Juvenal (0055–0127)

Juvenal’s 16 satiric poems deal mainly with life in Rome under the much-dreaded emperor Domitian and his more humane successors Nerva (96–98), Trajan (98–117), and Hadrian (117–138).

The Satires attack two main themes: the corruption of society in the city of Rome and the follies and brutalities of mankind. In the first Satire, Juvenal declares that vice, crime, and the misuse of wealth have reached such a peak that it is impossible not to write satire, but that, since it is show more dangerous to attack powerful men in their lifetime, he will take his examples from the dead. He does not maintain this principle, for sometimes he mentions living contemporaries; but it provides a useful insurance policy against retaliation, and it implies that Rome has been evil for many generations. Male homosexuals are derided in two poems: passives in Satire 2, actives and passives together in Satire 9. In the third Satire a friend of Juvenal explains why, abandoning the humiliating life of a dependent, he is determined to live in a quiet country town and leave crowded and uncomfortable Rome, which has been ruined by Greeks and other foreign immigrants; while in the fifth Juvenal mocks another such dependent by describing the calculated insults he must endure on the rare occasions when his patron invites him to dinner. The fourth relates how Domitian summoned his cringing Cabinet to consider an absurdly petty problem: how to cook a turbot too large for any ordinary pan.

Satire 6, more than 600 lines long, is a ruthless denunciation of the folly, arrogance, cruelty, and sexual depravity of Roman women. The seventh Satire depicts the poverty and wretchedness of the Roman intellectuals who cannot find decent rewards for their labours. In the eighth, Juvenal attacks the cult of hereditary nobility. One of his grandest poems is the 10th, which examines the ambitions of mankind—wealth, power, glory, long life, and personal beauty—and shows that they all lead to disappointment or danger: what mankind should pray for is “a sound mind in a sound body, and a brave heart.” In Satire 11, Juvenal invites an old friend to dine quietly but comfortably and discourses on the foolishly extravagant banquets of the rich. The 12th is a quiet little poem distinguishing between true and mercenary friendship. In the 13th Juvenal offers sarcastic consolation to a man who has been defrauded of some money by a friend, telling him that such misdeeds are commonplace; while in the 14th he denounces parents who teach their children avarice. Satire 15 tells of a riot in Egypt during which a man was torn to pieces and eaten: a proof that men are crueler than animals. In the 16th Juvenal announces that he will survey the privileges of professional soldiers, an important theme; but the poem breaks off at line 60 in the middle of a sentence: the rest was lost in ancient times.

Technically, Juvenal’s poetry is very fine. The structure of the individual Satires is—with a few exceptions—clear and forceful. They are full of skillfully expressive effects in which the sound and rhythm mimic and enhance the sense; and they abound in trenchant phrases and memorable epigrams, many known to people who have never heard of Juvenal: “bread and circuses”; “Slow rises worth, by poverty oppressed”; “Who will guard the guards themselves?”; “the itch for writing”; “The greatest reverence is due to a child.” Vivid, often cruelly frank, remarks appear on almost every page: after describing a rich woman’s efforts to preserve her complexion with ointments, tonics, donkey’s milk, and poultices, Juvenal asks, “Is that a face, or an ulcer?” He describes striking and disgusting scenes with a clarity that makes them unforgettable: we see the statues of the emperor’s discarded favourite melted down to make kitchenware and chamber pots; the husband closing his disgusted eyes while his drunken wife vomits on the marble floor; the emperor Claudius (poisoned by his consort) “going to heaven” with his head trembling and his lips drooling long trains of saliva; the impotent bridegroom whimpering while a paid substitute consoles his wife. Juvenal is not a poet to be relished by soft hearts. show less

My overall thoughts on this book: old man shakes hand at clouds and writes angry letters to the newspaper about things he doesn't like.

It really is - Juvenal tends to ramble eloquently on a topic, generally on things he doesn't like (eg, gay folk are bad, but better to be a gay than married). And, his rants are mostly recognizable today (Don't spend money on stuff you can't afford. Outsiders bad and taking jobs and Romans aren't taking back what they are due, etc). A few topics are difficult show more to read (Satire 6, on woman). As a whole, I really enjoyed reading this.

On style - initially, I had trouble understanding what was happening. Between old traditions and the very English translation of this book, I had to read a few of the satires two or three times, just to catch the nuance. The translation is well done, as far as I can tell. However, I wish there was more focus on the overall setting in the notes. I don't care who Juvenal was writing about, but I really wanted to know about the setting, why were these written, and how were the presented. Bits and pieces of the why were covered in the book, but the majority of the notes were focused on sentence structure (which is meaningless to me) and on individuals mentioned. show less

I've long been sceptical of contemporary novels that are advertized as satires. Consider Jonathan Coe's 'Rotters' Club,' which was okay, but compared even to a supposedly realistic novel like 'The Line of Beauty,' contained little satire beyond its propensity for pointing out that people ate some really bad food in the seventies. So I finally got around to reading Juvenal, and my scepticism has been gloriously affirmed: yes, satire can be really, really mean; it can be full of almost show more explosive moral indignation.

'For what is disgrace if he keeps the money?'
'What can I do in Rome? I can't tell lies!'
'Of all that luckless poverty involves, nothing is harsher/ than the fact that it makes people funny.'
'A poor man's rights are confined to this:/ having been pounded and punched to a jelly, to beg and implore/ that he may be allowed to go home with a few teeth in his head.'
'When power which is virtually equal/ to that of the gods is flattered, there's nothing it can't believe.'
'You must know the color of your own bread.'
'that which is coated and warmed with so many odd preparations... what shall we call it? A face, or an ulcer?'
'If somebody owns a dwarf, we call him/ Atlas; a negro, Swan; a bent and disfigured girl/ Europa. Curs that are listless, and bald from years of mange/ and lick the rim of an empty lamp for oil, are given/ the name of Leopard.'
'However far back you care to go in tracing your name/ the fact remains that your clan began in a haven for outlaws.'
'Do you think it's nice and easy to thrust a proper-sized penis/ into a person's guts, encountering yesterday's dinner?/ The slave who ploughs a field has a lighter task than the one/ who ploughs its owner.'
'Don't you attach any value to the fact that, had I not been/ a loyal and devoted client, your wife would still be a virgin?'
'Shame is jeered as she leaves the city.'
'The whole of Rome is inside the Circus.'
'What other man these days... could bear to prefer his life to his plate, and his soul to his money?'
'If I happen to find a totally honest man, I regard/ that freak as I would a baby centaur.'
'Tears are genuine when they fall at the loss of money.'

Not to mention the classics, 'it's hard not to write satire,' 'who watches the watchmen,' 'bread and circuses,' 'healthy mind in a healthy body' (all translated slightly differently here).

All of these are funnier or crueler in context.

Rudd's translation (in the Oxford World's Classics edition) seems solid; I haven't compared it to the Latin. He translates line for line, which I imagine will make it easier to follow the original language, and in a loose meter which allows him to make everything make sense. It's rarely pretty, but it is readable. And his notes are excellent. show less

Biting, witty, a wonderful source of social information and commentary that wasn't distorted and presented through an imperial lens. So much information from the period is written by patrons of the ruling class, so this voice from the underworld provides a fairly rare glimpse into the sleazly underbelly of the city in imperial times.