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:[24] then some make all haste to spread the couches,[25] 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?[26] 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[27] 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.[28] 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,[29] 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[30] 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._) SCENE II. _CHREMES, alone._