Scene III Enter Philematium and Scapha, With All the Requisites
for a toilet.
PHILE. On my word, for this long time I’ve not bathed in cold water with more delight than just now; nor do I think that I ever was, my dear Scapha, more thoroughly cleansed than now.
SCA. May the upshot of everything be unto you like a plenteous year’s harvest.
PHILE. What has this harvest got to do with my bathing?
SCA. Not a bit more than your bathing has to do with the harvest.
PHILO. (apart). O beauteous Venus, this is that storm of mine which stripped off all the modesty with which I was roofed; through which Desire and Cupid poured their shower into my breast; and never since have I been able to roof it in. Now are my walls soaking in my heart; this building is utterly undone.
PHILE. Do look, my Scapha, there’s a dear, whether this dress quite becomes me. I wish to please Philolaches my protector, the apple of my eye.
SCA. Nay but, you set yourself off to advantage with pleasing manners, inasmuch as you yourself are pleasing. The lover isn’t in love with a woman’s dress, but with that which stuffs out the dress.
PHILO. (apart). So may the Gods bless me, Scapha is waggish; the hussy’s quite knowing. How cleverly she understands all matters, the maxims of lovers too!
PHILE. Well now? SCA. What is it?
PHILE. Why look at me and examine, how this becomes me.
SCA. Thanks to your good looks, it happens that whatever you put on becomes you.
PHILO. (apart). Now then, for that expression, Scapha, I’ll make you some present or other to-day, and I won’t allow you to have praised her for nothing who is so pleasing to me.
PHILE. I don’t want you to flatter me.
SCA. Really you are a very simple woman. Come now, would you rather be censured undeservedly, than be praised with truth? Upon thy faith, for my own part, even though undeservedly, I’d much rather be praised than be found fault with with reason, or that other people should laugh at my appearance.
PHILE. I love the truth; I wish the truth to be told me; I detest a liar.
SCA. So may you love me, and so may your Philolaches love you, how charming you are.
PHILO. (apart). How say you, you hussy? In what words did you adjure? “So may I love her?” Why wasn’t “So may she love me” added as well? I revoke the present. What I just now promised you is done for; you have lost the present.
SCA. Troth, for my part I am surprised that you, a person so knowing, so clever, and so well educated, are not aware that you are acting foolishly.
PHILE. Then give me your advice, I beg, if I have done wrong in anything.
SCA. I’ faith, you certainly do wrong, in setting your mind upon him alone, in fact, and humouring him in particular in this way and slighting other men. It’s the part of a married woman, and not of courtesans, to be devoted to a single lover.
PHILO. (apart). O Jupiter! Why, what pest is this that has befallen my house? May all the Gods and Goddesses destroy me in the worst of fashions, if I don’t kill this old hag with thirst, and hunger, and cold.
PHILE. I don’t want you, Scapha, to be giving me bad advice.
SCA. You are clearly a simpleton, in thinking that he’ll for everlasting be your friend and well-wisher. I warn you of that; he’ll forsake you by reason of age and satiety.
PHILE. I hope not.
SCA. Things which you don’t hope happen more frequently than things which you do hope. In fine, if you cannot be persuaded by words to believe this to be the truth, judge of my words from facts; consider this instance, who I now am, and who I once was. No less than you are now, was I once beloved, and I devoted myself to one, who, faith, when with age this head changed its hue, forsook and deserted me. Depend on it, the same will happen to yourself.
PHILO. (apart). I can scarcely withhold myself from flying at the eyes of this mischief-maker.
PHILE. I am of opinion that I ought to keep myself alone devoted to him, since to myself alone has he given freedom for himself alone.
PHILO. (apart). O ye immortal Gods! what a charming woman, and of a disposition how chaste! By heaven, ’tis excellently done, and I’m rejoiced at it, that it is for her sake I’ve got nothing left.
SCA. On my word you really are silly.
PHILE. For what reason?
SCA. Because you care for this, whether he loves you.
PHILE. Prithee, why should I not care for it?
SCA. You now are free. You’ve now got what you wanted; if he didn’t still love you, as much money as he gave for your liberty, he’d lose.
PHILO. (apart). Heavens, I’m a dead man if I don’t torture her to death after the most shocking fashion. That evil-persuading enticer to vice is corrupting this damsel.
PHILE. Scapha, I can never return him sufficient thanks for what he deserves of me; don’t you be persuading me to esteem him less.
SCA. But take care and reflect upon this one thing, if you devote yourself to him alone, while now you are at this youthful age, you’ll be complaining to no purpose in your aged years.
PHILO. (apart). I could wish myself this instant changed into a quinsy, that I might seize the throat of that old witch, and put an end to the wicked mischief-maker.
PHILE. It befits me now to have the same grateful feelings since I obtained it, as formerly before I acquired it, when I used to lavish caresses upon him.
PHILO. (apart). May the Gods do towards me what they please, if for that speech I don’t make you free over again, and if I don’t torture Scapha to death.
SCA. If you are quite assured that you will have a provision to the end, and that this lover will be your own for life, I think that you ought to devote yourself to him alone, and assume the character of a wife .
PHILE. Just as a person’s character is, he’s in the habit of finding means accordingly; if I keep a good character for myself I shall be rich enough.
PHILO. (apart). By my troth, since selling there must be, my father shall be sold much sooner than, while I’m alive, I’ll ever permit you to be in want or go a-begging.
SCA. What’s to become of the rest of those who are in love with you?
PHILE. They’ll love me the more when they see me displaying gratitude to one who has done me services.
PHILO. (apart). I do wish that news were brought me now that my father’s dead, that I might disinherit myself of my property, and that she might be my heir.
SCA. This property of his will certainly soon be at an end; day and night there’s eating and drinking, and no one displays thriftiness; ’tis downright cramming .
PHILO. (apart). I’ faith, I’m determined to make trial on yourself for the first to be thrifty; for you shall neither eat nor drink anything at my house for the next ten days.
PHILE. If you choose to say anything good about him, you shall be at liberty to say it; if you speak otherwise than well, on my word you shall have a beating instantly.
PHILO. (apart). Upon my faith, if I had paid sacrifice to supreme Jove with that money which I gave for her liberty, never could I have so well employed it. Do see, how, from her very heart’s core, she loves me! Oh, I’m a fortunate man; I’ve liberated in her a patron to plead my cause for me.
SCA. I see that, compared with Philolaches, you disregard all other men; now, that on his account I mayn’t get a beating, I’ll agree with you in preference, if you are quite satisfied that he will always prove a friend to you.
PHILE. Give me the mirror , and the casket with my trinkets, directly, Scapha, that I may be quite dressed when Philolaches, my delight, comes here.
SCA. A woman who neglects herself and her youthful age has occasion for a mirror; what need of a mirror have you, who yourself are in especial a mirror for a mirror.
PHILO. (apart). For that expression, Scapha, that you mayn’t have said anything so pretty in vain, I’ll to-day give something for your savings—to you, my Philematium.
PHILE. (while SCAPHA is dressing her hair). Will you see that each hair is nicely arranged in its own place?
SCA. When you yourself are so nice, do believe that your hair must be nice.
PHILO. (apart). Out upon it! what worse thing can possibly be spoken of than this woman? Now the jade’s a flatterer, just now she was all contradictory.
PHILE. Hand me the ceruse .
SCA. Why, what need of ceruse have you?
PHILE. To paint my cheeks with it.
SCA. On the same principle, you would want to be making ivory white with ink.
PHILO. (apart). Cleverly said that, about the ink and the ivory! Bravo! I applaud you, Scapha.
PHILE. Well then, do you give me the rouge.
SCA. I shan’t give it. You really are a clever one. Do you wish to patch up a most clever piece with new daubing? It’s not right that any paint should touch that person, neither ceruse, nor quince-ointment, nor any other wash. Take the mirror, then. (Hands her the glass.)
PHILO. (apart.) Ah wretched me!—she gave the glass a kiss. I could much wish for a stone, with which to break the head of that glass.
SCA. Take the towel and wipe your hands.
PHILE. Why so, prithee?
SCA. As you’ve been holding the mirror, I’m afraid that your hands may smell of silver; lest Philolaches should suspect you’ve been receiving silver somewhere.
PHILO. (apart). I don’t think that I ever did see anyone procuress more cunning. How cleverly and artfully did it occur to the jade’s imagination about the mirror!
PHILE. Do you think I ought to be perfumed with unguents as well?
SCA. By no means do so. PHILE. For what reason?
SCA. Because, i’ faith, a woman smells best when she smells of nothing at all. For those old women who are in the habit of anointing themselves with unguents, vampt up creatures, old hags, and toothless, who hide the blemishes of the person with paint, when the sweat has blended itself with the unguents, forthwith they stink just like when a cook has poured together a variety of broths; what they smell of, you don’t know, except this only, that you understand that badly they do smell.
PHILO. (apart). How very cleverly she does understand everything! There’s nothing more knowing than this knowing woman! (To the AUDIENCE.) This is the truth, and a very great portion, in fact, of you know it, who have old women for wives at home who purchased you with their portions.
PHILE. Come now; examine my golden trinkets and my mantle; does this quite become me, Scapha?
SCA. It befits not me to concern myself about that.
PHILE. Whom then, prithee?
SCA. I’ll tell you; Philolaches; so that he may not buy anything except that which he fancies will please you. For a lover buys the favours of a mistress for himself with gold and purple garments. What need is there for that which he doesn’t want as his own, to be shown him still? Age is to be enveloped in purple; gold ornaments are unsuitable for a woman. A beautiful woman will be more beautiful naked than drest in purple. Besides, it’s in vain she’s well-drest if she’s ill-conducted; ill-conduct soils fine ornaments worse than dirt. But if she’s beauteous, she’s sufficiently adorned.
PHILO. (apart). Too long have I withheld my hand. (Coming forward.) What are you about here?
PHILE. I’m decking myself out to please you.
PHILO. You are dressed enough. (To SCAPHA.) Go you hence indoors, and take away this finery. (SCAPHA goes into the house.) But, my delight, my Philematium, I have a mind to regale together with you.
PHILE. And, i’ faith, so I have with you; for what you have a mind to, the same have I a mind to, my delight.
PHILO. Ha! at twenty minae that expression were cheap.
PHILE. Give me ten, there’s a dear; I wish to let you have that expression bought a bargain.
PHILO. You’ve already got ten minae with you; or reckon up the account: thirty minae I gave for your freedom—
PHILE. Why reproach me with that?
PHILO. What, I reproach you with it? Why, I had rather that I myself were reproached with it; no money whatever for this long time have I ever laid out equally well.
PHILE. Surely, in loving you, I never could have better employed my pains.
PHILO. The account, then, of receipts and expenditure fully tallies between ourselves; you love me, I love you. Each thinks that it is so deservedly. Those who rejoice at this, may they ever rejoice at the continuance of their own happiness. Those who envy, let not any one henceforth be ever envious of their blessings.
PHILE. (pointing to a couch on the stage). Come, take your place, then. (At the door, to a SERVANT, who obeys.) Boy, bring some water for the hands; put a little table here. See where are the dice. Would you like some perfumes? (They recline on the couch.)
PHILO. What need is there? Along with myrrh I am reclining. But isn’t this my friend who’s coming hither with his mistress? ’Tis he; it’s Callidamates; look, he’s coming. Capital! my sweet one, see, our comrades are approaching; they’re coming to share the spoil.
{Footnote 1: That which stuffs out)—Ver. 164. That is, the body.}
{Footnote 2: Assume the character of a wife)—Ver. 220. “Capiundos crines.” Literally, “the hair mast be assumed.” Festus says that it was usual on the occasion of the marriage ceremony, to add six rows of curls to the hair of the bride, in imitation of the Vestal virgins, who were patterns of purity, and were dressed in that manner. Hence the term “capere crines” came to signify “to become a wife.”}
{Footnote 3: ’Tis downright cramming)—Ver. 230. “Sagina plane est.” “Sagina” was the term applied to the fattening or cramming of animals for the purpose of killing. The use of the term implies Scapha’a notion of the bestial kind of life that Philolaches was leading.}
{Footnote 4: Give me the mirror)—Ver. 242. Probably a mirror with a handle, such as the servants usually held for their mistresses. There is something comical in the notion of a female coming out into the street to make her toilet.}
{Footnote 5: Hand me the ceruse)—Ver. 252. White lead, or “cerussa,” was used by the Roman women for the purpose of whitening the complexion. Ovid mentions it in his Treatise on the Care of the Complexion, L 73.}
{Footnote 6: A woman smells best)—Ver. 267. Cicero and Martial have a similar sentiment; their opinion has been followed by many modern writers, and other persons as well.}