is protected by a household god, Lar Familiaris, who knew his grandfather and father. This household god gives a prologue in which he explains that the grandfather was a miser who buried a pot of gold in the house. His son inherited the house but was mean and tight-fisted so the household god didn’t reveal his secret to him. When he died his son inherited, the current owner of the house, Euclio. He also is a tightwad, but his grown up daughter, Phaedria, is lovely to the god and brings offerings to his shrine almost every day and so the spirit has just revealed the pot of gold to Euclio solely so that the latter has a dowry with which his daughter can be married off.

For good measure, the household god tells us that she is already in love with the stereotypical handsome young man, Lyconides, that in fact they’ve slept together already. The god’s plan is for the old neighbour, the bachelor Megadorus, to propose marriage to Euclio, which will put the young man, Lyconides’s proposal in a favourable light and make it more likely to be accepted.

But in the short term the problem is that the discovery of a stash of gold in his house, far from delighting Euclio, has turned him into an over-sensitive, paranoid bundle of nerves, petrified that other people will discover it, steal it, are talking about it and conspiring behind his back. It is, he tells us, driving him off his head with worry (p.15).

Introducing Euclio

Which explains why the first scene opens with Euclio barging his elderly female slave Staphyla into the street and accusing her of spying on him. He threatens to beat her, send her to the gallows or poke her eyes out (!). She for her part is bewildered by his recent irrational tempers, which will make it all the harder to reveal to him that his daughter is pregnant!

Anyway, Euclio has to hustle off because the head of his ward is distributing a donation (no footnote to explain this, or any other historical references). Euclio is paranoid that if he doesn’t go along to claim his share everyone will realise he is rich, so he scuttles off.

Euclio’s neighbour Megadorus

The set consists of two houses next to each other. Out the front door of the other one emerges Euclio’s neighbour Megadorus being pushed by his sister Eunomia. Megadorus is a genial old confirmed bachelor. However, Eunomia gives him a hard time telling him it’s about time he got married. Megadorus nearly shrieks with horror and they argue. Finally, Megadorus says his sister can stop nagging him because, OK, yes, he will get married and he has his eye on someone – the beautiful daughter of his next door neighbour Euclio. Eunomia grudgingly accepts this and goes back inside.

At this moment along comes Euclio on the way back from his meeting and Megadorus politely greets him and starts chatting. But Euclio is convinced he’s only doing so because he’s heard about the pot of gold or is fishing for it and rudely bustles into his house to check the pot is still there.

Megadorus asks to marry Euclio’s daughter

He returns somewhat reassured, the conversation resumes and Megadorus makes his pitch, asking if he may have Euclio’s daughter’s hand in marriage. Ever paranoid, Euclio is convinced Megadorus, from a well off, high status family, is mocking him. Megadorus is politely trying to reassure him when Euclio hears the clink of a spade and breaks off to go running back into his house, convinced burglars are digging up and stealing the pot of gold.

When Euclio returns for a second time Megadorus reassures him that one of his men is digging in his garden, that must be what he heard. Anyway, does he agree to let him marry his daughter? Euclio does, but on the clear understanding that he is a poor man and so she comes with no dowry. Yes, yes, fine, says Megadorus, and they shake on it. And how about the ceremony? Can it be held later today? Certainly replies Euclio, setting up what will become the main setting or event of the second half, the preparations for a wedding party.

Strobilus and the cooks

We cut to a scene with Megadorus’s steward, Strobilus, who has been to market and returned with all the necessaries for a big feast, including live sheep, some flute-girls (Phrygia and Eleusium) and a couple of argumentative cooks, Anthrax (!) and Congrio. Strobilus has been ordered to split them up, assigning some to Euclio’s house to prepare the wedding feast, so he takes them round, knocks on the door and gets Euclio’s ageing serving woman Staphyla to accept them

Euclio comes home and, finding the door open and people’s voices inside immediately jumps to the conclusion that he’s being robbed. So he rushes inside and starts battering the cook and his assistants with a plank of wood. They all run out shouting, the cook Congrio running down into the audience, asking what the hell Euclio is doing while Euclio stands on stage shouting down at him that he’s a liar and a thief.

He nips back inside and re-emerges with the pot of gold under his cloak. Now he’s holding it he feels more confident and yells at the cook and his assistants to go back into his house and finish their work, which they grumblingly do.

Megadorus on the evils of dowries

Enter Megadorus who delivers an extended soliloquy about the evils of dowries, how a wife that comes with a big dowry expects her husband to treat her and lavish her with services from every kind of women’s parasite, the best clothes, make-up etc. No, there should be a national reform, dowries should be abolished, women should be married with no money so that they are entirely at the mercy and under the thumb of their husbands! (p.30).

Euclio thinks Megadorus must be after his gold

Euclio intrudes on this soliloquy but when Megadorus makes an ambiguous remark about his good fortune Euclio in his paranoia thinks he’s referring to the pot which Euclio is that moment holding under his cloak and becomes rude and angry. But I am sending you a lamb for the feast and cooks and flute girls and a casket of wine, says Megadorus – but Euclio ungratefully criticises each of these items. When Megadorus good humouredly says they’ll get rolling drunk tonight, Euclio in an aside tells the audience Megadorus wants him dead drunk so he can sniff out his gold and steal it. The play really should have been titled The Paranoid.

Well, Megadorus refuses to be made angry and goes into his house, leaving Euclio to tell us that he is going to stash his pot of gold in a shrine which has been onstage all this time, a shrine to Fide, the god of faithfulness. He goes into this little building.

Enter the canny slave

Enter the slave of Lyconides. Lyconides is the handsome son of Eunomia, Megadorus’s sister, making him Megadorus’s nephew. The slave is never given a name. He enters now and gives a little speech about how a good slave is always looking out for his master, anticipating h is needs, and heading off problems before they develop. Lyconides has just heard that his beloved Phaedria is contracted to be married to Megadorus and so has sent the slave to spy out the lie of the land and he takes a seat by on one side of the shrine of Good Faith.

At which point Euclio emerges by the other door from the shrine and gives a little speech explaining that he’s deposited his pot of gold in the shrine where it will be safe, then he heads off for his house. The slave overheard all this. ‘Well, well, well, a pot of gold, eh?’ So he goes into the shrine to find it.

Euclio and the slave fight

But at that moment Euclio comes running back, spooked by a raven which croaked on his left side, a bad omen. He runs into the shrine and of course discovers the slave who he sets about beating and hitting and accusing of being a thief, dragging him out of the shrine and onto the stage, where he fires accusations at him and thoroughly searches under his cloak and under his shirt. But the slave doesn’t actually have the pot, finally extricates himself from Euclio’s clutches and goes off cursing him.

Euclio emerges with the pot of gold and decides he’s going to bury it in a lonely grove of Silvanus outside the walls, and he sets off. The slave overheard this and rejoices, saying he’ll hide, watch where Euclio buries it, then steal it. It’ll serve him right for beating him!

Lyconides and his aunt Eunomia

Enter the young lover Lyconides talking with his mother Eunomia and telling her how much he loves Phaedria. At that moment they both her Phaedria shouting from inside Euclio’s house in her labour pains. She is giving birth! (This is very unlike the traditional comedy idea of the sweet virginal young maiden.) Lyconides begs his other to talk to her brother, Lyconides’ uncle, Megadorus, and see if he can be persuaded not to marry Phaedria after all. Eunomia agrees, and goes into Megadorus’s house to talk to him.

The slave has the pot of gold

Enter the slave bouncing with glee because he did, indeed, follow Euclio, watch him bury his pot of gold and depart, and then stole it. He is holding it now! He hears Euclio approaching and runs off.

Enter Euclio in the utmost misery, out of his mind with unhappiness. He went back to where he’d buried the pot and, of course, discovered it gone. Now he’s run onstage hysterical, and accuses everyone of stealing it, with a lot of fourth wall-breaking interaction with the audience, asking if they’ve stolen it or know who’s stolen it, and where it’s gone etc?

Lyconides asks to marry Euclio’s daughter

At this moment young Lyconides exists his uncle’s house and bumps into Euclio and there is a classic comic misunderstanding. Lyconides mistakenly thinks that Euclio is in such a state because he has discovered his daughter is having a baby, whereas he is of course, distraught about losing the pot of gold.

So there’s a page of comic verbal misunderstanding where Lyconides abjectly apologies for taking what is ‘his’ (Euclio’s) and laying his hands on ‘his property’ and there’s no excuse except he was drunk, and so on – with Lyconides referring to getting drunk and sleeping with Euclio’s daughter while Euclio thinks he’s referring to his gold!

The misunderstanding comes to an end when Euclio demands his property back and Lyconides, of course, can’t give back the girl’s virginity. Now Lyconides announces the startling news that he has persuaded his uncle not to marry Phaedria but to let him, Lyconides, marry her instead. The clinching argument being, of course, that she just happens to be having Lyconides’ baby right now!

Euclio is appalled, and further appalled to learn he will be attending the wedding as a grandfather as Phaedria is giving birth just about now. So off he goes back into his house.

The slave tells Lyconides he has the pot of gold

At which point the slave enters, very pleased with himself. He announces to Lyconides that he’s found a four-pound pot full of gold and stashed it back at their place and – now can he have his freedom?

(It’s worth stopping to reflect how many times slaves do this in Plautus, do a good deed for their masters, discover a fortune or secure the virgo for him – and immediately request their freedom. Did the millions of slaves in the ancient world live in hope of doing the one good deed which persuades their master to free them? Or is this entirely a stock situation and standard sentiment in comic plays – the slave who’s always banging on about being set free?)

Anyway, Lyconides rudely rejects the suggestion at which point the slave abruptly changes his tune and says he was just joking. Lyconides orders him to get the bloody pot of gold but his slave leaps out of his reach and runs off.

Watling’s reconstruction

At this point the original manuscript breaks off and the last eight pages, about a quarter of the Penguin text, has been ‘reconstructed’ by Watling. In his introduction he explains that manuscripts of plays by Plautus and other authors had ‘arguments’ added by later Roman editors, which summarised the entire plot. From these we know that Euclio recovered his money and made a present of it to his daughter and future son-in-law. On that slender basis Watling has concocted his own final scenes. It means we can’t use anything in these final 8 pages as evidence.

Watling’s reconstruction is much more lucid and logical than the plays often are. Thus in his next scene Megadorus encounters Lyconides and, instead of stumbling into even more convoluted complications, they both simply explain the situation to each other, namely: Megadorus has neatly got out of marrying Phaedria, which he was only doing to please his pushy sister, and Lyconides has gotten Euclio to agree to him, Lyconides, marrying her. So on the face of it the plot is resolved.

The pair cook up a resolution which is more balanced and elegant than those of Plautus’s actual plays. When Lyconides says he’s a shrewd idea his slave has stolen Euclio’s pot of god, Megadorus explains there’s a way that one simple pot can produce great happiness for three people: if Lyconides gets it back off his slave he can a) set his slave free for his good work, b) restore it to Euclio who will be delighted, c) it can be used as a dowry to accompany Phaedria and d) all this gets Megadorus off the hook of getting married which is the last thing he wants to do!

Lyconides runs off to find his slave, leaving Megadorus onstage as Euclio emerges from his house, chucking out all the cooks and their kit and yelling at them that the wedding’s off! He tells Megadorus that he and his family have made this the worst day of his life and goes on to accuse him of stealing his pot. Megadorus calmly demurs, saying it wasn’t him but he thinks he knows who did steal it.

And there is a comic quibble as Euclio turns to tell the cooks to finish dousing the fires, pack up and leave, upon which Megadorus immediately countermands his orders, and tells the cooks to go back into Euclio’s house and finish preparing the wedding feast – leaving Euclio muttering and grumbling that he is no longer even master in his own house!

But at that moment Lyconides enters with his slave and carrying the famous pot of gold. Euclio doesn’t see it, just turns his back and refuses to speak to Lyconides. So the latter hands the pot of gold to his uncle and asks Megadorus to present it to Euclio. He persuades Euclio to turn back to him and hands it over. Euclio is, of couse, ecstatic! He goes to thank Lyconides but Lyconides says it was actually his slave who found it and wished it returned (we know this isn’t true, but it sounds good) and that’s why, Lyconides declares, he has set his slave free!

There’s some comic business when Euclio recognises the slave as the lad who was hanging about the shrine of Good Faith and who he in fact beat up not so long ago. The slave is on the verge of telling the truth about how he followed Euclio, stole his pot of gold and very much didn’t want to give it back, but Lyconides nudges him and the slave remembers he’s only just been given his freedom and falls in line with the official story.

In a comic touch Euclio fulsomely thanks him for his honesty and, after poking around in the pot, gives him the smallest possible coin as a reward.

Lyconides then tries to move the conversation onto the topic of the marriage and suddenly, abruptly, Euclio hands him the pot. He has a charged little speech in which he declares how unexpectedly coming into a fortune has brought him nothing but misery. He’s been on tenterhooks of fear and anxiety every since it was discovered. Now he gladly hands it over to Lyconides as dowry for his daughter, saying: ‘Spend it wisely, my boy’. And now, for the first time in ages, he will be able to sleep soundly at night.

With that they turn to go into Euclio’s house to celebrate the wedding feast, till Lyconides nudges his uncle, asking hasn’t he forgotten something. Oh yes – Megadorus turns to address the audience, tells them he would gladly invite them to the feast but there isn’t quite enough for 600, so he merely wishes them good feasting once they get home and for their thanks and applause.

Thoughts

Greed

Well the soul-corrupting effect of greed is obviously the main theme, depriving the miser of sleep, making him over-sensitive to every sound and, above all, ruining his relationships with his fellow men, exemplified in the appalling way he treats his old housekeeper, Staphyla, the cooks, his neighbour, everyone. Greed isn’t just a personal failing, it is a socially destructive vice.

Freedom-wanting slave

Next and most striking for me is the role of slaves in all these plays, the way they all soliloquise to the audience about wanting their freedom, with some even achieving freedom as a reward for good deeds. Was real life like this? Were slaves always whining about wanting to be set free?

Invisible women

It is striking that the ‘love interest’ of the play, Euclio’s daughter Phaedria, doesn’t even appear onstage, though she does have the grand total of one line to cry out as she’s giving birth.

It would be easy to take a feminist view and write that women, young women in particular, are treated like commodities to be traded among the men. This is true as far as it goes, but is arguably only a sub-set of the larger truth which is that everyone is treated like a commodity by the author, pushed and positioned by the plot, often into very unlikely behaviour, and dropping out of sight once they’ve served their purpose, solely at the service of the plot and to get a laugh.

Improbabilities

In fact the silent woman issue is overshadowed by the huge improbability that Euclio lives with his adult daughter and has failed to notice that she is heavily pregnant. Compounded by the wild idea that she gives birth during the play itself and yet this a) doesn’t interfere with the smooth running of the plot, which carries on regardless and b) doesn’t interfere with the attitudes of Megadorus or Lyconides. I.e. his lover has just given birth to his child but he is utterly indifferent to the fact and more concerned with tying up the plotline around the pot of gold.

All the characters are mechanical functions of the plot which is itself a machine designed to elicit laughs.

In his introduction Watling says all this is excused in an actual production of the play by what he calls ‘optique du theatre’, a phrase I hadn’t read before and apparently means that logical holes in a plot are obscured by the immediate impact of scenes on stage. Later he refers to this as Plautus’s impressionistic technique whereby any kind of event, speech or joke is exploited for and justified by its immediate effect, regardless of logical inconsistencies.

Therefore the invisible woman Phaedria crying out in childbirth has no subtle implications. It is just used to intensify that particular moment onstage, to emphasise the housekeeper Staphyla’s momentary panic about what to do. Once that moment and that scene is over the entire issue of giving birth and the existence of a baby are simply forgotten in the headlong momentum of the performance.

The dowry

But in regard to women, another striking element is the important of the dowry. Living in a dowry-free society it’s almost more difficult for me to understand the concept that when a young woman got married she had to be accompanied by a large cash sum, than slavery. The notion that a woman can only be married if she is accompanied by a cash lump sum and that, if she can’t, it is a great shame on her, her father and the entire family (as in this play and also in Trinummus) comes from a world beyond my comprehension.

Ubiquitous and yet very casual slavery, and the way young women are treated like commodities and must be accompanied in marriage by a dowry – these are two elements which bring me up short every time they feature in a Plautus play.

By Hercules!

Characters swear by Hercules on pages 14, 21, 23, 28, 38 and 42, although they do invoke other deities, too, mainly Jupiter.

But Plautus wasn’t alone. From what I’ve read, Hercules was a dominating cultural presence all round the Roman world. Hercules is also the only deity invoked in Plutarch’s Life of Marius:

When [Jugurtha] had been thrust down naked into the dungeon pit, in utter bewilderment and with a grin on his lips he said: “Hercules! How cold this Roman bath is!” (Marius 12)

In Sallust’s Jugurthine War Hercules is said to have led an army in Spain (18) and also to have founded the Numidian city of Capsa (89).

Hercules’ ubiquitous presence around the Mediterranean is explored and explained at length in Richard Miles’s history of Carthage.

Moliere

Like all Plautus’s plays Aulularia was translated and/or copied by numerous other writers over the millennia. The most famous reincarnation of the miser Euclio is the miser Harpagon in the 17th century French playwright Molière’s 1668 version of the story, L’Avare (which is simply French for The Miser).


Credit

Page references are to the Penguin paperback edition of The Rope and Other Plays by Plautus, translated by E.F. Watling and published by Penguin in 1964.

Roman reviews

Plautus (254 to 184 BC)

Biography

Titus Maccius Plautus (254 to 184 BC), generally referred to as Plautus, was a Roman playwright of the Republican era. His comedies are the earliest Latin literary works to have survived in their entirety. It is said he moved to Rome and became a theatre assistant and actor who became successful with comic parts. However, as soon as he had the capital, he went into business as a merchant shipper. However, his business went bust and sometime around the age of 40 he used his knowledge of theatre to turn to playwriting. Plautus is a nickname meaning flat-footed or broad-footed.

Plautus published a large number of plays from 205 BC to his death in 184. He claimed simply be to importing and translating original Greek plays rather as a wholesaler imports Greek olives for the Roman market. However, although none of the direct sources have survived, scholars believe Plautus often amended and rewrote his models, sometimes changing the plot or combining plot elements from two original Greek works into one new play. And Plautus himself indicates as much when he refers to himself and his own practice in some of the plays’ chatty prologues.

Plautus wrote around 130 plays. Twenty of these plays survive in their entirety, with small fragments from 30 others, making him the most prolific dramatist from the entire ancient world, Greek or Roman, in terms of surviving work

Greek old and new comedy

Plautus freely borrowed his plots and characters from the Greek comedy of his day. This had come to be referred to, generically, as the New Comedy to distinguish it from the older style, which was referred to, unsurprisingly, as Old Comedy. The difference is simple: old Greek comedy tackled big political  and social issues and the new comedy didn’t. An example of Old Comedy is Aristophanes’ comedy Lysistrata in which the womenfolk of Athens go on a sex strike to force their men to call a truce in the ruinous Peloponnesian War. That play dates from around 410 BC i.e. 200 years before Plautus.

Greek New Comedy came in about a hundred years later and is most associated with the playwright Menander (c. 342 to 291 BC). The difference is that New Comedy dropped political themes, satire and serious moral or intellectual subject matter in order to focus solely on comic situations. These are generally set in domestic households and featuring a stock set of characters, usually an objectionable father who argues with his wastrel son, a scolding wife/mother, a young woman from a neighbouring household who the son is in love with, and a clever servant who outwits his master and fixes everything. So stock and standard were these character types that the Romans had special words for them:

  • adulescens = young man, the hero
  • virgo = maiden, the love interest
  • senex = old man, generally presenting an obstacle to the true love of the young couple, often with a particular humour or foible for example the miserliness of Euclio
  • servus callidus = clever slave, whose nimble footwork in helping
  • servus stultus = foolish slave
  • parasitus = parasite or sycophant – in his introduction to Captivi E.F. Watling says a more accurate translation might be paid ‘table companion’
  • miles gloriosus = braggart soldier
  • meretrix = courtesan
  • cooks – thrown in for comic moments

E.F. Watling, the editor and translator of the Penguin edition, speculates that Plautus may in fact have been a slave, when he started in theatre, which was only an occasional and low class occupation (most plays were only performed once at festivals they were written for; many actors belonged to slave masters). This would explain one of the distinctive features of his plays, which is the wide variety of slave types which appear in them, and the sympathetic lines about a slave’s miserable lot in life which he gives to many of them. And the way witty and canny slaves often come of the plays very well. Maybe. But maybe not.

Three points

1. Although Plautus was Roman and wrote in Latin and all his plays were performed in Rome, they are all actually set in Greek locations and the characters have (often ludicrously contorted) Greek names. That said, the plays freely invoke Roman ideas, customs and laws, creating a sort of cultural hybrid.

2. The plays were written in verse, quite complicated verse. As the Encyclopedia Britannica puts it:

Plautus’s plays are written in verse, as were the Greek originals. The metres he used included the iambic six foot line (senarius) and the trochaic seven foot line (septenarius), which Menander had also employed. But Plautus varied these with longer iambic and trochaic lines and more elaborate rhythms. The metres are skillfully chosen and handled to emphasize the mood of the speaker or the action. It is possible that now lost Greek plays inspired this metrical variety and inventiveness, but it is much more likely that Plautus was responding to features already existing in popular Italian dramatic traditions. The Senarii (conversational lines) were spoken, but the rest was sung or chanted to the accompaniment of double and fingered reed pipes, or auloi. It could be said that, in their metrical and musical liveliness, performances of Plautus’s plays somewhat resembled musicals of the mid-20th century.

3. As the sheer volume of his output suggests, Plautus wrote in a hurry and his plays work in a hurry. They are full of slapstick, pratfalls, ludicrous situations. Later literary critics were (and still are) snooty about this but it makes them feel incredibly modern and accessible.

E.F. Watling’s translations

Watling was commissioned to by Penguin to translate nine of Plautus’s plays, four in this volume and five in its sister volume ‘The Pot of Gold and other plays’. The two volumes were published in 1964 and 1965 (the introduction is actually dated 1963, ‘between the Lady Chatterley ban and the Beatles first LP’). Penguin wanted to make the world’s greatest literature as accessible as possible to the widest possible audience. Therefore they asked Watling to produce versions which were ready to produce for the stage. So:

Prose not verse

1. All his translations are in prose. There are only occasional attempts to capture the complex verse of the originals or the comic or dramatic effects Plautus created by having characters switch between different Roman verse forms.

Rather mind bogglingly ‘a considerable part’ of the original texts were designed to be sung to the accompaniment of a flute (!). As Watling says, it’s hard to see what kind of contemporary theatrical idiom, that could possibly be translated into. So his versions for the most part don’t even try, apart from long soliloquies, such as the prologues or speeches on specific subjects, which he casts into very loose iambic verse, and for a handful of short songs. Instead they aim for a fluent, fast-moving, rangy, continuous 1960s prose and are very enjoyable for it.

No notes

2. There is a complete absence of notes or scholarly apparatus, no footnotes explaining references or indicating gaps in the text or problems with the manuscript or all the other editorial issues old texts are  so often cluttered with. You’re meant to pick his translations up and start reading them out loud and performing them straight away.

Watling explains that the plays have come down in the manuscript tradition neatly divided into acts and scenes. He thinks these are much later scholarly interferences so has dumped them. On the other hand, Watling has added stage directions and these are very useful. He points out that almost all the actions that occur in a Plautus play are described in the dialogue, so much so that, as he strikingly puts it: ‘a blind audience could follow every move in a Plautine play’ (p.17). Still. It saves time and mental effort to have them written out explicitly so you’re free to concentrate on the comic plots and witty wordplay.


Credit

Page references are to the Penguin paperback edition of The Rope and Other Plays by Plautus, translated by E.F. Watling and published by Penguin in 1964.

Roman reviews

Love Among the Ruins: A Romance of the Near Future by Evelyn Waugh (1953)

‘State be with you.’
(Blessing in the New Britain satirised in Love Among The Ruins)

Waugh knocked off Love Among the Ruins as a response to the Labour Party’s victory in the February 1950 general election, which threatened five more years of socialist rule. It is another novella satirising the modern world, comparable in length to Scott-King’s Modern Europe (1947).

Love Among The Ruins is obviously intended to be a scathing satire on the direction post-war Britain was taking but it prompted a very negative response from the publishers Waugh sent it to. One said: ‘It seems to me sad that this man’s talent should be wasted on such a story’. Another: ‘The theme is almost implausibly apt for satire by Waugh and yet his handling of it is, for the most part, dull-witted and tedious.’

In response Waugh quickly withdrew Love Among The Ruins from the market. He spent three years revising it and then issued it as a volume in its own right in 1953. The volume was notable for its satirical use of illustrations. It took illustrations from a book about the statues of the 18th century sculptor Canova and gave them satirical titles or adjustments, as in the depiction of the bearded heroine, Clara.

Waugh’s humorous reworking of a Canova image to depict the bearded ‘heroine’ of ‘Love Among the Ruins’

Having read some of these negative comments I was expecting Love Among The Ruins to be bad, but I enjoyed it. Sub-titling it ‘a romance of the near future’ links it to the fictions of H.G. Wells who called his science fictions ‘romances’. But its vision of a technocratic future, no matter how light and satirical, evokes other resonances and echoes, from Brave New World (1932) to Nineteen Eight-Four (1949) and associates it with contemporary science fiction visions of troubled futures, such as the all-female future depicted in John Wyndham’s novella, Consider Her Ways (1956).

The plot

Mountjoy prison

We are in England in the near future. Waugh tells us the current government is the Bevan-Eden coalition (p.444) – so it’s not set in the middle future under unknown leaders, but only a few years hence under very well-known political leaders. Its most popular stroke was the Incitement to Industry Act of 1955 which has consolidated the now-permanent government, so only a few years after he was writing…

The narrative opens in a ‘modern’ prison, Mountjoy, which is run according to all the latest fashionable principles, based on the foundational idea that people are not responsible for their actions; if they commit crimes, it is due to failings in the social services.

‘In the New Britain which we are building, there are no criminals. There are only the victims of inadequate social services.’ (p.437)

Thus the prison is a place not of punishment but rehabilitation and ‘Remedial Repose’ (at moments the satire on progressive, modern attitudes to crime and rehabilitation reminded me of Kingsley Amis’s We Are All Guilty).

Thus Mountjoy prison is at first deliberately described so that the reader mistakes it for a luxury hotel, what with its fountains, and flower gardens and a string quartet playing in the grounds, its stables and its chandeliers. In fact it becomes clear it is what was once a grand country houses belonging to the old aristocracy, which has been requisitioned and turned into a rehabilitation centre for criminals, a place for Preventive Custody and Corrective Treatment. (To be precise, Mountjoy Castle had been the ancestral seat of a maimed V.C. of the Second World War, who had been sent to a Home for the Handicapped when the place was converted into a gaol. Waugh neglects no opportunity to ram home the amorality and shabbiness of the new regime).

Miles Plastic

The narrative opens on the night before the criminal in question and hero of the story, Miles Plastic, is due to be released back into the community, allowed to resume being A Citizen, now he is a fully rehabilitated man. Miles is the epitome of The Modern Man. His parents were ruined by the State (presumably death duties, land taxes and all the other impositions of Socialism), reduced to poverty, forced to divorce, he was handed over to an aunt who died of boredom from working in a factory, and so he was raised in an orphanage.

Huge sums were thenceforward spent upon him; sums which, fifty years earlier, would have sent whole quiversful of boys to Winchester and New College and established them in the learned professions. In halls adorned with Picassos and Légers he yawned through long periods of Constructive Play. He never lacked the requisite cubic feet of air. His diet was balanced and on the first Friday of every month he was psychoanalysed. Every detail of his adolescence was recorded and microfilmed and filed, until at the appropriate age he was transferred to the Air Force. There were no aeroplanes at the station to which he was posted. It was an institution to train instructors to train instructors to train instructors in Personal Recreation. (p.434)

I can see how more critical reviewers might have thought this was a bit obvious, but I thought Waugh carried it off. It has a nice tone of amusement throughout, amusement laced with contempt for the people he is satirising.

Mountjoy doesn’t have punishment breaking of rocks, it has community singing. The governor isn’t a governor, he’s a ‘Chief Guide’.

Miles’s trial

Thus when Miles carried out an act of arson, burning down the air force buildings and killing half the people in it, he wasn’t treated as a psychopath, but handled sympathetically and diagnosed by a psychologist who judged that incendiarism was a perfectly normal part of adolescence which shouldn’t be bottled up. Now, after two happy years of luxury living, Miles is being ‘released’ or returned to the community.

Soapy and Mr Sweat

There is a comic passage where a couple of the old timers, Soapy and Mr Sweat commiserate with Miles for being let out; they love it here, living in the lap of luxury; they love it so much they want to stay forever and, with that aim in mind, have recently undertaken a little foray and massacred the peacocks which used to stroll round the grounds. If anyone tries to tell them they’re reformed and ready for release, they’ll show the dead birds and thus ensure a lovely further extension to their sentences. The old lags lament the good old days when committing a crime made you a criminal and prison meant prison, you knew where you were; now the authorities call you an ‘antisocial phenomenon’ and say you are ‘maladjusted’ and instead of hard time you get a luxury hotel and ‘Remedial Repose’.

The Minister of Welfare and the Minister of Rest and Culture

Miles’s release ceremony is attended by the Minister of Welfare and the Minister of Rest and Culture of the coalition government. They emphasise that the new programme has its critics, which is why Miles is important. He is considered the First Success of the new way, a ‘vindication of the Method.’

Miles is being sent to Satellite City, the nearest Population Centre. He is issued a Certificate of Human Personality and told to report to the Area Progressive. Transport has been laid on.

Satellite City

Mockery of a new town. The grand architect’s plans have given rise to a shabby reality of glass and concrete. A vast Dome of Security was built but the dome itself is not only invisible from street level but all its windows have been blacked out during various international crises and the concrete has stained and blotched. As to the surrounding buildings:

There were no workers’ flats, no officials’ garden suburb, no parks, no playgrounds yet. These were all on the drawing boards in the surveyor’s office, tattered at the edges, ringed by tea cups; their designer long since cremated. (p.441)

In Waugh’s description of the general air of shabbiness you can maybe detect the influence of Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four with its descriptions of a future of permanent shabbiness, degradation, pokey apartments in poorly maintained tower blocks. More close to home, it reminds me of the 1970s new town I grew up in, all stained concrete and broken lifts smelling of pee.

The officials subsisted in perpetual twilight. Great sheets of glass, planned to “trap” the sun, admitted few gleams from scratches in their coat of tar. At evening when the electric light came on, there was a faint glow, here and there. When, as often, the power station was “shedding its load” the officials stopped work early and groped their way back to their darkened huts where in the useless refrigerators their tiny rations were quietly putrefying. On working days the officials, male and female, trudged through cigarette ends round and round, up and down what had once been lift-shafts, in a silent, shabby, shadowy procession. (p.441)

There are endless strikes which bring this or that service to a halt. Reminds me of my boyhood in the 1970s. Similarly, Satellite City’s hospital, ‘one of the unfinished edifices, all concrete and steel and glass in front and a jumble of huts behind.’ Use of the word ‘hut’ links it to the kind of structure Waugh saw in Africa and the Amazon i.e. British society is reverting to the level of savages.

The Euthenasia Department

It’s pretty funny that Miles is sent to the Euthenasia Department. And Waugh develops the comic implications very drolly:

Under the Bevan-Eden Coalition the service came into general use and won instant popularity. The Union of Teachers was pressing for its application to difficult children. Foreigners came in such numbers to take advantage of the service that immigration authorities now turned back the bearers of single tickets.

Miles finds himself widely envied by colleagues:

‘Great State! You must have pull. Only the very bright boys get posted to Euthanasia.’
‘I’ve been in Contraception for five years. It’s a blind alley.’
‘They say that in a year or two Euthanasia will have taken over Pensions.’ (p.444)

Contraception is a dead end ha ha. It is run by a Dr Beamish:

Satellite City was said to be the worst served Euthanasia Centre in the State. Dr. Beamish’s patients were kept waiting so long that often they died natural deaths before he found it convenient to poison them. (p.445)

Miles’s job is to open the doors to batches of new clients, make them comfortable, turn on the telly, offer cups of tea while they wait to be ushered through the final door, with its whiff of cyanide, and then the roar of the crematorium ovens…

Clara

Dr Beamish tells him a special client has been sent. Miles fetches her from the VIP waiting room, a beautiful trim young woman with…a golden beard! Dr Beamish is impressed. Obviously a result of ‘Klugmann’s Operation.’ This, apparently, is an operation to sterilise young women which was forced on her when she said she wanted to pursue a career in ballet. A ludicrous symbol of a world which has lost all touch with nature and human nature, which fetishises sterility and death.

The bearded lady makes it quite clear she’s only come because of pressure from the head of her drama department and ballet – after the botched sterilisation procedures they’re all sure she must want to die – but has no intention of being euthenised. Dr Beamish wonders why the silly girl is wasting his time and throws her out. She explains to Miles how much she likes dancing. She finds that Art makes her value life all the more. Her name is Clara.

Lovers

They become lovers. Clara can no longer dance (a ballerina with a beard!) but she helps out at the ballet school. They cohabit in a cubicle of a Nissan hut (a chronic shortage of houses and accommodation being a result of the war which dragged on for years afterwards; another idea embedded in Nineteen Eighty-Four).

Sex is nothing new for Miles, he has been taught about it since toddler years. What surprises him is love, which he’s never been taught about, but which Clara has an instinctive feel for. She has prints of Old Master paintings (sounds like a Fragonard or Watteau) contrasted with the stern, machine-age Legers and Picassos Miles has been subjected to all his life.

They live a simple frugal life, going to their daily jobs, in the evening lying in the fields under the big moon and making love. Summer turns to autumn, and then November, ‘season of strikes’. Clara is growing fat. She goes to see the doctor. On her return they share a glass of wine. (In another instance of the Modern State totalitarianly dominating every aspect of existence, the state now chooses and names the vintage, so this one is called Progress Port.)

Doctor told her she’s pregnant. They are both sad their child will not be born an Orphan, which is much the most preferred way for infants in the New Britain. Then Clara leaves, clears out, disappears without trace. Miles is at first upset, then concerned, then angry, then indifferent.

Clara’s face replacement

Santa-Claus-tide approaches and the shops are full of shoddy goods. Christmas trees have been renamed Goodwill Trees. Someone he works with tells Miles Clara is in hospital. He goes to visit her. The porter doesn’t bother to look up from his television. The corridors are full of muzak from the wireless. Waugh’s vision of uncivil, modern barbarism.

Miles discovers the doctors have performed an abortion on his child, but almost as bad, or worse, they have cut off Clara’s beard and replaced the whole lower part of her face with a rubber flesh-substitute.

Her eyes and brow were all that was left of the loved face. Below it something quite inhuman, a tight, slippery mask, salmon pink. (p.459)

Miles gets up and walks out, walks out the hospital, walks away from Satellite City, walks for hours through the countryside till he is surprised to read a sign saying Mountjoy Castle is nearby. The gates are always open and welcoming in the way of the New Penology, so he walks right up to the building and sets it on fire. Uses a lighter he carries with him to set afire the dry curtains and soon the whole lots goes up. ‘The murderers were leaping from the first-storey windows but the sexual offenders, trapped above, set up a wail of terror.’

Once it is utterly burned to the ground Miles turns and walks away, walking the long road back to Satellite City feeling light of heart and with a smile on his face.

Back to work

Next day Miles wakes to the smell of cheap State sausages cooking in his hostel, dressed and goes to work. I was astonished when there is a reference to Parsnipthe comic name he gave to his caricature of the famous 1930s poet W.H. Auden in Put Out More Flags. Now he is described as a shabby has-been who wants to kill himself, joins the queue for the Euthenasia department but always bottles out. Not today.

Miles turned to the periscope. Only one man waited outside, old Parsnip, a poet of the ’30s who came daily but was usually jostled to the back of the crowd. He was a comic character in the department, this veteran poet. Twice in Miles’s short term he had succeeded in gaining admission but on both occasions had suddenly taken fright and bolted.
‘It’s a lucky day for Parsnip,’ said Miles.
‘Yes. He deserves some luck. I knew him well once, him and his friend Pimpernell. New Writing, the Left Book Club, they were all the rage. Pimpernell was one of my first patients. Hand Parsnip in and we’ll finish him off.’
So old Parsnip was summoned and that day his nerve stood firm. He passed fairly calmly through the gas chamber on his way to rejoin Pimpernell. (p.464)

Clara again

After a hard day at work Miles goes back to the hospital to see Clara. She has succeeded in painting the rubber mask to make it impressively lifelike. He feels cold and distant from her.

Promotion

Next day Miles is told he’s been promoted, is given a suit and bowler hat and a driver who drives him up to the London where he enters the imposing ‘Ministry’. Miles is surprised to discover that the burning down of Mountjoy prison has become a real talking point. And it has changed his status. Instead of being the first of many rehabilitated patients, he is now the Only One. The New Penology has always had its critics and so now, to counter them, the ministers intend to send him the length and breadth of the country to lecture about its wonderful benefits.

They unveil a model of the New Mountjoy they are planning to build and it is, in fact, merely a cardboard packing case. But it stirs something in Miles’s soul, his entire upbringing up to this date is summed up in the object. Stripped of all ornament and pleasure, a fitting place to consign the lifeless inhabitants of a lifeless society.

‘Does he have a wife?’ the minister asks him, ‘Folk like a man with a wife.’ ‘No,’ replies Miles. Well, on the spot they fit him up with Miss Flower, the ‘gruesome’ secretary who has been assisting at the meeting. And off they’re whisked to the registrar office and are half way through the service when… when Miles realises he is fidgeting with a hard object in his pocket. With a cigarette lighter. He clicks it to light a small flame. A flame. A fire. An earnest of the future.

Thoughts

Endings are difficult. I thoroughly enjoyed the first half, up to Clara disappearing before being discovered at the hospital. Up to that point the story flowed very naturally and contained lots of humorous touches. Up to that point it had been a kind of sci fi-political farce, funny because ridiculous. With the running off of Clara the storyline somehow became more serious, almost as if trying to be a serious fiction, with serious people and serious emotions. Once that possibility was allowed in, Love Among The Ruins felt like it lost a lots of its cartoonish spontaneity and sparkle.

Although it ends with a wicked glint in its eye, somehow the end doesn’t quite fit the beginning and certainly doesn’t match the more ‘serious’ tone which threatened to emerge during the Clara-absconding -and-Miles-feeling-bereft passages. It doesn’t quite resolve properly.

Love Among the Ruins is obviously not a classic text by any means. It’s not in the same ballpark as Nineteen Eighty-Four, it is a frippery, a squib, an entertaining lampoon and, like most of his post-war fictions it feels incomplete, lacking something, some quality of real humour or resonance.

Waugh’s animosity against all the aspects of the modern world which he can cram into the narrative feel real and alive, specially in the opening passages but, as soon as he tries to concoct a plot to carry it forward, the text feels contrived.


Credit

Love Among the Ruins by Evelyn Waugh was published by Chapman and Hall in 1953. All references are to its place in the 2018 Penguin paperback edition of the Complete Short Stories of Evelyn Waugh.

Related link

Evelyn Waugh reviews

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