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.
Book I
Tell me, Maecenas, why no one's content
with either what they've done or fate has sent,
yet they applaud men taking other trails.
“O lucky businessmen!”
the soldier wails,
his body weighted down by age and shattered, 5
yet whenever southern winds have battered
his boat, a businessman will surely cry,
“Can't beat the army life! Don't you know why?
Two sides will clash, and in a flash you'll see
a sudden death or joyous victory.”10
A lawyer praises every hick with hoe
in hand who knocks
