Horace, Ode 3.21

by Michael Gilleland

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Synopsis (by C.H. Moore): "An address to a jar of wine, which Horace will broach in honor of his friend Corvinus."

  Text Crib
  O nata mecum consule Manlio,
seu tu querelas siue geris iocos
  seu rixam et insanos amores
    seu facilem, pia testa, somnum, 		O goodly jar, born with me when Manlius
was consul, whether you bring complaints
or jokes, or brawling and insane
love affairs, or easy sleep,
5
 
 
  		quocumque lectum nomine Massicum
seruas, moueri digna bona die,
  descende, Coruino iubente
    promere languidiora uina. 		for whatever purpose you preserve choice
Massic [vintage], worthy to be removed on an
auspicious day, descend, since Corvinus
bids me uncork smoother wine.
 
10
 
  		Non ille, quamquam Socraticis madet
sermonibus, te negleget horridus:
  narratur et prisci Catonis
    saepe mero caluisse uirtus. 		He is not so boorish as to neglect you,
although he is steeped in Socratic
discourses; even the virtue of venerable Cato
is said to have grown warm with wine.
 
 
15
 
 Tu lene tormentum ingenio admoues
plerumque duro; tu sapientium
  curas et arcanum iocoso
    consilium retegis Lyaeo; 		You apply a gentle spur to a harsh
disposition; to playful Lyaeus
you reveal the cares of wise men
and hidden counsels;
 
 
 
20 		tu spem reducis mentibus anxiis,
uirisque et addis cornua pauperi
  post te neque iratos trementi
    regum apices neque militum arma. 		you restore hope to worried minds,
and you give strength and vigor to the poor
man -- after [tasting] you, he fears neither the
angry crowns of kings nor soldiers' weapons.
 
 
 
 
 Te Liber et, si laeta aderit, Venus
segnesque nodum soluere Gratiae
  uiuaeque producent lucernae,
    dum rediens fugat astra Phoebus. 		Liber and Venus (if she comes in joy)
and the Graces (slow to loosen the knot)
and watchful lamps will keep you up until the
return of Phoebus puts the stars to flight.
Notes:

"This ode is an amusing parody of a hymn to a god," according to Gordon Williams, Tradition and Originality in Roman Poetry (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968), p. 133. Williams' analysis of the ode (pp. 132-135) is well worth reading.

1 Horace was born on 8 December, 65 B.C. L. Manlius Torquatus was consul in 65 B.C. So Horace says that wine of the year 65 B.C. was "born with me". Cf. Epodes 13.6: "Uncork the wine pressed when my Torquatus was consul" (tu uina Torquato moue consule pressa meo).

This is not just a fanciful poetic locution, as the following inscription (H. Dessau, Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae, 8580) on an amphora, contemporary with Horace, shows:

TI CLAVDIO P QVINCTILIO COS
A D XIII K IVN VINVM
DIFFVSVM QVOD NATVM EST
DVOBVS LENTVLIS COS
AVTOCR
"On the 13th day before the Kalends of June [i.e. on May 20], when Tiberius Claudius and Publius Quinctilius were consuls [13 B.C.], wine was transferred [from a vat to this smaller container] which was born when the two Lentuli were consuls [18 B.C.]. Self-mixed." The abbreviation AVTOCR in the last line of this inscription is from the Greek autokrees = autokerastos, which means self-mixed, naturally tempered, and is used of light wines which don't need to be mixed with water.

2 Similar effects of wine (pain, madness, love, sleep) are listed in a poem by Evenus in the Palatine Anthology (11.49, tr. W.R. Paton):

The best measure of wine is neither too much nor very little; for it is the cause of either grief or madness. It pleases the wine to be the fourth, mixed with three Nymphs. Then it is most suited for the bridal chamber too, but if it breathe too fiercely, it puts the Loves to flight and plunges us in a sleep which is neighbour to death.
Evenus is recommending a mixture of one part wine to three parts water (one quarter to three quarters).

3 Drinking wine often ends in brawling.

4 An obvious effect of wine is drowsiness:

5 Mount Massicus, in Campania, was famous for its wine.

7 We keep our wine in cellars, and might say "ascend" rather than "descend", but the Romans kept theirs in the upper part of the house, in the belief that smoke from the fire helped the wine to ripen.

Gordon Williams points out the parallel with hymns addressed to gods, who are often invited to "come down from heaven", as Horace invites the muse Calliope in Ode 3.4.1 (descende caelo).

Corvinus is M. Valerius Messala Corvinus. A drinking party at which Horace, Corvinus, Maecenas, and Vergil were all present is mentioned by Servius in his commentary on Vergil's Aeneid (8.310):

HE DARTS HIS QUICK EYES AROUND EVERYTHING. Scientists say that the eyes move more quickly under the influence of wine. Plautus: "He has quick eyes", that is, [eyes that] move because of wine. In a symposium where Vergil and Horace were present, when Messala was speaking about the force of wine, Maecenas [spoke] thus: "As this same liquid provides quick eyes, [so] it makes everything more beautiful and restores the treasures of sweet youth."
FACILESQUE OCULOS FERT OMNIA CIRCUM physici dicunt ex uino mobiliores oculos fieri: Plautus 'faciles oculos habet', id est mobiles uino. hoc etiam Maecenas in symposio, ubi Vergilius et Horatius interfuerunt, cum ex persona Messalae de ui uini loqueretur, ita: 'ut idem umor ministrat faciles oculos, pulchriora reddit omnia et dulcis iuuentae reducit bona'.

9 Horace and Corvinus studied Greek philosophy together in Athens in 42 B.C.

10 Socrates (469-399 B.C.) was a Greek philosopher put to death by the Athenians for supposedly "introducing new deities and corrupting youth". He left no writings, and our knowledge of him is derived mostly from the works of his disciples Plato and Xenophon.

11 Cato liked "a wee drappie" now and then:

13 Some of the same effects of wine are described by Horace in his Epistles 1.5.16-20: "What does not wine-drinking accomplish? It opens what is locked, it bids hopes be fulfilled, it pushes the lazy man to battles, it removes the burden from worried minds, it teaches skills. Whom have frequent cups not made eloquent? Whom in pinched poverty [have frequent cups nor made] free from care?" (quid non ebrietas designat? operta recludit, / spes iubet esse ratas, ad proelia trudit inertem, / sollicitis animis onus eximit, addocet artis. / fecundi calices quem non fecit disertum? contracta quem in paupertate solutum?).

Baccylides, fragment 20 (tr. C.H. Moore): "When sweet constraint warms the soul as the cups hurry round, and Cypris' hope commingled with the gifts of Dionysus rushes through the heart, men's thoughts are raised most high. This straightaway breaks down the battlements of cities, and seems sole lord of all; with gold and ivory gleam the houses; the grain ships bring greatest riches over the glimmering sea. So is the heart moved of the man who drinks."

Horace's "gentle spur" (lene tormentum) corresponds to the "sweet goad" (glykeron ... kentron) in Pindar, fragment 124 ab (tr. William H. Race): "O Thrasyboulos, I am sending you this chariot of lovely songs / for after dinner. Amid the company may it be a sweet goad / for your drinking companions, for the fruit of Dionysos, / and for the Athenian drinking cups, / when men's wearisome cares vanish / from their breasts, and on a sea of golden wealth / we all alike sail to an illusory shore; then the pauper is rich, while the wealthy..."

14 Wine loosens tongues and makes men reveal what they shouldn't.

16 Lyaeus is an epithet of the wine god Bacchus, meaning "deliverer".

17 Wine relieves the mind (at least temporarily) from cares:

18 cornua, literally "horns". The same word is used by Ovid, Art of Love 1.237-240: "Wine prepares hearts and make them receptive to love; worry flees and is dissolved by much wine. Then smiles come, then the poor man puts on strength [cornua], then sorrow and cares and the wrinkled brow depart, then frankness (most rare in this day and age) reveals intentions, when the god removes pretence" (uina parant animos faciuntque caloribus aptos; / cura fugit multo diluiturque mero. / tunc ueniunt risus, tum pauper cornua sumit, / tum dolor et curae rugaque frontis abit, / tunc aperit mentes aeuo rarissima nostro / simplicitas, artes excutiente deo).

Macedonius the Consul (Greek Anthology 11.63, tr. W.R. Paton) also emphasizes wine's power to give courage to the poor man:

Ye men who care for the rites of harmless Bacchus, cast away poverty by the hope the vine inspires. Let me have a punch-bowl for a cup, and instead of a cask a wine-vat at hand, the home of bright jollity. Then straight when I have drunk a bowl of my wine I will fight with the giants, the sons of Canastra, if thou wilt. I dread not the ruthless sea nor the thunderbolt, having the sure courage of fearless Bacchus.

19 It is actually the kings who are angry, not their crowns. This rhetorical figure is known as hypallage, or transferred epithet.

21 These two divinities (Liber and Venus) are often found together.

22 The knot is made by the joined hands or arms of the Graces as they dance.

The Graces are shown joined together in dance in the following art works:

For more information on the artistic representation of the Graces, see Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae III (Zurich: Artemis, 1986), part 1, pp. 203-210 (text), and part 2, pp. 157-167 (plates).

24 Phoebus is the sun god. Cf. Ovid, Fasti 4.390: "The star[s], having been put to flight, shall have given way to Phoebus" (dederit Phoebo stella fugata locum).

Horace wants the party to last until dawn. Cf. Odes 3.8.13-15: "Drink a hundred cups, Maecenas, in honor of your friend's escape, and prolong the watchful lamps until daylight" (sume, Maecenas, cyathos amici / sospitis centum, et uigiles lucernas / perfer in lucem).

Survival

Anonymous

The following translation was published in The Poems of Horace ... Rendred in English Verse by Several Persons (London, 1666), pp. 111-112: 
Kind vessel, coaetaneous with my date,
Compos'd when Manlius bare the consulate,
  Whether thou invite to weep,
    Or jest, or brawl, or love, or sleep,

Whate'r mark thy choice Massick liquors hide,
Well-worthy broaching on some sacred Tide:
  Now Corvinus thee injoyns,
    Come down, and tap thy mellow wines.

He, though well studied in Socratic books,
Contemns thee not with sour and rigid looks:
  And grave Cato as is fam'd,
    Was oft with Bacchus gift inflam'd.

Thou sometimes sett'st upon a gentle rack
Severe wits: Thou the wiser pates canst make
  With thy mirth creating juyce,
    Even all their secret thoughts effuse.

Thou dost the Forelorn with hope fortifie,
And mak'st the poor man lift his horns on high,
  Who drunk, nor the Scepters fears
    Of Kings incens'd, nor Souldiers spears.

For Bacchus, Venus if in merry cue
And Graces loth to break the social Crew,
  And lamps lighted, shalt thou run,
    Till Stars decline the orient Sun.

Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton

The English novelist and politician Bulwer-Lytton (1803-1873) translated Horace's ode as follows: 
Coeval with me, born when Manlius was consul,
Whatso'er the effects of thy life, while in action--
  Spleen or mirth, angry brawl or wild love,
    Or, O gentle cask, ready slumber--

Under what head soe'er there be entered account of
The grapes thou hast kept since in Massicus gathered,
  Thou art worth being roused on a day
    Of good fortune; descend for Corvinus

Asking wines by age mellowed! He will not neglect thee,
All imbued though he be with Socratical maxims.
  Father Cato, full often, 'tis said,
    Warmed his virtue with wine undiluted.

Thou givest a soft-pricking spur to the sluggish,
Makest gentle the harsh, and confiding the cautious.
  Chasing care from the brows of the wise,
    Thou unlockest their hearts to Lyaeus.

Hope and nerve thou restorest to minds worn and harassed,
Add'st the horn that exalts to the front of the beggar;
  Fresh from thee he could face down a king,
    Fresh from thee, brave the charge of an army.

Thee, shall Liber and Venus, if Venus come merry,
And the Graces, reluctant their bond to dissever,
  And the living lights gaily prolong,
    Till the stars fly from Phoebus returning.

William Ewart Gladstone

Here is a translation of Horace's Ode 3.21 by British Prime Minister William Ewart Gladstone (1809-1898): 
With Manlius Consul came to life
  Both I and thou: and, bring me jest,
Or spleen, or madding wars, or strife,
  Or kindlier far, a dreamless rest,

Call how thy wilt thy Massic wine,
  'T is good to draw, this best of days:
Out with thee, then! Corvinus mine
  For draughts, no longer fiery, prays.

Though in Socratic thought he dips,
  He's not the man to leave thee fixed:
They say old Cato's virtuous lips
  Drew warmth from wine, and wine unmixed.

Thou prickest on the dullard sense,
  Yet gently: thou the wise man's soul,
And counsel wrapt in reticence
  Revealest through the jovial bowl.

In drooping minds thou plantest hope,
  The poor equipp'st with horns of might;
Thou lendest them a strength to cope
  With thrones of kings, or soldiers fight.

Bacchus, and Venus if she will,
  And Graces, now with zones undone,
And lights, thy lawful season fill,
  Till stars are quenched in morning sun.

Theodore Martin

Theodore Martin (1816-1909) translated Goethe and Heine as well as Horace. He was knighted after completing his 5-volume biography of Prince Albert. Here is his version of Ode 3.21: 
O precious crock, whose summers date,
Like mine, from Manlius' consulate,
I wot not whether in your breast
Lie maudlin wail or merry jest,
Or sudden choler, or the fire
Of tipsy Love's insane desire,
Or fumes of soft caressing sleep,
Or what more potent charms you keep,
But this I know, your ripened power
Befits some choicely festive hour!
A cup peculiarly mellow
Corvinus asks; so come, old fellow,
From your time-honoured bin descend,
And let me gratify my friend!
No churl is he, your charms to slight,
Though most intensely erudite:
And even old Cato's worth, we know,
Took from good wine a nobler glow.

Your magic power of wit can spread
The halo round a dullard's head,
Can make the sage forget his care,
His bosom's inmost thoughts unbare,
And drown his solemn-faced pretence
Beneath your blithesome influence.
Bright hope you bring and vigour back
To minds outworn upon the rack,
And put such courage in the brain,
As makes the poor be men again,
Whom neither tyrants' wrath affrights,
Nor all their bristling satellites.

Bacchus, and Venus, so that she
Bring only frank festivity,
With sister Graces in her train,
Twining close in lovely chain,
And gladsome tapers' living light,
Shall spread your treasures o'er the night,
Till Phoebus the red East unbars,
And puts to rout the trembling stars.

John Conington

John Conington (1825-1869) was the first Corpus Professor of Latin at Oxford University. Here is his translation of Horace's Ode 3.21. 
O born in Manlius' year with me,
  Whate'er you bring us, plaint or jest,
Or passion and wild revelry,
  Or, like a gentle wine-jar, rest;
Howe'er men call your Massic juice,
  Its broaching claims a festal day;
Come then; Corvinus bids produce
  A mellower wine, and I obey.
Though steep'd in all Socratic lore
  He will not slight you; do not fear.
They say old Cato o'er and o'er
  With wine his honest heart would cheer.
Tough wits to your mild torture yield
  Their treasures; you unlock the soul
Of wisdom and its stores conceal'd,
  Arm'd with Lyaeus' kind control.
'Tis yours the drooping heart to heal;
  Your strength uplifts the poor man's horn;
Inspired by you, the soldier's steel,
  The monarch's crown, he laughs to scorn.
Liber and Venus, wills she so,
  And sister Graces, ne'er unknit,
And living lamps shall see you flow
  Till stars before the sunrise flit.

Eugene Field

In his collection Echoes from the Sabine Farm (NY: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1920), American poet and journalist Eugene Field (1850-1895) imitated Horace's Ode 3.21 with some delightful anachronisms. 
O gracious jar,--my friend, my twin,
  Born at the time when I was born,--
Whether tomfoolery you inspire
Or animate with love's desire,
  Or flame the soul with bitter scorn,
Or lull to sleep, O jar of mine!
  Come from your place this festal day;
  Corvinus hither wends his way,
And there's demand for wine!

Corvinus is the sort of man
  Who dotes on tedious argument.
An advocate, his ponderous pate
  Is full of Blackstone and of Kent;
Yet not insensible is he,
O genial Massic flood! to thee.
Why, even Cato used to take
  A modest, surreptitious nip
At meal-times for his stomach's sake,
  Or to forfend la grippe.

How dost thou melt the stoniest hearts,
  And bare the cruel knave's design;
How through thy fascinating arts
  We discount Hope, O gracious wine!
And passing rich the poor man feels
As through his veins thy affluence steals.

Now, prithee, make us frisk and sing,
  And plot full many a naughty plot
With damsels fair--nor shall we care
  Whether school keeps or not!
And whilst thy charms hold out to burn
  We shall not deign to go to bed,
  But we shall paint creation red;
So fill, sweet wine, this friend of mine,--
  My lawyer friend, as aforesaid.

William Sinclair Marris

William Sinclair Marris (1873-1945) was a governor of the United Provinces of British India. He was also a translator of Homer, Catullus, and the odes of Horace. Here is his translation of Ode 3.21: 
Twin-born with me in Manlius' year
O thou who bringest men good cheer,
Or grief, or brawl, and passion wild,
Or easy sleep, my pitcher mild;

Whate'er thy end, 'tis meet to call
Thy Massic to our festival;
Come down: it is Corvinus' whim;
I need my ripest wines for him.

Deep-dyed in Plato's lore he is,
But not too stern to relish thee;
Why, good old Cato, so they tell,
Would warm unto his wine right well.

Thou hast a gentle rack to strain
The stiffest wits; to thee are plain
The sage's cares and secret thoughts
By grace of Him who loosens knots.

Reviving hope in anxious minds
Thou givest horns of strength to hinds
Who, filled with thee, no longer pale
At crested kings or men in mail.

May Bacchus and the Graces still
Close-linked, and Venus, if she will,
Prolong thy rounds 'neath lanterns gay
Till flee the stars at dawn of Day.

T. Rutherfurd Clark

Co-eval mine of Manlius' year,
  Or be thy content woe or wit,
  Or feuds by lovers' frenzy lit,
Or, gentle jar, be slumber here,

With whatsoever purpose sealed
  A Massic meet for golden days
  Thou guardest, come; Corvinus prays
For mellower wine, 'tis ours to yield.

Not he so rude as spurn the bowl,
  Deep though he drink of Plato's well --
  That bowl which many a time, they tell,
Hath warmed old Cato's honest soul.

Thou hast a pleasing pang for breasts
  Obdurate, wringing from the wise
  Their deep designs and secret sighs
Revealed to Bacchus, God of jests.

Hope to the hopeless, pride again
  And prowess to the trodden down
  Thou lendest, till he mocks the frown
Of monarchs and the swords of men.

Liber, the Queen of happy love,
  And Graces slow to sever, they
  Shall watch with thee the taper's ray
Till Phoebus fright the stars above.