ut here he is in the guise of
Bacchus, of Priapus, eager with long-delayed desire, threatening,
scorching, teeming. No, no! Be this cup far from me! Trouble only
should I drink from it,--who knows? A despair yet sharper than my past
despairs."

Meanwhile wherever the woman appears, she becomes the one great object
of love. She is followed by all, and for her sake all despise their
own proper kind. What they say about the black he-goat, her pretended
favourite, may be applied to all. The horse neighs for her, breaking
everything and putting her in danger. The awful king of the prairie,
the black bull, bellows with grief, should she pass him by at a
distance. And, behold, yon bird despondingly turns away from his hen,
and with whirring wings hastes to convince the woman of his love!

Such is the new tyranny of her master, who, by the funniest hap of
all, foregoes the part accredited to him as king of the dead, to burst
forth a very king of life.

"No!" she says; "leave me to my hatred: I ask for nothing more. Let me
be feared and fearful! The beauty I would have, is only that which
dwells in these black serpents of my hair, in this countenance
furrowed with grief, and the scars of thy thunderbolt." But the Lord
of Evil replies with cunning softness: "Oh, but you are only the more
beautiful, the more impressible, for this fiery rage of yours! Ay,
call out and curse on, beneath one and the same goad! 'Tis but one
storm calling another. Swift and smooth is the passage from wrath to
pleasure."

Neither her fury nor her pride would have saved her from such
allurements. But she is saved by the boundlessness of her desire.
There is nought will satisfy her. Each kind of life for her is all too
bounded, wanting in power. Away from her, steed and bull and loving
bird! Away, ye creatures all! for one who desires the Infinite, how
weak ye are!

She has a woman's longing; but for what? Even for the whole, the great
all-containing whole. Satan did not foresee that no one creature would
content her.

That which he could not do, is done for her in some ineffable way.
Overcome by a desire so wide and deep, a longing boundless as the sea,
she falls asleep. At such a moment, all else forgot, no touch of hate,
no thought of vengeance left in her, she slumbers on the plain,
innocent in her own despite, stretched out in easy luxuriance like a
sheep or a dove.

She sleeps, she dreams; a delightful dream! It seemed as if the
wondrous