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Updated: May 4, 2025
You are a thanking little animal, a blaming little animal, a ACIS. A gushing little animal. ARJILLAX. And, as she thinks, an artistic little animal. If your Automata had been properly animated, Martellus, they would have been more successful. THE SHE-ANCIENT. That is where you are wrong, my child. If those two loathsome things had been rag dolls, they would have been amusing and lovable.
THE SHE-ANCIENT. If you should turn out to be a person of infinite capacity, you will no doubt find life infinitely interesting. However, all you have to do now is to play with your companions. They have many pretty toys, as you see: a playhouse, pictures, images, flowers, bright fabrics, music: above all, themselves; for the most amusing child's toy is another child.
The Female Automaton hardly dares to sob. The immortals contemplate them with shame and loathing. The She-Ancient comes from the trees opposite the temple. THE SHE-ANCIENT. Somebody wants me. You must not: they are not only disgusting: they are dangerous. I meant no harm. He hurt me: indeed he did. THE HE-ANCIENT. The creature has killed that poor youth. This clever child, who promised so well!
THE HE-ANCIENT. Look at us. Look at me. This is my body, my blood, my brain; but it is not me. Worse still, it can be broken by a slip of the foot, drowned by a cramp in the stomach, destroyed by a flash from the clouds. Sooner or later, its destruction is certain. THE SHE-ANCIENT. Yes: this body is the last doll to be discarded.
ECRASIA. Even in your childhood, then, you did not understand high art, and adored your own amateur crudities. THE SHE-ANCIENT. How old are you? ECRASIA. Eight months. THE SHE-ANCIENT. When you have lived as long as I have Thank heaven I am still in my prime. THE HE-ANCIENT. You are still capable of thanking, though you do not know what you thank.
You see, children, we have to put things very crudely to you to make ourselves intelligible. THE HE-ANCIENT. And I am afraid we do not quite succeed. STREPHON. Very kind of you to come at all and talk to us, I'm sure. ECRASIA. Why do the other ancients never come and give us a turn? THE SHE-ANCIENT. It is difficult for them.
THE HE-ANCIENT. No: the vortex is not the water nor the gas nor the atoms: it is a power over these things. THE SHE-ANCIENT. The body was the slave of the vortex; but the slave has become the master; and we must free ourselves from that tyranny. Even prehistoric man dreamed of what he called an astral body, and asked who would deliver him from the body of this death.
Life is hard enough for us as it is. THE HE-ANCIENT. Life is not meant to be easy, my child; but take courage: it can be delightful. What I wanted to tell you is that ever since men existed, children have played with dolls. ECRASIA. You keep using that word. What are dolls, pray? THE SHE-ANCIENT. What you call works of art. Images. We call them dolls. ARJILLAX. Just so.
I have found a happiness in art that real life has never given me. I am intensely in earnest about art. There is a magic and mystery in art that you know nothing of. THE SHE-ANCIENT. Yes, child: art is the magic mirror you make to reflect your invisible dreams in visible pictures. You use a glass mirror to see your face: you use works of art to see your soul.
What would you think of us ancients if we made toys of you children? Then you would play with us; and that would be very nice. THE SHE-ANCIENT. It would not amuse us. When you play with one another you play with your bodies, and that makes you supple and strong; but if we played with you we should play with your minds, and perhaps deform them. STREPHON. You are a ghastly lot, you ancients.
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