‘He shut the lions' mouths, and they did not harm me, for in his sight righteousness was found in me.’

At the beginning of this work it was proposed to inquire into three questions, within the limits allowed by the subject-matter; the first two of them have been dealt with sufficiently, I believe, in the previous books. Now it remains to deal with the third, the truth of which cannot be brought to light without putting certain people to shame, and will therefore perhaps be a cause of some resentment against me. But since truth from its unchangeable throne implores us, and Solomon too, entering the forest of Proverbs, teaches us by his own example to meditate on truth and loathe wickedness; and since our authority on morals, Aristotle, urges us to destroy what touches us closely for the sake of maintaining truth; then having taken heart from the words of Daniel cited above, in which divine power is said to be a shield of the defenders of truth, and putting on ‘the breast-plate of faith’ as Paul exhorts us, afire with that burning coal which one of the seraphim took from the heavenly altar to touch Isaiah's lips, I shall enter the present arena, and, by his arm who freed us from the power of darkness with his blood, before the eyes of the world I shall cast out the wicked and the lying from the ring.

‘Why have the nations raged, and the peoples meditated vain things? The kings of the earth have arisen, and the princes have gathered together against the Lord and against his Christ. Let us burst their chains and cast their yoke from us.’

When confronted with an unfamiliar phenomenon whose cause we do not comprehend we usually feel amazement; and equally, when we do understand the cause, we look down almost mockingly on those who continue to be amazed. For my own part, I used once to be amazed that the Roman people had set themselves as rulers over the whole world without encountering any resistance, for I looked at the matter only in a superficial way and I thought that they had attained their supremacy not by right but only by force of arms. But when I penetrated with my mind's eye to the heart of the matter and understood through unmistakable signs that this was the work of divine providence, my amazement faded and a kind of scornful derision took its place, on seeing how the nations raged against the supremacy of the Roman people, on seeing the peoples meditate vain things, as I myself once did; and I grieved too that kings and princes should be united only in this one thing: in opposing their Lord and his Anointed, the Roman prince.

The translation

The difficulties posed by translating a text like the Monarchy are considerable. Dante's language is concise and vigorous, yet dense with philosophical implications: to find a balance between literal translation and explanatory paraphrase is a constant challenge. I have tried to keep as close to the original text as seemed consistent with modern English usage, preferring to clarify in notes rather than to stray too far from Dante's formulations, and avoiding (I hope) the ponderousness (and even occasional opacity) of some earlier versions, qualities which seem to me entirely alien to Dante's style.

The translation is based on the Latin text printed in the Cambridge Medieval Classics edition of the Monarchia, which in its turn is based on the text established by Pier Giorgio Ricci in his 1965 edition of the treatise, emended in some forty odd places. Most of these emendations do not affect the meaning: a small group of substantive changes (concentrated at the end of Book II, chapter x) is described in ‘Some proposed emendations to the text of Dante's Monarchica’, in Italian Studies 50, 1995, pp. 1–8. Where Ricci's text diverges from Rostagno's earlier edition (see Bibliographical note), the present translation will differ from earlier English versions. The critical edition of the Latin text of the Monarchy which I am currently preparing, and which will be published under the auspices of the Società Dantesca Italiana, will include a full critical apparatus and an exhaustive discussion of the textual situation.

Why read the Monarchy, Dante's treatise on political theory? A minor work by one of the world's great poets, written in the moribund language which he wisely rejected in favour of the vernacular when writing at full creative pressure, argued in a manner which can seem needlessly pedantic and repetitive in its procedures and its formulations, it expresses ideas which have been described as backward-looking, Utopian and even fanatical. Yet a recent book on the political thought of the period can unselfconsciously refer to the Monarchy as a masterpiece, and it is surely a text of remarkable interest. The originality and power of the political vision it embodies, the passion with which that vision is experienced and expressed, shine through the alien language and the alienating methodology. The small effort the text requires of its modern readers is amply repaid by the sense it conveys of a man passionately engaged in the political debates of his age, but equally passionate in his determination that the pressure of present concerns should not blind us to underlying principles. Only a grasp of universal truths about human beings and human life will furnish an answer to the fundamental question of how people should live together and what form of political organization best suits human nature.

The attempt to argue from first principles is one of the most strikingly original aspects of the Monarchy, but it is not a work of ivory-tower idealism, of theory divorced from political experience.

For all men whom the Higher Nature has endowed with a love of truth, this above all seems to be a matter of concern, that just as they have been enriched by the efforts of their forebears, so they too may work for future generations, in order that posterity may be enriched by their efforts. For the man who is steeped in the teachings which form our common heritage, yet has no interest in contributing something to the community, is failing in his duty: let him be in no doubt of that; for he is not ‘a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in due season’, but rather a destructive whirlpool which forever swallows things down and never gives back what it has swallowed. Thinking often about these things, lest some day I be accused of burying my talent, I wish not just to put forth buds but to bear fruit for the benefit of all, and to reveal truths that have not been attempted by others. For what fruit would a man bear who proved once again a theorem of Euclid's? or who sought to show once again the nature of happiness, which has already been shown by Aristotle? or who took up the defence of old age which has already been defended by Cicero? None at all; indeed the tiresome pointlessness of the exercise would arouse distaste.

JUVENAL AND SATIRE

Juvenal, perhaps more than anyone else, is responsible for the modern concept of satire. Satire was a genre of poetry invented and developed by the Romans. When it came into Juvenal's hands, he stamped his mark upon it: indignation. Not all of Juvenal's Satires are indignant; but that is what he is remembered for. His angry voice had an overwhelming influence upon later satirists and persists into modern manifestations of satire, although what we mean by ‘satire’ is different: for the Romans and for English satirists of Elizabethan and Jacobean times, ‘satire’ denoted a particular form of discourse, a genre of poetry with ‘rules’, whereas for us ‘satire’ tends to imply an attitude and a tone of voice. In this Introduction we shall briefly examine the origins of the genre of Roman satire and discuss Juvenal's predecessors in the genre, Lucilius, Horace and Persius. The evidence for Juvenal's life will be considered, then the characteristics of his satire, including his style and metre, will be discussed. There follows an integrated reading of Book I; discussions of the five individual poems of Book I will be found after the commentary on each poem. The Introduction is concluded by an overview of Juvenal's influence from antiquity to the present and a discussion of the text and its transmission.

THE GENRE OF ROMAN VERSE SATIRE

For a full understanding of Roman verse satire, two possibly unfamiliar concepts must be grasped. The first is that the Roman writers of satire, like all authors of Greco-Roman literature, were working within a particular literary genre which had its unwritten ‘laws’. In the case of Roman verse satire, these ‘laws’ prescribed the choice of metre and form, material, presentation and language. The metre was the dactylic hexameter (the metre of epic poetry such as Virgil's Aeneid) and the form required compositions of short to middle length, usually in the range of 50-250 lines. The material included matters of morality, education and literature. The type of presentation was the autobiographical monologue with occasional extensions into dialogue, epistle or narrative. The language was permitted to range from the extravagances of mock-epic grandeur, through the everyday discourse of polite gentlemen, to explicit crudity. This set of ‘laws’ was established by Lucilius, the founder of the genre, writing in the second century BC, who is discussed below.

‘Satire is a sort of glass, wherein beholders do generally discover everybody's face but their own.’ Thus Swift, in his Preface to The Battle of the Books. The Preface to a commentary such as this is conventionally the place for self-justification and explanation of the approach adopted. In true satiric spirit, then, I subvert the generic conventions and start with speculation. It is indeed hard to discover oneself in satire; yet, I suppose that anyone who has worked on Juvenal for a decade or more must be rather odd. Whether this is cause or effect, I cannot say. But it seems to me that immersion in indignatio is not necessarily good for the soul, even if it sharpens the tongue… Of course, I was delighted to be offered the opportunity of writing a new commentary on the Satires of Juvenal, especially when the Press agreed to the inclusion of Satire 2, since this meant I could present an integrated reading of Book 1 as an organic structure. But during the ten years or so it has taken to bring this project to fruition, there were times when I despaired of completing it, not least because of the government's obsession with accountability, which has surely doubled the administrative workload on university lecturers during this period. I therefore wish to express profound gratitude to the numerous friends and colleagues who offered multifarious encouragement: to David Braund, Duncan Cloud, Charles Martindale, Adam Morton, Patricia Mover, Jonathan Walters, John Wilkins, Peter Wiseman. Thanks to Barbara Gordon for her scrupulous proof-reading. To Ted Kenney is due the highest accolade for scrutinising the entire typescript more than once; as always, I have benefited enormously from his advice (even if I have not always taken it).

My thanks also go to the classes of students at the University of Exeter in the 1980s who responded so helpfully to my Juvenal lectures, especially Julia Mobsby and Jack Marriott; the desire to introduce new generations of undergraduates to Juvenal has provided inspiration for the undertaking and parameters for the book.

SATIRE 1

1-6 The speaker plunges straight into his self-justification, declaring that he will take revenge for all the recitations he has sat through in the past. Implicit in this apologia is a recusatio, a ‘refusal’ to tackle epic, in favour of satire. He begins with a series of four rhetorical questions, the first two introduced by the antithetical extremes semper and numquam; the second two by anaphora of inpune which reiterates numquam … reponam. The increasing length of the questions conveys his vehemence.

I ego auditor: supply ero or sim; the omission of the verb conveys indignation, egoindicates the speaker's self-centredness. He portrays himself as an auditor at a recitation (hence 3 recitauerit and 13 lectore), a regular social event in Rome ranging from the private dinner-party (Mart. 3.45, 11.52.16-18; J. 11.179-81) to grander affairs to which the educated public was invited (Plin. Ep. 1.13). The Romans tended to listen to ‘literature’ rather than simply read it as we do. tantum ‘only’. This prepares us for his desire for revenge. reponam ‘retaliate’, literally ‘repay (a debt)’, with no object expressed here. For the idea of taking revenge for recitations, cf. Hor. Ep. 1.19.39 ego nobilium scriptorum auditor et ultor.

2, uexatus: the past participle has a concessive or causal force, ‘though harassed’ or ‘for having been harassed’ (Woodcock §92). Theseide Cordi: the poet Cordus is unknown to us and the name possibly fictitious. His poem is an epic about the Athenian hero Theseus (cf. Aeneas - Aeneid), a hackneyed subject; totiens and rauciy ‘hoarse’, imply that it is very long.

3-4 inpune … recitauerit … consumpserit … : fut.perf.: ‘shall he have got away scot-free with reciting … with taking up … ’. ergo: on J.'s prosody see Introduction §8. togatas: i.e. fabulae togatae, comedies with a Roman setting, as opposed to fabulae palliatae, Latin comedies with a Greek setting, such as those of Plautus and Terence. elegos: the genre of Roman love elegy bloomed in the first century BC (Gallus, Tibullus, Propertius, Ovid), but elegies were still recited and written in J.'s time (Mart. 8.70.7; Plin. Ep. 6.15).