Inferno Canto 25
Canto XXV
Argument
The sacrilegious Fucci vents his fury in blasphemy, is seized by serpents, and flying is pursued by Cacus in the form of a Centaur, who is described with a swarm of serpents on his haunch, and a dragon on his shoulders breathing forth fire. Our Poet then meets with the spirits of three of his countrymen, two of whom undergo a marvelous transformation in his presence.
When he had spoke, the sinner raised his hands Pointed in mockery and cried Take them, God!
I level them at thee." From that day forth The serpents were my friends; for round his neck One of them rolling twisted, as it said,
"Be silent, tongue!" Another, to his arms Upgliding, tied them, riveting itself So close, it took from them the power to move.
[1: "The practice of thrusting out the thumb between the first and second fingers, to express the feelings of insult and contempt, has prevailed very generally among the nations of Europe, and for many ages had been denominated 'making the fig,' or described at least by some equivalent expression." - Douce's "Illustrations of Shakespeare," vol. i. p. 492, ed.
1807.]
Pistoia! ah, Pistoia! why dost doubt To turn thee into ashes, cumbering earth No longer, since in evil act so far Thou 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 came A Centaur full of fury, shouting, "Where, Where is the caitiff?" On Maremma's marsh Swarm not the serpent tribe, as on his haunch They swarm'd, to where the human face begins.
Behind his head, upon the shoulders, lay With open wings a dragon, breathing fire On whomsoe'er he met. To me my guide:
"Cacus is this, who underneath the rock Of Aventine spread oft a lake of blood.
He, from his brethren parted, here must tread A different journey, for his fraudful theft Of the great herd that near him stall'd; whence found His felon deeds their end, beneath the mace Of stout Alcides, that perchance laid on A hundred blows, and not the tenth was felt."
[2: Capaneus. Canto xiv.]
[3: Near the Tuscan shore.]
While yet he spake, the Centaur sped away: And under us three spirits came, of whom Nor 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 one Had need to name another. "Where," said he,
"Doth Cianfa lurk?" I, for a sign my guide Should stand attentive, placed against my lips The finger lifted. If, O reader! now Thou be not apt to credit what I tell, No marvel; for myself do scarce allow The witness of mine eyes. But as I look'd Toward them, lo! a serpent with six feet Springs forth on one, and fastens full upon him: His midmost grasp'd the belly, a forefoot Seized on each arm (while deep in either cheek He flesh'd his fangs); the hinder on the thighs Were spread, 'twixt which the tail inserted curl'd Upon the reins behind. Ivy ne'er clasp'd A dodder'd oak, as round the other's limbs
[4: Said to have been of the family of Donati at Florence.]
The hideous monster intertwined 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 two Look'd on exclaiming, "Ah! how dost thou change, Agnello! See! Thou art nor double now, Nor only one." The two heads now became One, and two figures blended in one form Appear'd, where both were lost. Of the four lengths Two arms were made: the belly and the chest, The thighs and legs, into such members changed As never eye hath seen. Of former shape All trace was vanish'd. Two, yet neither, seem'd That image miscreate, and so pass'd on With tardy steps. As underneath the scourge Of the fierce dog - star that lays bare the fields, Shifting from brake to brake the lizard seems A flash of lightning, if he thwart the road;
So toward the entrails of the other two Approaching 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, Once he transpierced; then down before him fell Stretch'd out. The pierced spirit look'd on him, But spake not; yea, stood motionless and yawn'd, As if by sleep or feverous fit assail'd.
He eyed the serpent, and the serpent him.
One from the wound, the other from the mouth Breathed a thick smoke, whose vapory columns join'd.
[5: "Agnello." Agnello Brunelleschi.]
Lucan in mute attention now may hear, Nor thy disastrous fate, Sabellus, tell, Nor thine, Nasidius. Ovid now be mute.
What if in warbling fiction he record Cadmus and Arethusa, to a snake Him changed, and her into a fountain clear, I envy not; for never face to face
Two natures thus transmuted did he sing, Wherein both shapes were ready to assume The other's substance. They in mutual guise So answer'd that the serpent split his train Divided to a fork, and the pierced spirit Drew close his steps together, legs and thighs Compacted, that no sign of juncture soon Was visible: the tail, disparted, took The figure which the spirit lost; its skin Softening, his indurated to a rind.
The shoulders next I mark'd, that entering join'd The monster's arm - pits, whose two shorter feet So lengthen'd, as the others dwindling shrunk.
The feet behind then twisting up became That part that man conceals, which in the wretch Was cleft in twain. While both the shadowy smoke With a new color veils, and generates The excrescent pile on one, peeling it off From the other body, lo! upon his feet One upright rose, and prone the other fell.
Nor yet their glaring and malignant lamps Were shifted, though each feature changed beneath.
Of him who stood erect, the mounting face Retreated toward the temples, and what there Superfluous matter came, shot out in ears From the smooth cheeks; the rest, not backward dragg'd, Of its excess did shape the nose; and swell'd Into due size protuberant the lips.
He, on the earth who lay, meanwhile extends His sharpen'd visage, and draws down the ears Into the head, as doth the slug his horns.
His tongue, continuous before and apt For utterance, severs; and the other's fork Closing unites. That done, the smoke was laid.
The soul, transform'd into the brute, glides off, Hissing along the vale, and after him The other talking sputters; but soon turn'd His new - grown shoulders on him, and in few Thus to another spake: "Along this path Crawling, as I have done, speed Buoso now!"
So saw I fluctuate in successive change The unsteady ballast of the seventh hold: And here if aught my pen have swerved, events So strange may be its warrant. O'er mine eyes Confusion hung, and on my thoughts amaze.
Yet 'scaped they not so covertly, but well I mark'd Sciancato: he alone it was Of the three first that came, who changed not: tho'
The other's fate, Gaville! still dost rue.
Argument
The sacrilegious Fucci vents his fury in blasphemy, is seized by serpents, and flying is pursued by Cacus in the form of a Centaur, who is described with a swarm of serpents on his haunch, and a dragon on his shoulders breathing forth fire. Our Poet then meets with the spirits of three of his countrymen, two of whom undergo a marvelous transformation in his presence.
When he had spoke, the sinner raised his hands Pointed in mockery and cried Take them, God!
I level them at thee." From that day forth The serpents were my friends; for round his neck One of them rolling twisted, as it said,
"Be silent, tongue!" Another, to his arms Upgliding, tied them, riveting itself So close, it took from them the power to move.
[1: "The practice of thrusting out the thumb between the first and second fingers, to express the feelings of insult and contempt, has prevailed very generally among the nations of Europe, and for many ages had been denominated 'making the fig,' or described at least by some equivalent expression." - Douce's "Illustrations of Shakespeare," vol. i. p. 492, ed.
1807.]
Pistoia! ah, Pistoia! why dost doubt To turn thee into ashes, cumbering earth No longer, since in evil act so far Thou 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 came A Centaur full of fury, shouting, "Where, Where is the caitiff?" On Maremma's marsh Swarm not the serpent tribe, as on his haunch They swarm'd, to where the human face begins.
Behind his head, upon the shoulders, lay With open wings a dragon, breathing fire On whomsoe'er he met. To me my guide:
"Cacus is this, who underneath the rock Of Aventine spread oft a lake of blood.
He, from his brethren parted, here must tread A different journey, for his fraudful theft Of the great herd that near him stall'd; whence found His felon deeds their end, beneath the mace Of stout Alcides, that perchance laid on A hundred blows, and not the tenth was felt."
[2: Capaneus. Canto xiv.]
[3: Near the Tuscan shore.]
While yet he spake, the Centaur sped away: And under us three spirits came, of whom Nor 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 one Had need to name another. "Where," said he,
"Doth Cianfa lurk?" I, for a sign my guide Should stand attentive, placed against my lips The finger lifted. If, O reader! now Thou be not apt to credit what I tell, No marvel; for myself do scarce allow The witness of mine eyes. But as I look'd Toward them, lo! a serpent with six feet Springs forth on one, and fastens full upon him: His midmost grasp'd the belly, a forefoot Seized on each arm (while deep in either cheek He flesh'd his fangs); the hinder on the thighs Were spread, 'twixt which the tail inserted curl'd Upon the reins behind. Ivy ne'er clasp'd A dodder'd oak, as round the other's limbs
[4: Said to have been of the family of Donati at Florence.]
The hideous monster intertwined 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 two Look'd on exclaiming, "Ah! how dost thou change, Agnello! See! Thou art nor double now, Nor only one." The two heads now became One, and two figures blended in one form Appear'd, where both were lost. Of the four lengths Two arms were made: the belly and the chest, The thighs and legs, into such members changed As never eye hath seen. Of former shape All trace was vanish'd. Two, yet neither, seem'd That image miscreate, and so pass'd on With tardy steps. As underneath the scourge Of the fierce dog - star that lays bare the fields, Shifting from brake to brake the lizard seems A flash of lightning, if he thwart the road;
So toward the entrails of the other two Approaching 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, Once he transpierced; then down before him fell Stretch'd out. The pierced spirit look'd on him, But spake not; yea, stood motionless and yawn'd, As if by sleep or feverous fit assail'd.
He eyed the serpent, and the serpent him.
One from the wound, the other from the mouth Breathed a thick smoke, whose vapory columns join'd.
[5: "Agnello." Agnello Brunelleschi.]
Lucan in mute attention now may hear, Nor thy disastrous fate, Sabellus, tell, Nor thine, Nasidius. Ovid now be mute.
What if in warbling fiction he record Cadmus and Arethusa, to a snake Him changed, and her into a fountain clear, I envy not; for never face to face
Two natures thus transmuted did he sing, Wherein both shapes were ready to assume The other's substance. They in mutual guise So answer'd that the serpent split his train Divided to a fork, and the pierced spirit Drew close his steps together, legs and thighs Compacted, that no sign of juncture soon Was visible: the tail, disparted, took The figure which the spirit lost; its skin Softening, his indurated to a rind.
The shoulders next I mark'd, that entering join'd The monster's arm - pits, whose two shorter feet So lengthen'd, as the others dwindling shrunk.
The feet behind then twisting up became That part that man conceals, which in the wretch Was cleft in twain. While both the shadowy smoke With a new color veils, and generates The excrescent pile on one, peeling it off From the other body, lo! upon his feet One upright rose, and prone the other fell.
Nor yet their glaring and malignant lamps Were shifted, though each feature changed beneath.
Of him who stood erect, the mounting face Retreated toward the temples, and what there Superfluous matter came, shot out in ears From the smooth cheeks; the rest, not backward dragg'd, Of its excess did shape the nose; and swell'd Into due size protuberant the lips.
He, on the earth who lay, meanwhile extends His sharpen'd visage, and draws down the ears Into the head, as doth the slug his horns.
His tongue, continuous before and apt For utterance, severs; and the other's fork Closing unites. That done, the smoke was laid.
The soul, transform'd into the brute, glides off, Hissing along the vale, and after him The other talking sputters; but soon turn'd His new - grown shoulders on him, and in few Thus to another spake: "Along this path Crawling, as I have done, speed Buoso now!"
So saw I fluctuate in successive change The unsteady ballast of the seventh hold: And here if aught my pen have swerved, events So strange may be its warrant. O'er mine eyes Confusion hung, and on my thoughts amaze.
Yet 'scaped they not so covertly, but well I mark'd Sciancato: he alone it was Of the three first that came, who changed not: tho'
The other's fate, Gaville! still dost rue.
