Escolar Documentos
Profissional Documentos
Cultura Documentos
by Horace
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Author: Horace
a.k.a. Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Translated by John Conington, M. A.
Edition: 10
Language: English
TO
PREFACE.
In what I have said I have implied that Cowper is the right model
for the English heroic as applied to a translation of Horace: and
this on the whole I believe to be the case. Horace's
characteristics, as I remarked just now, are ease and terseness, and
both these Cowper possesses, ease in metre, and ease and terseness
in style. Pope, on the other hand, who in some respects would seem
the better representative of Horace, is less easy both in style and
metre, while his terseness is what Horace's terseness is not,
trimness and antithetical smartness. Still, while making Cowper my
pattern as a general rule, I have attempted from time to time to
borrow a grace from Pope, even, when the original gave me no warrant
for the appropriation. If Cowper's verse could be written by Cowper,
it would probably leave nothing to be desired in a translation of
this kind: handled by an inferior workman, it is in danger of
becoming flat, pointless, and insipid: and Horace has many passages
which, if not flat, pointless, or insipid in themselves, are
painfully liable to become so in the hands of a translator. I have
accordingly on various occasions aimed at epigram and pungency when
there was nothing epigrammatic or pungent in the Latin, in full
confidence that any trifling additions which may be made in this way
to the general sum of liveliness will be far more than compensated
by the heavy outgoings which must of necessity be the lot of every
translator, and more particularly of myself. [Footnote: Cowper
himself has some remarks bearing on this point: "That is
epigrammatic and witty in Latin which would be perfectly insipid in
English; and a translator of Bourne would frequently find himself
obliged to supply what is called the turn, which is in fact the most
difficult and the most expensive part of the whole composition, and
could not perhaps, in many instances, be done with any tolerable
success. If a Latin poem is neat, elegant and musical, it is enough;
but English readers are not so easily satisfied. To quote myself,
you will find, in comparing the Jackdaw with the original, that I
was obliged to sharpen a point which, though smart enough in the
Latin, would in English have appeared as plain and as blunt as the
tag of a lace." --Letter to Unwin, May 23, 1781 (Southey's Cowper,
ed. 1836, vol. iv. p. 97).] All translation, as has been pointed out
over and over again, must proceed more or less on the principle of
compensation; a translator who is conscious of having lost ground in
one place is not to blame if he tries to recover it in another, so
that he does not consciously depart from what he believes to be the
spirit of the original: the question he has to ask himself is not so
much whether he has conformed to the requirements of this or that
line, most important as such conformity is where it can be realized
without a sacrifice of higher things, as whether he has conformed to
the requirements of the whole sentence, or even of the whole
paragraph; whether the general effect produced by all the combined
elements in the English lines answers in any degree to that produced
by the Latin. Often and often, while engaged on this translation, I
have been reminded of Johnson's words in his Life of Dryden: "It is
not by comparing line with line that the merit of works is to be
estimated, but by their general effects and ultimate result. It is
easy to note a weak line and write one more vigorous in its place,
to find a happiness of expression in the original and transplant it
by force into the version; but what is given to the parts may be
subducted from the whole, and the reader may be weary, though the
critic may commend. That book is good in vain which the reader
throws away." [Footnote: Compare his parallel between Pitt's and
Dryden's Aeneid in his Life of Pitt.] I will only add that if these
remarks are true of translation in general, they apply with special
force to the translation of an original like the present, where the
Latin is nothing if it is not idiomatic, and the English in
consequence, if it is to be anything, must be idiomatic also.
BOOK I.
SATIRE I.
SATIRE IV.
EGRESSUM MAGNA.
SATIRE VI.
Well, but for us; what thoughts should ours be, say,
Removed from vulgar judgments miles away?
Grant that Laevinus yet would be preferred
To low-born Decius by the common herd,
That censor Appius, just because I came
From freedman's loins, would obelize my name--
And serve me right; for 'twas my restless pride
Kept me from sleeping in my own poor hide.
But Glory, like a conqueror, drags behind
Her glittering car the souls of all mankind;
Nor less the lowly than the noble feels
The onward roll of those victorious wheels.
Come, tell me, Tillius, have you cause to thank
The stars that gave you power, restored you rank?
Ill-will, scarce audible in low estate,
Gives tongue, and opens loudly, now you're great.
Poor fools! they take the stripe, draw on the shoe,
And hear folks asking, "Who's that fellow? who?"
Just as a man with Barrus's disease,
His one sole care a lady's eye to please,
Whene'er he walks abroad, sets on the fair
To con him over, leg, face, teeth, and hair;
So he that undertakes to hold in charge
Town, country, temples, all the realm at large,
Gives all the world a title to enquire
The antecedents of his dam or sire.
"What? you to twist men's necks or scourge them, you,
The son of Syrus, Dama, none knows who?"
"Aye, but I sit before my colleague; he
Ranks with my worthy father, not with me."
And think you, on the strength of this, to rise
A Paullus or Messala in our eyes?
Talk of your colleague! he's a man of parts:
Suppose three funerals jostle with ten carts
All in the forum, still you'll hear his voice
Through horn and clarion: that commends our
choice.
SATIRE VII.
SATIRE IX.
SATIRE X.
NEMPE INCOMPOSITO.
BOOK II.
SATIRE I.
HORACE. TREBATIUS.
HORACE.
T. But you can draw him just and brave, you know,
As sage Lucilius did for Scipio.
SATIRE II.
SATIRE III.
DAMASIPPUS. HORACE.
DAMASIPPUS.
D. Don't be blind;
You're mad yourself, and so are all mankind,
If truth is in Stertinius, from whose speech
I learned the precious lessons that I teach,
What time he bade me grow a wise man's beard,
And sent me from the bridge, consoled and cheered.
For once, when, bankrupt and forlorn, I stood
With muffled head, just plunging in the flood,
"Don't do yourself a mischief," so he cried
In friendly tones, appearing at my side:
"'Tis all false shame: you fear to be thought mad,
Not knowing that the world are just as bad.
What constitutes a madman? if 'tis shown
The marks are found in you and you alone,
Trust me, I'll add no word to thwart your plan,
But leave you free to perish like a man.
The wight who drives through life with bandaged eyes,
Ignorant of truth and credulous of lies,
He in the judgment of Chrysippus' school
And the whole porch is tabled as a fool.
Monarchs and people, every rank and age,
That sweeping clause includes,--except the sage.
D. I'll tell you. First, you build, which means you try
To ape great men, yourself some two feet high,
And yet you laugh to see poor Turbo fight,
When he looks big and strains beyond his height.
What? if Maecenas does a thing, must you,
His weaker every way, attempt it too?
A calf set foot on some young frogs, they say,
Once when the mother chanced to be away:
One 'scapes, and tells his dam with bated breath
How a huge beast had crushed the rest to death:
"How big?" quoth she: "is this as big?" and here
She swelled her body out. "No, nothing near."
Then, seeing her still fain to puff and puff,
"You'll burst," gays he, "before you're large enough."
Methinks the story fits you. Now then, throw
Your verses in, like oil to feed the glow.
If ever poet yet was sane, no doubt,
You may put in your plea, but not without.
Your dreadful temper--
H. Hold.
SATIRE IV.
HORACE. CATIUS.
HORACE.
C. Not to-day:
I cannot stop to talk: I must away
To set down words of wisdom, which surpass
The Athenian sage and deep Pythagoras.
The man who hates wild boars that eat like tame
Gets his from Umbria, genuine mast-fed game:
For the Laurentian beast, that makes its fat
Off sedge and reeds, is flavourless and flat.
The flesh of roes that feed upon the vine
Is not to be relied on when you dine.
With those who know what parts of hare are best
You'll find the wings are mostly in request.
Fishes and fowls, their nature and their age,
Have oft employed the attention of the sage;
But how to solve the problem ne'er was known
By mortal palate previous to my own.
SATIRE V.
ULYSSES. TIRESIAS.
ULYSSES
SATIRE VI.
JAMDUDUM AUSCULTO.
DAVUS. HORACE.
DAVUS.
H. Davus, eh?
H. Or a pike?
SATIRE VIII.
UT NASIDIENI.
HORACE. FUNDANIUS.
HORACE.
THE EPISTLES.
BOOK I.
I. To Maecenas.
II. TO LOLLIUS.
TROJANI BELLI SCRIPTOREM.
JULI FLORE.
ALBI, NOSTRORUM.
Albius, kind critic of my satires, say,
What do you down at Pedum far away?
Are you composing what will dim the shine
Of Cassius' works, so delicately fine,
Or sauntering, calm and healthful, through the wood,
Bent on such thoughts as suit the wise and good?
No brainless trunk is yours: a form to please,
Wealth, wit to use it, Heaven vouchsafes you these.
What could fond nurse wish more for her sweet pet
Than friends, good looks, and health without a let,
A shrewd clear head, a tongue to speak his mind,
A seemly household, and a purse well-lined?
V. TO TORQUATUS.
SI POTES ARCHIACIS.
VI. TO NUMICIUS.
NIL ADMIRARI.
CELSO GAUDERE.
SEPTIMIUS, CLAUDI.
Septimius, Nero, seems to comprehend,
As none else does, how you esteem your friend:
For when he begs, nay, forces me, good man,
To move you in his favour, if I can,
As not unfit the heart and home to share
Of Claudius, who selects his staff with care,
Bidding me act as though I filled the place
Of one you honour with your special grace,
He sees and knows what I may safely try
By way of influence better e'en than I.
Believe me, many were the pleas I used
In the vain hope to get myself excused:
But then there came a natural fear, you know,
Lest I should seem to rate my powers too low,
To make a snug peculium of my own,
And keep my influence for myself alone:
So, fearing to incur more serious blame,
I bronze my front, step down, and play my game.
If then you praise the sacrifice I make
In waiving modesty for friendship's sake,
Admit him to your circle, when you've read
These lines, and trust me for his heart and head.
X. TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS.
URBIS AMATOREM.
XI. TO BULLATIUS.
XII. TO Iccitus.
FRUCTIBUS AGRIPPAE.
UT PROFICISCENTEM.
VILLICE SILVARUM.
XVI. TO QUINCTIUS.
NE PERCONTERIS.
XVII. TO SCAEVA.
QUAMVIS, SCAEVA.
XVIII. TO LOLLIUS.
SI BENE TE NOVI.
XIX. TO MAECENAS.
PRISCO SI CREDIS.
VERTUMNUM JANUMQUE.
BOOK II.
I. TO AUGUSTUS.
HUMANO CAPITI.
PAGE 6.
SMART.
PAGE 9.
PAGE 13.
PAGE 17.
PAGE 44.
PAGE 61.
PAGE 94.
PAGE 98.
PAGE 103.
PAGE 124.
PAGE 126.
PAGE 129.
PAGE 131.
PAGE 134.
PAGE 135.
PAGE 136.
PAGE 140.
PAGE 144.
PAGE 151.
PAGE 151.
PAGE 152.
PAGE 157.
PAGE 166.
PAGE 172.
PAGE 173.
PAGE 177.
PAGE 179.
PAGE 182.
PAGE 188.
PAGE 189.
PAGE 191.
A second Aristarch.
PAGE 191.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Satires, Epistles, and Art of
Poetry, by Horace
a.k.a. Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Translated by John Conington, M. A.
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