Prevod
Yet others’ sorrows cannot ease Egeria’s grief, and, lying at the mountain’s very foot, she dissolves in tears, until, moved by pity for her sorrow, Phoebus’ sister makes her body a cold spring and melts her limbs into ever-flowing waters. The marvel moved the nymphs, and the Amazon’s son stood as astonished as the Tyrrhenian ploughman who saw, in the midst of his fields, a fateful clod first move of its own accord, with no one stirring it, then take on human shape and lose its earthen form, and open its newborn lips to tell the fates to come (the natives called him Tages, who first taught the Etruscan
people how to reveal events still in the future); or as Romulus, when long ago he saw his spear, lodged in the Palatine hill, suddenly put forth leaves, standing fast by fresh roots, not its driven iron point, no longer a weapon, but a tree with supple branches, offering unexpected shade to those who marvelled; or as Cipus, when in a river’s water he saw his horns—for he did see them—and, believing the reflection false, repeatedly raised his fingers to his brow and touched what he had seen. No longer doubting his eyes, he halted on his victorious return from conquering the enemy, and, lifting his hands and eyes alike to heaven,
said, “Whatever this portent foretells, you gods above, if it is good, let it bring good to my country and Quirinus’ people; if it threatens evil, let that fall on me!” Then, on altars built of green turf, he kindled fragrant fires to appease the gods, poured wine from bowls, and sought in the quivering entrails of slaughtered sheep to learn what the omen meant for him.
As soon as a soothsayer of the Etruscan people examined them, he saw momentous upheavals foreshadowed there, though their meaning was obscure. But when he raised his keen eyes from the victim’s entrails to the horns of Cipus, “Hail, O king!” he cried. “For you, Cipus, you and your horns, this place and the citadels of Latium shall obey. Only make haste: waste no time, but hurry through the open gates! So fate commands; for once admitted to the city, you shall be king and wield the sceptre securely for ever.”
Cipus stepped back and, turning his stern face away from the city walls, cried, “Far away! May the gods avert such omens! Far better that I should live out my days in exile than that the Capitol should see me king!” He spoke, and at once summoned the people and the august senate, but first veiled his horns with laurel, the token of peace. He mounted a mound raised by his valiant soldiers and, after praying to the ancient gods as custom prescribed, said, “There is one man here who, unless you drive him from the city, will be king. I shall identify him by a sign, not by name: he bears horns upon his brow. The soothsayer declares that, if he enters Rome, he will impose the laws of slavery on you.
He could indeed have burst through the open gates, but I stood in his way, though no one is more closely bound to me than he. Keep this man from the city, fellow citizens, or, if he deserves it, bind him with heavy chains, or end your fear by killing this king foretold by fate!” As pine groves murmur when the fierce east wind hisses through their lofty trunks, or as the waves of the sea sound to someone listening from afar, so the people roared; yet through the crowd’s confused and clamorous words one cry rose clear: “Who is he?”
They scanned each other’s brows, searching for the foretold horns. Then Cipus spoke again: “The man you seek is here.” And, taking the wreath from his head, though the people protested, he revealed his temples, marked by their twin horns. All lowered their eyes and groaned, and—who could believe it?—they could not bear to look upon that head renowned for noble deeds. Nor would they let it remain unhonoured, but set the festive wreath upon it.
And since you were forbidden to enter the walls, the leaders gave you, Cipus, as an honour, as much farmland as you could encircle with a plough sunk into the earth, drawn by yoked oxen, between sunrise and the close of day; and on the bronze-clad gateposts they carved horns to recall that wondrous form, a memorial for ages to come.
