Casina, or The Stratagem Defeated

Perseus Latin · Perseus Latin · 752 sections

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Dramatis Personae STALINO, an aged Athenian. CHALINUS, the armour-bearer of Euthynicus, son of . OLYMPIO, bailiff of . ALCESIMUS, a neighbour of . A COOK. MALE SLAVES. CLEOSTRATA, wife of . PARDALISCA, her maid-servant. MYRRHINA, wife of Alcesimus. TWO MAID-SERVANTS of Cleostrata.
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(Scene— Athens before the houses of STALINO and ALCESIMUS)
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THE SUBJECT. A SERVANT, having obtained from a woman a female infant which was about to be exposed, brings it to his mistress, Cleostrata, who brings it up with the greatest care. The child is called Casina; and when she grows up, both Stalino, the husband, and Euthynicus, the son of Cleostrata, fall in love with her. Cleostrata, being aware of this, and favouring the passion of Euthynicus, is desirous to give Casina in marriage to Chalinus, his armour-bearer, as a covert method of putting her in the power of Euthynicus. On the other hand, Stalino wishes her to be married to Olympio, the bailiff of his farm, as a means of getting her into his own possession. It is at last arranged that the matter shall be decided by lot, which being drawn, Olympio is the winner. Cleostrata then resorts to a stratagem to defeat her husband’s plan. With the assistance of Myrrhina and her own female servants, she dresses up Chalinus to represent Casina, who is taken by the bridegroom Olympio to a house in the vicinity, which has been secretly engaged by Stalino. The Play concludes with Olympio and Stalino rushing out of the house in dismay, after having been soundly beaten by Chalinus. Stalino implores pardon of his wife, which, at the intercession of Myrrhina, is granted. It is then discovered that Casina is really the daughter of Alcesimus, and the Audience is informed that she is to be given in marriage to Euthynicus.
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THE ACROSTIC ARGUMENT. Two fellow-servants seek their fellow-servant (Conservam) as a wife; the old man prompts the one (Alium), his son the other. A decision by lot (Sors) favours the old man; but he is deceived by a stratagem; and so (Ita) for him, in place of the damsel, a rascally (Nequam) servant is substituted, who thrashes his master and the bailiff. The young man (Adolescens) marries Casina, when known to be a citizen.
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I bid you, most worthy Spectators, welcome; who most highly esteem the Goddess Faith, and Faith esteems you. If I have said the truth, then give me loud applause, that even now, from the very beginning forward, I may know that you are favourably disposed towards me.
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Those who make use of aged wine, I deem to be wise; and those as well, who, through choice, are the spectators of ancient Plays. Since antique works and words are pleasing to you, ’tis just that ancient Plays should in preference please you; for the new Comedies which come out now-a-days
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are much more worthless than the new-coined money. We, since we have heard the report in public, that you ardently wish for the Plays of Plautus, have brought forward this ancient Comedy of his, which you, who are among the older ones, have formerly approved.
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But I am aware that those who are among the younger ones are not acquainted with it; still, that they may make acquaintance with it, we will carefully use our best endeavours. When this was first represented, it surpassed all other Plays. In those days there was the very elite of the poets, who have now departed hence to the place common to all.
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But though departed, yet do they prove of advantage to those who are still existing. All of you, with the greatest earnestness, I would have entreated that you’ll kindly lend attention to this our company. Dismiss from your thoughts cares and monies due; let no man stand in dread of his duns.
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’Tis a holiday this—to the bankers a holiday has been given. ’Tis now a calm; about the Forum these are Halcyon days. Reasonably do they act: during the games they ask no man for money; but during the games to no one do they pay. If your ears are disengaged, give me your attention;
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I wish to mention to you the name of the Play. Clerumenae this Comedy is called in Greek; in Latin, Sortientes. Diphilus wrote it in Greek, and after that, over again, Plautus with the barking name in Latin afresh.
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An old married man is living here; he has a son; he, with his father, is dwelling in this house. He has a certain slave, who with disease is confined—aye, faith, to his bed, he really is, that I may tell no lie. But sixteen years ago, it happened that on a time this servant,
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at early dawn, beheld a female child being exposed. He went at once to the woman who was exposing it, and begged her to give it to himself. He gained his request: he took it away, and carried it straight home. He gave it to his mistress, and entreated her to take care of it, and bring it up.
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His mistress did so; with great care she brought it up, as though it had been her own daughter, not much different. Since then she has grown up to that age to be able to prove an attraction to the men; but this old gentleman loves this girl distractedly, and, on the other hand, so does his son as well.
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Each of them now, on either side, is preparing his legions, both father and son, each unknown to the other. The father has deputed his bailiff to ask her as his wife; he hopes that, if she’s given to him, an attraction out of doors will be, unknown to his wife, provided for him.
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But the son has deputed his armour-bearer to ask her for himself as a wife. He knows that if he gains that request, there will be an object for him to love, within his abode. The wife of the old gentleman has found out that he is gratifying his amorousness; for that reason, she is making common cause together with her son.
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But this father, when he found out that his son was in love with this same woman, and was a hindrance to him, sent the young man hence upon business abroad. His mother, understanding this, still lends him, though absent, her assistance. Don’t you expect it; he will not, in this Play, to-day,
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return to the city. Plautus did not choose it: he broke down the bridge that lay before him in the way. There are some here, who, I fancy, are now saying among themselves, Prithee, what means this, i’ faith?—the marriage of a slave Are slaves to be marrying wives, or asking them for themselves?
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They’ve introduced something new—a thing that’s done nowhere in the world. But I affirm that this is done in Greece , and at Carthage, and here in our own country, and in the Apulian country; and that the marriages of slaves are wont to be solemnized there with more fuss than even those of free persons.
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If this is not the fact, if any one pleases, let him bet with me a stake towards a jug of honied wine, so long as a Carthaginian is the umpire in my cause, or a Greek in fact, or an Apulian. (A pause.) What now? You don’t take it? No one’s thirsty, I find. I’ll return to that foundling girl,
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whom the two slaves are, with all their might, contending for as a wife. She’ll be found to be both chaste and free, of freeborn parents, an Athenian girl, and assuredly of no immodesty at all will she be guilty in this Comedy at least. But i’ faith, for sure, directly afterwards, when the Play is over,
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if any one offers the money, as I guess, she’ll readily enter into matrimony with him, and not wait for good omens. Thus much I have to say. Farewell; be prosperous in your affairs, and conquer by true valour, as hitherto you’ve done.
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Isn’t it to be allowed me for myself to speak and think about my own affairs by myself, just as I choose, without you as an overlooker? Why the plague are you following me about?
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Because I’m resolved, just like your shadow, wherever you go, to follow you about. Why troth, even if you are ready to go to the cross, I’m determined to follow you. Hence judge of the sequel,
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whether you can or not, by your artifices, slily deprive me of Casina for a wife, just as you are attempting.
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What business have you with me?
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What say you, impudence? Why are you creeping about in the city, you bailiff, so very valuable in this place?
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Because I choose.
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But why ain’t you in the country, at your post of command?
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Why don’t you rather pay attention to the business that has been entrusted to you, and keep yourself from meddling in city matters? Have you come hither to deprive me of my betrothed? Be off to the country—be off to your place of command, and be hanged to you.
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Chalinus, I have not forgotten my duty.
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I’ve given charge to one who will still take care that all’s right in the country. When I’ve got that for which I came hither to the city, to take her as my wife whom you are dying for—the fair and charming Casina, your fellow-servant—when I’ve carried her off with myself into the country as my wife,
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I’ll then stick fast in the country, at my post of command.
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What, you marry her? By my faith, ’twere better I should die by a halter, than that you should be the winner of her.
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She’s my prize; do you put yourself in a halter at once.
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Fellow, dug up from your own dunghill, is she to be your prize?
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You’ll find that such is the fact.
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Woe be unto you!
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in what a many ways, if I only live, I’ll have you tormented at my wedding!
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What will you do to me?
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What will I do to you? In the first place of all, you shall hold the lighted torch for this new-made bride of nine; that always, in future, you may be worthless, and not esteemed.
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Then next after that, when you get to the country-house, a single pitcher shall be found you, and a single path, a single spring, a single brass cauldron, and eight casks; and unless these shall be always kept filled, I’ll load you with lashes. I’ll make you so thoroughly bent with carrying water,
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that a horse’s crupper might be manufactured out of you. And then, in future, unless in the country you either feed on pulse, or, like a worm, upon the soil, should you require to taste of any better food, never, upon my faith, is hunger as full of hungriness as I’ll make you to be in the country.
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After that, when you’re tired out, and starved with famine, care shall be taken that, at night, you go to bed as you deserve.
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What will you do?
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You shall be shut up fast in a nook with bars, where you can listen while I’m caressing her, while she is saying to me, My soul, my own Olympio,
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my life, my sweet, my delight, do let me kiss your dear eyes, my love! do, there’s a dear, let yourself be loved! my own day of happiness, my sparrow-chick, my own dove, my leveret! When these expressions shall be being uttered to me, then will you, you villain,
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be wriggling about like a mouse in the middle of the wall. Now, that you mayn’t be trying to give me an answer, I’ll off in-doors; I’m tired of your talk.
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I’ll follow you. Here, indeed, on my word, assuredly you shall do nothing without me for an overlooker.
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Seal fast the store-rooms, bring back the signet to me.
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I’m going here to my next door neighbour; if my husband wants me for anything, take care and send for me thence.
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The old gentleman ordered a breakfast to be got ready for him to-day.
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Tut! Hold your tongue, and be off. (PARDALISCA goes into the house.) I don’t prepare it, and it shan’t be cooked; since he sets himself against myself and his son,
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for the sake of his passion and his appetite. A disgraceful fellow that! I’ll punish this lover with hunger, I’ll punish him with thirst, with abuse, with hardships.
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By my faith, I’ll thoroughly worry him with disagreable speeches; I’ll make him to pass a life in future just as he deserves—fit food for Acheron, a hunter after iniquity, a stable of infamy!
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Now I’ll away hence to my neighbours, to lament my lot. But the door makes a noise; and see, she’s coming out of doors herself. On my word, I’ve not started for my call at a convenient time.
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Follow me, my attendants, here next door. You there! Does any one hear this that I say? I shall be here, if my husband or any person shall seek me. Did I order my distaff to be taken there? For when I’m at home alone, drowsiness takes effect upon my hand.
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Myrrhina, good morrow.
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Good morrow, my dear Cleostrata. But, prithee, why are you sad?
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So all are wont to be who are unfortunately married; at home and abroad, there’s always enough to make them sad. But I was going to your house.
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And, troth, I was coming here to yours. But what is it that now distresses your mind? For the thing that distresses you, that same is a trouble to me.
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On my word, I do believe you. For with good reason no female neighbour of mine do I love better than yourself, nor any one with whom I have more ties of intimacy, to afford me pleasure.
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I thank you kindly, and I long to know what this is.
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My husband has put slights upon me in a most unworthy manner.
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Hah! What is it? Prithee, repeat that same again; for, on my word, I don’t in my mind sufficiently comprehend your complaints.
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My husband has put slights upon me in a most unworthy manner,
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and I have not the advantage of enjoying my own rights.
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’Tis surprising, if you say the truth; for husbands can scarce obtain from their wives what’s their own right.
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Why, against my will, he demands a female servant of me, who belongs to myself, and was brought up at my own expense,
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for him to give to his bailiff. But he is in love with her himself.
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Pray, do hold your tongue.
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But here we may speak at present; we are alone—
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It is so. But whence did you get her? For a good wife ought to have no property
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unknown to her husband; and she who has got any, it is not to her credit, for she must either have purloined it from her husband, or obtained it by unfaithfulness. Whatever is your own, all that I take to be your husband’s.
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Surely, you’re saying all this out of opposition to your friend.
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Do hold your tongue, will you, simpleton, and attend to me. Do you forbear to oppose him, will you. Let him love on; that which he chooses let him do, so long as nothing’s denied you at home.
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Are you quite in your senses? For really, you are saying these things against your own interest.
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Silly creature, do you always take care and be on guard against this expression from your husband—
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What expression?
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Woman! out of doors with you!
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’St! be quiet.
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What’s the matter?
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Hush!
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Who is it that you see?
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Why look, my husband’s coming; go you in-doors. Make all haste; be off, there’s a dear.
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You easily prevail; I’m off.
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At a future time, when you and I shall have more leisure, then I’ll talk to you. For the present, adieu!
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Adieu! (Goes into her house. CLEOSTRATA stands aside.)
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I do believe that love excels all things and delights that are exquisite. It is not possible for anything to be mentioned, that has more relish and more that’s delicious in it. Really, I do much wonder at the cooks, who employ sauces so many,
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that they don’t employ this one seasoning, which excels them all. For where love shall be the seasoning, that I do believe will please every one; nor can there be anything relishing or sweet, where love is not mixed with it. The gall which is bitter, that same it will make into honey; a man from morose into one cheerful and pleasant. This conjecture do I form rather from myself at home than from anything I’ve heard;
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who, since I’ve been in love with Casina, more than in my young days have excelled Neatness herself in neatness; I give employment to all the perfumers; wherever an unguent is excellent, I perfume myself, that I may please her. And I do please her, as I think. But inasmuch as she keeps living on, my wife’s a torment. (Catches sight of his WIFE, and speaks in a low voice.) I espy her standing there in gloominess. This plaguy baggage must be addressed by me with civility. (Going towards her.) My own wife and my delight, what are you about?
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Get you gone, and keep your hand off!
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O fie! my Juno. You shouldn’t be so cross to your own Jupiter. Where art come now?
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Let me alone. (Moves as if going.)
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Do stay.
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I shan’t stay.
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I’ troth, then I’ll follow you. (Follows her.)
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Prithee, are you in your senses?
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In my senses, inasmuch as I love you.
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I don’t want you to love me.

Perseus Latin. CTS URN phi0119.phi006.perseus-eng2. Via the Perseus Digital Library / Open Greek and Latin TEI corpora. Licence: Available under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. Source.