Читать книгу The Satires of Horace - Horace - Страница 12

Satire 4

Such poets as Cratinus, Eupolis,

and Aristophanes—and numerous

other proponents of Old Comedy—

were of this habit: if, deservedly,

somebody should be called out as a louse5

or thief, a killer, or a cheating spouse,

they would not feel restrained as they applied

their brand. Lucilius wholly relied

on them; he'd copy them but rearrange

their feet and rhythms as the only change.10

He was keen-witted and a keen-nosed guy,

though crude when giving poetry a try.

This was his flaw: convinced it was a feat,

he'd stand upon one foot as he'd complete

two hundred lines of verse in just one hour.15

During this slog, you'd wish you had the power

of correcting what he was reciting.

He was a gasbag, lazy in his writing

(writing competently, anyway);

as for his mounds of verse, I am blasé.20

Look! Here's Crispinus sneaking up to tease

me with a “deal”:

“Go grab your tablets, please,

and I will grab mine. Let's arrange a place,

a time, and referees, and have a race

to see who writes the most!”

The gods were kind25

in shaping me a poor and puny mind,

which rarely has much insight to express,

but as for you, go chase your happiness

and imitate the air enclosed within

a bellows struggling against goat-skin30

until the iron softens in the fire!

How fortunate is Fannius, supplier

of his own books and busts, while what I write

goes unread, and I'm frightened to recite

in public for this reason: with my style35

there are some people who will barely smile

since nearly everyone deserves some scorn. Pick someone from a crowd! He'll be forlorn from greediness or failures in his life. This fellow's lusting for another's wife—40 that guy for boys. The glint of silver captures yet another fellow; bronze enraptures Albius. Another's deals are done from distant regions of the rising sun to places heated by its evening rays.45 Indeed, he's carried headlong through hard days just like a whirlwind's dust, afraid to lose his capital or profits he pursues. This bunch is stupefied by verse, and scorns the poets: “He has hay upon his horns!50 Stand back!” If he stirs laughter, he won't spare himself or friends, and he'll be thrilled to share whatever he has scribbled on his sheets with everybody beating their retreats from a hot oven or a water trough,55 including crones and slaveboys! Don't race off! Come listen to a bit of my reply: to start with, I do not identify myself as a real poet. You'd opine that it is not enough to write a line60 in meter, and a person such as me who writes a chatty sort of poetry could never be regarded in your eyes as a real poet. You would recognize a person who is brilliant, with a mind65 that is far more inspired and the kind of voice that resonates. Based on that thought, some doubted whether comic verses ought to count as verse because they can't convey great force and energy in what they say70 or how they say it. Though arranged in feet (unlike prose) that incessantly repeat, it's still just prose. “And yet the father raves because his spendthrift son who madly craves his slutty girlfriend doesn't take a deal75 to marry for a dowry that's unreal, and shames himself by marching drunk through town with torches though the sun is not yet down.”

So would it be less acrimonious

with the late father of Pomponius?80

Accordingly, it is inadequate

to write a line that is inanimate,

which, if examined closely, would portray

a father's rage exactly the same way

it happened in that play. As for all this85

I'm writing now and what Lucilius

produced in times past, if you rearranged

the meter and the rhythm, and exchanged

our first and latest words “when dreaded War's

unlocking iron-studded gates and doors,”90

a poet's broken parts would not be found.

Enough discussion! Someday I'll expound

on whether this is proper verse; I'll turn

for now to asking whether your concern

should be perceived as having any force.95

With pamphlets in their hands and badly hoarse,

fierce Sulcius and Caprius police

the streets so frightened thugs will keep the peace,

but anyone at all whose hands were clean

and led a life of virtue could demean100

the two of them. If, hypothetically,

you were to take on the mentality

of thieves like Birrius and Caelius,

I never would become like Caprius

and Sulcius. Why should I be that scary?105

There is no shop or pillar that would carry

my small books so that Hermogenes

Tigellius and customers would seize

them with their sweaty paws, and I recite

just for my friends—and just to be polite—110

not anywhere in any public space.

While at the baths or at the marketplace,

a lot of people like to perorate;

enclosures let their voices resonate.

This pleases fools, not those who want to see115

some sentiment and musicality.

“You love inflicting pain,” the people say,

“and choose to do it in a vicious way.”

What causes you to hurl this allegation?

Which of my peers provides substantiation?120

The man who knocks a friend behind his back,

who stands aside when enemies attack,

who seeks huge laughs and status as a jokester,

who can invent a tale to be a hoaxster

and who can never keep a confidence,125

he's dark! Romans, maintain your vigilance

with him! When dining you will often find

three couches where twelve people have reclined

and in that group there is a single guest

who always loves to piss upon the rest—130

except the host who waters down the wine—

though later he'll stop being so benign

once he is properly intoxicated

and all his private thoughts are liberated

by Liber, god of truth and liberties.135

You, who “despise” blackhearted men as these,

yet still consider them kind, frank and witty,

do I appear intemperate or snitty

to you because I have been laughing, since

“refined Rufillus always reeks of mints;140

Gargonius of goat”? So if you'd heard

some mention of corruption that occurred

involving someone called Petillius

Capitolinus, you would shill, as this

is what your habit is.

“He's been a friend145

and colleague since our childhood. He would lend

a hand when asked, and I am pleased to see

he's living in the city problem-free,

although, however, I am mystified

that he could beat the rap when he was tried.”150

This is pure bile, the octopus' ink;

I'll ban this vice from all I write and think,

and if, as in the past, I can declare

one thing about myself, it's this I swear:

if I am blunt, or overridicule,155

you should apply to me a lenient rule.

The best of fathers would ingrain in me

the need to label immorality

with actual examples. When he tried

to teach me cheapness (being satisfied160

with what he was providing me), he'd say,

“See how young Albius has thrown away

his life, and Baius knows financial woe?

A fine example why one mustn't blow

one's patrimony!”

To excoriate165

those slobbering for whores:

“Don't imitate

Scetanus!”

To discourage hot pursuit

of married women who are dissolute

though these affairs are thought legitimate:

“Trebonius was found while doing it;170

his name's not good.”

He'd say, “One who is wise

will always be inclined to theorize

about what's best to seek and to reject.

For me it is enough if I protect

the standards your forefathers have maintained175

and if I keep your name and life unstained

while you still need me to remain on guard.

Once time has made your mind and limbs more hard,

you'll swim unaided.”

As a boy, he'd mold

me with remarks like these, and if he told180

me to begin some kind of undertaking:

“There are good reasons for the choice you're making”

(as he exposed some person singled out

for his assessment).

To create some doubt:

“Whenever so-and-so is under fire185

from adverse reports, must you inquire any further as to if this deed produces shame and nothing that you need?”

Just as a neighbor's death will terrify

a housebound glutton who, afraid to die,190

determines that he must improve his ways,

a young and fragile spirit often stays

away from vice when others speak their minds.

From this experience, I lack the kinds

of character deficiencies that cause195

disasters (though I'm stuck with smaller flaws

you should forgive).

Perhaps I'll be set free

to some extent by more maturity,

a candid friend or personal reflection

for I do not need more introspection200

while on my couch or at the colonnade:

“This is more just.”

“If this decision's made, I'll lead a better life.”

“This choice will go down well with friends.”

“This move by so-and-so was unattractive.”

“Would I ever make205

this kind of unintentional mistake?”

These are the ideas that I bat around

with my lips sealed. When leisure time is found,

I play with paper for a little fun.

Of the small faults I mentioned, this is one,210

and if you offer up the least resistance,

mobs of poets will provide assistance.

Since we dwarf your numbers, like the Jews