First, this time of faultless vision. And then, because—though hope was dead—there still remained ‘the adamant of desire,’ she began once more to dance. But with hope were cut the cables binding her to reality, and it was out into the void that she danced now.
EPILOGUE
THE RAPE TO THE LOVE OF INVISIBLE THINGS
αἵ σε μαινόμεναι πάννυχοι χορεύουσι τὸν ταμίαν Ἴακχον.
Soph. An. 1151.
‘Art springs straight out of the rite, and her first outward leap is the image of the god.’—Jane Harrison.
Some years later a troupe of wits, in quest of the ‘crotesque,’ were visiting the well-known lunatic asylum—‘les petites maisons.’
‘And now for the Pseudo-Sappho!’ cried one. ‘She, all said, is by far the most delicious.’
They made their way to where a woman sat smiling affably. She greeted them as a queen her courtiers.
‘Well, Alcinthe. Mignonne has been drooping since you were here, and cooing that all the doves have left the Royaume de Tendre. Where is dear Théodite? Ma chère, I protest that he is the king of les honnêtes gens.’