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Updated: May 4, 2025
Then, having wrung her clothing till her strong, brown, slender wrists ached, she spread that out in turn, but on less favored rocks, and, as her feeling of security increased, fell into an unconscious dance, born of the necessity of warmth from exercise, but so full of grace, abandon, joy, that a poet might have fancied her a river-nymph, tripping to the reed-born music of the goat-hoofed Pan.
An antique temple of exotic architecture had thrown open its bronze doors, and out there surged and rustled a throng of Bacchanalian beings who sported and shouted around a terminal god, which, with smiling, ironic lips, accepted their delirious homage. White nymphs and brown displayed in choric rhythms the dance of the Seven Deadly Sins, and their goat-hoofed mates gave vertiginous pursuit.
A quartette party three violins and a 'cello sat in summer evening weather in a garden. This garden was full of bloom and odor, and was shut in by high walls of ripe old brick. Here and there were large-sized plaster casts Venus, Minerva, Mercury, a goat-hoofed Pan with his pipes, a Silence with a finger at her lips.
Woe to him who knows it, the chaste in wish and the unchaste in act, the rogue who values honour, the poltroon who would fain be brave! Ah, the goat-hoofed Satyr dancing there, drunk and leering, goatish in odour, unwashed and foul! Is it I? Is it I? And the anguished angel who weeps to look upon him. Is it I? Woe, woe is me, for I am each and both of these!
Oh, goat-hoofed devil in man, and buffeted aspirant soul! Oh, divine God-man, who art myself, and whom I with my own hands do hourly crucify, whom I do scourge and crown with thorns and spit upon! Shall a man think thus but once only shall he feed this burning iron in his breast but one sole time, and then go gaily afield in search of fresh agonies?
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