The robber, Made both the figs and lifted either fist, Shouting: ‘There, God! for them at thee I throw.’ Then were the snakes my friends; for one ’gan twist And coiled itself around the sinner’s throat, As if to say: ‘Now would I have thee whist.’ Another seized his arms and made a knot, Clinching itself upon them in such wise He had no power to move them by a jot. Pistoia! To burn thyself to ashes, since thou hast Outrun thy founders in iniquities. Showed me no soul ’gainst God so filled with spite, No, not even he who down Thebes’ wall He spake no further word, but turned to flight; And I beheld a Centaur raging sore Come shouting: ‘Of the ribald give me sight!’ I scarce believe Maremma Snakes of all kinds than what composed the load Which on his back, far as our form, he bore. Behind his nape, with pinions spread abroad, A dragon couchant on his shoulders lay To set on fire whoever bars his road. ‘This one is Cacus,’ ‘Who underneath the rock of Aventine Watered a pool with blood day after day. Not with his brethren Because of yore the treacherous theft he wrought Upon the neighbouring wealthy herd of kine: Whence to his crooked course an end was brought ’Neath Hercules’ club, which on him might shower down A hundred blows; ere ten he suffered nought.’ While this he said, the other had passed on; And under us three spirits forward pressed Of whom my Guide and I had nothing known Whereon our tale And toward them wholly we our wits addressed. I recognised them not, but gave good heed; Till, as it often haps in such a case, To name another, one discovered need, Saying: ‘Now where stopped Cianfa Then, that my Guide might halt and hearken well, On chin If, Reader, to believe what now I tell Thou shouldst be slow, I wonder not, for I Who saw it all scarce find it credible. While I on them my brows kept lifted high A serpent, which had six feet, suddenly flew At one of them and held him bodily. Its middle feet about his paunch it drew, And with the two in front his arms clutched fast, And bit one cheek and the other through and through. Its hinder feet upon his thighs it cast, Thrusting its tail between them till behind, Distended o’er his reins, it upward passed. Itself so firmly as this dreadful beast Its members with the other’s intertwined. Each lost the colour that it once possessed, And closely they, like heated wax, unite, The former hue of neither manifest: Even so up o’er papyrus, Before the flame there spreads a colour dun, Not black as yet, though from it dies the white. The other two meanwhile were looking on, Crying: ‘Agnello, how art thou made new! Thou art not twain, and yet no longer one.’ A single head was moulded out of two; And on our sight a single face arose, Which out of both lost countenances grew. Four separate limbs did but two arms compose; Belly with chest, and legs with thighs did grow To members such as nought created shows. Their former fashion was all perished now: The perverse shape did both, yet neither seem; And, thus transformed, departed moving slow. And as the lizard, which at fierce extreme Of dog-day heat another hedge would gain, Flits ’cross the path swift as the lightning’s gleam; Right for the bellies of the other twain Livid and black as is a pepper grain, And on the part by which we first are fed Pierced one of them; and then upon the ground It fell before him, and remained outspread. FOOTNOTES: |