The Satires of Horace and Persius

by Horace

  their own first names), “Your manly integrity has made me your friend.

  I know the ins and outs of the law and how to conduct

  a defence. I’d lose a leg rather than see you insulted

  or robbed of a penny. My sole concern is to watch that no one

  swindles or deceives you in any way.” Tell him to go home

  and look after his health. You yourself become his attorney.

  Carry on and stick at it, even if “The glowing Dog-star

  the dumb statues splits’, or Furius distended with greasy

  40 tripe “Bespews the wintry Alps with hoary snow”.

  “Look,” someone will say, nudging the man beside him,

  “how patient he is! How helpful to his friends! How very keen!”

  More tunnies will come swimming up and your fish-ponds will grow.

  ‘Again, if you risk detection by paying open respect to

  a bachelor, find a man who is rearing a delicate son

  in an opulent style. Then, by your constant attentions, creep

  softly towards your goal – to be named as second heir.

  If an accident sends the boy to his grave, you can move into

  50 the vacant place. That’s a gamble which rarely fails.

  When someone hands you his will to read, be sure to decline

  and wave the document aside – contriving, however, to catch

  with the corner of your eye the instructions on the second line of page one.

  Glance at it quickly to see if you are the sole heir

  or one of several. Frequently a raven with open beak

  will be fooled by a civil servant cooked up from a minor official

  and Coránus will have the laugh on Nasíca the fortune-hunter.’

  ‘Are you raving? Or purposely teasing me with this involved prediction?’

  ‘ Son of Laertes, what I say will, or will not, come to pass,

  60 for mighty Apollo has granted me the gift of second sight.’

  ‘ Well anyway, if you don’t mind, would you tell me the point of the story?’

  ‘ In the days when a young hero, the scourge of the Parthian race,

  born of Aeneas’ noble line shall rule over land

  and sea, the gallant Coránus shall take in marriage the queenly

  daughter of Nasíca who hates paying his debts in full.

  Then the aged groom shall act as follows: handing his father-in-law

  a copy of his will he shall beg him to read it; with many protests

  Nasíca shall take it and read it in silence, to find that nothing

  has been left to him and his but wailing and gnashing of teeth.

  70 ‘A further point: if the old dotard happens to be under

  the thumb of some scheming woman or freedman, make a deal:

  you praise them, they praise you when you’re not there.

  That helps too. But much the best device is to storm

  the main objective. If the idiot churns out doggerel – praise it.

  Is he a lecher? Don’t wait to be asked – do the decent thing

  and hand Penelope over to your more deserving rival.’

  ‘Do you think she can be prevailed on, a lady so pure and proper,

  a lady whom the suitors have failed to tempt from the straight and narrow?’

  ‘Of course! When those lads came, they were rather mean with their presents;

  80 it wasn’t sex that enticed them so much as the palace cooking.

  That’s why your Penelope is pure. But if you make her a partner

  and let her taste some cash at an old fellow’s expense,

  there’ll be no holding her. She’ll be like a dog with a juicy bone.

  ‘I’ll tell you something that happened in my later years. An ancient

  bitch in Thebes left some odd instructions for her funeral: her body

  was soaked in oil, then carried by her heir on his bare shoulders.

  No doubt she hoped on her death to slip out of his clutches. I suppose

  he’d been over-insistent in her lifetime.

  Watch how you make your approach.

  You mustn’t let things slide, nor yet be too attentive.

  90 A peevish and moody man will be irked by chatter. Apart from

  “Yes” and “No” keep quiet. Be like Davus in the comedies,

  standing with head bowed, as if you’d something to fear.

  Solicitude should be your plan of attack: if the breeze freshens,

  tell him to be careful and cover his precious head. Make a pathway

  through the crowd with your shoulders. Cock an ear to his chatter.

  If his constant conceit gets on your nerves, keep on blowing

  and inflate the old balloon with windy praises, until

  he throws up his hands to the skies and exclaims “Oh, steady on!”

  ‘When you are released from your long term of trouble and service,

  100 and you hear the words “A fourth part of my estate is to go

  to Ulysses,” then, after making sure you’re awake, let fall

  here and there “So my old friend Jack is no more! Where shall I find

  another so staunch and loyal?” Squeeze a tear if you can.

  If your face betrays your delight, you can always hide it. The tomb

  may be left to your discretion; if so, spare no expense

  on its building. Put on a splendid funeral for the neighbours to admire.

  If a co-heir is getting on in years and has a church-yard cough,

  tell him if he’d like to buy an estate or a house that is part of

  your share, you’ll let him have it for a song. But Queen

  110 Proserpine calls. Good-bye then, and don’t let life get you down!’

  SATIRE 6

  This poem was written late in 31 BC, three or four years after Maecenas had presented Horace with the Sabine farm. It contrasts the pleasures of the country with the strain of city life. It was imitated by Pope and Swift.

  This is what I prayed for. A piece of land – not so very big,

  with a garden and, near the house, a spring that never fails,

  and a bit of wood to round it off. All this and more

  the gods have granted. So be it. I ask for nothing else,

  O son of Maia, except that you make these blessings last.

  If I haven’t increased my assets by any dishonest trick

  and don’t intend to fritter them away by waste or neglect,

  if I’m not such a fool as to pray: ‘I wish my little farm

  could take in that corner of my neighbour’s, which at present spoils its shape;

  10 I wish I could stumble on a pot of silver and be like the fellow

  who on finding some treasure bought and ploughed the very field

  in which he had worked as a hired hand; it was Hercules’ favour

  that made him rich’; if I’m pleased and content with my lot, then this

  is my prayer: ‘make fat the flocks I own and everything else

  except my head, and remain as ever my chief protector.’

  Well then, now that I’ve left town for my castle in the hills

  what can I better praise in the satires of my lowland muse?

  I’m spared the accursed struggle for status, and the leaden sirocco,

  which in the tainted autumn enriches Our Lady of Funerals.

  20 O Father of the Dawn, or Janus if you would rather have that name,

  you watch over the beginning of man’s working day,

  for such is the will of heaven. So let me begin my song

  with you. In Rome you dispatch me to act as a guarantor.

  ‘Hurry, or someone else will answer the call before you!’

  The north wind may be rasping the earth, or winter may be drawing

  the snowy day into a smaller circle, but go I must.

  Then, after swearing loud and clear to my own disadvantage,

  I have
to barge through the crowd, bruising the slow movers.

  ‘What do you want, you idiot, and why are you pushing so rudely

  30 with your angry curses? Do you think you can kick things out of your way

  because you’re dashing back to Maecenas to keep an appointment?’

  I like that, I admit, and it’s sweet music in my ears.

  But as soon as I reach the mournful Esquiline, hundreds of items

  of other folks’ business buzz in my head and jump round my legs.

  ‘Roscius would like you to meet him at the Wall by eight tomorrow.’

  ‘The Department said be sure to come in today, Quintus;

  an important matter of common concern has just cropped up.’

  ‘Get Maecenas’ signature on these papers.’

  ‘I’ll try,’

  you say.

  ‘You can if you want to,’ he replies, and won’t be put off.

  40 Time flies. It’s now six, in fact almost seven,

  years since Maecenas came to regard me as one of his friends –

  or at least he was willing to go so far as to take me with him

  when making a journey in his carriage and to risk casual remarks: ‘What time do you make it?’ ‘Is the Thracian Chick a match for the Arab?’

  ‘These frosty mornings are quite nippy; you’ve got to be careful,’

  and other comments which might be entrusted to a leaky ear.

  All this time, every day and hour, yours truly has become

  a more frequent target for jealous comment. Suppose he has sat

  in the grandstand with me or played in the Park, there’s an instant chorus

  50 of ‘Lucky dog!’ If a chilling rumour runs through the streets

  from the city centre, everyone I meet asks me for details.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, but you must know, for you are so close

  to the supreme power – you haven’t by any chance heard some news

  about the Dacians?’

  ‘No, none at all.’

  ‘Teasing as usual!’

  ‘I swear it; I don’t know a thing.’

  ‘No? Well what about the land

  Caesar has promised to give his veterans? Will it be in Italy

  or Triangleland?’

  When I protest my ignorance, they regard me with wonder

  as a deep man, if you please, of quite unusual reticence!

  That’s how the day is wasted. In exasperation I murmur:

  60 ‘When shall I see that place in the country, when shall I be free

  to browse among the writers of old, to sleep or idle,

  drinking in a blissful oblivion of life’s troubles?

  When shall I sit down to a plate of beans, Pythagoras’ kinsmen,

  along with greens which are amply flavoured by fat bacon?’

  Ah, those evenings and dinners. What heaven! My friends and I

  have our meal at my own fireside. Then, after making an offering,

  I hand the rest to the cheeky servants. Every guest

  drinks from whatever glass he likes, big or small.

  We have no silly regulations. One goes for the strong stuff

  70 like a hero, another mellows more happily on a milder blend.

  And so the conversation begins – not about other folks’

  town and country houses, nor the merits of Grace’s dancing;

  we discuss things which affect us more nearly and one ought to know about:

  what is the key to happiness, money or moral character?

  In making friends are our motives idealistic or selfish?

  What is the nature of goodness, and what is its highest form?

  Meanwhile our neighbour Cervius tells us old wives’ tales

  which are yet to the point. If someone envies Arellius’ money

  without considering his worries, he begins: Once upon a time

  80 a country mouse is said to have welcomed to his humble hole

  a mouse from the city – a friend and guest of long standing.

  He was a rough fellow, who kept a tight hand on his savings,

  though he didn’t mind relaxing when it came to a party. Anyhow,

  he drew freely on his store of vetch and long oats,

  then brought a raisin in his mouth and bits of half-eaten bacon,

  hoping, by varying the menu, to please his finicky guest.

  The latter would barely touch each item with his dainty teeth,

  while the master of the house, reclining on a couch of fresh straw,

  ate coarse grain and darnel, avoiding the choicer dishes.

  90 At last the townsman spoke: ‘Look old man, why on earth

  do you want to eke out a living on a cliff edge in the woods?

  You ought to give up this wild forest in favour of the city

  and its social life. Come on back with me now: I mean it

  All earthly creatures have been given mortal souls;

  large or small they have no means of escaping death.

  So my dear chap, while there’s still time, enjoy the good things

  of life, and never forget your days are numbered.’

  ‘ His words

  prodded the peasant into action. He hopped nimbly from his house,

  and then the pair completed the journey, hurrying on

  100 to creep within the city wall under cover of darkness.

  Night had reached the middle of her journey across the heavens

  when they made their way into a wealthy house. Covers steeped

  in scarlet dye shimmered expensively on ivory couches,

  and close by, piled in baskets, were several courses

  left from a great dinner earlier on that evening.

  Inviting the bumpkin to relax on the red material, the host

  bustled about, like a waiter in a short jacket, producing

  one course after another, not forgetting the house-boy’s

  duty of testing whatever he brought with a preliminary nibble.

  110 The other was lying there, thoroughly enjoying his change of fortune

  and playing the happy guest surrounded by good cheer,

  when suddenly the doors crashed open and sent them scuttling from their places.

  They dashed in fright down the long hall, their fear turning

  to utter panic when they heard the sound of mastiffs baying

  through the great house. Then the countryman said: ‘This isn’t the life

  for me. Good-bye: my hole in the woods will keep me safe

  from sudden attack, and simple vetch will assuage my hunger.’

  SATIRE 7

  Like II. 3, this homily is supposed to be delivered during the Saturnalia. It is also on a Stoic theme, viz. that only the sage is free. Davus, Horace’s slave, has heard the sermon not from the Stoic Crispinus himself but from his hall porter who had been listening at the door of the lecture-room.

  ‘I’ve been listening for ages and wanting to say a few words, but as

  I’m a slave I haven’t the nerve.’

  ‘Is it Davus?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Davus –

  a servant fond of his master, and reasonably good – though not

  so good, I hope, as to die young.’

  ‘Come on, it’s December;

  enjoy the freedom our fathers decreed, and say what you like.’

  ‘Some people love their faults and follow their aim unswervingly;

  most vary, at one time trying to go straight, at another

  stooping to something crooked. One day Priscus would be seen

  with three rings on his left hand, the next with none.

  10 He had no stability. He would change his stripe from hour to hour;

  leaving a great house, he would enter a dive from which

  the cleaner sort of freedman would blush to be seen emerging;

  he rang the changes: lecher in Rome and scholar in Athens.

  Vertumnus scowled on his birth, and made h
im a versatile failure.

  The wastrel ‘Vólanérius, when the gout he richly deserved

  crippled his fingers, hired a servant at a daily wage

  to pick up the dice and put them in the box on his behalf.

  He stuck steadily to a single vice and accordingly suffered

  less distress and was better off than the wretched creature

  20 that is now chafed and now entangled by the rope around it.’

  ‘Don’t take all day, you crook. Just tell me, what’s the point

  of all this rot?’

  ‘Why you are!’

  ‘How do you mean, you scum?’

  ‘You praise the fortune and ways of the men of old, and yet

  if a god suddenly urged you to go back you’d refuse point blank,

  for you don’t believe that what you shout about is really better,

  or else you are too weak to defend what’s right; so you stick

  fast in the mud vainly struggling to pull out your foot.

  In Rome you long for the country; there, you praise to the skies

  the city you’ve just left. There’s caprice! if no one

  30 has asked you to dinner you talk lovingly of “carefree veg”.

  You hug yourself in delight that you needn’t go out drinking,

  as if it took handcuffs to get you to a party. About lighting-up time

  Maecenas sends round a late invitation to join him at dinner.

  “Will someone bring the lamp-oil? Quickly! Is nobody listening?”

  Then, with a lot of bluster and bellowing, you dash away.

  The hangers-on depart with curses that needn’t be repeated.

  I can imagine Mulvius saying: “All right, i admit i’m easily

  led by my belly, my nostrils twitch at a savoury smell,

  I’m weak, spineless – if you like, a glutton into the bargain,

  40 but you’re exactly the same, if not worse. So why

  should you lecture me in a superior tone, wrapping up your vices

  in polite expressions?” Suppose you were shown to be more of a fool

  than I, who cost you a mere five hundred? You needn’t try

  to scare me by making faces; put down your fists and control

  your temper, till you hear the lesson I learned from Crispinus’ porter.

  ‘You fancy someone else’s wife, Davus a tart.

  Who commits the graver offence? When I’m prodded on

  by the goad of lust, a girl lying naked in the lamplight submits

  to the strokes of my swollen crop or eagerly urges on