Prevod

Caesar is a god in his own city. Preeminent in war and peace, he was changed into a new star, a comet with streaming hair, not so much by wars crowned with triumphs, his deeds at home, or the glory of his swiftly won achievements, as by his offspring. For among all Caesar’s deeds none was greater than becoming this man’s father. Was it a greater thing to conquer the sea-girt Britons, to lead victorious fleets through the sevenfold streams of the papyrus-bearing Nile, to add the rebellious Numidians, Juba of Cinyps, and Pontus, proud of the fame of Mithridates, to the people of Quirinus, to earn many triumphs and celebrate some,

than to beget so great a man? In giving him command of the world, you gods have richly blessed the human race! So, lest this son should spring from mortal seed, his father had to become a god. When golden Venus, the mother of Aeneas, saw this, she also saw a bitter death being prepared for the high priest, and conspirators taking up arms. She turned pale and said to every god she met, “Look at the mighty forces gathering to lay their snares for me, the treachery aimed at the life of the one man left to me of Dardanian Iulus’s line.

Must I alone forever be tormented by well-founded fears, now wounded by the Calydonian spear of Tydeus’s son, now overwhelmed by the fall of Troy’s ill-defended walls, and forced to watch my son driven through long wanderings, tossed on the sea, entering the home of the silent dead, and waging war with Turnus—or, to tell the truth, with Juno rather? But why recall the ancient sorrows of my line? This present terror leaves no room for memories: look, do you see those wicked swords being sharpened?

Prevent their use, I beg you! Thwart this crime, and do not quench Vesta’s fires with the slaughter of her priest!” In vain the anxious Venus flings such words throughout the heavens, stirring the gods, who, though unable to break the iron decrees of the ancient sisters, give unmistakable signs of the grief to come. They say the clash of weapons among black clouds, terrifying trumpets, and horns sounding in the sky foretold the crime. The sun’s own mournful face shed a sickly light upon the troubled earth.

Often fiery torches were seen burning among the stars, and often drops of blood fell from the clouds. The Morning Star’s bright face was stained with dark rust, and the Moon’s chariot spattered with blood. In a thousand places the Stygian owl gave dismal omens; in a thousand places ivory images wept, and chanting, they say, and threatening voices were heard in sacred groves.

No sacrifice won favor; the entrails warned of great upheavals near, and the liver’s head was found severed. In the forum, around houses and the temples of the gods, dogs were said to howl by night, shades of the silent dead to wander, and the city to be shaken by tremors. Yet the gods’ warnings could not overcome the plot or the approaching doom. Drawn swords were carried into the sacred building: no place in the city would suit this crime, this dreadful murder, but the senate house.

Then indeed Cytherea beat her breast with both her hands and tried to hide Aeneas’s descendant in a cloud, such as had once snatched Paris from the hostile son of Atreus, and sheltered Aeneas as he fled Diomedes’s sword. Her father spoke to her: “Do you alone, my daughter, seek to change invincible fate? You may enter the house of the three sisters yourself: there you will see the vast-built archives of destiny, fashioned of bronze and solid iron, which fear neither the shaking of the heavens nor the thunderbolt’s fury, secure and everlasting against all destruction.

There you will find the fortunes of your line engraved in enduring adamant. I myself have read and marked them in my mind, and will tell them, so you need no longer be ignorant of the future. The man for whom you plead, Cytherea, has fulfilled his allotted time, completing the years he owed the earth. You and his son will see that he enters heaven as a god and is worshipped in temples. His son, heir to his name, will bear alone the burden laid upon him, and, as the bravest avenger of his murdered father, will have us with him in his wars.

Under his auspices, the walls of besieged Mutina, defeated, will sue for peace; Pharsalia will feel his might. Emathian Philippi will once more be drenched in blood, and a great name will be overcome upon Sicilian waters. A Roman general’s Egyptian wife, trusting too much in her marriage, will fall; in vain will she have threatened to make our Capitol the slave of her Canopus.

Why should I list the barbarian peoples, the nations lying by either ocean? All the habitable lands the earth supports will be his; the sea too will serve him! Having given the world peace, he will turn his mind to civil law, and, a most just lawgiver, enact his statutes. By his own example he will guide men’s conduct, and, looking ahead to future ages and the generations yet to come, he will bid the son born of his virtuous wife bear both his name and the burden of his cares.

Only when, in old age, he has matched the years of Nestor, will he reach the heavenly dwelling and his kindred stars. Meanwhile, snatch this soul from its murdered body and make it a shining star, so that the deified Julius may forever gaze upon our Capitol and forum from his lofty home.” He had scarcely spoken when nurturing Venus stood unseen in the midst of the senate house, and snatched the newly freed soul from her Caesar’s limbs. She would not let it dissolve into the air, but bore it up among the stars of heaven.

As she carried it, she felt it gather light and burst into flame, and released it from her bosom. It soared higher than the moon, and, trailing fiery hair along its spacious course, shone as a star. Seeing his son’s good deeds, he acknowledges that they are greater than his own, and rejoices to be surpassed. Though the son forbids his achievements to be ranked above his father’s, Fame, free and subject to no commands, exalts him against his will, disobeying him in this alone.

So Atreus yields to great Agamemnon’s renown; so Theseus surpassed Aegeus, and Achilles Peleus. Finally, to use an example worthy of these very men, so Saturn too is less than Jupiter. Jupiter rules the heights of heaven and the kingdoms of the threefold universe; the earth is under Augustus: each is father and ruler. You gods who journeyed with Aeneas, to whom sword and fire gave way; you native gods; Quirinus, father of the city; Gradivus, father of unconquered Quirinus; Vesta, hallowed among Caesar’s household gods; and you, Phoebus, sharing his home with Caesar’s Vesta; you, Jupiter, enthroned on the Tarpeian heights;

and all you others whom a poet may rightly and reverently invoke: let that day come slowly, later than my own lifetime, when Augustus, leaving the world he governs, shall enter heaven and hear with favor, though absent, those who pray! Now I have finished a work that neither Jupiter’s wrath nor fire, nor sword nor all-devouring time will be able to destroy. Whenever it will, let that day which has power over this body alone bring my uncertain span of life to an end.

Yet in my better part I shall be borne immortal above the lofty stars, and my name shall never be erased. Wherever Roman power extends over conquered lands, I shall be read upon the people’s lips; and through all ages, in fame, if there is any truth in poets’ prophecies, I shall live.