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Plautus, at last!
This is his Casina, one of his many...well, romantic comedies. I suppose I could just call it a “comedy”, given that as with Shakespeare that pretty much means people will be getting married at the end, and there’ll be a lot of wacky coincidences along the way. In fact, if you want a good taste of Roman comedy done in English, go read A Comedy of Errors; from the hilarious coincidences to the dirty jokes to the tricky slaves (or “servants”, I guess) to a lot of things being resolved by determining where lost children got to, it’s very Roman.
Which also means “very Greek,” because--especially at this period--Roman comedy is pretty directly imitating Greek comedy, in a manner we’d outright call plagiarism these days. But that is tradition!
A lot of the dialogue is fast and fragmentary and a little hard to make grammatical, a lot of the vocabulary is colloquial and hard to render in its most accurate English sense, and some of the jokes are puns. I’ll do what I can.
Cast*
OLYMPIO, a steward
CHALINUS, a slave
CLEOSTRATA, a woman
PARDALISCA, a handmaid
MYRRHINA, a woman
LYSIDAMUS, an old man
ALCESIMUS, an old man
CITRIO, a cook
Argumentum**
Two fellow-slaves long for a fellow-slave wife; the old man proposes one of them, the son proposes the other. Luck assists the old man, but he is deceived by trickeries. Thus a slave-boy is substituted in the place of the girl for him, a wretched boy who beats the master and the steward. The young man leads Casina [in marriage] when she is recognized as a citizen.
Prologus***
I bid hello to the best spectators, you who esteem faithfulness highly, and you [too are] faithful men. If I speak the truth, give me a clear sign, so that I may know that you are favorable towards me now from the start. I know that the wise are those who drink old wine, and those who freely watch old stories.
Since old works and words are pleasing to you, it’s appropriate to please before other old stories. For the new comedies these days that come forth these days are by far more wretched than the new coinage. We people understood after the zealous rumor that you expect Plautinine stories, we put forth his ancient comedy, which you who are among the elders saw before; for I know that those of you among the younger men didn’t see it; but we’ll give it to you diligently, so that they might see it.
When this comedy was first performed, it conquered all the other stories. At that point in time it was the blossom of poets, who are now absent from here in the common places. But nevertheless, while absent, they do good as if they were present.
I wish for you all to listen to my appeal very benevolently, so that you pay attention to our company of actors. Cast out from your soul worries and debt; may no one dread being called out by creditors. These are the rest days, and the bankers are given a rest.^ It’s peaceful, and the halcyon days surround the forum. They show good sense, they make demands of no one during the holidays; however, they return [money] to no one after the holidays.
If your ears are receptive, pay attention! I wish to give the name of the comedy to you. This comedy was called Clerumenoi in Greek, and Sortientes in Latin.^^ Diphilus wrote this in Greek; on the other hand, afterwards Plautus (with his barking name^^^) [wrote it] anew.
A matrimonial old man lives here%; he has a son; he lives alone with his father in that house over there. He has a certain slave who sleeps in sickness; no, wait, I should say, he sleeps in a bed, if I don’t lie; but this slave, it’s been sixteen years since he saw a baby girl exposed during the early evening.
He straightaway approached the woman who was exposing that girl, and asked that she give the girl to him. He persuades her, he carries it away, he takes the girl straight home. He gives the girl to his lady, and asks that she take care of the girl, and bring her up. His lady does so, and raises her with great care, just as if she’d given birth to the girl herself, and not [something I cannot for the life of me translate]. Afterwards the girl grew up to that age when she could be pleasing to men; the old man here loves her desperately, but at the same time the son is opposed to him.
Now each man prepares legions%% for himself, the father and the son, the one secretly against the other. The father commissioned his steward to beg [to have] this aforementioned woman as a wife; he hopes, if she is given to [the steward], the wife will have night quarters secretly prepared for him away from home. However, this son commissioned his shield-bearer to beg this woman for himself as a wife. He knows, if he gets what he wants, he can love her in the future in his own home.
The old man’s wife realized that the man had fallen in love; accordingly she agrees with her son’s plan. However that [old] man realized afterward that he and his own son were in love with the same woman, and this would be an impediment to him, so the father sent this young man off to travel. The knowing mother does the work for him, despite his absence. He--so that you aren’t waiting for him--doesn’t return to the city in this comedy today; Plautus doesn’t want him to; he broke the bridge that was on the man’s journey.
I believe there are now those here saying amongst themselves: “Good god, what in the world is this? Slave weddings? Are the slaves taking a wife, or requesting one for themselves? The actors are doing something revolutionary, which will make them a wretched crew.” But I say it did occur, in Greece and in Carthage, and here in our lands, in Apulia; and even more than that, slave weddings used to be attended to quite freely. If you have it not so, let anyone who wishes give me a pledge of a jar of sweet wine, provided that a Phoenician is the judge for my case, or a Greek as well, or an Apulian.
What now? No one’s going to do it? I get it, no one’s thirsty.
Let me return to that foundling girl, whom the slaves press with the greatest force to become their wife. She will be discovered both chaste and free, native-born in Athens, and will not be engaging in any form of fornication in this particular comedy. But by god, after the play is over, if anyone wishes to give her silver, as I suspect, she’ll go to marry another man, and not wait for the auspices.
So that’s the sum of it. Be well, act well, be triumphant by true virtue, as you’ve done before.
---
* Several of these names never appear in the play itself; there’s scholarly argument over whether or not they’re what I listed above, some other name, or just completely unnamed. Conversely, its title character, Casina, is named but never appears on stage.
Remember back in Cato’s de Agricultura, when he was giving a whole long list of traits a steward should have, and explaining how to keep him in line? The steward is that guy. Note that he is also a slave. “Mulier”, which I’m translating as “woman,” is a rather general name for women, but can imply a free woman, compared to “ancilla” or “serva”; “ancilla,” which I have as “handmaiden,” is a term for female slaves, and can just be used instead of “servus” (slave), though it sometimes seems to imply a woman who does housework or acts as a personal attendant instead of being a field-worker. And I’m not sure at this point if the cook is a slave or not.
** A plot summary, which is also an acrostic for the title of the play, done in more archaic form than other parts of the play. And you thought our literary traditions could be tricky. At least no one has to stand up and go through lines that spell out “Two Gentlemen of Verona” with their first letters, summarizing the play itself, before the action can begin. It’s sort of like the blurb on the back of the book, but stylized and performed.
*** Ha! Did you think the play would actually start now? No. Now we get the part where the playwright addresses the audience, explains the backstory for the play, and generally encourages them to be an interested audience with flattery and the like.
^ The best rendition I could manage of a rather complex Latin pun, in which the word for “holiday” ends up being used for “the bankers get to rest” and “the bankers are avoided.”
^^ “Men Drawing Lots” in both cases. Apparently it was renamed Casina in a revival, which is where we get the acrostic at the front that spells out this name, and why we call it by that name. It’s sort of like naming King Lear “Shouting Old Man,” but why not?
^^^ Because “plautus” was the name for a dog with floppy ears, like a beagle.
% Now the person doing the introduction is pointing to various parts of the stage where the backdrop shows houses and such.
%% There’s a lot of military terminology in this section, but it’s being used humorously, not literally. No one involved is actually a soldier or the like.
This is his Casina, one of his many...well, romantic comedies. I suppose I could just call it a “comedy”, given that as with Shakespeare that pretty much means people will be getting married at the end, and there’ll be a lot of wacky coincidences along the way. In fact, if you want a good taste of Roman comedy done in English, go read A Comedy of Errors; from the hilarious coincidences to the dirty jokes to the tricky slaves (or “servants”, I guess) to a lot of things being resolved by determining where lost children got to, it’s very Roman.
Which also means “very Greek,” because--especially at this period--Roman comedy is pretty directly imitating Greek comedy, in a manner we’d outright call plagiarism these days. But that is tradition!
A lot of the dialogue is fast and fragmentary and a little hard to make grammatical, a lot of the vocabulary is colloquial and hard to render in its most accurate English sense, and some of the jokes are puns. I’ll do what I can.
Cast*
OLYMPIO, a steward
CHALINUS, a slave
CLEOSTRATA, a woman
PARDALISCA, a handmaid
MYRRHINA, a woman
LYSIDAMUS, an old man
ALCESIMUS, an old man
CITRIO, a cook
Argumentum**
Two fellow-slaves long for a fellow-slave wife; the old man proposes one of them, the son proposes the other. Luck assists the old man, but he is deceived by trickeries. Thus a slave-boy is substituted in the place of the girl for him, a wretched boy who beats the master and the steward. The young man leads Casina [in marriage] when she is recognized as a citizen.
Prologus***
I bid hello to the best spectators, you who esteem faithfulness highly, and you [too are] faithful men. If I speak the truth, give me a clear sign, so that I may know that you are favorable towards me now from the start. I know that the wise are those who drink old wine, and those who freely watch old stories.
Since old works and words are pleasing to you, it’s appropriate to please before other old stories. For the new comedies these days that come forth these days are by far more wretched than the new coinage. We people understood after the zealous rumor that you expect Plautinine stories, we put forth his ancient comedy, which you who are among the elders saw before; for I know that those of you among the younger men didn’t see it; but we’ll give it to you diligently, so that they might see it.
When this comedy was first performed, it conquered all the other stories. At that point in time it was the blossom of poets, who are now absent from here in the common places. But nevertheless, while absent, they do good as if they were present.
I wish for you all to listen to my appeal very benevolently, so that you pay attention to our company of actors. Cast out from your soul worries and debt; may no one dread being called out by creditors. These are the rest days, and the bankers are given a rest.^ It’s peaceful, and the halcyon days surround the forum. They show good sense, they make demands of no one during the holidays; however, they return [money] to no one after the holidays.
If your ears are receptive, pay attention! I wish to give the name of the comedy to you. This comedy was called Clerumenoi in Greek, and Sortientes in Latin.^^ Diphilus wrote this in Greek; on the other hand, afterwards Plautus (with his barking name^^^) [wrote it] anew.
A matrimonial old man lives here%; he has a son; he lives alone with his father in that house over there. He has a certain slave who sleeps in sickness; no, wait, I should say, he sleeps in a bed, if I don’t lie; but this slave, it’s been sixteen years since he saw a baby girl exposed during the early evening.
He straightaway approached the woman who was exposing that girl, and asked that she give the girl to him. He persuades her, he carries it away, he takes the girl straight home. He gives the girl to his lady, and asks that she take care of the girl, and bring her up. His lady does so, and raises her with great care, just as if she’d given birth to the girl herself, and not [something I cannot for the life of me translate]. Afterwards the girl grew up to that age when she could be pleasing to men; the old man here loves her desperately, but at the same time the son is opposed to him.
Now each man prepares legions%% for himself, the father and the son, the one secretly against the other. The father commissioned his steward to beg [to have] this aforementioned woman as a wife; he hopes, if she is given to [the steward], the wife will have night quarters secretly prepared for him away from home. However, this son commissioned his shield-bearer to beg this woman for himself as a wife. He knows, if he gets what he wants, he can love her in the future in his own home.
The old man’s wife realized that the man had fallen in love; accordingly she agrees with her son’s plan. However that [old] man realized afterward that he and his own son were in love with the same woman, and this would be an impediment to him, so the father sent this young man off to travel. The knowing mother does the work for him, despite his absence. He--so that you aren’t waiting for him--doesn’t return to the city in this comedy today; Plautus doesn’t want him to; he broke the bridge that was on the man’s journey.
I believe there are now those here saying amongst themselves: “Good god, what in the world is this? Slave weddings? Are the slaves taking a wife, or requesting one for themselves? The actors are doing something revolutionary, which will make them a wretched crew.” But I say it did occur, in Greece and in Carthage, and here in our lands, in Apulia; and even more than that, slave weddings used to be attended to quite freely. If you have it not so, let anyone who wishes give me a pledge of a jar of sweet wine, provided that a Phoenician is the judge for my case, or a Greek as well, or an Apulian.
What now? No one’s going to do it? I get it, no one’s thirsty.
Let me return to that foundling girl, whom the slaves press with the greatest force to become their wife. She will be discovered both chaste and free, native-born in Athens, and will not be engaging in any form of fornication in this particular comedy. But by god, after the play is over, if anyone wishes to give her silver, as I suspect, she’ll go to marry another man, and not wait for the auspices.
So that’s the sum of it. Be well, act well, be triumphant by true virtue, as you’ve done before.
---
* Several of these names never appear in the play itself; there’s scholarly argument over whether or not they’re what I listed above, some other name, or just completely unnamed. Conversely, its title character, Casina, is named but never appears on stage.
Remember back in Cato’s de Agricultura, when he was giving a whole long list of traits a steward should have, and explaining how to keep him in line? The steward is that guy. Note that he is also a slave. “Mulier”, which I’m translating as “woman,” is a rather general name for women, but can imply a free woman, compared to “ancilla” or “serva”; “ancilla,” which I have as “handmaiden,” is a term for female slaves, and can just be used instead of “servus” (slave), though it sometimes seems to imply a woman who does housework or acts as a personal attendant instead of being a field-worker. And I’m not sure at this point if the cook is a slave or not.
** A plot summary, which is also an acrostic for the title of the play, done in more archaic form than other parts of the play. And you thought our literary traditions could be tricky. At least no one has to stand up and go through lines that spell out “Two Gentlemen of Verona” with their first letters, summarizing the play itself, before the action can begin. It’s sort of like the blurb on the back of the book, but stylized and performed.
*** Ha! Did you think the play would actually start now? No. Now we get the part where the playwright addresses the audience, explains the backstory for the play, and generally encourages them to be an interested audience with flattery and the like.
^ The best rendition I could manage of a rather complex Latin pun, in which the word for “holiday” ends up being used for “the bankers get to rest” and “the bankers are avoided.”
^^ “Men Drawing Lots” in both cases. Apparently it was renamed Casina in a revival, which is where we get the acrostic at the front that spells out this name, and why we call it by that name. It’s sort of like naming King Lear “Shouting Old Man,” but why not?
^^^ Because “plautus” was the name for a dog with floppy ears, like a beagle.
% Now the person doing the introduction is pointing to various parts of the stage where the backdrop shows houses and such.
%% There’s a lot of military terminology in this section, but it’s being used humorously, not literally. No one involved is actually a soldier or the like.