Travels with Horace :: Satire I:V

A few weeks ago, I happened to open the other Loeb volume I have on Horace’s works and my eyes fell upon his fifth satire: “A Journey to Brundisium.” As I began reading, I was totally taken in by the diary-like description which was so telegraphic that it almost seemed surreal, as sketches of the journey came into focus then vanished. Adding to the dreamlike quality were fleeting events that seemed disconnected and illogical. And like a dream, the poem ended abruptly:

Brundisium longae finis chartaeque viaeque est,

as if the dreamer had been suddenly jolted awake without getting to find out what happened next.

After my first reading, I didn’t see anything I would call satyrical about the poem. Obviously I had no idea what Horace considered satyrical; so I did some digging. I learned that Horace modelled many of his satires on the works of Gaius Lucilius, who lived from 180 to 103 BC. Apparently, for Lucilius, a satire was largely autobiographical and an opportunity to talk about the follies of society and friends, about religion and literature, even, as in today’s selection, about travel. Thus it is that “A Journey to Brundisium,” I am told by the Loeb translator H.R. Fairclough, closely follows Lucilius, who wrote of a journey south from Rome in his third book. You can read what fragments there remain of his poem here, which is an on-line copy of the Loeb book, Remains of Old Latin:

https://archive.org/stream/remainsofoldlati03warmuoft#page/48/mode/2up

This is all well and good, but it is still difficult for me to see the satire in what Horace did. Satire relies on wit, expertly sharpened à la Daily Show or à la Colbert Report. Could it be that the knife-edge of Horace’s wit has dulled, even rusted away over the centuries? I mean: isn’t there more to “A Journey to Brundisium” than just the journey? For that, we’d need heaps of information. All I can offer for now is the supposed fact that Horace was part of the embassy that Octavian sent to Brundisium to make terms with Marcus Antonius in the year 38 BC. Beyond that, I haven’t much to add. It will be up to you to see the humor of the contest of wit between an ex-slave and the scurra [jester] Sarmentus, the description of some bureaucrat in his overly-fine toga, the fire in the kitchen, and poor horny Horace, suffering from some kind of conjunctivitis, waiting in vain for a prostitute and having to settle for the release of a wet dream that leaves his night clothes a mess.

Because we’re dealing with a two-thousand year old satire, any translation must necessarily fall short. (Imagine replaying a Colbert Report in the year 4014!) Take these unusually terse lines for example:

hoc iter ignavi divisimus, altius ac nos

praecinctis unum: minus est gravis Appia tardis.

Broken down these lines become (with the observation that ac means ‘than’ following a comparison like altius): 

This trip [we] lazy [ones] divide [into stops]. 

[The ones who are] more highly than us girded up 

[just] one [stop]. Less is it serious 

the Appian [Way] to the slow [ones].

The difficult-to-translate part is the way Horace refers to the travelers hurrying along bare-legged with their garments cinched up, toga hems mud-free. Maybe a praecinctus was a rather humorous way of describing someone hell-bent-for-leather, which a few centuries from now will seem just as obscure in meaning.

These lines are difficult, too:

Cocceius Capitoque simul Fonteius, ad unguem

factus homo, Antoni non ut magis alter amicus.

Cocceius and at the same time Capito Fonteius, a man made 

to the fingernail, so that to Antony [there is] no other friend greater.

Ad unguem factus refers to the old ‘trick’ of craftsmen who go over a polished area to detect any unevenness, any imperfection with their fingernail. For anyone who has fashioned something out of wood, metal, or stone, the finger is better than the eye. So a man, ad unguem factus must be perfect indeed. As for Antoni non ut magis alter amicus, the trick is to supply not only ut sit but also to understand that Antony’s friends must meet high standards; otherwise they are not his friends. I find this an odd thought. Is this a criticism of Anthony? Is it of Capito Fonteius as well?  Someone seems way too picky here. I’ll leave it up to you to decide who.

Another problem line is:

hic oculīs ego nigra meīs 

colyriā lippus illinere.

This must mean

Here [in] my eyes I blear-eyed with black colyria to smear.

Besides the fact that colyrium is plural, suggesting that there were several ointments that Horace used for his eyes, and that lippus must mean that Horace had pink eye or some kind of conjunctivitis, there is the problem of illinere, which is an infinitive. There is no conjugated verb. This fact hasn’t seemed to bother any of the commentators I could find online. What is it I don’t know about this sentence that I should know? Finally after much searching, I find in The Works of Horace (Vol II), printed in London in 1753 for the assigns of Joseph Davidson, this line translated as:

Having got an Inflammation in my Eyes, I was obliged 

to annoint them here with black Ointment, as usual.

This would certainly take care of the infinitive illinere, but where is ‘was obliged’? Is it understood? Hic ego lippus debeo/debui meis oculis colyria nigra illinere? The same book, in an attempt to reorder the phrase in Latin, inserts the word cœpi [I began]:

Hic ego lippus cœpi illinere nigra collyria oculis meis.

Obviously, Horace has bequeathed us an exceptionally telegraphic sentence. Perhaps it should be translated:

Here: me pink-eyed, smearing my eyes with black collyria.  

To help the reader further understand this poem, I’ve made a map of the journey and have indicated the Latin names as well as the Italian names of each place mentioned. Wouldn’t it be fun to go to go to Italy and retrace Horace’s footsteps? There are however two small problems with such a trip:  No one knows where the Villa Trivici was. Scholars are unsure whether Trivici refers to a village or to a person. Likewise, because Horace stated that he couldn’t include the name of one of the towns, because such a name wouldn’t fit the meter he was using (hexameter), no one knows now where it was that the people sold water but baked excellent bread. We’ll just have to settle for the fact that this town and the villa Trivici are somewhere on the road from Benevento to Canosa. [Click to enlarge.]

By the way, according to scholar Tenney Frank [1876-1939], the meter also caused another problem. The Heliodorus mentioned in the poem is really Apollodorus. Apparently, Apollodorus can’t be stuffed into a hexametric straight-jacket. Instead, clever Horace changed the name to Heliodorus, which, because Apollo often refers to the sun, points to the same person. Who was Apollodorus? He was chosen by Julius Caesar to be Octavian’s teacher and happened to become, according to another scholar Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff [1848-1931], “the founder of the classical school of Augustan poetry” [quoted in Tenney Frank’s 1920 “Notes and Discussions,” pg. 393 in Classical Philology, Vol. 15]. Very witty of Horace, but then you have to be as smart as Tenney Frank to see the chuckle in the phrase

rhetor comes Heliodorus,

Graecorum longe doctissimus:

Translation ::

Aricia welcomed me with modest lodging 

     coming from Great Rome. 

My companion: the Rhetor Heliodorus, 

     most learned of Greeks. 

From there: Forum Appi, overcrowded with ships

     and vile innkeepers.

We wimps divided the trip in two, the ones more 

     gung-ho than us: one. 

Appia for the slowpokes is less of a pain.

     Here because of the

water, which is the worst, I declare a stomach war, 

     waiting, not being 

cool at all, for my dining friends. Now night prepares

     to draw its shadows 

over the earth and pour stars upon the heavens.

Then the boys rudely hollered at the boatmen, the

     boatmen at the boys,

“Heave to!” “You’re putting on three hundred?” “Ahoy!

     Enough already!”

While coin is being asked for, the mule tied up,

     a whole hour goes by. 

Evil gnats and swamp frogs drive off sleep as the boatman,

     awash in vappa, 

sings back and forth with the mule driver about some girl 

     no longer around. 

But tired the mule driver starts to fall asleep; so 

     the lazy boatman 

ties a stone to the mule’s rope, having sent her to graze. 

     Now he’s snoring on his back.

Day was already here. We don’t feel the boat moving, 

     until some fool jumps up 

and with a willow stick clobbers head and backside

     of boatman and mule.

Not until the fourth hour are we put ashore 

     with a hubbub. 

We wash our faces and hands in your clear water, 

     o Feronia.

Lunch. Then we crawl three miles and come upon Anxur, 

     atop far-shining rocks.

Here the best, Maecenas, would come and Cocceius,

     sent on great affairs,

legates each one used to bringing together friends

     alienated.

Here I, with my vision gummed up, line my eyes with 

     black collyrium.

Meanwhile Maecenas arrives and Cocceius and 

     Capito Fonteius,

A man “made to the nail,” as he’s to Antony 

     a friend no greater.

Fundi, under Praetor Aufidius Luscus, 

     we left willingly, 

madly laughing at the scribe’s perks: purple toga, 

     broad stripes, and coal pan.

Tired, we stayed in Formiae next, with Murena 

     offering a home,

Capito vittles. The next dawn broke most pleasing,

     for at Senuessa,

Plotius and Varius meet up and Vergil, 

     a spirit more dazzling

the earth has not borne the like. Who else is there more 

     devoted than I?

What embracing there was and how much happiness!

     There is nothing sane

about me meeting up with a joyful friend.

     The next country house

nearby the Campanus bridge offered a roof and 

     parochi obliged 

with wood and salt. Then in time they set down the mule 

     packs in Capua.

Maecenas goes to play, I to sleep and Vergil,

     for playing ball is

an enemy to the blear-eyed and to the one 

     raw with stomach pains.

From here: Cocceius’ most bountiful villa 

     welcomes us, which is

above the inns at Caudium. Now briefly I’d 

     like you, Muse, to tell

me of the fight between the buffoons Sarmentus 

     and Messius Cicirrus,

of which father each is born, and the beef each has.

     Famous is the clan

of Messius the Oscan; known is the mistress

     of that Sarmentus.

Arisen from these great ones, they came to the fight.

     Up first, Sarmentus.

“I say, you seem to be created like a horse.”

     We laughed and that one,

Messius, nodded his head with “I accept that.”

     “Ah, were your forehead,”

he said, “not with its horn cut out! How will you so

     disfigured make threats?” 

(for an unsightly scar had deformed the left side

     of his bristly brow.)

His Campanian sickness and his face he joked 

     about much, asking

him to dance the “Cyclops-Shepherd” dance, saying

     there was need neither

for mask nor the tragic actor’s high-heeled boots.

     Cicirrus had much 

to say about this. He asked whether he’d already 

     given his slave’s chain 

out of some votive offering to the Lares, 

     now that he was a scribe. 

Then he asked why he had ever fled—so thin and

     so tiny—for whom 

one pound of flour would have been enough. Amused

     we went on dining.

From here: we head directly for Beneventum,

     where an eager host 

almost burned up, turning scrawny doves on the fire, 

     for a flame astray, 

having slipped down from the fire, sped through the old kitchen 

     to lick the roof top.

There you’d’ve seen starved guests grab their dinner, the scared

     help dousing the fire.

Apulia starts to spread out the mountains I know, 

     which Atabulus 

scorches, which we would have never scrambled over

     had not the nearby 

Villa Trivici welcomed us—not without smoke 

    that made us weep from

a furnace that burned damp branches leaves and all!  

It’s here really stupid me waits until midnight 

     for some lying girl.

But sleep carries me off, eager for sex, and dreams 

     with impure visions 

spatter my night clothes and my upturned belly. 

From here: for twenty-four miles we are dragged along 

     by wagons and are 

set to stay in a little village, which can’t be 

     named in verse, much easier by signs: 

here water, cheapest of things, is sold, but the bread 

     is by far the loveliest; 

to the next stop, the smart traveler usually carries 

     some on his shoulder, 

for at Canusium it’s gritty, the water’s 

     not worth more than the urn: 

it’s a place long ago founded by brave Diomedes.

     From here: Varius, 

sad, his friends weeping, leaves. From there we arrive at

     Rubi beat, having

made a rain-spoiled trip. The next Day: better weather.

     The road, worse up to

the walls of fish-filled Barium. From there: Gnatia, 

     built by angry Lymphs, 

gave us a laugh and some fun, for the place wanted 

     to persuade us that 

incense, without any flame, would liquidify 

     at the sacred doorway. 

Let Apella the Jew, believe that, but not I,

     for I have learned that

the gods lead unconcerned lives. Even if nature 

     does something amazing, 

it just what bored gods drop down from heaven’s high roof. 

     Ah! Brundisium: 

The end of the road and a very long story. 

[translation © 2014 by James Rumford]   

Pārōchus is the Greek word for coparius: one who furnished traveling magistrates with beds, hay, salt.

erepsemus is a syncopated form of the pluperfect subjunctive < ērēpo, -psi

culex -icis is gnat but I wonder whether it does not mean mosquito here.

vappa is tasteless wine, probably here the cheapest one could have bought

cerebrosus is hare-brained and passionate. It comes from cerebrum. I guess ‘brainy’ didn’t have the same meaning back in Rome.

scurra is a buffoon or a jester. It also gives us our word ‘scurrilous’ after a rather long trip from Etruscan to Latin to English.

morbus campanus is thought to be some warty growth on the forehead which left a scar when removed. 

Atābulus was a burning wind blowing in Apulia.

culina is kitchen and seems to have the same force as cuisine does in French.

vēnit means ‘is for sale’ and comes from vēneo (also vaeneo), īvi or ii, itum.

lympha is a water nymph.

limine sacro is the theshold of, scholars presume, a temple where, in this particular case, frankincense (tūs, tūris, neuter) melts without fire.

In Prose ::

     Aricia ‹me egressum magnā Romā› hospitio modico accepit; comes rhetor Heliodorus Graecorum longe docticissimus.

     Inde Forum Appi, nautis atque cauponibus malignis differtum.

     [Nos] hīc iter ignavi divissimus. Altius ac nos praecinctis [iter] unum! Appia tardis minus gravis est. Hic ego propter aquam, quod [aqua] deterrima erat, bellum ventri indico, comites cenantıs haud animo aequo expectans.

     Iam nox umbras terris inducere et signa caelo diffundere parabat. Tum pueri nautis, nautae pueris conoscia ingerer[unt]: “Huc appelle!” “Trecentos inseres.” “Ohe! Iam satis est.” Dum aes exigitur, dum mula ligatur, hora tota abiit. Culices mali ranaeque palustres somnos avertunt, ut nauta vappā multā prolutus, amicam absentam cantat—atque viator certātim. Viator tandem fessus dormire incipit ac nauta piger ‹retinacula mulae pastum missae› saxo religat supinusque stertit.

     Iamque dies aderat. [Nos] cum lintrem procedere nil sentimus, donec unus cerebrosus prosilit ac caput lumbosque mulae nautaeque fuste saligno dolat.

     Hora demum quarta vix exponimur.

     Ora manūsque lymphā tuā, Fērōnia, lavimus. Tum [nos] pransi, milia tria rēpīmus atque ‹Anxus saxis late candentibus impositum› subīmus.

     Huc Maecenas venturus erat—atque Cocceius optimus, de rebus magnis missi, uterque legati, soliti amicos aversos componere. Hic ‹ego lippus› occulis meis collyriā nigrā illinere [debui]. Interea Maecenas advenit atque Cocceius, simulque Fonteius Capito, homo ad unguem factus, ut alter amicus magis non [sit] Antoni.

     [Nos] Fundos, Aufidio Lusco Praetore, libenter linquimus, [nos] insani praemia scribae ridentes—praetextam et clavum latum vatillumque prunae.

     In urbe Mamurrarum deinde lassi manemus, Murena domum praebente, Capitone culinam [praebente]. Postera lux multo gratissima oritur. Namque Plotius et Varius Vergiliusque [in] Sinuessae [nos] occurrunt, neque terra qualıs ‹candidiores animae› tulit, neque quis alter me sit devinctior. O qui complexus et quanta gaudia fuerunt! Nil ego sanus amico iucundo contulerim.

     Villula quae proxima Ponti Campano [est] tectum praebuit, et pārōchī, quae debent, ‹ligna salemque› [praebuerunt].

     Hinc muli clitellas [in] Capuae tempore ponunt. Maecenas lusum it; ego Vergiliusque dormitum [iimus], namque ‹ludere pila› lippis et crudis inimicum [est].

     Hinc ‹villa plenissima Coccei›, quae est super cauponas Caudi, nos recipit.

     Nunc velim [tu], [o] Musa, mihi paucis pugnam Sarmenti scurrae Messique Cicirri memores, et quo patre natus est uterque litis contulerit. Genus Messi Osci clarum [est]. Domina Sarmenti exstat. [Illi] ab his maioribus orti ad pugnam vener[unt]. 

     Prior Sarmentus: “Dico te equi feri similem esse.” 

     Ridemus, et ipse Messius, [dicit] “Accipio,” et caput movet. 

     “O tua frons ‹cornu exsecto› ni foret,” inquit. “Quid faceres, cum [tu] sic mutilus minitaris?

     At cicatrix foeda illi frontem saetosam oris laevi turpaverat. In morbem Campanum, in faciem permulta iocatus, [Missius] rogabat uti ‘pastorem-cyclopa’ saltaret. Nil illi larvā aut cothurnis tragicis opus esse.

     Cicirrus multa ad haec [dixit]. Quaerebat, catenamne ex voto Laribus donasset. Quod scriba esset, nilo[minus] ius dominae [eius] deterius esse. Denique rogabat, cur umquam fugisset, cui ‹sic gracili tamque pusillo› una libra farris satis foret. Illam cenam iucundē prorsus producimus.

     Hinc [viā] rectā Beneventum tendimus, ubi hospes sedulus paene arsit dum turdos macros in igni versat. Nam, Vulcano per culinam veterem dilapso, flamma vaga properabat tectum summum lambere. Videres convivas avidos servosque timentıs tum cenam rapere atque omnis restinguere velle.

     Ex illo, Apulia incipit montıs notos mihi ostentare—[montes] quos Atābulus torret et quos numquam erepsemeus, nisi villa vicina Trivici nos recepisset, non sine fumo lacrimoso, camino ramos udos cum foliis urente. 

     Hic ego stultissimus puellam mendacem usque ad mediam noctem exspecto. Somnus tamen ‹[me] veneri intentum› aufert. Tum somnia visu immundo vestem nocturnam ventremque supinum maculant.

     Hinc milia quattuor et viginti [in] raedis rapimur, mansuri oppidulo, quod versu non est dicere. Signis perfacile est [dicere]. Hic aqua, vilissima rerum, vēnit, sed panis longe pucherrimus, ut viator callidus soleat [in] umeris [itinera] ultra portare. Nam [panis] Canusi [est] lapidosus, [Canusium] qui locus non [est] aquae ditior urnā, a Diomede forti olim est conditus. Hinc Varius maestus amicis flentibus discedit.

     Inde [nos] fessi Rubos pervenimus, utpote ‹iter longum et imbri corruptius factum› carpentes. Postera tempestas melior [erat, sed] via peior usque ad moenia Bari piscosi [erat]. 

     Dein Gnatia, lymphis iratis exstructa, risūsque iocosque dedit, dum [Gnatia] [nos] persuadere cupit tura sine flammā [in] limine sacro liquescere. Apella Iudaeus credat, non ego, namque dedici deos aevum securum agere, nec, si natura quis miri faciat, deos tristıs ex tecto alto caeli demittere. 

     Brundisium finis chartae longaeque viaeque est.

Original Satire ::

     Egressum magnā me accepit Aricia Romā

hospitio modico; rhetor comes Heliodorus,

Graecorum longe doctissimus: inde Forum Appi,

differtum nautis, cauponibus atque malignis.

hoc iter ignavi divisimus, altius ac nos

praecinctis unum: minus est gravis Appia tardis.

hic ego propter aquam, quod erat deterrima, ventri

indico bellum, cenantıs haud animo aequo

expectans comites.

                         Iam nox inducere terris

umbras et caelo diffundere signa parabat.

tum pueri nautis, pueris convicia nautae

ingerer: “huc appelle!” “trecentos inseris.” “ohe,

iam satis est.” dum aes exigitur, dum mula ligatur,

tota abit hora. mali culices ranaeque palustres

avertunt somnos, absentem ut cantat amicam

multā prolutus vappā nauta atque viator

incipit ac missae patum retinacula mulae

nauta piger saxo religat stertitque supinus.

iamque dies aderat, nil com procedere lintrem

sentimus, donec cerebrosus prosilit unus

ac mulae nautaeque caput lumbosque saligno

fuste dolat.

               Quarta vix demum exponimur hora.

ora manusque tuā lavimus, Feronia, lymphā.

milia tum pransi tria repimus atque subimus

impositum saxis late candentibus Anxur.

huc venturus erat Maecenas optimus atque

Cocceius, missi magnis de rebus uterque

legati, aversos soliti componere amicos.

hic oculis ego nigra meis colyria lippus

illinere. interea Maecenas advenit atque 

Cocceius Capitoque simul Fonteius, ad unguem

factus homo, Antoni non ut magis alter amicus.

     Fundos Aufidio Lusco praetore libenter

linquimus, insani ridentes praemia scribae,

praetextam et latum clavum prunaeque vatillum.

in Mamurrarum lassi deinde urbe manemus,

Murena praebente domum, Capitone culinam.

postera lux oritur multo gratissima: namque

Plotius et Varius Sinuessae Vergiliuque

occurrunt, animae qualis neque candidiores

terra tulit, neque quis me sit devinctior alter.

o qui complexus et gaudia quanta fuerunt!

nil ego contulerim iucundo sanus amico.

     Proxima Campano ponti quae villula, tectum

praebuit, et parochi, quae debent, ligna salemque.

hinc muli Capuae clitellas tempore ponunt.

lusum it Maecenas, dormitum ego Vergiliusque:

namque pila lippis inimicum et ludere crudis.

hinc nos Coccei recipit plenissima villa,

quae super est Caudi cauponas.

                                           Nunc mihi paucis

Sarmenti scurrae pugnam Messique Cicirri,

Musa, velim memores, et quo patre natus uterque

contulerit litis. Messi clarum genus Osci;

Sarmenti domina exstat: ab his maioribus orti

ad pugnam venere. prior Sarmentus: “equi te 

esse feri similem dico.” ridemus, et ipse

Messius “accipio,” caput et movet. “o tua cornu

ni foret exsecto frons,” inquit, “quid faceres, cum 

sic mutilus minitaris?” at illi foeda cicatrix

saetosam laevi frontem turpaverat oris.

Campanum in morbum, in faciem permulta iocatus,

pastorem saltaret uti Cyclopa rogabat:

nil illi larvā aut tragicis opus esse cothurnis

multa Cicirrus ad haec: donasset iamne catenam

ex voto Laribus, quaerebat; scriba quod esset,

nilo deterius dominae ius esse; rogabat

denique, cur umquam fugisset, cui satis una

farris libra foret, gracili sic tamque pusillō.

prorsus iucunde cenam producimus illam.

     Tendimus hinc recta Beneventum; ubi sedulus hospes

paene macros arsit dum turdos versat in igni;

nam vaga per veterem dilapso flamma culinam

Volcano summum properabat lambere tectum.

convivas avidos cenam servosque timentıs

tum rapere atque omnis restinguere velle videres.

     Incipit ex illo montıs Apuliā notōs

ostentare mihi, quos torret Atabulus et quos

numquam erepsemus, nisi nos vicina Trivici

villa recepisset, lacrimoso non sine fumō

udos com foliis ramos urente caminō.

hic ego mendacem stultissimus usque puellam

ad mediam noctem exspecto: somnus tamen aufert

intentum veneri; tum immundō somnia visū

nocturnam vestem maculant ventremque supinum.

     Quattuor hinc rapimur viginti et milia raedis,

mansuri oppidulo, quod versū dicere non est,

signis perfacile est: vēnit vilissima rerum

hic aqua; sed panis longe pulcherrimus ultra

callidus ut soleat umeris portare viator.

nam Canusi lapidosus (aquae non ditior urna),

qui locus a forti Diomede est conditus olim.

flentibus hinc Varius discedit maestus amicis.

     Inde Robos fessī pervenimus, utpote longum

carpentes iter et factum corruptius imbri.

postera tempestas melior, via peior ad usque 

Bari moenia piscosi. dein Gnatia lymphīs

iratīs exstructa, dedit risusque iocosque,

dum flammā sine tura liquescere limine sacrō

persuadere cupit. credat Iudaeus Apella,

non ego: namque deos didici securum agere aevum,

nec, si quid miri faciat natura, deos id

tristıs ex altō cali demittere tectō.

Brundisium longae finis chartaeque viaeque est.

::

:: Latin books by James Rumford ::

For all 102 odes purchase Carpe Diem, Horace De-Poetized, for $11.50 at 

https://www.amazon.com/Carpe-Diem-Poetized-James-Rumford/dp/1891839179/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1479932219&sr=8-1&keywords=Carpe+Diem+Rumford. 

For a Latin translation of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer at $12, click here: 

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Pericla+Thomae+Sawyer

To find out more about Carpe Diem go to the blog of March 26, 2015; 

for more about Pericla Thomae Sawyer, go to the blog of November 22, 2016.

Modeling Clay :: Ibis Liburnis :: Epode 1

[from Snowmanradio]

The first lines of this Epode made me laugh when I finally figured them out. I had assumed Horace had presented us with the ibis bird for close inspection. Instead, he had meant just ibis, ‘you will go.’ Reminds me of a translation I once saw in an old yearbook…probably a translation that, like sub ubi for ‘underwear,’ is known by every high school Latin student. This translation was ‘Gail was invited to three parties in all.’ I’ll let you identify the original Latin.

Translation is difficult and I have talked about why and how it is difficult in past blogs. I know I have mentioned the notion of ‘lost in translation,’ but I do not think I have mentioned everything that is lost because, it occurred to me the other day that what is abandoned, whether intentionally or not, is complexity. This thought occurred to me after reading an article about Daniel Ladinsky, who has made a success of himself translating Hafez and Rumi for modern ears.

Modern ears? Yes, those ears that desire to hear what is simple and clean. In architecture we seek clean lines. In typography uncluttered is beautiful. In music, it’s the beat, even over the dissonance of rap. In visual art, a few strokes of color will do for a painting, a few grains of rice scattered on a museum floor for three dimensional art. In literature, we admire the purity of the works of Hemingway. In the wasteland, beyond this aesthetic realm we have constructed, lies what is rejected: the busy, the ornate, the over-the-top. 

Was this also the aesthetics of Hafez or Rumi—or Horace, for that matter? What if complexity was as much a part of the art of their poetry as was the choice of words or the subject matter? Consider music. Think of Bach or Mozart. Now consider the works of these two simplified and reduced to what is essential. In other words, think of their work translated for modern ears. 

This is what has happened to the poems of Hafez and Rumi in the hands of a Ladinsky. This is what happens as I translate Horace. I seek the simple, the everyday speech that will make Horace speak to us. But I worry. Every time, I know I have left behind the complexity. I have lost the beauty of words weaving in and out, words corralled into fantastic sense groups. These things cannot be translated. And so, translation, is of necessity, to return to my analogy with music, monaural.

But is this comparison between music and non-English poetry a fair one? No. Bach can be appreciated in the original and in its many derivations. The Mona Lisa can be viewed by anyone and when translated onto a modern canvas by some Andy Warhol admired. Horace and Hafez, on the other hand, remain just sounds to English ears. There can be no appreciation beyond that. While an English speaker may appreciate the long and short vowels, even the cadence of the original poem, after a few lines, the mind shuts down. Without meaning, the sounds become noise.

And so, while Horace’s words may be eternal, his translations are not, for every few centuries new translations will be demanded not just to extirpate archaisms but to meet the aesthetics of the times. The Bible may have sung in the ears of Wycliff’s listeners, then a few hundred years later in those of King James; today it sings a different song. And tomorrow, there will be another.

Hafez in English may be in Ladinky’s voice today, but tomorrow it will have another’s voice. Horace, too, will continue to change, for, whether he could have  envisioned this or not, his monumentum aere is but modeling clay in the hands of his translators, now that Latin is dead and gone. 

But now a closer look at the work at hand. In this first of Horace’s epodes, his patron Maecenas is off to war. In what capacity? As a rich man, a thrill seeker, like those illuminati and glitterati of Washington D.C. who went off to see one of the first engagements of the Civil War at the Battle of Bull Run, and had to flee for their lives when the Union forces were overrun? Probably Maecenas was none of these. Daniel Garrison in his Horace:Epodes and Odes  [1991] states that Maecenas probably stayed in Rome to keep order at the time of the battle of Actium in 31 BC and went no where, no matter what Horace has implied in this epode. So what were Horace’s words for? Garrison suggests that they were a “statement of loyalty,” a “dedication to Horace’s benefactor.” They seem to be grand words to me, mainly because Horace often uses nos when he means ego. Perhaps here, as in Virgil’s Eclogues, nos is more self-deprecating than it is self-aggrandizing. 

There are three areas in this epode that deserve some grammatical sleuthing. The first of these is:

Ibis Liburnis inter alta navium,

    amice, propugnacula,

paratus omne Caesaris periculum

    subire, Maecenas, tuo.

Besides the lexical hurdle of Liburna [a light, fast-sailing bireme-type ship named after the Liburnians, an Illyrian (Albanian) people] and propugnaculum [a tower on a ship], we have two vocatives (amice and Maecenas) and a ablative/dative (tuo) dangling at the end of the sentence. The vocatives can be dealt with but tuo has caused translators heaps of trouble.

Signore Ramous ignores the problem in Italian:

Su un battello, amico mio, te ne andrai fra le alte torri delle navi, preparato ad affrontare per Cesare qualsiasi rischio, Mecenate [Mario Ramous]

Señor Salinas does the same in Spanish:

¿Iras en los bajeles liburnos, amigo Mecenas, entre las altas fortalezas de las naves, resuelto a afrontar todos los peligros del Cesar? [Germán Salinas, 2005]

Mlle. Carlès explains the word in French:

tu iras sur nos liburnes, au milieu des hautes forteresses navales, ami, prêt à affronter tous les dangers de César, Mécène, au péril de ta vie. [Danielle Carlès, 2012]

And the Reverend Francis offers a different take in eighteenth-century English:

While You, my brave, illustrious Friend, would Caesar’s Person with your own defend: and Anthony’s high-tower’d Fleet, with light, Liburnian Gallies fearless meet, [Philip Francis, 1747]

When we turn to Latin speakers we find that Acron tells us: tuo. Subaudi periculo.

Porphyrio makes an even clearer relationship between tuo and periculum. He writes:

Non videtur verecundiae Horatii convenire, ut amicum se Maecenatis dicat, cum clientem debeat dicere. Numquid ergo sic ordinanda phrasis est, ut amice Caesaris intellegamus, et ideo bis Caesaris accipiendum erit, ut sit tale: Amice Caesaris, Maecenas, ibis Liburnis paratus [omne] periculum Caesaris tuo periculo subire? 

It doesn’t seem to fit Horace’s modesty that he would call himself Maecenas’ friend, when he ought to say that he is under his protection. What then must be the order of the phrase so that we might understand it to be ‘O friend of Caesar,’ and for that reason Caesaris must be taken twice so that it might be this: O friend of Caesar, Maecenas, you will go on Liburnians readied to undergo the danger to Caesar with danger to you? 

Along with his insight about the meaning of amice (for who am I to judge a native speaker?), I see more clearly what I should write in English:

You’ll go on Liburnians among high-towered 

     ships, O friend of Caesar, 

prepared to undergo every danger, 

     Maecenas, with your own

The second place where the grammar gets tricky follows hard on the heels of the first:

quid nos, quibus te vita si superstite

    iucunda, si contra, gravis?

If we add a few missing verbs, we might see things more clearly:

quid faciemus nos, quibus te vita si superstite

     sit iucunda, si sit contra, erit gravis

I’m not sure whether I have the tenses/moods right, but you get the picture. The only unclear part is quibus te vita si superstite iucunda. It seems that we are dealing with a relative clause and an ablative absolute. The relative clause is:

quibus vita iucunda

and means 

qui vitam iucundam habeamus

The ablative absolute is tricky because Horace has carefully wrapped it around vita, the subject of the relative clause and he has added the conjunction si to strengthen the meaning of the ablative absolute—something I didn’t think was possible. At any rate, we get:

What am I to do, who’ll have a happy life, if you survive; if not, hard?

The third sticky place is here:

comes minore sum futurus in metu,

    qui maior absentıs habet;

ut adsidens implumibus pullis avis

    serpentium allapsūs timet

magis relictis, non ut adsit auxilī

    latura plus praesentibus.

These lines are so terse, so compact that they defy comprehension at a glance. I hope that a Roman went ‘huh?’ when he came across these, ‘cause I certainly did.

If I break up these lines into small prose sentences, the meaning might become clearer.

Si ego comes tuus sim, ego in metu minore ero.

Metus eos absentes maior habet.

Ut avis quae pullis implumibus adsidet. 

Si avis eos relinquat, allapsūs serpentium magis timet.

Non ut avis adsit, plus auxilii pullis praesentibus latura est?

Three observations: 1] Ut avis = qualis avis. 2] Auxili is the older genitive form of auxilium. In Latin the genitive is used as in French: plus d’aide. 3] Non ut + subjunctive turns ut into ‘although’ and here it seems like the English expression ‘not that….would.’

Does this help? If not, perhaps this French translation by Danielle Carlès [b. 1956] will. It is delightfully as complicated as the original:

À tes côtés je serai moins dans cette peur

qui s’épanouit dans l’absence,

comme un oiseau veillant sa couvée déplumée

craint une approche des serpents

bien plus quand il les laisse seuls, mais qu’il soit là

n’aiderait pas plus, face à eux.

Now compare this with a more melodious translation by Ugo Dotti [b. 1933]

Vicini, si prova meno il timore

     che attanaglia lontani,

come l’uccello che, se è presso ai suoi implumi,

     meno teme lo strisciare del serpe,

e non perché, vicino, li possa aiutare

    più di quando è lontano.

Now listen to the eighteenth century speak in the words of the Reverend Francis [c1708-1773]:

     Absence, my Lord, increases Fear;

The Danger lessens when the Friend is near;

     Thus, if the mother-Bird forsake

Her unfledg’d Young, She dreads the gliding Snake,

     With deeper Agonies afraid,

Not that her Presence could afford them Aid.

Finally a few vocabulary words to note:

Calabris: the region in the “toe” of Italy.

Lucana: from the Lucani, an Oscan-Umbrian tribe in the mountains of southern Italy.

Tusculi: Tusculum a city in Latium about 25 km southeast of Rome near present-day Frascati.

Circaea: an adjective based on Circe, whose son Telegonus, it was said, founded Tusculum 

Chremes: possibly a made-up name from the Greek χρηματα “money.” Was Horace being Dickensian before Dickens? Cf. Scrooge. 

Translation ::

You’ll go on Liburnians among high-towered 

     ships, O friend of Caesar, 

prepared to undergo every danger, 

     Maecenas, with your own!

What of me for whom life will be, if you make it,

     joyous, if not—aggrieved?

Is it that, bidden, I am to pursue idleness—

     unkind—unless one with you 

or am I about to bear this task with a mind

     soft men aren’t fit to bear?

I will bear it and you through the tips of the Alps,

     the inhospitable Caucasus,

or all the way to the furthest western bay I, 

     heart strong, will follow.

You ask how with my efforts I’ll help yours, me—

     no fighter, yielding?

As an attendant, I will be in less fear

     (which grips those absent more)

just as, sitting on unfledged chicks, a bird fears

     the snakes’ onslaught more when

they’re left—not that were she there, she’d bring

     more help to those nearby.

Willingly this and every war will be fought

     with the hope of your favor—

not so that many more cattle will struggle

     under my plow,

that the herd might before the Dog Star change pasture

     from Calabria to Lucania.

that a shining villa in high Tusculum 

     might touch its Circean walls.

Your kindness has given me riches enough,

     which I am not about,

like Miser Chremes, to bury in the earth,

     or a dissolute heir, to waste.

                   translation © 2013 by James Rumford

In Prose ::

     [O] amice Caesaris, [in] Liburnis inter propugnacula alta navium ibis, paratus omne periculum tuo, Maecenas, subire.

     Quid nos, quibus vita iucunda [erit], si te superstite—si contra, gravis?

     Utrumne [nos] iussi otium non dulce persequemur, ni[si] tecum simul, an [nos] hunc laborem mente laturi [sumus]—[mente] quā non decet viros mollıs ferre?

Feremus et te vel per iuga Alpium et Caucasum inhospitalem, vel usque ad sinum ultimum occidentis pectore forti sequimur.

     Roges quid [ego] ‹imbellis ac firmus-parum› [laborem] tuum [cum] labore meo iuvem? Comes, [ego] in metu minore—qui absentıs maior habet—futurus sum, ut avis, [cum] pullis implumibus adsidens—magis relictis—allapsūs serpentium timet, non ut adsit, plus auxili[i] praesentibus latura [est]. 

     Libenter hoc et omne bellum in spem gratiae tuae militabitur, non ut aratra iuvencis meis pluribus illigata nitantur, pecusve pascua Lucana pascuis Calabris ante sidus fervidum mutet, neque ut villa candens Tusculi superni moenia Circaea tangat. 

     Benignitasque tua super me satis ditavit; haud paravero quod aut, ut avarus Chremes, terra premam, aut [ut] nepos discinctus perdam.

Original ::

Ibis Liburnis inter alta navium,

    amice, propugnacula,

paratus omne Caesaris periculum

    subire, Maecenas, tuo.

quid nos, quibus te vita si superstite

    iucunda, si contra, gravis?

utrumne iussi persequemur otium

    non dulce ni tecum simul,

an hunc laborem, mente laturi decet

    qua ferre non mollis viros?

feremus, et te vel per Alpium iuga

    inhospitalem et Caucasum

vel occidentis usque ad ultimum sinum

    forti sequemur pectore.

roges, tuum labore quid iuvem meo,

    imbellis ac firmus parum?

comes minore sum futurus in metu,

    qui maior absentıs habet;

ut adsidens implumibus pullis avis

    serpentium allapsūs timet

magis relictis, non ut adsit auxilī

    latura plus praesentibus.

libenter hoc et omne militabitur

    bellum in tuae spem gratiae,

non ut iuvencis illigata pluribus

    aratra nitantur mea,

pecusve Calabris ante sidus fervidum

    Lucana mutet pascuis,

neque ut superni villa candens Tusculi

    Circaea tangat moenia.

Satis superque me benignitas tua

    ditavit; haud paravero,

quod aut avarus ut Chremes terrā premam,

    discinctus aut perdam nepos.

Delphin Ordo ::

Navigabis, O, amice, Liburnicis navibus inter excelsa navium munimenta, Augusti discrimen quodlibet promptus ovire tuo periculo. Quid agemus nos, quibus vita te vivente grata fuerit; si secùs, molesta? An ex mandatis otio fruermur minimè jucundo, nisi unà tecum? An verò istum laborem toleraturi sumus eo animo, quo tolerare debent viri non segnes? Tolerabimus, certè, atque te sectabimur generosâ mente per altas Alpes, et Caucasum inhabitabilem, et ad extrema Occidentis maria. Quæres, quid tuum laborem meo sublevem ego non aptus militiæ, minimèque strenuus: Scilicet te comitans minorem habebo pro te timorem, qui gravius angit absentes: veluti avis incubans pullis implumibus, plus iis relictis metuit incursiones anguium: majorem opem non præstitura, etiamsi præsentibus astiterit. Hanc et aliam quamlibet militiam obibo amicitiæ tuæ gratia; nequaquam ut pluribus meis bobus annexa aratra portentur; aut greges è pascuis Lucanis transeant in Calabra, ante ardens astrum: neque ut villa candidea vicina alti Tusculi pertingat muros Circæos. Imò tua munificentia locupletavit me sufficienter et abundè. Absit ut accumulem quæ vel terræ infodiam, velut Chremes avarus, vel dilapidem, sicut helluo dissolut

:: Latin books by James Rumford ::

For all 102 odes purchase Carpe Diem, Horace De-Poetized, for $11.50 at 

https://www.amazon.com/Carpe-Diem-Poetized-James-Rumford/dp/1891839179/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1479932219&sr=8-1&keywords=Carpe+Diem+Rumford. 

For a Latin translation of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer at $12, click here: 

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Pericla+Thomae+Sawyer

To find out more about Carpe Diem go to the blog of March 26, 2015; 

for more about Pericla Thomae Sawyer, go to the blog of November 22, 2016.

War on Others not Brothers :: Quo Quo Scelesti :: Epode VII

It’s okay to war on others but not on brothers. So says Horace in Epode VII. But what’s a city state to do? Especially one like Rome which was founded on brother shedding the blood of brother, the Cain and Abel sin oft told throughout the world but with different names?

Here we have Romulus and Remus, wolf-nursed and wild, who, according to Horace, were the cause of Rome’s later troubles. Romulus killed Remus, but how and why? There are two answers. The first comes from the historian Florus [c AD 74–c130], Book I, Chapter I:

Ad tutelam novæ urbis sufficere vallum videbatur; cujus dum irridet angustias Remus, idque increpat  saltu, dubium an jussu fratris, occisus est. Prima certè victima fuit: munitionemque rubis urbis novæ sanguine suo consecravit.

For the defense of the new city it seemed a good idea to put up a wall, which Remus laughed at for its puniness, and he scoffed at it by jumping over it, and by order of his brother he was killed. He was of course the first sacrifice:  the walls of the new city he consecrated with his own red blood. [my translation]

The second comes from Livy, Book I, chapter 6:

[Livy I, cap 6 ff. ] Intervenit deinde his cogitationibus avitum malum, regni cupido, atque inde foedum certamen coortum a satis miti principio. Quoniam gemini essent nec aetatis verecundia discrimen facere posset, ut di quorum tutelae ea loca essent auguriis legerent qui nomen novae urbi daret, qui conditam imperio regeret, Palatium Romulus, Remus Aventinum ad inaugurandum templa capiunt.

[7] Priori Remo augurium venisse fertur, sex voltures; iamque nuntiato augurio cum duplex numerus Romulo se ostendisset, utrumque regem sua multitudo consalutauerat: tempore illi praecepto, at hi numero auium regnum trahebant. Inde cum altercatione congressi certamine irarum ad caedem vertuntur; ibi in turba ictus Remus cecidit. Volgatior fama est ludibrio fratris Remum novos transiluisse muros; inde ab irato Romulo, cum verbis quoque increpitans adiecisset, "Sic deinde, quicumque alius transiliet moenia mea," interfectum. Ita solus potitus imperio Romulus; condita urbs conditoris nomine appellata. 

[1.6 . . .] After the government of Alba was thus transferred to Numitor, Romulus and Remus were seized with the desire of building a city in the locality where they had been exposed. There was the superfluous population of the Alban and Latin towns, to these were added the shepherds: it was natural to hope that with all these Alba would be small and Lavinium small in comparison with the city which was to be founded. These pleasant anticipations were disturbed by the ancestral curse - ambition - which led to a deplorable quarrel over what was at first a trivial matter. As they were twins and no claim to precedence could be based on seniority, they decided to consult the tutelary deities of the place by means of augury as to who was to give his name to the new city, and who was to rule it after it had been founded. Romulus accordingly selected the Palatine as his station for observation, Remus the Aventine.

[1.7] Remus is said to have been the first to receive an omen: six vultures appeared to him. The augury had just been announced to Romulus when double the number appeared to him. Each was saluted as king by his own party. The one side based their claim on the priority of the appearance, the other on the number of the birds. Then followed an angry altercation; heated passions led to bloodshed; in the tumult Remus was killed. The more common report is that Remus contemptuously jumped over the newly raised walls and was forthwith killed by the enraged Romulus, who exclaimed, "So shall it be henceforth with every one who leaps over my walls." Romulus thus became sole ruler, and the city was called after him, its founder. [Rev. Canon Roberts, translator, 1905]

With such a heavy sin to bear, Rome was doomed to fratricidal wars, that is, if like Horace, we take the karmic view of history. I know I am mixing cultures, but . . . the fact is, there were some 7 such wars in the twenty years preceding this poem, far too many, and perhaps a goodly part of the potent mix that led to the ultimate fall of Rome.

Daniel Garrison in his Horace, Epodes and Odes: a New Annotated Latin Edition, says that this epode may have been written following the collapse of the Treaty of Misenum in the spring of 38 BC. This caused a civil war between Octavian and Sextus Pompey (who claimed to be the son of Neptunus and whom Horace perhaps symbolized in line 3 below). Given Rome’s history, given this recent event, it is no small wonder that Horace took up stylus to incise these shame-on-us words into his wax tablet:

Quo, quo scelesti ruitis? aut cur dexteris

    aptantur enses conditi?

parumne campis atque Neptuno super

    fusum est Latini sanguinis,

non ut superbas invidae Carthaginis

    Romanus arces ureret,

intactus aut Britannus ut descenderet

    Sacrā catenatus Viā,

sed ut, secundum vota Parthorum, suā

    urbs haec periret dexterā?

neque hic lupis mos nec fuit leonibus,

    umquam nisi in dispar feris.

furorne caecus an rapit vis acrior

    an culpa? responsum date!

tacent, et albus ora pallor inficit

    mentesque perculsae stupent.

sic est: acerba fata romanos agunt

    scelusque fraternae necis,

ut immerentis fluxit in terram Remi

    sacer nepotibus cruor.

Translation ::

Why, why do you rush to ruin? And why in your right 

hands are readied stored swords?

Not a little—in fields and on Neptune’s sea— 

has Latin blood been poured,

not so the proud citadels of jealous Carthage

a Roman could set ablaze  

or so the unbowed Briton might descend in

chains the Via Sacra, 

but so, as the Parthians pray, by its own

right hand this City might perish. 

This was not the way of wolves or lions ever,

fierce only to those not of their kind.

Does blind fury have a more violent hold?

Power? Wrong doing?  Answer me!

They are silent; a dull pallor infects their mouths 

and their minds are struck dumb.

Thus it is: the bitter fates drive the Romans on—

and the crime of killing brothers—

as when, of undeserving Remus, flowed o’er land

his sacred gore for those to come.

translation ©2013 by James Rumford

In Prose ::

Quo, quo scelesti ruitis? aut cur enses [nuper] conditi [in manibus] dexteris aptantur?

Parumne fusum sanguinis Latini est [in] campis atque super Neptuno, non ut Romanus arces superbas Carthaginis invidae ureret, aut ut Britannus intactus [in] Viā Sacrā catenatus descenderet, sed ut, secundum vota Parthorum, haec urbs [manu] suā dexterā periret?

Neque hic mos lupīs nec leonibus fuit, nisi umquam in [animal] dispar ferīs.

Furorne caecus an vis an culpa acrior rapit? Responsum date!

Tacent, et pallor albus ora inficit menteque perculsae stupent.

Sic est: fata acerba scelusque necis fraternae Romanos agunt, ut ‹cruor sacer Remi immerentis› in terram nepotibus fluxit.

Delphin Ordo ::

Quò, quò scelerati properatis? vel cur inclusi vaginâ gladii dextris inseruntur An non satis Latini sanguinis effusum est terrâ marique? non quidem ut Romani incenderent excelsa castella æmulæ Carthaginis, vel ut Britanni hâctenus indomiti per viam sacram vincti traherentur; Sed ut juxta, Parthorum optata destrueretur hæc civitas per vires proprias. Atque nec lupis hæc consuetudo, nec leonibus unquam fuit, sævire, nisi contra dissimile animal. An cœca [sic] rabies agit vos, an vis superior, an crimen aliquod? Respondete. Silent: atque pallidus color vultum tingit; animique attoniti obstupescunt. Ita est, Romanos exagitat sors inimica, et crimen cædis fraternæ; ex quo effusus est humi sanguis Remi innocentis posteris luendus. 

:: Latin books by James Rumford ::

For all 102 odes purchase Carpe Diem, Horace De-Poetized, for $11.50 at 

https://www.amazon.com/Carpe-Diem-Poetized-James-Rumford/dp/1891839179/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1479932219&sr=8-1&keywords=Carpe+Diem+Rumford. 

For a Latin translation of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer at $12, click here: 

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Pericla+Thomae+Sawyer

To find out more about Carpe Diem go to the blog of March 26, 2015; 

for more about Pericla Thomae Sawyer, go to the blog of November 22, 2016.

Carpe Diem: Horace Depoetized

(I have revised and made corrections to this book. For information about the new edition, please go to the blog posting for March 26, 2015 or click here:

http://jamesrumford.blogspot.com/2015/03/carpe-diem-revised.html

Everything takes longer than expected. A ten-minute repair job on your son’s bike: days. A two-day paint job in the living room: a week. So it is with my collection of Horace’s odes turned into prose. What I thought to be a simple task last spring has turned into quite a struggle—right up to the first days of fall.

But, at last, the book is ready. It is called Carpe Diem: Horace De-Poetized.

(The image on the cover, by the way, is my portrait of Horace. None exists from BC times, not even a statue. He is supposed to have been short and prematurely grey. I thought he might have been a bit thin, too. Who knows? Maybe he was fat, debauched, and hung over most of the time.)

Carpe Diem sells for $11.50 on Amazon.com. It is paperback, 322 pages long, and printed on cream-colored paper. It contains a prose rendition and notes for each ode as well as the original ode. The meter is given for each poem and long vowels are marked. Translations for many of the odes are given at the back of the book.

Sample pages can be found at my March 26, 2015 post: http://jamesrumford.blogspot.com/2015/03/carpe-diem-revised.html