"See! see!"
(The Martichoras shoots forth the keen bristles of his tail, which irradiate in all directions like a volley of arrows. Drops of blood rain down, spattering upon the foliage.)
The Catoblepas
(A black buffalo with a pig's head, falling to the ground, and attached to his shoulders by a neck long, thin, and flaccid as an empty gut.
He wallows flat upon the ground, and his feet entirely disappear beneath the enormous mane of coarse hair which covers his face):
"Fat, melancholy, fierce—thus I continually remain, feeling against my belly the warmth of the mud. So heavy is my skull that it is impossible for me to lift it. I roll it slowly all around me, open-mouthed; and with my tongue I tear up the venemous plants bedewed with my breath. Once, I even devoured my own feet without knowing it!
"No one, Anthony, has ever beheld mine eyes,—or at least, those who have beheld them are dead. Were I to lift my eyelids—my pink and swollen eyelids, thou wouldst forthwith die!"
Anthony. "Oh, that one! Ugh! As though I could desire it?—Yet his stupidity fascinates me! No, no! I will not!"
(He gazes fixedly upon the ground.
But the weeds take fire; and amidst the contorsions of the flames, arises)—