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Updated: June 12, 2025
There are two of Pygmalion's pupils at the laboratory who helped him to manufacture the bones and tissues and all the rest of it. They can turn out a couple of new automatons; and you can model them as ancients if this venerable pair will sit for you. No more automata. They are too disgusting. Poor old Pyg! ECRASIA. Only fancy, Acis!
Pygmalion, a square-fingered youth with his face laid out in horizontal blocks, and a perpetual smile of eager benevolent interest in everything, and expectation of equal interest from everybody else, comes from the temple to the centre of the group, who regard him for the most part with dismay, as dreading that he will bore them. Ecrasia is openly contemptuous.
Will you be talked out of your inspiration by Ecrasia and the fools who imagine she speaks with authority? Let us have them all set up beside mine in the theatre. I have opened the way for you; and you see I am none the worse. MARTELLUS. Impossible. ALL. Smashed! ARJILLAX. Who smashed them? MARTELLUS. I did. That is why I laughed at you just now. ARJILLAX. But why?
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.
Instead of being ideally beautiful nymphs and youths, they are horribly realistic studies of but I really cannot bring my lips to utter it. The Newly Born, full of curiosity, runs to the temple, and peeps in. ACIS. Oh, stow it, Ecrasia. Your lips are not so squeamish as all that. Studies of what? ECRASIA. Yes, ancients.
Or you dress yourselves up as dolls and act plays about them. THE SHE-ANCIENT. And, to deceive yourself the more completely, you take them so very very seriously that Ecrasia here declares that the making of dolls is the holiest work of creation, and the words you put into the mouths of dolls the sacredest of scriptures and the noblest of utterances. ECRASIA. Tush! ARJILLAX. Tosh!
And now, nothing! It is as if he had cut off his hands. THE NEWLY BORN. Oh, will you all leave me as he has left you? ECRASIA. Never. We have sworn it. STREPHON. What is the use of swearing? She swore. He swore. You have sworn. They have sworn. ECRASIA. You speak like a grammar. STREPHON. That is how one ought to speak, isnt it? We shall all be forsworn. THE NEWLY BORN. Do not talk like that.
I set to work again for months to find out how to make a digestive system that would deal with waste products and a reproductive system capable of internal nourishment and incubation. ECRASIA. Why did you not find out how to make them like us? That was the secret you needed. THE NEWLY BORN. Oh yes. How true! MARTELLUS. Control your reflexes, child. THE NEWLY BORN. My what!
He could alter the shape of his nose if the difference between a turned-up nose and a turned-down one were worth the effort. One does not face the throes of creation for trifles. ACIS. What have you to say to that, Ecrasia?
ECRASIA. I discovered your genius before anyone else did. Is that true, or is it not? ARJILLAX. Everybody knew I was an extraordinary person. When I was born my beard was three feet long. ECRASIA. Yes; and it has shrunk from three feet to two. Your genius seems to have been in the last foot of your beard; for you have lost both.
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