CANTO XXV.

Argument.

The same place. — Cacus in form of a Centaur. — New metamorphoses.

As thus the villain his discourse did end,
He raised his hands with gest obscene, and cried:
" Take that, O God; such sign to thee I send! "
Therefore, the serpents were to me allied
In friendship; because one around his neck
Entwined, as though it said: " Now hush thy pride. "
And round his arms another spotted snake
Twisted its coils, in such an evil way,
That thence he might not even a finger shake.
Ah me, Pistoia! wherefore dost thou stay,
Nor light the brand that shall thy walls consume,
Since in ill deeds thou dost advance, each day?
Through all the circles of the realm of gloom,
Ne'er saw I spirit of such daring pride
Tow'rds God; not even the Shade who met his doom
From off the walls of Thebes. With hasty stride,
Swift sped the shadowy form and spake no more:
Then came a Centaur, fill'd with wrath, who cried:
" Where is the vile blasphemer? " Not the shore
Of sad Maremma such foul swarms hath bred
Of serpents as on his huge back he bore:
Above his shoulders broad, behind his head,
With outstretch'd pinions lay a wingid snake,
Whose breath o'er all he met fierce burning shed.
" Lo! this is Cacus " (thus my Master spake),
" He who beneath the rock of Aventine
Of yore hath made full oft a bloody lake.
Nor with his brethren, in their order'd line,
He goes; and this for his most cunning guilt,
When on the herds he cast his greedy eyne.
Then ceased his frauds, when his life-blood was spilt
Beneath the club of Hercules; who strake
A hundred blows, whereof not ten he felt. "
The Shade pass'd on, while yet my Master spake:
And now three spirits drew anear our side,
Unseen by us until their voice did wake
Our consciousness; as " Who are ye? " they cried;
And then the speech that we had held was stay'd,
And but to hearken unto them we tried.
I knew them not; but one of them was led
(As oft doth chance when men converse with men)
To name another, as these words he said:
" Canst tell where Cianfa now hath gone? " And then,
Thinking thereto my Leader's mind to draw,
I with uplifted finger made a sign.
If to believe my story thou art slow,
O Reader, sooth I marvel not; for I
Scarce credit it, who all that wonder saw.
For, while I gazed on them, I did descry
A serpent with six feet full swiftly dart
On one, and his foul coils around him ply.
The middle feet embraced him near his heart;
The foremost clutch'd him by his arms and breast,
While in both cheeks his fangs he did insert:
The hinder limbs around his thighs were prest;
Between them, his sharp-pointed tail pass'd through,
And by the back and loins it held him fast.
The clinging ivy ne'er so closely grew
Unto the tree, as that fierce snake, I ween,
Did with the other's limbs his own imbue:
And then, as ye the melted wax have seen
Together fused, in mingling colours spread;
Thus neither seem'd the thing he erst had been:
Even like the burning heat of flame, when shed
On the scorch'd paper, with a dubious hue,
As yet not black, though whiteness there be dead.
A glance of fear on him the others threw,
And cried: " Alas! Agnel, what thing is done
To thee? In truth thou art nor one nor two. "
Already the two heads were fused in one,
Which, strangely mingled, twofold features wore,
In the one face whose double form was gone.
The arms were two, where branches erst were four;
The legs, the belly, and the chest were now
Limbs, such as ne'er were seen the like before.
Each primal aspect wholly changed did show;
The perverse image seemid two and nought:
And thus it pass'd away, with footsteps slow.
Even as the lizard when the sun is hot,
Changing its shelt'ring hedge, upon the path
Is like a lightning flash, more swift than thought;
Thus, aiming at the other's heart, in wrath
Approach'd a foul and livid serpent fierce,
Black as a grain of spice. The spot whence hath
The child its earliest food it now did pierce
In one; then seem'd as though its life had fail'd,
And at his feet it fell with swift reverse.
The pierced one gazed, and neither spake nor wail'd;
But gaping stood in half unconscious guise,
As he by sleep or fever were assail'd.
They on each other look'd with fixid eyes;
One through his lips, the other through his wound
Sent forth thick smoke, which mingling did arise.
Be Lucan silent, where the tale is found
Of sad Sabellus' and Nassidius' woe,
And now give ear unto my voice's sound.
Be Ovid hush'd, where he the fate doth show
Of Arethusa and of Cadmus; he
Became a snake, and she a fountain's flow:
Yet, sooth, I envy not that poesy;
For, never yet, two natures, face to face,
Their substance interchanged so readily.
And each obey'd the law of this dread place:
His limbs in one the wounded man did twine,
And cleft in two was now the serpent's trace;
The human legs and thighs, in every line,
Together clung; and soon ye might no more
Of this their junction see the faintest sign.
The cloven tail the self-same likeness wore,
Lost elsewhere; and the rude and scaly skin
Grew soft; the soft a snake-like texture bore.
The arms now crept the shoulder-blades within;
The reptile's two forefeet, erst short, grew long,
Swift as the other's shrank away, I ween.
The hinder feet, that close together clung,
Became the member which a man conceals;
And to the wretch, instead, two feet belong.
While the thick vapour each strange being veils
With colours new, and sheds the hair on one,
Which from the other now it wholly steals,
The one arose, the other sank adown;
Yet turn'd they not away their impious eyes,
Beneath the which such wondrous change was known.
He who stood up drew back the part which lies
Round the projecting mouth; and from its store,
The ears from out the formless cheeks arise.
That which was left another semblance bore:
From its superfluous mass was formed the nose;
The lips increased, till they due fulness wore.
He who lay prone his snout push'd forward shows,
The ears retiring close within the head,
Even like the crawling snail, that backward draws
Its horns. The tongue, which erst had promptly said
Each word, was cleft; and that which had been dumb
Was fit for speech: and lo! the smoke was stay'd
The soul which thus a reptile had become
Fled hissing through the dark and doleful bourne;
The other's wrath in sputtering words did come.
And then his new found shoulders did he turn,
And said: " I would that Buoso, even as I,
To grovel prone upon the earth should learn. "
Thus saw I changed the wretches foul who lie
In this seventh valley: and let my excuse,
If the pen somewhat err, be novelty.
But though it greatly did mine eyes confuse,
And 'maze my thoughts, yet did it not befal
That I the knowledge of these souls should lose
Puccio Sciancato did I well recall;
And he alone it was who of the three
That came at first had known no change at all:
The other was the Shade still mourn'd, Gaville, by thee.