Horace: The Satires
Book I: Satire IX
Translated by A. S. Kline © 2005 All Rights Reserved
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Contents
BkISatIX:35-78 Saved by Apollo!
By chance I was strolling the Sacred Way, and musing,
As I do, on some piece of nonsense, wholly absorbed,
When up runs a man I know only by name, who grabs
Me by the hand, crying: ‘How do you do, dear old thing?’
‘Fine, as it happens,’ I answer, ‘and best
As he follows me, I add: ‘You’re after something?
He: ‘You should get to know me better, I’m learned.
I: ‘I congratulate you on that.’ Desperately trying
To flee, now I walk fast, now halt, and whisper a word
In the ear of my boy, as the sweat’s drenching me
Head to foot. While the fellow rattles on, praising
Street after street, the whole city, I silently whisper,
‘Oh Bolanus, to
have your quick
Replying, he says: ‘You’re dreadfully eager to go:
I’ve seen that a while: but it’s no use: I’ll hold you fast:
I’ll follow you wherever you’re going.’ ‘No need
For you to be dragged around: I’m off to see someone
You don’t know: he’s ill on the far side of
Near Caesar’s Garden.’ ‘I’ve nothing to do, I’m a walker:
I’ll follow.’ Down go my ears like a sulky donkey,
When the load’s too much for his back. Then he starts:
‘’If I know anything, you’d not find a superior friend
In Viscus or Varius: who can write more, who can write
Faster than me? Who can dance more
Even Hermogenes would envy me when I sing.’
Here was my chance to break in: ‘Haven’t you a mother,
Relations who need you at home?’ ‘No, no one: they’re all
At rest.’ Fortunate people! Only I’m left. Despatch me:
Now the sad fate approaches an old Sabine woman
Uttered when I was a child, rattling her diviner’s
‘No deadly poison shall slay him, no enemy blade shall destroy him,
No pleurisy carry him off, no lingering gout or cough:
Garrulous the man who’ll consume him at last: the talkers
He’ll take good care to avoid if he’s wise, as he grows older.’
If was well after nine when we reached Vesta’s temple,
The hour, as it happened, when he was due to answer
A charge: on pain of losing his case if he didn’t appear.
‘Give me some help for a while, as you love me,’ he says.
‘Slay me if I’ve the strength for it, and I don’t know the law:
And I’ve got to go, you know where.’ ‘I’m not sure,’ says he,
Whether to abandon you or my case.’ ‘Me , please.’ ‘No, no,’
Says he, and forges ahead. I follow, it’s hard to fight
When you’re beaten. ‘How do you get on with Maecenas?’
He starts in again; ‘a man of good judgement, few friends.
No one’s used opportunity better. You’d gain
A helper, a good number two, if you’d introduce
Yours truly to him: blow me, if you couldn’t have blown
Away all the rest!’ ‘The life up there’s not what you think:
No house is freer from taint or intrigue than that one:
It never troubles me, I can tell you, if someone
Is richer than me or more learned: everyone has
His own place.’ ‘What a tale, I can hardly believe that!’
‘Well, it’s true.’ ‘You inflame my desire to get closer
To him.’ ‘Only wish: with your virtues you’ll carry
The day: he’s a person who can be won, and that’s why
He makes the first entrance so hard.’ I’ll not fail:
I’ll bribe his servants with gifts: if I’m excluded
Today, I’ll persist: I’ll search out a suitable time,
Encounter him in the street, escort him home. Life grants
Nothing to mortals without a great effort.’ While he
Rabbits on, we meet Aristius Fuscus, a dear friend
Who knows the man well. We stop. ‘Where’ve you been,
Where are you going?’ He asks, he answers. I start to
Tug at his cloak, and press on his irresponsive arms,
Nodding and winking at him to save me, the joker
Cruelly laughing in non-comprehension: I grew
Heated with anger. ‘Wasn’t there something you needed
To say in private.’ Yes I remember, I’ll tell you
At some more convenient time: it’s the thirtieth,
Sabbath: do you want to offend the circumcised Jews?’
‘Nothing’s sacred to me.’ ‘It is to me: I’m one
Of the many, somewhat weaker. Pardon: another day.’
That so black a sun had risen for me! The rascal flees
Leaving me under the knife. Suddenly we’re faced
By the plaintiff. ‘Where are you off to, you scoundrel?’
A great voice shouts, then to me: ‘Will you be a witness?’
I offer my ear. He hurries him off: clamour ensures
People come running. And that’s how Apollo saved me.
End of Book I Satire IX