"'There on the filthy waters,' he replied, 'E'en now what next awaits us mayst thou see, If the marsh-gendered fog conceal it not.' "Never was arrow from the cord dismissed, That ran its way so nimbly through the air, As a small bark, that through the waves I spied Toward us coming, under the sole sway Of one that ferried it, who cried aloud: 'Art thou arrived, fell spirit?'--'Phlegyas, Phlegyas, This time thou criest in vain,' my lord replied; 'No longer shalt thou have us, but while o'er The slimy pool we pass.' As one who hears Of some great wrong he hath sustained, whereat Inly he pines: So Phlegyas inly pined In his fierce ire. My guide, descending, stepped Into the skiff, and bade me enter next, Close at his side; nor, till my entrance, seemed The vessel freighted. Soon as both embarked, Cutting the waves, goes on the ancient prow, More deeply than with others it is wont." Thus they cross the Styx, and soon approach the other shore, where luridly picturesque in the ink-black atmosphere rise the red-hot walls and towers of the city of Dis: "And thus the good instructor: 'Now, my son Draws near the city, that of Dis[11] is named, With its grave denizens, a mighty throng.' "I thus: 'The minarets already, sir! There, certes, in the valley I descry, Gleaming vermilion, as if they from fire Had issued.' He replied: 'Eternal fire, That inward burns shows them with ruddy flame Illumed; as in this nether hell thou seest.' "We came within the fosses deep, that moat This region comfortless. The walls appeared As they were framed of iron. We had made Wide circuit, ere a place we reached, where loud The mariner cried vehement: 'Go forth: The entrance is here.' Upon the gates I spied More than a thousand, who of old from heaven Were shower'd. With ireful gestures, 'Who is this,' They cried, 'that, without death first felt, goes through The regions of the dead?' My sapient guide Made sign that he for secret parley wished; Whereat their angry scorn abating, thus They spake: 'Come thou alone; and let him go, Who hath so hardily entered this realm. Alone return he by his witless way; If well he know it, let him prove. For thee, Here shalt thou tarry, who through clime so dark Hast been his escort.' Now bethink thee, reader! What cheer was mine at sound of those curst words. I did believe I never should return." While not only Dante but Vergil himself stand in dismay before the closed gates of the city, and the threatening devils on the walls, they hear a roar like that of a mighty wind, and behold! over the waters of the Styx a celestial messenger comes dry-shod, puts to flight the recalcitrant devils, and opening the gates with a touch of his wand, departs without having uttered a word.