The Divine Comedy

Canto XXI

Thus we from bridge to bridge, with other talk,The which my drama cares not to rehearse,Pass'd on; and to the summit reaching, stoodTo view another gap, within the roundOf Malebolge, other bootless pangs.Marvelous darkness shadow'd o'er the place.In the Venetians' arsenal as boilsThrough wintry months tenacious pitch, to smearTheir unsound vessels; for th' inclement timeSea-faring men restrains, and in that whileHis bark one builds anew, another stopsThe ribs of his, that hath made many a voyage;One hammers at the prow, one at the poop;This shapeth oars, that other cables twirls,The mizen one repairs and main-sail rentSo not by force of fire but art divineBoil'd here a glutinous thick mass, that roundLim'd all the shore beneath. I that beheld,But therein nought distinguish'd, save the surge,Rais'd by the boiling, in one mighty swellHeave, and by turns subsiding and fall. While thereI fix'd my ken below, “Mark! mark!” my guideExclaiming, drew me towards him from the place,Wherein I stood. I turn'd myself as one,Impatient to behold that which beheldHe needs must shun, whom sudden fear unmans,That he his flight delays not for the view.Behind me I discern'd a devil black,That running, up advanc'd along the rock.Ah! what fierce cruelty his look bespake!In act how bitter did he seem, with wingsBuoyant outstretch'd and feet of nimblest tread!His shoulder proudly eminent and sharpWas with a sinner charg'd; by either haunchHe held him, the foot's sinew griping fast.“Ye of our bridge!” he cried, “keen-talon'd fiends!Lo! one of Santa Zita's elders! HimWhelm ye beneath, while I return for more.That land hath store of such. All men are there,Except Bonturo, barterers: of 'no'For lucre there an 'aye' is quickly made.”Him dashing down, o'er the rough rock he turn'd,Nor ever after thief a mastiff loos'dSped with like eager haste. That other sankAnd forthwith writhing to the surface rose.But those dark demons, shrouded by the bridge,Cried “Here the hallow'd visage saves not: hereIs other swimming than in Serchio's wave.Wherefore if thou desire we rend thee not,Take heed thou mount not o'er the pitch.” This said,They grappled him with more than hundred hooks,And shouted: “Cover'd thou must sport thee here;So, if thou canst, in secret mayst thou filch.”E'en thus the cook bestirs him, with his grooms,To thrust the flesh into the caldron downWith flesh-hooks, that it float not on the top.Me then my guide bespake: “Lest they descry,That thou art here, behind a craggy rockBend low and screen thee; and whate'er of forceBe offer'd me, or insult, fear thou not:For I am well advis'd, who have been erstIn the like fray.” Beyond the bridge's headTherewith he pass'd, and reaching the sixth pier,Behov'd him then a forehead terror-proof.With storm and fury, as when dogs rush forthUpon the poor man's back, who suddenlyFrom whence he standeth makes his suit; so rush'dThose from beneath the arch, and against himTheir weapons all they pointed. He aloud:“Be none of you outrageous: ere your timeDare seize me, come forth from amongst you one,“Who having heard my words, decide he thenIf he shall tear these limbs.” They shouted loud,“Go, Malacoda!” Whereat one advanc'd,The others standing firm, and as he came,“What may this turn avail him?” he exclaim'd.“Believ'st thou, Malacoda! I had comeThus far from all your skirmishing secure,”My teacher answered, “without will divineAnd destiny propitious? Pass we thenFor so Heaven's pleasure is, that I should leadAnother through this savage wilderness.”Forthwith so fell his pride, that he let dropThe instrument of torture at his feet,And to the rest exclaim'd: “We have no powerTo strike him.” Then to me my guide: “O thou!Who on the bridge among the crags dost sitLow crouching, safely now to me return.”I rose, and towards him moved with speed: the fiendsMeantime all forward drew: me terror seiz'dLest they should break the compact they had made.Thus issuing from Caprona, once I sawTh' infantry dreading, lest his covenantThe foe should break; so close he hemm'd them round.I to my leader's side adher'd, mine eyesWith fixt and motionless observance bentOn their unkindly visage. They their hooksProtruding, one the other thus bespake:“Wilt thou I touch him on the hip?” To whomWas answer'd: “Even so; nor miss thy aim.”But he, who was in conf'rence with my guide,Turn'd rapid round, and thus the demon spake:“Stay, stay thee, Scarmiglione!” Then to usHe added: “Further footing to your stepThis rock affords not, shiver'd to the baseOf the sixth arch. But would you still proceed,Up by this cavern go: not distant far,Another rock will yield you passage safe.Yesterday, later by five hours than now,Twelve hundred threescore years and six had fill'dThe circuit of their course, since here the wayWas broken. Thitherward I straight dispatchCertain of these my scouts, who shall espyIf any on the surface bask. With themGo ye: for ye shall find them nothing fell.Come Alichino forth,” with that he cried,“And Calcabrina, and Cagnazzo thou!The troop of ten let Barbariccia lead.With Libicocco Draghinazzo haste,Fang'd Ciriatto, Grafflacane fierce,And Farfarello, and mad Rubicant.Search ye around the bubbling tar. For these,In safety lead them, where the other cragUninterrupted traverses the dens.”I then: “O master! what a sight is there!Ah! without escort, journey we alone,Which, if thou know the way, I covet not.Unless thy prudence fail thee, dost not markHow they do gnarl upon us, and their scowlThreatens us present tortures?” He replied:“I charge thee fear not: let them, as they will,Gnarl on: 't is but in token of their spiteAgainst the souls, who mourn in torment steep'd.”To leftward o'er the pier they turn'd; but eachHad first between his teeth prest close the tongue,Toward their leader for a signal looking,Which he with sound obscene triumphant gave.

Canto XXII

It hath been heretofore my chance to seeHorsemen with martial order shifting camp,To onset sallying, or in muster rang'd,Or in retreat sometimes outstretch'd for flight;Light-armed squadrons and fleet foragersScouring thy plains, Arezzo! have I seen,And clashing tournaments, and tilting jousts,Now with the sound of trumpets, now of bells,Tabors, or signals made from castled heights,And with inventions multiform, our own,Or introduc'd from foreign land; but ne'erTo such a strange recorder I beheld,In evolution moving, horse nor foot,Nor ship, that tack'd by sign from land or star.With the ten demons on our way we went;Ah fearful company! but in the churchWith saints, with gluttons at the tavern's mess.Still earnest on the pitch I gaz'd, to markAll things whate'er the chasm contain'd, and thoseWho burn'd within. As dolphins, that, in signTo mariners, heave high their arched backs,That thence forewarn'd they may advise to saveTheir threaten'd vessels; so, at intervals,To ease the pain his back some sinner show'd,Then hid more nimbly than the lightning glance.E'en as the frogs, that of a wat'ry moatStand at the brink, with the jaws only out,Their feet and of the trunk all else concealed,Thus on each part the sinners stood, but soonAs Barbariccia was at hand, so theyDrew back under the wave. I saw, and yetMy heart doth stagger, one, that waited thus,As it befalls that oft one frog remains,While the next springs away: and Graffiacan,Who of the fiends was nearest, grappling seiz'dHis clotted locks, and dragg'd him sprawling up,That he appear'd to me an otter. EachAlready by their names I knew, so wellWhen they were chosen, I observ'd, and mark'dHow one the other call'd. “O Rubicant!See that his hide thou with thy talons flay,”Shouted together all the cursed crew.Then I: “Inform thee, master! if thou may,What wretched soul is this, on whom their handHis foes have laid.” My leader to his sideApproach'd, and whence he came inquir'd, to whomWas answer'd thus: “Born in Navarre's domainMy mother plac'd me in a lord's retinue,For she had borne me to a losel vile,A spendthrift of his substance and himself.The good king Thibault after that I serv'd,To peculating here my thoughts were turn'd,Whereof I give account in this dire heat.”Straight Ciriatto, from whose mouth a tuskIssued on either side, as from a boar,Ript him with one of these. 'Twixt evil clawsThe mouse had fall'n: but Barbariccia cried,Seizing him with both arms: “Stand thou apart,While I do fix him on my prong transpierc'd.”Then added, turning to my guide his face,“Inquire of him, if more thou wish to learn,Ere he again be rent.” My leader thus:“Then tell us of the partners in thy guilt;Knowest thou any sprung of Latian landUnder the tar?” – “I parted,” he replied,“But now from one, who sojourn'd not far thence;So were I under shelter now with him!Nor hook nor talon then should scare me more.” – .“Too long we suffer,” Libicocco cried,Then, darting forth a prong, seiz'd on his arm,And mangled bore away the sinewy part.Him Draghinazzo by his thighs beneathWould next have caught, whence angrily their chief,Turning on all sides round, with threat'ning browRestrain'd them. When their strife a little ceas'd,Of him, who yet was gazing on his wound,My teacher thus without delay inquir'd:“Who was the spirit, from whom by evil hapParting, as thou has told, thou cam'st to shore?” -“It was the friar Gomita,” he rejoin'd,“He of Gallura, vessel of all guile,Who had his master's enemies in hand,And us'd them so that they commend him well.Money he took, and them at large dismiss'd.So he reports: and in each other chargeCommitted to his keeping, play'd the partOf barterer to the height: with him doth herdThe chief of Logodoro, Michel Zanche.Sardinia is a theme, whereof their tongueIs never weary. Out! alas! beholdThat other, how he grins! More would I say,But tremble lest he mean to maul me sore.”Their captain then to Farfarello turning,Who roll'd his moony eyes in act to strike,Rebuk'd him thus: “Off! cursed bird! Avaunt!” -“If ye desire to see or hear,” he thusQuaking with dread resum'd, “or Tuscan spiritsOr Lombard, I will cause them to appear.Meantime let these ill talons bate their fury,So that no vengeance they may fear from them,And I, remaining in this self-same place,Will for myself but one, make sev'n appear,When my shrill whistle shall be heard; for soOur custom is to call each other up.”Cagnazzo at that word deriding grinn'd,Then wagg'd the head and spake: “Hear his device,Mischievous as he is, to plunge him down.”Whereto he thus, who fail'd not in rich storeOf nice-wove toils; “Mischief forsooth extreme,Meant only to procure myself more woe!”No longer Alichino then refrain'd,But thus, the rest gainsaying, him bespake:“If thou do cast thee down, I not on footWill chase thee, but above the pitch will beatMy plumes. Quit we the vantage ground, and letThe bank be as a shield, that we may seeIf singly thou prevail against us all.”Now, reader, of new sport expect to hear!They each one turn'd his eyes to the other shore,He first, who was the hardest to persuade.The spirit of Navarre chose well his time,Planted his feet on land, and at one leapEscaping disappointed their resolve.Them quick resentment stung, but him the most,Who was the cause of failure; in pursuitHe therefore sped, exclaiming: “Thou art caught.”But little it avail'd: terror outstripp'dHis following flight: the other plung'd beneath,And he with upward pinion rais'd his breast:E'en thus the water-fowl, when she perceivesThe falcon near, dives instant down, while heEnrag'd and spent retires. That mockeryIn Calcabrina fury stirr'd, who flewAfter him, with desire of strife inflam'd;And, for the barterer had 'scap'd, so turn'dHis talons on his comrade. O'er the dykeIn grapple close they join'd; but the other prov'dA goshawk able to rend well his foe;And in the boiling lake both fell. The heatWas umpire soon between them, but in vainTo lift themselves they strove, so fast were gluedTheir pennons. Barbariccia, as the rest,That chance lamenting, four in flight dispatch'dFrom the other coast, with all their weapons arm'd.They, to their post on each side speedilyDescending, stretch'd their hooks toward the fiends,Who flounder'd, inly burning from their scars:And we departing left them to that broil.

Canto XXIII

In silence and in solitude we went,One first, the other following his steps,As minor friars journeying on their road.The present fray had turn'd my thoughts to museUpon old Aesop's fable, where he toldWhat fate unto the mouse and frog befell.For language hath not sounds more like in sense,Than are these chances, if the originAnd end of each be heedfully compar'd.And as one thought bursts from another forth,So afterward from that another sprang,Which added doubly to my former fear.For thus I reason'd: “These through us have beenSo foil'd, with loss and mock'ry so complete,As needs must sting them sore. If anger thenBe to their evil will conjoin'd, more fellThey shall pursue us, than the savage houndSnatches the leveret, panting 'twixt his jaws.”Already I perceiv'd my hair stand allOn end with terror, and look'd eager back.“Teacher,” I thus began, “if speedilyThyself and me thou hide not, much I dreadThose evil talons. Even now behindThey urge us: quick imagination worksSo forcibly, that I already feel them.”He answer'd: “Were I form'd of leaded glass,I should not sooner draw unto myselfThy outward image, than I now imprintThat from within. This moment came thy thoughtsPresented before mine, with similar actAnd count'nance similar, so that from bothI one design have fram'd. If the right coastIncline so much, that we may thence descendInto the other chasm, we shall escapeSecure from this imagined pursuit.”He had not spoke his purpose to the end,When I from far beheld them with spread wingsApproach to take us. Suddenly my guideCaught me, ev'n as a mother that from sleepIs by the noise arous'd, and near her seesThe climbing fires, who snatches up her babeAnd flies ne'er pausing, careful more of himThan of herself, that but a single vestClings round her limbs. Down from the jutting beachSupine he cast him, to that pendent rock,Which closes on one part the other chasm.Never ran water with such hurrying paceAdown the tube to turn a landmill's wheel,When nearest it approaches to the spokes,As then along that edge my master ran,Carrying me in his bosom, as a child,Not a companion. Scarcely had his feetReach'd to the lowest of the bed beneath,When over us the steep they reach'd; but fearIn him was none; for that high Providence,Which plac'd them ministers of the fifth foss,Power of departing thence took from them all.There in the depth we saw a painted tribe,Who pac'd with tardy steps around, and wept,Faint in appearance and o'ercome with toil.Caps had they on, with hoods, that fell low downBefore their eyes, in fashion like to thoseWorn by the monks in Cologne. Their outsideWas overlaid with gold, dazzling to view,But leaden all within, and of such weight,That Frederick's compar'd to these were straw.Oh, everlasting wearisome attire!We yet once more with them together turn'dTo leftward, on their dismal moan intent.But by the weight oppress'd, so slowly cameThe fainting people, that our companyWas chang'd at every movement of the step.Whence I my guide address'd: “See that thou findSome spirit, whose name may by his deeds be known,And to that end look round thee as thou go'st.”Then one, who understood the Tuscan voice,Cried after us aloud: “Hold in your feet,Ye who so swiftly speed through the dusk air.Perchance from me thou shalt obtain thy wish.”Whereat my leader, turning, me bespake:“Pause, and then onward at their pace proceed.”I staid, and saw two Spirits in whose lookImpatient eagerness of mind was mark'dTo overtake me; but the load they bareAnd narrow path retarded their approach.Soon as arriv'd, they with an eye askancePerus'd me, but spake not: then turning eachTo other thus conferring said: “This oneSeems, by the action of his throat, alive.And, be they dead, what privilege allowsThey walk unmantled by the cumbrous stole?”Then thus to me: “Tuscan, who visitestThe college of the mourning hypocrites,Disdain not to instruct us who thou art.”“By Arno's pleasant stream,” I thus replied,“In the great city I was bred and grew,And wear the body I have ever worn.but who are ye, from whom such mighty grief,As now I witness, courseth down your cheeks?What torment breaks forth in this bitter woe?”“Our bonnets gleaming bright with orange hue,”One of them answer'd, “are so leaden gross,That with their weight they make the balancesTo crack beneath them. Joyous friars we were,Bologna's natives, Catalano I,He Loderingo nam'd, and by thy landTogether taken, as men used to takeA single and indifferent arbiter,To reconcile their strifes. How there we sped,Gardingo's vicinage can best declare.”“O friars!” I began, “your miseries – ”But there brake off, for one had caught my eye,Fix'd to a cross with three stakes on the ground:He, when he saw me, writh'd himself, throughoutDistorted, ruffling with deep sighs his beard.And Catalano, who thereof was 'ware,Thus spake: “That pierced spirit, whom intentThou view'st, was he who gave the PhariseesCounsel, that it were fitting for one manTo suffer for the people. He doth lieTransverse; nor any passes, but him firstBehoves make feeling trial how each weighs.In straits like this along the foss are plac'dThe father of his consort, and the restPartakers in that council, seed of illAnd sorrow to the Jews.” I noted then,How Virgil gaz'd with wonder upon him,Thus abjectly extended on the crossIn banishment eternal. To the friarHe next his words address'd: “We pray ye tell,If so be lawful, whether on our rightLies any opening in the rock, wherebyWe both may issue hence, without constraintOn the dark angels, that compell'd they comeTo lead us from this depth.” He thus replied:“Nearer than thou dost hope, there is a rockFrom the next circle moving, which o'erstepsEach vale of horror, save that here his copeIs shatter'd. By the ruin ye may mount:For on the side it slants, and most the heightRises below.” With head bent down awhileMy leader stood, then spake: “He warn'd us ill,Who yonder hangs the sinners on his hook.”To whom the friar: “At Bologna erstI many vices of the devil heard,Among the rest was said, 'He is a liar,And the father of lies!'” When he had spoke,My leader with large strides proceeded on,Somewhat disturb'd with anger in his look.I therefore left the spirits heavy laden,And following, his beloved footsteps mark'd.

Canto XXIV

In the year's early nonage, when the sunTempers his tresses in Aquarius' urn,And now towards equal day the nights recede,When as the rime upon the earth puts onHer dazzling sister's image, but not longHer milder sway endures, then riseth upThe village hind, whom fails his wintry store,And looking out beholds the plain aroundAll whiten'd, whence impatiently he smitesHis thighs, and to his hut returning in,There paces to and fro, wailing his lot,As a discomfited and helpless man;Then comes he forth again, and feels new hopeSpring in his bosom, finding e'en thus soonThe world hath chang'd its count'nance, grasps his crook,And forth to pasture drives his little flock:So me my guide dishearten'd when I sawHis troubled forehead, and so speedilyThat ill was cur'd; for at the fallen bridgeArriving, towards me with a look as sweet,He turn'd him back, as that I first beheldAt the steep mountain's foot. Regarding wellThe ruin, and some counsel first maintain'dWith his own thought, he open'd wide his armAnd took me up. As one, who, while he works,Computes his labour's issue, that he seemsStill to foresee the effect, so lifting meUp to the summit of one peak, he fix'dHis eye upon another. “Grapple that,”Said he, “but first make proof, if it be suchAs will sustain thee.” For one capp'd with leadThis were no journey. Scarcely he, though light,And I, though onward push'd from crag to crag,Could mount. And if the precinct of this coastWere not less ample than the last, for himI know not, but my strength had surely fail'd.But Malebolge all toward the mouthInclining of the nethermost abyss,The site of every valley hence requires,That one side upward slope, the other fall.At length the point of our descent we reach'dFrom the last flag: soon as to that arriv'd,So was the breath exhausted from my lungs,I could no further, but did seat me there.“Now needs thy best of man;” so spake my guide:“For not on downy plumes, nor under shadeOf canopy reposing, fame is won,Without which whosoe'er consumes his daysLeaveth such vestige of himself on earth,As smoke in air or foam upon the wave.Thou therefore rise: vanish thy wearinessBy the mind's effort, in each struggle form'dTo vanquish, if she suffer not the weightOf her corporeal frame to crush her down.A longer ladder yet remains to scale.From these to have escap'd sufficeth not.If well thou note me, profit by my words.”I straightway rose, and show'd myself less spentThan I in truth did feel me. “On,” I cried,“For I am stout and fearless.” Up the rockOur way we held, more rugged than before,Narrower and steeper far to climb. From talkI ceas'd not, as we journey'd, so to seemLeast faint; whereat a voice from the other fossDid issue forth, for utt'rance suited ill.Though on the arch that crosses there I stood,What were the words I knew not, but who spakeSeem'd mov'd in anger. Down I stoop'd to look,But my quick eye might reach not to the depthFor shrouding darkness; wherefore thus I spake:“To the next circle, Teacher, bend thy steps,And from the wall dismount we; for as henceI hear and understand not, so I seeBeneath, and naught discern.” – “I answer not,”Said he, “but by the deed. To fair requestSilent performance maketh best return.”We from the bridge's head descended, whereTo the eighth mound it joins, and then the chasmOpening to view, I saw a crowd withinOf serpents terrible, so strange of shapeAnd hideous, that remembrance in my veinsYet shrinks the vital current. Of her sandsLet Lybia vaunt no more: if Jaculus,Pareas and Chelyder be her brood,Cenchris and Amphisboena, plagues so direOr in such numbers swarming ne'er she shew'd,Not with all Ethiopia, and whate'erAbove the Erythraean sea is spawn'd.Amid this dread exuberance of woeRan naked spirits wing'd with horrid fear,Nor hope had they of crevice where to hide,Or heliotrope to charm them out of view.With serpents were their hands behind them bound,Which through their reins infix'd the tail and headTwisted in folds before. And lo! on oneNear to our side, darted an adder up,And, where the neck is on the shoulders tied,Transpierc'd him. Far more quickly than e'er penWrote O or I, he kindled, burn'd, and chang'dTo ashes, all pour'd out upon the earth.When there dissolv'd he lay, the dust againUproll'd spontaneous, and the self-same formInstant resumed. So mighty sages tell,The Arabian Phoenix, when five hundred yearsHave well nigh circled, dies, and springs forthwithRenascent. Blade nor herb throughout his lifeHe tastes, but tears of frankincense aloneAnd odorous amomum: swaths of nardAnd myrrh his funeral shroud. As one that falls,He knows not how, by force demoniac dragg'dTo earth, or through obstruction fettering upIn chains invisible the powers of man,Who, risen from his trance, gazeth around,Bewilder'd with the monstrous agonyHe hath endur'd, and wildly staring sighs;So stood aghast the sinner when he rose.Oh! how severe God's judgment, that deals outSuch blows in stormy vengeance! Who he wasMy teacher next inquir'd, and thus in fewHe answer'd: “Vanni Fucci am I call'd,Not long since rained down from TuscanyTo this dire gullet. Me the beastial lifeAnd not the human pleas'd, mule that I was,Who in Pistoia found my worthy den.”I then to Virgil: “Bid him stir not hence,And ask what crime did thrust him hither: onceA man I knew him choleric and bloody.”The sinner heard and feign'd not, but towards meHis mind directing and his face, whereinWas dismal shame depictur'd, thus he spake:“It grieves me more to have been caught by theeIn this sad plight, which thou beholdest, thanWhen I was taken from the other life.I have no power permitted to denyWhat thou inquirest.” I am doom'd thus lowTo dwell, for that the sacristy by meWas rifled of its goodly ornaments,And with the guilt another falsely charged.But that thou mayst not joy to see me thus,So as thou e'er shalt 'scape this darksome realmOpen thine ears and hear what I forebode.Reft of the Neri first Pistoia pines,Then Florence changeth citizens and laws.From Valdimagra, drawn by wrathful Mars,A vapour rises, wrapt in turbid mists,And sharp and eager driveth on the stormWith arrowy hurtling o'er Piceno's field,Whence suddenly the cloud shall burst, and strikeEach helpless Bianco prostrate to the ground.This have I told, that grief may rend thy heart.”

Canto XXV

When he had spoke, the sinner rais'd his handsPointed in mockery, and cried: “Take them, God!I level them at thee!” From that day forthThe serpents were my friends; for round his neckOne of then rolling twisted, as it said,“Be silent, tongue!” Another to his armsUpgliding, tied them, riveting itselfSo close, it took from them the power to move.Pistoia! Ah Pistoia! why dost doubtTo turn thee into ashes, cumb'ring earthNo longer, since in evil act so farThou hast outdone thy seed? I did not mark,Through all the gloomy circles of the abyss,Spirit, that swell'd so proudly 'gainst his God,Not him, who headlong fell from Thebes. He fled,Nor utter'd more; and after him there cameA centaur full of fury, shouting, “WhereWhere is the caitiff?” On Maremma's marshSwarm not the serpent tribe, as on his haunchThey swarm'd, to where the human face begins.Behind his head upon the shoulders lay,With open wings, a dragon breathing fireOn whomsoe'er he met. To me my guide:“Cacus is this, who underneath the rockOf Aventine spread oft a lake of blood.He, from his brethren parted, here must treadA different journey, for his fraudful theftOf the great herd, that near him stall'd; whence foundHis felon deeds their end, beneath the maceOf stout Alcides, that perchance laid onA hundred blows, and not the tenth was felt.”While yet he spake, the centaur sped away:And under us three spirits came, of whomNor I nor he was ware, till they exclaim'd;“Say who are ye?” We then brake off discourse,Intent on these alone. I knew them not;But, as it chanceth oft, befell, that oneHad need to name another. “Where,” said he,“Doth Cianfa lurk?” I, for a sign my guideShould stand attentive, plac'd against my lipsThe finger lifted. If, O reader! nowThou be not apt to credit what I tell,No marvel; for myself do scarce allowThe witness of mine eyes. But as I lookedToward them, lo! a serpent with six feetSprings forth on one, and fastens full upon him:His midmost grasp'd the belly, a forefootSeiz'd on each arm (while deep in either cheekHe flesh'd his fangs); the hinder on the thighsWere spread, 'twixt which the tail inserted curl'dUpon the reins behind. Ivy ne'er clasp'dA dodder'd oak, as round the other's limbsThe hideous monster intertwin'd his own.Then, as they both had been of burning wax,Each melted into other, mingling hues,That which was either now was seen no more.Thus up the shrinking paper, ere it burns,A brown tint glides, not turning yet to black,And the clean white expires. The other twoLook'd on exclaiming: “Ah, how dost thou change,Agnello! See! Thou art nor double now,“Nor only one.” The two heads now becameOne, and two figures blended in one formAppear'd, where both were lost. Of the four lengthsTwo arms were made: the belly and the chestThe thighs and legs into such members chang'd,As never eye hath seen. Of former shapeAll trace was vanish'd. Two yet neither seem'dThat image miscreate, and so pass'd onWith tardy steps. As underneath the scourgeOf the fierce dog-star, that lays bare the fields,Shifting from brake to brake, the lizard seemsA flash of lightning, if he thwart the road,So toward th' entrails of the other twoApproaching seem'd, an adder all on fire,As the dark pepper-grain, livid and swart.In that part, whence our life is nourish'd first,One he transpierc'd; then down before him fellStretch'd out. The pierced spirit look'd on himBut spake not; yea stood motionless and yawn'd,As if by sleep or fev'rous fit assail'd.He ey'd the serpent, and the serpent him.One from the wound, the other from the mouthBreath'd a thick smoke, whose vap'ry columns join'd.Lucan in mute attention now may hear,Nor thy disastrous fate, Sabellus! tell,Nor shine, Nasidius! Ovid now be mute.What if in warbling fiction he recordCadmus and Arethusa, to a snakeHim chang'd, and her into a fountain clear,I envy not; for never face to faceTwo natures thus transmuted did he sing,Wherein both shapes were ready to assumeThe other's substance. They in mutual guiseSo answer'd, that the serpent split his trainDivided to a fork, and the pierc'd spiritDrew close his steps together, legs and thighsCompacted, that no sign of juncture soonWas visible: the tail disparted tookThe figure which the spirit lost, its skinSoft'ning, his indurated to a rind.The shoulders next I mark'd, that ent'ring join'dThe monster's arm-pits, whose two shorter feetSo lengthen'd, as the other's dwindling shrunk.The feet behind then twisting up becameThat part that man conceals, which in the wretchWas cleft in twain. While both the shadowy smokeWith a new colour veils, and generatesTh' excrescent pile on one, peeling it offFrom th' other body, lo! upon his feetOne upright rose, and prone the other fell.Not yet their glaring and malignant lampsWere shifted, though each feature chang'd beneath.Of him who stood erect, the mounting faceRetreated towards the temples, and what thereSuperfluous matter came, shot out in earsFrom the smooth cheeks, the rest, not backward dragg'd,Of its excess did shape the nose; and swell'dInto due size protuberant the lips.He, on the earth who lay, meanwhile extendsHis sharpen'd visage, and draws down the earsInto the head, as doth the slug his horns.His tongue continuous before and aptFor utt'rance, severs; and the other's forkClosing unites. That done the smoke was laid.The soul, transform'd into the brute, glides off,Hissing along the vale, and after himThe other talking sputters; but soon turn'dHis new-grown shoulders on him, and in fewThus to another spake: “Along this pathCrawling, as I have done, speed Buoso now!”So saw I fluctuate in successive changeTh' unsteady ballast of the seventh hold:And here if aught my tongue have swerv'd, eventsSo strange may be its warrant. O'er mine eyesConfusion hung, and on my thoughts amaze.Yet 'scap'd they not so covertly, but wellI mark'd Sciancato: he alone it wasOf the three first that came, who chang'd not: thou,The other's fate, Gaville, still dost rue.