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Updated: June 11, 2025
It was the Sappho's tones that she heard. Blanka gazed in wonder at the mysterious apparition. She thought she must be dreaming, and that this was but another creation of her own fancy. "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the visitor, "an original way to pay a call, isn't it? without warning, right through the back wall of your fireplace, and in négligé, too!
Necessity the All-compelling." The musician drew from the harp one of the most artful of Sappho's exquisite melodies. "What drew forth that music?" he asked, smiling. "My hand and my will from a genius not present, not visible. Was that genius a blind fate? no, it was a grand intelligence. Nature is to the Deity what my hand and will are to the unseen genius of the musician.
Her eyes they were the color of perfect June at that high-noon moment when the spinning of the humming-bird can be distilled to sound. Laura and Marguerite and Stella Schump had eyes as blue as Cleopatra's, and Sappho's and Medea's must have been green.
At last Bartja, taking both Sappho's hands in his own, looked long and silently into her face, as if to stamp her likeness for ever on his memory. When he spoke at last, she cast down her eyes, for he said: "In my dreams, Sappho, you have always been the most lovely creature that Auramazda ever created, but now I see you again, you are more lovely even than my dreams."
For he was not one of those gentlemen who languish after the unattainable Sappho's apple that laughs from the topmost bough the charms which "Smile like the knot of cowslips on the cliff, Not to be come at by the willing hand." He had no sonnets to write, and it could not strike him agreeably that he was not an object of preference to the woman whom he had preferred.
Common sense has arraigned before her august tribunal some of the socalled 'geniuses' of past ages, and the critical verdict is that much of the famous 'fine frenzy' was bona-fide frenzy of a sadder nature." "Do you think that Sappho's frenzy was established by the Leucadian leap?"
All of her works that remain to us are a few fragments, and they are chestnuts; for they have been printed within the last ten years in the books of a great many poets I could name, and I have read them. We know very little of Sappho's life. If she had amounted to much, we would not be in such ignorance of her doings.
Sappho's happy fancies soon cradled her to sleep; but Rhodopis remained awake watching the day dawn, and the sun rise, her mind occupied with thoughts which brought smiles and frowns across her countenance in rapid succession.
Not only so, but this glimpsing of beauty through first one mistress, then another, often seems to perform the function of the mixed metaphor in freeing the soul from bondage to the sensual. This is the interpretation of Sappho's fickleness most popular with our writers, who give her the consciousness that Aphrodite, not flesh and blood, is the object of her quest.
Xenoph. Symp. "We will conduct the maiden thither by the centre door, and there we will enjoy a merry wedding-feast by the family hearth. Here, slavegirls, come and form yourselves into two choruses. Half of your number take the part of the youths; the other half that of the maidens, and sing us Sappho's Hymenaeus. I will be the torch-bearer; that dignity is mine by right.
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