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Updated: June 11, 2025
But there is something the matter with me. I want to lie down. I cannot keep my eyes open. ECRASIA. You are falling asleep. You will wake up again. THE NEWLY BORN. Ai! oi! ai! Dont. ECRASIA. Come, Arjillax: you at least are still an artist. I adore you. ARJILLAX. Do you? Unfortunately for you, I am not still a child. I have grown out of cuddling. I can only appreciate your figure.
I did my best to lift your prehistoric impulses on to the plane of beauty, of imagination, of romance, of poetry, of art, of ACIS. These things are all very well in their way and in their proper places. But they are not love. They are an unnatural adulteration of love. Love is a simple thing and a deep thing: it is an act of life and not an illusion. Art is an illusion. ARJILLAX. That is false.
You are saddening us; and you are chasing the light away. It is growing dark. ACIS. Night is falling. The light will come back tomorrow. THE NEWLY BORN. What is tomorrow? All begin trooping into the temple. What ARJILLAX. Silence. Little children should be seen and not heard. ECRASIA. Ungraceful. You must not do that. THE NEWLY BORN. I will do what I like.
ARJILLAX. In the records which generations of children have rescued from the stupid neglect of the ancients, there has come down to us a fable which, like many fables, is not a thing that was done in the past, but a thing that is to be done in the future. It is a legend of a supernatural being called the Archangel Michael. THE NEWLY BORN. Is this a story?
ARJILLAX. The Archangel Michael was a mighty sculptor and painter. He found in the centre of the world a temple erected to the goddess of the centre, called Mediterranea. This temple was full of silly pictures of pretty children, such as Ecrasia approves. ACIS. Fair play, Arjillax! If she is to keep silent, let her alone. ECRASIA. I shall not interrupt, Acis.
MARTELLUS. He made them in his laboratory. I moulded their limbs. I am sorry. I was thoughtless: I did not foresee that they would kill and pretend to be persons they were not, and declare things that were false, and wish evil. I thought they would be merely mechanical fools. ARJILLAX. They are mad as well as mischievous. May we not destroy them? STREPHON. We abhor them.
They would bore me; and they would bore you if you had any sense. Go in and look at my busts. ECRASIA. Silence is the most perfect expression of scorn. Scorn! That is what I feel for your revolting busts. ARJILLAX. Fool: the busts are only the beginning of a mighty design. Listen. ACIS. Go ahead, old sport. We are listening. Martellus stretches himself on the sward beside the altar.
On the contrary, I bring with me such a work of art as you have never seen, and an artist who has surpassed both you and me further than we have surpassed all our competitors. ECRASIA. Impossible. The greatest things in art can never be surpassed. ARJILLAX. Who is this paragon whom you declare greater than I? MARTELLUS. I declare him greater than myself, Arjillax.
Is it true, so far? ARJILLAX. It is partly true: I cannot pretend to be satisfied now with modelling pretty children. THE HE-ANCIENT. And you, Ecrasia: you cling to your highly artistic dolls as the noblest projections of the Life Force, do you not? ECRASIA. Without art, the crudeness of reality would make the world unbearable. But I don't understand your art and your dolls at all.
I was able to make a sort of monster: a thing without arms or legs; and it really and truly lived for half-an-hour. THE NEWLY BORN. Half-an-hour! What good was that? Why did it die? PYGMALION. Its blood went wrong. But I got that right; and then I went ahead with a complete human body: arms and legs and all. He was my first man. ARJILLAX. Who modelled him? PYGMALION. I did.
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