Femme Fatale :: Ulla Si Iuris :: II:8

There is a lot of energy in this poem addressed to some femme fatale  named Bariné. The words Horace uses are a bit like the quick, juicy brush strokes of a master like Frans Hals: they sweep you up and carry you along. 

Just look at the five-syllables at the end of each stanza: 

turpior ungui  — more vile by a fingernail

publica cura — a public darling

morte carentis — from death free

cote cruenta  —  with a bloody whetstone

saepe minati —  often warned

aura maritos —  a wind the married ones

Each one of these carries so much vitality. Each one placed to emphasize exactly what Horace wants to say.

Translation:

I'd believe you, my Barine, 

if any punishment for lying 

harmed you, if you started

looking disgusting because 

of some black tooth 

or fingernail.

But you, at the same time you lay 

your lying head on the line, 

you shine even more beautifully 

than anyone; you become every

boy's sweetheart. 

It serves you, doesn't it, to be false 

to the buried ashes of your mother

to everything: the silent signs 

of night, of Heaven,  of the gods 

exempt from icy death?

They say, Venus herself laughs at this,

the simple nymphs, wild Cupid, too, 

always sharpening his hot arrows 

on a bloody whetstone.

Add to that all the young men

growing up, the new slaves growing up

and all the ones before, 

who were often threatened into quiting 

the house of the "impious lady."

You mothers fear for their young bulls,

You the miserly old men 

and the sad virgin brides fear, 

lest one breeze from you 

waylay their men.

translation © 2010 by James Rumford

Commentarii: http://www.horatius.ru/index.xps?2.1.208 

In Prose:

Barine, crederem

si ulla poena iuris peierati tibi nocuisset,

si dente nigro vel uno ungui turpior fieres,

sed tu simul caput perfidum votis obligasti,

pulchrior multo enitescis,

cura publica iuvenum prodis.

Expedit cineres opertos matris fallere, 

et toto signa taciturna noctis cum caelo divos que morte gelida carentis.

Inquam, Venus ipsa ridet hoc,

nymphae simplices Cupidoque ferus, semper sagittas ardentis cote cruenta acuens, rident.

Adde quod pubes omnis tibi crescit,

servitus nova crescit, nec priores, saepe minati, tectum impiae dominae reliquunt.

Matres te suis iuvencis metuunt,

te senes parci [metuunt]

virginesque nuptae miserae nuper [metuunt]

ne aura tua maritos retardet.

Original Ode:

Vlla si iuris tibi peierati
poena, Barine, nocuisset umquam,
dente si nigro fieres uel uno
     turpior ungui,

crederem; sed tu simul obligasti               5
perfidum uotis caput, enitescis
pulchrior multo iuuenumque prodis
     publica cura.

Expedit matris cineres opertos
fallere et toto taciturna noctis               10
signa cum caelo gelidaque diuos
     morte carentis.

Ridet hoc, inquam, Venus ipsa, rident
simplices Nymphae, ferus et Cupido
semper ardentis acuens sagittas               15
     cote cruenta.

Adde quod pubes tibi crescit omnis,
seruitus crescit noua nec priores
impiae tectum dominae relinquont
     saepe minati.               20

Te suis matres metuunt iuuencis,
te senes parci miseraeque nuper
uirgines nuptae, tua ne retardet
     aura maritos.