Odes 1.35

Fortuna

by Horace

Both the language and content of this ode pose difficulties for the modern reader, but they do not obscure either its chilling message or the passion with which Horace expresses it: this is no mere literary exercise. The historical context is one of the obscurities, as Augustus never campaigned against the Britons, though the historian Cassius Dio says that at various times he expressed an intention to. What is clear is that the real subject is not so much a forthcoming campaign as the long period of civil war that Rome suffered before the advent of Augustus’s supremacy, and the fear that it could recur.

The Goddess to whom the poem is addressed is nowhere named, as though to do so would tempt fate, but she is Fortune. She is a terrifying figure: she rules everyone and everywhere, civilised and barbarous, rich and poor. Her decisions can abruptly switch triumph and disaster: they are unpredictable but final, enforced by Necessity, who goes before her like a Lictor, carrying the tools that can set them in stone.

A conventional ending might have come with the wish that Fortune may preserve Augustus and Rome’s troops recently levied for a campaign in the East. But there are two more anguished stanzas recalling the sacrileges and crimes perpetrated by Romans on Romans in the civil wars, which seem very recent here still. The implication is that, if it came, ill-fortune would not be undeserved. Although the final sentiment that the ode expresses is hope (that Rome will turn its violence onto its enemies, and away from itself), the impression left is that the City remains at a dark moment of danger and uncertainty.

The metre is Alcaics.

See the illustrated blog post here.

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O diva, gratum quae regis Antium,
praesens vel imo tollere de gradu
mortale corpus vel superbos
vertere funeribus triumphos:

te pauper ambit sollicita prece
ruris colonus, te dominam aequoris
quicumque Bithyna lacessit
Carpathium pelagus carina;

te Dacus asper, te profugi Scythae
urbesque gentesque et Latium ferox
regumque matres barbarorum et
purpurei metuunt tyranni,

iniurioso ne pede proruas
stantem columnam neu populus frequens
ad arma, cessantis ad arma
concitet imperiumque frangat;

te semper anteit saeva Necessitas,
clavos trabalis et cuneos manu
gestans aena nec severus
uncus abest liquidumque plumbum;

te Spes et albo rara Fides colit
velata panno nec comitem abnegat,
utcumque mutata potentis
veste domos inimica linquis,

at volgus infidum et meretrix retro
periura cedit, diffugiunt cadis
cum faece siccatis amici,
ferre iugum pariter dolosi:

serves iturum Caesarem in ultimos
orbis Britannos et iuvenum recens
examen Eois timendum
partibus Oceanoque rubro.

heu heu, cicatricum et sceleris pudet
fratrumque. quid nos dura refugimus
aetas? quid intactum nefasti
liquimus? unde manum iuventus

metu deorum continuit? quibus
pepercit aris? o utinam nova
incude diffingas retusum in
Massagetas Arabasque ferrum.

O Goddess, ruler of fair Antium, ready and able either to raise frail humanity from the humblest station or to turn proud triumphs into burial rites, it is to you that the poor farmer comes with anxious prayer, you, the mistress of the seas, to whom all that challenge the ocean in their ships of Bithynian timber pray; it is you that the cruel Dacian, theĀ  retreating Scythians, the nations and races, warlike Latium, you that the mothers of barbarian kings all fear, and tyrants in their purple too, afraid that with a kick you might topple and destroy the pillar of their reign; and that the people, that constant presence, might shatter their rule, flocking to arms themselves and calling the hesitant to arms as well. Before you always goes Necessity, with great beam-nails and wedges in her brazen hands, along with immoveable clamps and molten lead; it is you that Hope and scarce Fidelity look to as well, heads veiled with ragged white, nor do they deny your company when you change your dress, and as an enemy desert the homes of powerful men; the faithless rabble and venal Perjury back away, and friends scatter once they have drained the wine-jars to the dregs, too wily to bear their share of the yoke. Preserve Caesar as he prepares to depart for the land of the Britons at the ends of the earth, and preserve the fresh levies of our fighting men that eastern regions and the Red Sea would do well to fear. Alas, alas, the scars and crimes inflicted by brother on brother shame us. What has our cruel generation shrunk from? What evil have we left untouched? Where have our soldiers stayed their hand out of fear of the Gods? What altars have they spared? Oh, if only you would take a new anvil to reforge our blunted steel, and turn it on the Scythians and Arabs!

`

More Poems by Horace

  1. Nereus prophesies the Trojan War
  2. A call for a moral renaissance
  3. A country sacrifice
  4. Courage and decadence: the Regulus ode
  5. Valgius and Mystes
  6. The pleasures and dangers of wine
  7. Be your age, Chloris!
  8. Awe for the Gods
  9. Poscimur
  10. Lalage is too young
  11. Gyges’s constancy
  12. Numida’s back
  13. An oath to Maecenas
  14. Here’s to Murena!
  15. Gathering rosebuds: carpe diem
  16. Tibur or Tarentum: a poet’s dilemma?
  17. Unrequited love
  18. Pindar and Augustus
  19. Horace’s prayer to a wine-jar
  20. Jupiter’s authority, and Caesar’s
  21. A dedication to Diana
  22. Last love
  23. Romulus becomes a God
  24. An invocation to the lyre
  25. What Roman youth should be
  26. Don’t trust Barine
  27. Wealth should be used, not hoarded
  28. Mourning for a good man
  29. Horace welcomes his army comrade
  30. A day off for rain
  31. The consolations of wine
  32. Horace rests from his labours
  33. Iccius goes soldiering
  34. Stormy seas
  35. Roman values for the new age
  36. The country is best
  37. Love lost and found
  38. Curse you, tree!
  39. Horace’s Chloe
  40. Diffugere nives
  41. The fleeting years slip by
  42. Don’t worry, be happy
  43. Jealousy
  44. Give me comfort, not riches
  45. A plea for burial
  46. Pyrrha
  47. Horace, the wolf and the upright life
  48. Locked out
  49. Horace returns to lyric poetry
  50. Luxury versus the simple life
  51. A divine inspiration
  52. Love a slave-girl? Oh, Xanthias!
  53. Horace’s limitations
  54. The tug-of-war for Nearchus
  55. Some advice for Dellius
  56. Relief from care
  57. Horace’s Cleopatra ode
  58. O Fons Bandusiae
  59. Horace’s first Ode
  60. Caesar’s safe return
  61. Horace’s reverence to Bacchus
  62. The lust for money versus the simple life
  63. Horace the swan
  64. An invitation to Maecenas
  65. A change of mind
  66. The Golden Mean
  67. Horace the peacemaker
  68. Glycera
  69. Lydia’s tragedy
  70. Rome: disaster and salvation
  71. Celebrating Neptune’s feast day
  72. Neobule
  73. Diana and Apollo: a hymn
  74. A prayer to Mercury
  75. Augustus, master of the world
  76. Pollio’s histories of civil war
  77. A Farewell to arms
  78. Horace’s monument
  79. A Prayer to the poetry-God
  80. The final ode
  81. Licymnia
  82. Carpe diem, Sestius
  83. Horace’s wine
  84. A garland from the Muses
  85. Housman and Horace
  86. Late stirrings
  87. Soracte
  88. A prayer to Faunus
  89. Romulus in Heaven
  90. Postumus, the years slip by
  91. New temples, new morals
  92. A prayer to Venus
  93. Lovely mother, lovelier daughter
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