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Introduction

SUSANNA BRAUND

For us in the twenty-first century, “satire” denotes a form of wittily savage social and political discourse that pillories public figures, often with noholds-barred abandon. But how does our concept of satire relate to Roman satire, a literary form that the Romans claim to have invented themselves? Only obliquely. There is no doubt that the idea of satire as a crafted form of abuse derives from authors of Roman satire, above all Juvenal, who was writing more than a century after Horace and who gave us the phrase “bread and circuses” (panem et circenses). But not all Roman satirists were as fierce or direct as Juvenal. Horace seems so mild by comparison with his later fellow-satirist that it may seem hard to believe they are both deploying the same genre. What they share, in contradistinction from modern satirists, is their use of a specialized poetic form. Roman verse satire is written in the dactylic hexameter meter, a highly stylized form borrowed from epic poetry. The Roman satirists often seem aware of the huge gap between their often disgusting and mundane material and the heroic achievements recorded in the same meter by the likes of Homer and Virgil. A. M. Juster's bold and brilliant choice of rhymed iambic pentameter couplets (also known as heroic couplets) for this new translation of Horace's Satires acknowledges the significance of poetic form in a way impossible for translations in prose or in free verse. When we read this translation, if we find ourselves thinking of more elevated poetry in the same meter— for example, Dryden's translation of Virgil's Aeneid or Pope's translation of the Iliad—this means that the translator has succeeded at duplicating the effect that Horace's hexameters must have had on his contemporary audience.

So, although we might think we know what to expect from “satire,” it is important to remember that Horace's Satires in the genre of satura are the product of a society that is alien as well as familiar. A sketch of Horace's social, political, and literary contexts will enhance understanding of what he was doing in these poems. Let us start with his life and times.

Horace—Quintus Horatius Flaccus, to give him his full Roman name— lived during momentous times that saw the transition from Republic to Principate. Born in 65 B.C.E., for much of his life he moved in elite circles at Rome, even though his background was relatively lowly. He was the son of a freedman—a former slave—who had made a fortune from entrepreneurship and who bought the best possible education for his son. That meant taking him to Rome from Apulia, in the far south of Italy. Horace completed his education alongside sons of the elite with a long stay in Athens. There, in 44 B.C.E., he joined the retinue of Brutus (the assassin of Julius Caesar), who promoted him to a position carrying equestrian status—the second highest rank at Rome, exceeded only by senatorial rank. But his promising career was soon checked by Brutus' rout and suicide at the battle of Philippi in 42, which had a negative impact on Horace's economic as well as social and political status. Shrewdly, he took the post of permanent assistant to the quaestors' office (scriba quaestorii), which handled public finances and public records. This position provided him with considerable influence and income. His friendship with the poet Virgil, future author of the Aeneid, facilitated an introduction first to the powerful patron Maecenas in 38 and then to Maecenas' friend Octavian, the future emperor Augustus. From that point onward, Horace's position was secure—so secure that he later felt able to decline Augustus' invitation to become his private secretary. At his death he named the emperor as heir and was buried near his patron Maecenas.

Horace's poetic output is prolific and spans a range of literary genres. His first venture was a first book of Satires, written in hexameters and published in 35–34 B.C.E. The second book of Satires, along with a book of fierce iambic poems called Epodes, followed soon after the crucial battle of Actium (31) that established Octavian in sole power. But Horace is best known for his lyric poetry, known collectively as Odes, in which he explores a wide range of political, moral, amatory, and poetic themes. In Odes 1–3, published as a collection in 23 B.C.E, Horace repeatedly demonstrates his allegiance to Augustus' new regime. Augustus returned the compliment by commissioning from him the carmen saeculare—“Hymn for the Era”—for performance at his celebration of the Secular Games in 17 B.C.E. The rest of Horace's poetic output is harder to date. At some point, he returned to the hexameter for Epistles Books I and II and for the socalled Ars Poetica (which is really an extension of his verse Epistles); his final engagement with lyric produced Odes 4, dating from 13 B.C.E. Despite some pressure and expectation, he never undertook an epic poem in praise of Augustus and defends himself (rather feebly) for this decision in both his Satires and his Odes. But both he and Augustus were well aware that Horace had celebrated many aspects of the Augustan program in other genres of poetry.

In his early poetic career, Horace experimented with two literary forms of attack—the old tradition of savage iambic poetry, long established in Greek literature, and the relatively recent Roman invention of hexametric satiric poetry. It is telling that he abandoned iambic poetry after just one book (Epodes), while he returned to the hexameter not only for a second book of Satires but also for all his Epistles, which share so many features with the Satires that many scholars follow Horace's hint (Epistles II.2.59–60) and regard them as belonging to the same genre. What appealed to him about the Roman genre and how does he relate to earlier satire? These questions are worth asking because the Greco-Roman world gave greater attention than our contemporary world does to the tradition within which an artist or poet worked and tended to measure a poet's achievements in terms of his relationship to his predecessors.

The genre of verse satire had received definitive shape about a hundred years before Horace took it up from a member of the Roman aristocracy called Gaius Lucilius (perhaps 180–102 B.C.E.). Unfortunately, only fragments of his poems survive—but enough to show the huge influence he had on Horace. It is no surprise that Horace calls him the “inventor” of the genre. After experimenting with many different meters, Lucilius settled on the hexameter as the meter for his satires. This decision to hijack the meter of epic—the most elevated literary genre in the Greco-Roman world, a form devoted to celebrating the exploits of heroes, kings and generals—must have created an astonishing conflict between form and content for the Roman audience. In his Satires, Lucilius attacked both eminent and lowly individuals for a wide range of personal failings ranging from incompetence to arrogance. He satirized city life with its frantic competitiveness and self-indulgent luxury. He criticized superstition and parodied philosophical ideas. And all this he did in the first person. Lucilius' autobiographical stance (whether or not it reflects anything at all about the real Lucilius) is a lasting legacy to the genre. So too is his unelevated style of diction: conversational, rambling, even blunt and obscene. He sometimes incorporates Greek words into his Latin and invents neologisms for effect; he sometimes indulges in epic parody. How did Horace develop the genre from the vigor and directness of the “inventor” of Roman satire?

Horace is certainly explicit about his admiration for Lucilius. Several times in the Satires (I.4, I.10, II.1) he evaluates Lucilius' poetry, and he also pays him the compliment of imitating him in several poems. For example, his account of his journey to Brundisium (modern Brindisi), Satire I.5, is clearly inspired by a Lucilius poem describing a journey to Sicily; for the ancients, imitation was a form of homage. In Horace's eyes, Lucilius was a fearless and witty critic of socially unacceptable behavior, but he was also prolix, writing too much too fast. Horace excuses his predecessor as a product of his times: “if fate could put him here today, / he would revise far more and hack away / at excess verbiage.” It seems clear that Horace regards himself as the natural urbane and suave successor to the “inventor” of the genre.

One manifestation of Horace's self-conscious urbanity is the high degree of self-irony that informs his autobiographical presentation. The self-ironic persona was something pioneered by Lucilius, but in Horace's hands it reaches new heights. For example, Horace takes a position of extreme humility by self-deprecatingly calling himself “a freedman's son” repeatedly in Satire 1.6. In Satire 1.5 he describes a wet dream after being disappointed by a girlfriend, and I.9 he depicts his feebleness in being unable to shrug off the unwanted attentions of a social climber. In several poems in Book II he depicts himself at the mercy of individuals breaking in on his leisure to deliver second-hand Stoic sermons on madness and freedom at him— a bankrupt called Damasippus in Satire II.3 and his own slave Davus in II.7. Whether the real Horace was anything like this we cannot say, but it is clear that the poet uses this stance to create a disarming position from which to launch his criticisms of Roman morals and Roman society.

The logical corollary of his humble persona is his limitation of stylistic range and his aspiration to a certain linguistic purity. Horace expels the Greek words and other colorful vocabulary typical of Lucilius and instead develops the idea of satirical poetry as “conversation,” preferring everyday vocabulary to high-flown poetic language. This fits his referring to his poems as sermones (“conversations”) as well as satura. He describes his pieces as “a chatty sort of poetry” and often obscures or complicates the verse form with frequent enjambment. This is captured very well by Juster's handling of the heroic couplet.

The most obvious manifestation of Horace's milder form of satire is that his attacks are never on famous individuals, but instead on types, sometimes named, sometimes not. This makes his satire rather oblique. For example, Satire I.1. which takes as its theme people's discontentedness with their own situation in life, is essentially an attack on avarice without targeting any specific miser. Satires I.2 and I.3 are further attacks on human inconsistency, again with no single specific target. Horace attributes this mode of criticism to his father, whom he praises generously in Satire 1.4 and again in 1.6. He incorporates further praise into 1.6 when he celebrates his patron Maecenas for valuing individual worth over birth. By the end of Book I, Horace has established a mild mode of satire, which reproves moral and social failings without savaging particular eminent individuals—an approach that he concedes in Satire I.10 may not have a wide appeal but which he hopes will win approval from Maecenas and his sophisticated circle of friends. He rightly characterizes his approach to satire early in the first poem of the book as a combination of truth and humor: quamquam ridentem dicere verum / quid vetat? ut pueris olim dant crustula blandi / doctores, elementa velint ut discere prima (I.1, ll. 2426), which Juster acutely renders: “but can't we laugh when we reveal a truth / like teachers bearing treats who bribe a youth / so that he'll gobble up his ABCs?”

In the second book Horace's satirical method is even more oblique. In contrast with the first, where Horace at least points a cautious finger at human foibles and failings, following his father's practice of identifying positive and negative role models, in the second book he takes a back seat—or even disappears altogether—and cedes the floor to other speakers. The audience is left to figure out how seriously to take these speakers. We might listen closely to some of them, for example, the lawyer Trebatius in Satire II.1, who advises Horace on the risks and advisability of continuing to write satire. But when in II.5 we meet the prophet Tiresias advising Ulysses on the thoroughly Roman topic of making money through legacy-hunting, it is clear that Horace is having fun debunking Homer's characters by making them cynical and mercenary. In II.2 a sturdy rustic called Ofellus delivers a surprisingly long and eloquent speech urging moderation in matters of food, while in Satire II.4 the chic Catius, who reveals himself an obsessive fool, shares with Horace a lecture on fine gastronomy that he has just heard. These opposed opinions on food are reiterated in Horace's version of the fable of the City Mouse and the Country Mouse that he incorporates into Satire II.6, not spoken directly by Horace but put into the mouth of one of his country neighbors. But any inclination to read the fable straightforwardly, as praise of country living, is undermined by Horace's own admission earlier in the poem that he enjoys aspects of city life, especially his conspicuous association with Maecenas, which is “like honey.” The second book ends with a satire on social climbing, in which an over-anxious host called Nasidienus is mocked for his attempts to impress Maecenas & Co., a poem that anticipates the prose satirist Petronius' memorable creation in his Satyricon, written nearly a century later, of the awful Trimalchio, an ex-freedman millionaire who positively tyrannizes his guests. It may seem that in Satire II.8 Horace finally delivers a personal attack—but in fact the whole incident is narrated to Horace by his friend Fundanius, a comic poet, to whom Horace gives the last word. We are left to decide for ourselves the extent to which Horace endorses Fundanius' mockery of the social climber.

Juster's new verse translation of Horace's Satires is most welcome; it attains a high level of accuracy both literally and in tone; in short, it is a delight to read. His decision to write in meter is bold and unusual—but it works, especially when read aloud, which is the way that the original Latin reached its audience, through the ear rather than the eye. Despite Horace's claim that his poetry resembles prose, the Satires certainly are poetry: Horace adapts conventional Latin word order to fit the hexameter and engages in a skillful play between form and content.

Juster's use of meter is a proper acknowledgment of the constraints imposed by the Latin hexameter. His choice of iambic pentameter allows a conversational feel, given the iambic tendency of everyday English diction. And his embracing of rhyme, while reminding us that this is poetry, captures the often light and witty tone of Horace's Latin. His achievement in creating rhymed poetry with a conversational feel—in which the clever enjambments are just as crucial as the clever rhymes—is comparable to that of Vikram Seth, whose acclaimed and often hilarious 1986 novel The Golden Gate is written entirely in sonnet form. There can be little doubt that Juster's translation is a milestone in the modern reception of Horace's Satires.