Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
William Schwenck Gilbert 1836–1911From “Pygmalion and Galatea”
GilbertWSPygmalion.“The thing is but a statue after all!”
Cynisca little thought that in those words
She touch’d the key-note of my discontent.
True, I have powers denied to other men;
Give me a block of senseless marble—well,
I ’m a magician, and it rests with me
To say what kernel lies within its shell;
It shall contain a man, a woman—child—
A dozen men and women if I will.
So far the gods and I run neck and neck;
Nay, so far I can beat them at their trade!
I am no bungler—all the men I make
Are straight-limb’d fellows, each magnificent
In the perfection of his manly grace:
I make no crook-backs—all my men are gods,
My women goddesses—in outward form.
But there ’s my tether! I can go so far,
And go no farther! At that point I stop,
To curse the bonds that hold me sternly back;
To curse the arrogance of those proud gods,
Who say, “Thou shalt be greatest among man,
And yet infinitesimally small!”
Galatea.Pygmalion!
Pyg.Who called?
Gal.Pygmalion!
Pyg.Ye gods! It lives!
Gal.Pygmalion!
Pyg.It speaks!
I have my prayer! my Galatea breathes!
Gal.Where am I? Let me speak, Pygmalion;
Give me thy hand—both hands—how soft and warm!
Whence came I?[Descends.
Pyg.Why, from yonder pedestal!
Gal.That pedestal? Ah, yes! I recollect
There was a time when it was part of me.
Pyg.That time has passed forever: thou art now
A living, breathing woman, excellent
In every attribute of womankind.
Gal.Where am I, then?
Pyg.Why, born into the world
By miracle!
Gal.Is this the world?
Pyg.It is.
Gal.This room?
Pyg.This room is portion of a house;
The house stands in a grove; the grove itself
Is one of many, many hundred groves
In Athens.
Gal.And is Athens, then, the world?
Pyg.To an Athenian—yes.
Gal.And I am one?
Pyg.By birth and parentage, not by descent.
Gal.But how came I to be?
Pyg.Well—let me see.
Oh—you were quarried in Pentelicus;
I modell’d you in clay—my artisans
Then rough’d you out in marble—I, in turn,
Brought my artistic skill to bear on you,
And made you what you are—in all but life;
The gods completed what I had begun,
And gave the only gift I could not give!
Gal.Then this is life?
Pyg.It is.
Gal.And not long since
I was a cold, dull stone? I recollect
That by some means I knew that I was stone:
That was the first dull gleam of consciousness;
I became conscious of a chilly self,
A cold, immovable identity.
I knew that I was stone, and knew no more!
Then, by an imperceptible advance,
Came the dim evidence of outer things,
Seen—darkly and imperfectly, yet seen—
The walls surrounding me, and I alone.
That pedestal—that curtain—then a voice
That call’d on Galatea! At that word,
Which seem’d to shake my marble to the core,
That which was dim before came evident;
Sounds that had humm’d around me, indistinct,
Vague, meaningless, seem’d to resolve themselves
Into a language I could understand;
I felt my frame pervaded by a glow
That seem’d to thaw my marble into flesh.
Its cold, hard substance throbb’d with active life;
My limbs grew supple, and I mov’d—I liv’d!
Liv’d in the ecstacy of new-born life!
Liv’d in the love of him that fashion’d me!
Liv’d in a thousand tangled thoughts of hope,
Love, gratitude,—thoughts that resolv’d themselves
Into one word, that word Pygmalion![Kneels to him.
Pyg.I have no words to tell thee of my joy,
O woman—perfect in thy loveliness!
Gal.What is that word? Am I a woman?
Pyg.Yes.
Gal.Art thou a woman?
Pyg.No, I am a man.
Gal.What is a man?
Pyg.A being strongly fram’d
To wait on woman, and protect her from
All ills that strength and courage can avert;
To work and toil for her, that she may rest;
To weep and mourn for her, that she may laugh;
To fight and die for her, that she may live!
Gal.[After a pause.]I ’m glad I am a woman.
Pyg.So am I.[They sit.
Gal.That I escape the pains thou hast to bear?
Pyg.That I may undergo those pains for thee.
Gal.With whom, then, wouldst thou fight?
Pyg.With any man
Whose deed or word gave Galatea pain.
Gal.Then there are other men in this strange world?
Pyg.There are, indeed!
Gal.And other women?
Pyg.[Taken aback.]Yes.
Though for a moment I ’d forgotten it!
Yes, other women.
Gal.And for all of these
Men work, and toil, and mourn, and weep, and fight?
Pyg.It is man’s duty, if he ’s call’d upon,
To fight for all: he works for those he loves.
Gal.Then by thy work I know thou lovest me.
Pyg.Indeed, I love thee![Embraces her.
Gal.With what kind of love?
Pyg.I love thee[recollecting himself and releasing her]as a sculptor loves his work!
[Aside.]There ’s a diplomacy in that reply.
Gal.My love is different in kind to thine:
I am no sculptor, and I ’ve done no work,
Yet I do love thee: say, what love is mine?
Pyg.Tell me its symptoms, then I ’ll answer thee.
Gal.Its symptoms? Let me call them as they come.
A sense that I am made by thee for thee;
That I ’ve no will that is not wholly thine;
That I ’ve no thought, no hope, no enterprise
That does not own thee as its sovereign;
That I have life, that I may live for thee,
That I am thine—that thou and I are one!
What kind of love is that?
Pyg.A kind of love
That I shall run some risk in dealing with!
Gal.And why, Pygmalion?
Pyg.Such love as thine
A man may not receive, except indeed
From one who is, or is to be, his wife!
Gal.Then I will be thy wife!
Pyg.That may not be;
I have a wife—the gods allow but one.
Gal.Why did the gods, then, send me here to thee?
Pyg.I cannot say—unless to punish me
For unreflecting and presumptuous prayer.
I pray’d that shouldst live—I have my prayer,
And now I see the fearful consequence
That must attend it!
Gal.Yet thou lovest me?
Pyg.Who could look on that face and stifle love?
Gal.Then I am beautiful?
Pyg.Indeed thou art.
Gal.I wish that I could look upon myself,
But that ’s impossible.
Pyg.Not so indeed.
This mirror will reflect thy face. Behold![Hands her a mirror.
Gal.How beautiful! I ’m very glad to know
That both our tastes agree so perfectly;
Why, my Pygmalion, I did not think
That aught could be more beautiful than thou,
Till I beheld myself. Believe me, love,
I could look in this mirror all day long.
So I ’m a woman?
Pyg.There ’s no doubt of that!
Gal.Oh happy maid, to be so passing fair!
And happier still Pygmalion, who can gaze,
At will, upon so beautiful a face!
Pyg.Hush, Galatea! in thine innocence
Thou sayest things that others would reprove.
Gal.Indeed, Pygmalion? Then it is wrong
To think that one is exquisitely fair?
Pyg.Well, Galatea, it ’s a sentiment
That every other woman shares with thee;
They think it, but they keep it to themselves.
Gal.And is thy wife as beautiful as I?
Pyg.No, Galatea, for in forming thee
I took her features—lovely in themselves—
And in the marble made them lovelier still.
Gal.[Disappointed.]Oh! then I ’m not original?
Pyg.Well—no—
That is—thou hast indeed a prototype;
But though in stone thou didst resemble her,
In life the difference is manifest.
Gal.I ’m very glad I am lovelier than she.
And am I better?
Pyg.That I do not know.
Gal.Then she has faults?
Pyg.But very few indeed;
Mere trivial blemishes, that serve to show
That she and I are of one common kin.
I love her all the better for such faults!
Gal.[After a pause.]Tell me some faults and I ’ll commit them now.
Pyg.There is no hurry; they will come in time:
Though, for that matter, it ’s a grievous sin
To sit as lovingly as we sit now.
Gal.Is sin so pleasant? If to sit and talk,
As we are sitting, be indeed a sin,
Why, I could sin all day! But tell me, love,
Is this great fault, that I ’m committing now,
The kind of fault that only serves to show
That thou and I are of one common kin?
Pyg.Indeed, I ’m very much afraid it is.
Gal.And dost thou love me better for such fault?
Pyg.Where is the mortal that could answer “No”?
Gal.Why, then I ’m satisfied, Pygmalion;
Thy wife and I can start on equal terms.
She loves thee?
Pyg.Very much.
Gal.I am glad of that.
I like thy wife.
Pyg.And why?
Gal.Our tastes agree.
We love Pygmalion well, and, what is more,
Pygmalion loves us both. I like thy wife;
I ’m sure we shall agree.
Pyg.[Aside.]I doubt it much!
Gal.Is she within?
Pyg.No, she is not within.
Gal.But she ’ll come back?
Pyg.Oh, yes, she will come back.
Gal.How pleas’d she ’ll be to know, when she returns,
That there was some one here to fill her place!
Pyg.[Dryly.]Yes, I should say she ’d be extremely pleas’d.
Gal.Why, there is something in thy voice which says
That thou art jesting! Is it possible
To say one thing and mean another?
Pyg.Yes,
It ’s sometimes done.
Gal.How very wonderful!
So clever!
Pyg.And so very useful.
Gal.Yes.