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Updated: May 14, 2025
Not portraits, of course: I shall idealize you a little. I have come to the conclusion that you ancients are the most interesting subjects after all. MARTELLUS. What! Have those two horrors, whose ashes I have just deposited with peculiar pleasure in poor Pygmalion's dustbin, not cured you of this silly image-making! ARJILLAX. Why did you model them as young things, you fool?
THE SHE-ANCIENT. I, like Arjillax, found out that my statues of bodily beauty were no longer even beautiful to me; and I pressed on and made statues and pictures of men and women of genius, like those in the old fable of Michael Angelo. Like Martellus, I smashed them when I saw that there was no life in them: that they were so dead that they would not even dissolve as a dead body does.
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.
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.
PYGMALION. But they are conscious. I have taught them to talk and read; and now they tell lies. That is so very lifelike. MARTELLUS. Not at all. If they were alive they would tell the truth. You can provoke them to tell any silly lie; and you can foresee exactly the sort of lie they will tell. Give them a clip below the knee, and they will jerk their foot forward.
Sooner than not drown me, you are willing to clasp me round the waist and jump overboard with me. ACIS. Oh, stop squabbling. That is the worst of you artists. You are always in little squabbling cliques; and the worst cliques are those which consist of one man. Who is this new fellow you are throwing in one another's teeth? ARJILLAX. Ask Martellus: do not ask me.
MARTELLUS. Do you mean to say you tried your own hand before you sent for me? PYGMALION. Bless you, yes, several times. My first man was the ghastliest creature: a more dreadful mixture of horror and absurdity than you who have not seen him can conceive. ARJILLAX. If you modelled him, he must indeed have been a spectacle. PYGMALION. Oh, it was not his shape. You see I did not invent that.
ARJILLAX. She meant to kill him. STREPHON. This is horrible. A general shriek of horror echoes his exclamation. He turns deadly pale, and supports himself against the end of the curved seat. Pygmalion falls dead. THE NEWLY BORN. Oh! Whats the matter? Why did he fall! What has happened to him? They look on anxiously as Martellus kneels down and examines the body of Pygmalion.
I want to caress my darling Strephon, not to play with dolls. ACIS. I am in my fourth year; and I have got on very well without your dolls. I had rather walk up a mountain and down again than look at all the statues Martellus and Arjillax ever made. You prefer a statue to an automaton, and a rag doll to a statue. So do I; but I prefer a man to a rag doll. Give me friends, not dolls.
Well, continued his reverence, not choosing to hear the shocking ejaculations which this hypothesis wrung from the lieutenant; 'what of that, my darlin'? Think of the indignities, insults, and disgraces that the blessed Saint Martellus suffered, without allowing, anything worse to cross his lips than an Ave Mary or a smile in resignation.
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