作者：Juvenal
出版社：Delphi Classics
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Delphi Complete Works of Juvenal (Illustrated)试读：
The Complete Works ofJUVENAL(c. 60AD-?)ContentsThe TranslationsTHE SATIRESThe Latin TextCONTENTS OF THE LATIN TEXTThe Dual TextDUAL LATIN AND ENGLISH TEXTThe BiographyTHE LIFE OF JUVENAL by G. G. Ramsay© Delphi Classics 2014Version 1 The Complete Works ofJUVENALBy Delphi Classics, 2014The TranslationsAquino, a town in the province of Frosinone, in the Lazio region of Italy, northwest of Cassino — Juvenal’s birthplaceTHE SATIRESTranslated by G. G. RamsayJuvenal’s Satires are a collection of sixteen satirical poems written in the late first and early second centuries AD. The poems comprise a wide-ranging discussion of society and social mores, composed in dactylic hexameter — the ‘heroic’ meter, traditionally associated with the quantitative meter of classical epic poetry, consisting of six metrical feet. The Roman Satura was a formal literary genre, providing a humorous critique of a topical subject in no particular format. The style of Juvenal’s Satires originates from the works of Lucilius and the Sermones of Horace, as well as the Satires of Persius. In a tone and manner ranging from irony to rage, Juvenal criticises the actions and beliefs of many of his contemporaries, providing insight into value systems and questions of morality, whilst offering a valuable insight into the realities of daily Roman life. Interestingly, Juvenal uses obscenity less frequently than Martial or Catullus, though the scenes depicted in his satires are no less vivid or lurid, in spite of this seeming discretion.In his Satires, Juvenal often makes allusions to history and myth as a source of object lessons or exemplars of particular vices and virtues. Blended with his dense and elliptical Latin, these digressional references indicate that his intended audience was reasonable educated. The Satires are also concerned with perceived threats to the social continuity of the Roman citizens: social-climbing foreigners, unfaithfulness, and other more extreme excesses of their own class. The intended audience of the Satires constituted a subset of the Roman elite, primarily adult males of a more conservative social stance.The first Satire, often known as “It is Hard not to Write Satire”, lays out for the reader a catalogue of ills and annoyances that prompted Juvenal to compose his satires. Some examples cited by the poet include eunuchs getting married, elite women performing in a beast hunt and the dregs of society suddenly becoming wealthy by gross acts of sycophancy. Juvenal explicitly marks the writings of Lucilius as the model for his book of poems, although he claims that to attack the living as his model did incur great risk. The narrator contends that traditional Roman virtues, such as fides and virtus, had disappeared from society to the extent that “Rome was no longer Roman”.A frontispiece depicting Juvenal and Persius, from a volume translated by John Dryden in 1711.CONTENTSSatire 1. Difficile est Saturam non ScribereSatire 2. Moralists without MoralsSatire 3. Quid Romae Faciam?Satire 4. A tale of a turbot.Satire 5. How Clients are EntertainedSatire 6. The Ways of WomenSatire 7. Learning and Letters UnprofitableSatire 8. Stemmata quid Faciunt?Satire 9. The Sorrows of a ReprobateSatire 10. The Vanity of Human WishesSatire 11. Extravagance and Simplicity of LivingSatire 12. How Catullus escaped ShipwreckSatire 13. The Terrors of a Guilty ConscienceSatire 14. No Teaching like that of ExampleSatire 15. An Egyptian AtrocitySatire 16. The Immunities of the Military Domitian (51 – 96 AD), the Roman Emperor from 81 to 96 AD, is referenced in several of Juvenal’s ‘Satires’. In Satire IV: The Emperor’s Fish, Juvenal makes Domitian and his court the objects of his ridicule in this mock-epic tale of a fish so prodigious that it was fit for the Emperor alone.Satire 1. Difficile est Saturam non Scribere[1] What? Am I to be a listener only all my days? Am I never to get my word in — I that have been so often bored by the Theseid of the ranting Cordus? Shall this one have spouted to me his comedies, and that one his love ditties, and I be unavenged? Shall I have no revenge on one who has taken up the whole day with an interminable Telephus, or with an Orestes, which, after filling the margin at the top of the roll and the back as well, hasn’t even yet come to an end? No one knows his own house so well as I know the groves of Mars, and the cave of Vulcan near the cliffs of Aeolus. What the winds are brewing; whose souls Aeacus has on the rack; from what country another worthy is carrying off that stolen golden fleece; how big are the ash trees which Monychus tosses about: these are the themes with which Fronto’s plane trees and marble halls are for ever ringing until the pillars quiver and quake under the continual recitations; such is the kind of stuff you may look for from every poet, greatest or least. Well, I too have slipped my hand from under the cane; I too have counselled Sulla to retire from public life and sleep his fill; it is a foolish clemency when you jostle against poets at every corner, to spare paper that will be wasted anyhow. But if you can give me time, and will listen quietly to reason, I will tell you why I prefer to run in the same course over which the great nursling of Aurunca drove his steeds.[22] When a soft eunuch takes to matrimony, and Maevia, with spear in hand and breasts exposed, to pig-sticking; when a fellow under whose razor my stiff youthful beard used to grate challenges, with his single wealth, the whole nobility; when a guttersnipe of the Nile like Crispinus — a slave-born denizen of Canopus — hitches a Tyrian cloak on to his shoulder, whilst on his sweating finger he airs a summer ring of gold, unable to endure the weight of a heavier gem — it is hard not to write satire. For who can be so tolerant of this monstrous city, who so iron of soul, as to contain himself when the brand-new litter of lawyer Matho comes along, filled with his huge self; after him one who has informed against his noble patron and will soon despoil our pillaged nobility of what remains to them — one whom Massa dreads, whom Carus propitiates by a bribe, and to whom Thymele was made over by the terrified Latinus; when you are thrust on one side by men who earn legacies by nightly performances, and are raised to heaven by that now royal road to high preferment — the favours of an aged and wealthy woman? Each of the lovers will have his share; Proculeius a twelfth part, Gillo eleven parts, each in proportion to the magnitude of his services. Let each take the price of his own blood, and turn as pale as a man who has trodden upon a snake bare-footed, or of one who awaits his turn to orate before the altar at Lugdunum.[45] Why tell how my heart burns hot with rage when I see the people hustled by a mob of retainers attending on one who has defrauded and debauched his ward, or on another who has been condemned by a futile verdict — for what matters infamy if the cash be kept? The exiled Marius carouses from the eighth hour of the day and revels in the wrath of Heaven, while you, poor Province, win your cause and weep![51] Must I not deem these things worthy of the Venusian’s lamp? Must I not have my fling at them? Should I do better to tell tales about Hercules, or Diomede, or the bellowing in the Labyrinth, or about the flying carpenter and the lad who splashed into the sea; and that in an age when the compliant husband, if his wife may not lawfully inherit, takes money from her paramour, being well trained to keep his eyes upon the ceiling, or to snore with wakeful nose over his cups; an age when one who has squandered his family fortunes upon horse flesh thinks it right and proper to look for the command of a cohort? See him dashing at break-neck speed, like a very Automedon, along the Flaminian way, holding the reins himself, while he shows himself off to his great-coated mistress![63] Would you not like to fill up a whole note-book at the street crossings when you see a forger borne along upon the necks of six porters, and exposed to view on this side and on that in his almost naked litter, and reminding you of the lounging Maecenas: one who by help of a scrap of paper and a moistened seal has converted himself into a fine and wealthy gentleman?[69] Then up comes a lordly dame who, when her husband wants a drink, mixes toad’s blood with his old Calenian, and improving upon Lucusta herself, teaches her artless neighbours to brave the talk of the town and carry forth to burial the blackened corpses of their husbands. If you want to be anybody nowadays, you must dare some crime that merits narrow Gyara or a gaol; honesty is praised and starves. It is to their crimes that men owe their pleasure-grounds and high commands, their fine tables and old silver goblets with goats standing out in relief. Who can get, sleep for thinking of a money-loving daughter-in-law seduced, of brides that have lost their virtue, or of adulterers not out of their teens? Though nature say me nay, indignation will prompt my verse, of whatever kind it be — such verse as I can write, or Cluvienus![81] From the day when the rain-clouds lifted up the waters, and Deucalion climbed that mountain in his ship to seek an oracle — that day when stones grew soft and warm with life, and Pyrrha showed maidens in nature’s garb to men — all the doings of mankind, their vows, their fears, their angers and their pleasures, their joys and goings to and fro, shall form the motley subject of my page. For when was Vice more rampant? When did the maw of Avarice gape wider? When was gambling so reckless? Men come not now with purses to the hazard of the gaming table, but with a treasure-chest beside them. What battles will you there see waged with a steward for armour-bearer! Is it a simple form of madness to lose a hundred thousand sesterces, and not have a shirt to give to a shivering slave? Which of our grandfathers built such numbers of villas, or dined by himself off seven courses? Look now at the meagre dole set down upon the threshold for a toga-clad mob to scramble for! The patron first peers into your face, fearing that you may be claiming under someone else’s name: once recognised, you will get your share. He then bids the crier call up the Trojan-blooded nobles — for they too besiege the door as well as we: “The Praetor first,” says he, “and after him the Tribune.” “But I was here first,” says a freedman who stops the way; “why should I be afraid, or hesitate to keep my place? Though born on the Euphrates — a fact which the little windows in my ears would testify though I myself denied it — yet I am the owner of five shops which bring me in four hundred thousand sesterces. What better thing does the Broad Purple bestow if a Corvinus herds sheep for daily wage in the Laurentian country, while I possess more property than either a Pallas or a Licinus?” So let the Tribunes await their turn; let money carry the day; let the sacred office give way to one who came but yesterday with whitened feet into our city. For no deity is held in such reverence amongst us as Wealth; though as yet, O baneful money, thou hast no temple of thine own; not yet have we reared altars to Money in like manner as we worship Peace and Honour, Victory and Virtue, or that Concord that twitters when we salute her nest.[117] If then the great officers of state reckon up at the end of the year how much the dole brings in, how much it adds to their income, what shall we dependants do who, out of the self-same dole, have to find ourselves in coats and shoes, in the bread and fire of our homes? A mob of litters comes in quest of the hundred farthings; here is a husband going the round, followed by a sickly or pregnant wife; another, by a clever and well-known trick, claims for a wife that is not there, pointing, in her stead, to a closed and empty chair: “My Galla’s in there,” says he; “let us off quick, will you not?” “Galla, put out your head!” “Don’t disturb her, she’s asleep!”[127] The day itself is marked out by a fine round of business. First comes the dole; then the courts, and Apollo learned in the law, and those triumphal statues among which some Egyptian Arabarch or other has dared to set up his titles; against whose statue more than one kind of nuisance may be committed! Wearied and hopeless, the old clients leave the door, though the last hope that a man relinquishes is that of a dinner; the poor wretches must buy their cabbage and their fuel. Meanwhile their lordly patron will be devouring the choicest products of wood and sea, lying alone upon an empty couch; for off those huge and splendid antique dinner-tables he will consume a whole patrimony at a single meal. Ere long no parasites will be left! Who can bear to see luxury so mean? What a huge gullet to have a whole boar — an animal created for conviviality — served up to it! But you will soon pay for it, my friend, when you take off your clothes, and with distended stomach carry your peacock into the bath undigested! Hence a sudden death, and an intestate old age; the new and merry tale runs the round of every dinner-table, and the corpse is carried forth to burial amid the cheers of enraged friends![147] To these ways of ours Posterity will have nothing to add; our grandchildren will do the same things, and desire the same things, that we do. All vice is at its acme; up with your sails and shake out every stitch of canvas! Here perhaps you will say, “Where find the talent to match the theme? Where find that freedom of our forefathers to write whatever the burning soul desired? ‘What man is there that I dare not name? What matters it whether Mucius forgives my words or no?’” But just describe Tigellinus and you will blaze amid those faggots in which men, with their throats tightly gripped, stand and burn and smoke, and you trace a broad furrow through the middle of the arena.[158] What? Is a man who has administered aconite to half a dozen uncles to ride by and look down upon me from his swaying cushions? “Yes; and when he comes near you, put your finger to your lip: he who but says the word, ‘That’s the man!’ will be counted an informer. You may set Aeneas and the brave Rutulian a-fighting with an easy mind; it will hurt no one’s feelings to hear how Achilles was slain, or how Hylas was searched for when he tumbled after his pitcher. But when Lucilius roars and rages as if with sword in hand, the hearer, whose soul was cold with crime, grows red; he sweats with the secret consciousness of sin. Hence wrath and tears. So turn these things over in your mind before the trumpet sounds; the helmet once donned, it is too late to repent you of the battle.” Then I will try what I may say of those worthies whose ashes lie under the Flaminian and Latin roads.Satire 2. Moralists without Morals[1] I would fain flee to Sarmatia and the frozen Sea when people who ape the Curii and live like Bacchanals dare talk about morals. In the first place, they are unlearned persons, though you may find their houses crammed with plaster casts of Chrysippus; for their greatest hero is the man who has bought a likeness of Aristotle or Pittacus, or bids his shelves preserve an original portrait of Cleanthes. Men’s faces are not to be trusted; does not every street abound in gloomy-visaged debauchees? And do you rebuke foul practices, when you are yourself the most notorious of the Socratic reprobates? A hairy body, and arms stiff with bristles, give promise of a manly soul: but the doctor grins when he cuts into the growths on your shaved buttocks. Men of your kidney talk little; they glory in taciturnity, and cut their hair shorter than their eyebrows. Peribomius himself is more open and more honest; his face, his walk, betray his distemper, and I charge Destiny with his failings. Such men excite your pity by their frankness; the very fury of their passions wins them pardon. Far worse are those who denounce evil ways in the language of a Hercules; and after discoursing upon virtue, prepare to practise vice. “Am I to respect you, Sextus,” quoth the ill-famed Varillus, “when you do as I do? How am I worse than yourself? “ Let the straight-legged man laugh at the club-footed, the white man at the blackamoor: but who could endure the Gracchi railing at sedition? Who will not confound heaven with earth, and sea with sky, if Verves denounce thieves, or Milo cut-throats? If Clodius condemn adulterers, or Catiline upbraid Cethegus; or if Sulla’s three disciples inveigh against proscriptions? Such a man was that adulterer who, after lately defiling himself by a union of the tragic style, revived the stern laws that were to be a terror to all men — ay, even to Mars and Venus — at the moment when Julia was relieving her fertile womb and giving birth to abortions that displayed the similitude of her uncle. Is it not then right and proper that the very worst of sinners should despise your pretended Scauri, and bite back when bitten?[36] Laronia could not contain herself when one of these sour-faced worthies cried out, “What of your Julian Law? Has it gone to sleep?” To which she answered smilingly,” O happy times to have you for a censor of our morals! Once more may Rome regain her modesty; a third Cato has come down to us from the skies! But tell me, where did you buy that balsam juice that exhales from your hairy neck? Don’t be ashamed to point out to me the shopman! If laws and statutes are to be raked up, you should cite first of all the Scantinian : inquire first into the things that are done by men; men do more wicked things than we do, but they are protected by their numbers, and the tight-locked shields of their phalanx. Male effeminates agree wondrously well among themselves; never in our sex will you find such loathsome examples of evil.[51] “Do we women ever plead in the courts? Are we learned in the Law? Do your court-houses ever ring with our bawling? Some few of us are wrestlers; some of us eat meat-rations: you men spin wool and bring back your tale of work in baskets when it is done; you twirl round the spindle big with fine thread more deftly than Penelope, more delicately than Arachne, doing work such as an unkempt drab squatting on a log would do. Everybody knows why Hister left all his property to his freedman, why in his life-time he gave so many presents to his young wife; the woman who sleeps third in a big bed will want for nothing. So when you take a husband, keep your mouth shut; precious stones will be the reward of a well-kept secret. After this, what condemnation can be pronounced on women? Our censor absolves the crow and passes judgment on the pigeon!”[64] While Laronia was uttering these plain truths, the would-be Stoics made off in confusion: for what word of untruth had she spoken? Yet what will not other men do when you, Creticus, dress yourself in garments of gauze, and while everyone is marvelling at your attire, launch out against the Proculae and the Pollittae? Fabulla is an adulteress; condemn Carfinia of the same crime if you please; but however guilty, they would never wear such a gown as yours. “O but,” you say, “these July days are so sweltering!” Then why not plead without clothes? Such madness would be less disgraceful. A pretty garb yours in which to propose or expound laws to our countrymen flushed with victory, and with their wounds yet unhealed; and to those mountain rustics who had laid down their ploughs to listen to you? What would you not exclaim if you saw a judge dressed like that? Would a robe of gauze sit becomingly on a witness? You, Creticus, you, the keen, unbending champion of human liberty, to be clothed in a transparency! This plague has come upon us by infection, and it will spread still further, just as in the fields the scab of one sheep, or the mange of one pig, destroys an entire herd; just as one bunch of grapes takes on its sickly colour from the aspect of its neighbour.[82] Some day you will venture on something more shameful than this dress; no one reaches the depths of turpitude all at once. In due time you will be welcomed by those who in their homes put fillets round their brows, swathe themselves with necklaces, and propitiate the Bona Dea with the stomach of a porker and a huge bowl of wine, though by an evil usage the Goddess warns off all women from the door; none but males may approach her altar. “Away with you! profane women” is the cry; “no booming horn, no she-minstrels here!” Such were the secret torchlight orgies with which the Baptae wearied the Cecropian Cotytto. One prolongs his eyebrows with some damp soot on the edge of a needle, and lifts up his blinking eyes to be painted; another drinks out of an obscenely-shaped glass, and ties up his long locks in a gilded net; he is clothed in blue checks, or smooth-faced green; the attendant swears by Juno like his master. Another holds in his hand a mirror like that carried by the effeminate Otho: a trophy of the Auruncan Actor, in which he gazed at his own image in full armour when he was just ready to give the order to advance — a thing notable and novel in the annals of our time, a mirror among the kit of Civil War! It needed, in truth, a mighty general to slay Galba, and keep his own skin shaved; it needed a citizen of highest courage to ape the splendours of the Palace on the field of Bebriacum, and plaster his face with dough! Never did the quiver-bearing Samiramis the like in her Assyrian realm, nor the despairing Cleopatra on board her ship at Actium. No decency of language is there here: no regard for the manners of the table. You will hear all the foul talk and squeaking tones of Cybele; a grey-haired frenzied old man presides over the rites; he is a rare and notable master of the art of gluttony, and should be hired to teach it. But why wait any longer when it were time in Phrygian fashion to lop off the superfluous flesh?[117] Gracchus has presented to a cornet player — or perhaps it was a player on the straight horn — a dowry of four hundred thousand sesterces. The contract has been signed; the benedictions have been pronounced; the banqueters are seated, the new made bride is reclining on the bosom of her husband. O ye nobles of Rome! is it a soothsayer that we need, or a Censor? Would you be more aghast, would you deem it a greater portent, if a woman gave birth to a calf, or an ox to a lamb? The man who is now arraying himself in the flounces and train and veil of a bride once carried the quivering shields of Mars by the sacred thongs and sweated under the sacred burden![126] O Father of our city, whence came such wickedness among thy Latin shepherds? How did such a lust possess thy grandchildren, O Gradivus? Behold! Here you have a man of high birth and wealth being handed over in marriage to a man, and yet neither shakest thy helmet, nor smitest the earth with thy spear, nor yet protestest to thy Father? Away with thee then; begone from that broad Martial Plain which thou hast forgotten![132] “I have a ceremony to attend,” quoth one, “at dawn to-morrow, in the Quirinal valley.” “What is the occasion?” “No need试读结束[说明：试读内容隐藏了图片]