Act I, Scene I

Enter CHREMES, and MENEDEMUS with a spade in his hand, who falls to digging.

CHREM. Although this acquaintanceship between us is of very recent date, from the time in fact of your purchasing an estate here in the neighborhood, yet either your good qualities, or our being neighbors (which I take to be a sort of friendship), induces me to inform you, frankly and familiarly, that you appear to me to labor beyond your years, and beyond what your affairs require. For, in the name of Gods and men, what would you have? What can be your aim? You are, as I conjecture, sixty years of age, or more. No man in these parts has a better or a more valuable estate, no one more servants; and yet you discharge their duties just as diligently as if there were none at all. However early in the morning I go out, and however late in the evening I return home, I see you either digging, or plowing, or doing something, in fact, in the fields. You take respite not an instant, and are quite regardless of yourself. I am very sure that this is not done for your amusement. But really I am vexed how little work is done here. If you were to employ the time you spend in laboring yourself, in keeping your servants at work, you would profit much more.

MEN. Have you so much leisure, Chremes, from your own affairs, that you can attend to those of others-- those which don’t concern you?

CHREM. I am a man, and nothing that concerns a man do I deem a matter of indifference to me. Suppose that I wish either to advise you in this matter, or to be informed myself: if what you do is right, that I may do the same; if it is not, then that I may dissuade you.

MEN. It’s requisite for me to do so; do you as it is necessary for you to do.

CHREM. Is it requisite for any person to torment himself?

MEN. It is for me.

CHREM. If you have any affliction, I could wish it otherwise. But prithee, what sorrow is this of yours? How have you deserved so ill of yourself?

MEN. Alas! alas! (He begins to weep.)

CHREM. Do not weep, but make me acquainted with it, whatever it is. Do not be reserved; fear nothing; trust me, I tell you. Either by consolation, or by counsel, or by any means, I will aid you.

MEN. Do you wish to know this matter?

CHREM. Yes, and for the reason I mentioned to you.

MEN. I will tell you.

CHREM. But still, in the mean time, lay down that rake; don’t fatigue yourself.

MEN. By no means.

CHREM. What can be your object? (Tries to take the rake from him.)

MEN. Do leave me alone, that I may give myself no respite from my labor.

CHREM. I will not allow it, I tell you. (Taking the rake from him.)

MEN. Ah! that’s not fair.

CHREM. (poising the rake.) Whew! such a heavy one as this, pray!

MEN. Such are my deserts.

CHREM. Now speak. (Laying down the rake.)

MEN. I have an only son,-- a young man,-- alas! why did I say --“I have?”-- rather I should say, “I had” one, Chremes: --whether I have him now, or not, is uncertain.

CHREM. Why so?

MEN. You shall know:-- There is a poor old woman here, a stranger from Corinth:-- her daughter, a young woman, he fell in love with, insomuch that he almost regarded her as his wife; all this took place unknown to me. When I discovered the matter, I began to reprove him, not with gentleness, nor in the way suited to the love-sick mind of a youth, but with violence, and after the usual method of fathers. I was daily reproaching him,-- “Look you, do you expect to be allowed any longer to act thus, myself, your father, being alive; to be keeping a mistress pretty much as though your wife? You are mistaken, Clinia, and you don’t know me, if you fancy that. I am willing that you should be called my son, just as long as you do what becomes you; but if you do not do so, I shall find out how it becomes me to act toward you. This arises from nothing, in fact, but too much idleness. At your time of life, I did not devote my time to dalliance, but, in consequence of my poverty, departed hence for Asia, and there acquired in arms both riches and military glory.” At length the matter came to this,-- the youth, from hearing the same things so often, and with such severity, was overcome. He supposed that I, through age and affection, had more judgment and foresight for him than himself. He went off to Asia, Chremes, to serve under the king.

CHREM. What is it you say?

MEN. He departed without my knowledge-- and has been gone these three months.

CHREM. Both are to be blamed-- although I still think this step shows an ingenuous and enterprising disposition.

MEN. When I learned this from those who were in the secret, I returned home sad, and with feelings almost overwhelmed and distracted through grief. I sit down; my servants run to me; they take off my shoes: then some make all haste to spread the couches, and to prepare a repast; each according to his ability did zealously what he could, in order to alleviate my sorrow. When I observed this, I began to reflect thus:-- “What! are so many persons anxious for my sake alone, to pleasure myself only? Are so many female servants to provide me with dress? Shall I alone keep up such an expensive establishment, while my only son, who ought equally, or even more so, to enjoy these things-- inasmuch as his age is better suited for the enjoyment of them-- him, poor youth, have I driven away from home by my severity! Were I to do this, really I should deem myself deserving of any calamity. But so long as he leads this life of penury, banished from his country through my severity, I will revenge his wrongs upon myself, toiling, making money, saving, and laying up for him.” At once I set about it; I left nothing in the house, neither movables nor clothing; every thing I scraped together. Slaves, male and female, except those who could easily pay for their keep by working in the country, all of them I set up to auction and sold. I at once put up a bill to sell my house. I collected somewhere about fifteen talents, and purchased this farm; here I fatigue myself. I have come to this conclusion, Chremes, that I do my son a less injury, while I am unhappy; and that it is not right for me to enjoy any pleasure here, until such time as he returns home safe to share it with me.

CHREM. I believe you to be of an affectionate disposition toward your children, and him to be an obedient son, if one were to manage him rightly or prudently. But neither did you understand him sufficiently well, nor he you-- a thing that happens where persons don’t live on terms of frankness together. You never showed him how highly you valued him, nor did he ever dare put that confidence in you which is due to a father. Had this been done, these troubles would never have befallen you.

MEN. Such is the fact, I confess; the greatest fault is on my side.

CHREM. But still, Menedemus, I hope for the best, and I trust that he’ll be here safe before long.

MEN. Oh that the Gods would grant it!

CHREM. They will do so. Now, if it is convenient to you-- the festival of Bacchus is being kept here to-day-- I wish you to give me your company.

MEN. I can not.

CHREM. Why not? Do, pray, spare yourself a little while. Your absent son would wish you do so.

MEN. It is not right that I, who have driven him hence to endure hardships, should now shun them myself.

CHREM. Is such your determination?

MEN. It is.

CHREM. Then kindly fare you well.

MEN. And you the same. (Goes into his house.)