Chapter 4

(Enter PHILIPPA, at a distance.)

PHILIPPA: (to herself.) If a mortal being has aught of misery, through which, miserable creature, to be wretched from the heart, that same do I experience, for whom full many a woe unites in the same spot, which, all, at the same instant are beating against my breast. A multitude of troubles keep me in suspense.

Poverty and misery alarm the thoughts of my heart; nor have I anywhere a spot of safety where to fix my hopes; in such a way has my daughter fallen into the power of the enemy; nor do I know where she now is.

PERIPHIANES: (apart.) Who is this woman coming from a distance with a breast filled with alarms, and who thus bewails her lot?

PHILIPPA: (to herself.) It was told me that Periphanes was living in this neighbourhood.

PERIPHIANES: (apart.) She’s mentioning me; need of hospitality has befallen her, I suppose.

PHILIPPA: (to herself.) I would be very willing to give a reward to any one who would point me out that man, or where he dwells.

PERIPHIANES: (apart.) I recognize her; for I think I have seen her before; where, I know not. Is it, or is it not she, whom my mind suspects her to be?

PHILIPPA: (seeing him.) Good Gods! I have seen this person before!

PERIPHIANES: (to himself.) It surely is she, a poor woman whom I remember having an intrigue with at Epidaurus.

PHILIPPA: (to herself.) Surely it is he, who at Epidaurus first violated my maiden modesty.

PERIPHIANES: (to himself.) She who had the daughter by me whom I’ve now got at home.

PHILIPPA: (to herself.) What if I accost him?

PERIPHIANES: (to himself.) I don’t know whether to make up to her.

If this is she—

PHILIPPA: (to herself.) But if it is the man, as length of years renders me doubtful—

PERIPHIANES: (to himself.) Length of time renders my mind uncertain. But if it is she, whom with some doubt I conjecture it to be, I’ll accost her circumspectly.

PHILIPPA: (to herself.) A woman’s artfulness must be employed by me.

PERIPHIANES: (to himself.) I’ll address her.

PHILIPPA: (to herself.) I’ll bring my powers of conversation to bear against him.

PERIPHIANES: (accosting her.) Health to you!

PHILIPPA: That health I accept for me and mine.

PERIPHIANES: What besides?

PHILIPPA: Health to yourself; what you lent me, I return.

PERIPHIANES: I don’t impeach your punctuality.

Don’t I know you?

PHILIPPA: If I know you, I’ll move your feelings, so that you shall know me.

PERIPHIANES: Where have I been in the habit of seeing you?

PHILIPPA: You are unfairly hard upon me.

PERIPHIANES: Why so?

PHILIPPA: Because you think it right that I should be the prompter of your memory.

PERIPHIANES: You speak to the purpose.

PHILIPPA: You say what’s strange to me, Periphanes.

PERIPHIANES: Ah now! that’s better.

Do you remember, Philippa—

PHILIPPA: Yes, I remember that.

PERIPHIANES: At Epidaurus—

PHILIPPA: Ah! you have moistened my burning breast with a little drop of comfort.

PERIPHIANES: How I relieved the poverty of you, a poor young maiden, and your mother?

PHILIPPA: What, are you he who for your own gratification brought heavy troubles upon me?

PERIPHIANES: I am he. Health to you.

PHILIPPA: I am in health, since I see you in health.

PERIPHIANES: Give me your hand.

PHILIPPA: (extending her hand, which he takes.) Take it—you hold by the hand a woman distrest and full of woes.

PERIPHIANES: What is it that disturbs your features?

PHILIPPA: The daughter whom I had by you—

PERIPHIANES: What of her?

PHILIPPA: When I had brought her up, I lost her; she fell into the hands of the enemy.

PERIPHIANES: Keep your mind in quiet and at rest. Why look, she’s here at my house safe and sound. For immediately I heard from my servant that she was a captive, instantly I gave the money for her to be purchased;

he managed this affair as discreetly and frugally as in other matters he is egregiously—dishonest.

PHILIPPA: Let me see her, whether it is she or no.

PERIPHIANES: (going to the door of his house.) Hallo there! you—Canthara, this instant bid my daughter come out before the house, that she may see her mother.

PHILIPPA: My spirits now at last return to me.

(Enter ACROPOLISTIS from the house.)

ACROPOLISTIS: Why is it, father, that you have called me out before the house?

PERIPHIANES: That you may see and accost your mother, and wish her health on her arrival, and give her kisses.

ACROPOLISTIS: (looking about.) What mother of mine?

PERIPHIANES: (pointing to PHILIPPA.) She who, half dead, is following your gaze.

PHILIPPA: Who is this that you are requesting to kiss me?

PERIPHIANES: Your own daughter.

PHILIPPA: What, she?

PERIPHIANES: She.

PHILIPPA: What—am I to kiss her?

PERIPHIANES: Why not, her who was born of you?

PHILIPPA: Man, you are mad.

PERIPHIANES: What, I?

PHILIPPA: Yes, you.

PERIPHANES: Why?

PHILIPPA: Because this woman—I neither know nor understand who she is, nor have I beheld her with my eyes before this day.

PERIPHIANES: I know why you are mistaken; because this woman has her dress and ornaments changed.

PHILIPPA: Puppies have one smell, pigs quite another;

I say that I do not know her, who she is.

PERIPHIANES: (stamping with rage.) Oh! by our trust in Gods and men, what is this? Am I following the calling of a Procurer, to be keeping strange women in my house, and to be emptying my house of my money? (To ACROPOLISTIS.) What are you to be calling me your father and kissing me? Why stand you stupidly there? Why do you keep silent?

ACROPOLISTIS: What do you want me to say?

PERIPHIANES: (pointing to PHILIPPA.) She denies that she is your mother.

ACROPOLISTIS: Don’t let her be so, if she don’t choose. For my own part, whether she likes it or not, I shall be my mother’s daughter still. It isn’t right for me to compel this woman to be my mother if she doesn’t like.

PERIPHIANES: Why then did you call me father?

ACROPOLISTIS: That is your own fault, not mine; ought I not to call you father when you call me daughter? Her too, as well (pointing to PHILIPPA) if she were to call me daughter, I should call mother.

She declares that I am not her daughter; then she is not my mother. In fine, this is no fault of mine; what I’ve been taught, I’ve told you all of it. Epidicus was my instructor.

PERIPHIANES: I’m undone! I’ve upset my waggon!

ACROPOLISTIS: Have I done anything amiss towards that?

PERIPHIANES: Upon my faith, if I ever hear you call me father, I’ll put an end to your life, you jade!

ACROPOLISTIS: I shan’t call you so.

When you want to be my father, then be so; when you don’t want, don’t be my father.

PHILIPPA: (to PERIPHANES.) What? Did you purchase her for that reason, because you supposed her to be your daughter? By what signs did you recognize her?

PERIPHIANES: By none.

PHILIPPA: Why did you suppose her to be our daughter?

PERIPHIANES: My servant Epidicus told me so.

PHILIPPA: What if it had seemed to your servant otherwise? Prithee, could you not have known?

PERIPHIANES: How should I, who had never seen her after having once beheld her.

PHILIPPA: Wretched creature, I’m quite undone! (Begins to weep.)

PERIPHIANES: Don’t weep, madam; go in-doors; be of good courage; I’ll find her out.

PHILIPPA: An Attic citizen from Athens here purchased her Indeed, they said it was a young man who had bought her.

PERIPHIANES: I will find her; hold your peace. Only do go in-doors, and keep an eye upon this Circe, this daughter of the Sun. (She goes into the house, followed by ACROPOLISTIS.) All business laid aside, I’ll give my attention to seeking for Epidicus. If I find him, I’ll make this day become the final one for him. (Exit.)