THE SET OF TURQUOISE

Old W.Deary me! Well—good-day!

Nurse.Good-day, child. You'll find me at home to-morrow. Good-bye!

[ExitOld Woman.

Brum.[tottering to an old bureau, sits before it]. Dinner at four. Nurse, nurse! my glass and razors—come!

Nurse.Drat the old man! [Gives him glass, etc.]

EnterLandlord,followed byWaiter

Now he's completely done up!

Brum.[politely toLandlord]. Good morning, monsieur, delighted to see——

Landlord.Hang your compliments—I want no more of them.

Brum.My good sir, you surprise me!

Land.[toWaiter]. Get his rubbish together—for out he goes, and no mistake. [ToBrummell.] Now, Mr. Brummell, can you pay me—or can't you—or won't you?

Brum.Dear, dear me! We'll talk about it.

Land.No, we won't. I'll have it—or out you bundle this minute.

Brum.[rising]. Sir, I am a gentleman—a poor one, it is true; and this hand, fleshless as it is—is strong enough to chastise a man who forgets it! [Brummellfalls back in chair exhausted.]

Land.[toWaiter]. Now for it—out with him! [LandlordandWaiterrush forward, and are about to seizeBrummell.]

EnterFotherby

Fother.[pushing backLandlordandWaiter]. Put your hands on the old man at your peril.

Land.Do you know that you are in my house, sir?—stand back!

Fother. Do you know that you are in my rooms, sir? [Throws paper to him.] I think you will find that regular. Leave the room.

Nurse[aside]. Wonders'll never cease. But the old fool'll spile all again—you'll see.

Land. [aside to Waiter]. He's paid missus the rent—there's luck!

[Exit.

Waiter. A pretty bit of business I've done for myself. Not a sou for the waiter, I'll bet.

[Exit.

Fother. [advancing toBrummell]. My dear Mr. Brummell.

Brum. Really, you have the advantage of me.

Fother. You surely remember me, Mr. Brummell. [ToNurse.] The good sisters will take care of him for the rest of his days. I must take him to them. Is he always so, my good woman?

Nurse. Poor dear, good, kind old gentleman, not allays. He takes on so at times.

Brum. Don't know you in the least. [Imagines he sees Ballarat.] Ballarat! dear old boy! Tut! tut! Ballarat! Well, this is kind. But I can't be seen in this state.

Fother. No. Here you are among friends, my good sir. [Leading him out.] This way, Mr. Brummell, I come from Lord Ballarat.

Brum. Well—be it so. Ballarat—mind—when you return to England let them know that, even in this squalor—to his last hour in the world—Brummell—poor Brummell was a gentleman still. I am ready—I am ready.

[ExitFotherby,leadingBrummell,theNursefollowing.

Characters: Count of Lara, a poor nobleman; Beatrice, his wife Miriam, a maid, who personates a page.Scene: Count of Lara's villa. A balcony overlooking the garden.

Characters: Count of Lara, a poor nobleman; Beatrice, his wife Miriam, a maid, who personates a page.

Scene: Count of Lara's villa. A balcony overlooking the garden.

Lara.The third moon of our marriage, Beatrice!It hangs in the still twilight, large and full,Like a ripe orange.Beatrice.Like an orange? yes,But not so red, Count. Then it has no stem.Now, as 'tis hidden by those drifts of cloud,With one thin edge just glimmering through the dark,'Tis like some strange, rich jewel of the east,In the cleft side of a mountain.And that reminds me—speaking of jewels—love,There is a set of turquoise at Malan's,Ear-drops and bracelets and a necklace—ah!If they were mine.Lara.And so they should be, dear,Were I Aladdin, and had slaves o' the lampTo fetch me ingots. Why, then, Beatrice,All Persia's turquoise-quarries should be yours,Although your hand is heavy now with gemsThat tear my lips when I would kiss its whiteness.Oh! so you pout! Why make that full-blown roseInto a bud again?Beatrice.You love me not.Lara.A coquette's song.Beatrice.I sing it.Lara.A poor song.Beatrice.You love me not, or love me over-much,Which makes you jealous of the gems I wear!You do not deck me as becomes our state,For fear my grandeur should besiege the eyesOf Monte, Clari, Marcus, and the rest—A precious set! You're jealous, sir!Lara.Not I.I love you.Beatrice.Why, that is as easy saidAs any three short words; takes no more breathTo say, "I hate you." What, sir, have I livedThree times four weeks your wedded loyal wife,And do not know your follies? I will wager(If I could trap his countship into this!)The rarest kisses I know how to giveAgainst the turquoise, that within a monthYou'll grow so jealous—and without a cause,Or with a reason thin as window glass—That you will ache to kill me!Lara.Will you so?And I—let us clasp hands and kiss on it.Beatrice.Clasp hands, Sir Trustful; but not kiss—nay, nay!I will not pay my forfeit till I lose.Lara.And I'll not lose the forfeit.Beatrice.We shall see.[ExitBeatrice.Lara.She has as many fancies as the windWhich now, like slumber, lies 'mong spicy isles,Then suddenly blows white furrows in the sea!Lovely and dangerous is my leopardess.To-day, low-lying at my feet; to-morrow,With great eyes flashing, threatening doleful death—With strokes like velvet! She's no common clay,But fire and dew and marble. I'll not throwSo rare a wonder in the lap o' the world!Jealous? I am not jealous—though they saySome sorts of love breed jealousy. And yet,I would I had not wagered; it impliesDoubt. If I doubted? Pshaw! I'll walk awhileAnd let the cool air fan me. 'Twas not wise.'Tis only Folly with its cap and bellsCan jest with sad things. She seemed earnest, too.What if, to pique me, she should overstepThe pale of modesty, and give bold eyes(I could not bear that, nay, not even that!)To Marc or Claudian? Why, such things have beenAnd no sin dreamed of. I will watch her close.There, now, I wrong her.Yet if she,To win the turquoise of me, if she should—O cursèd jewels! Would that they were hungAbout the glistening neck of some mermaidA thousand fathoms underneath the sea![APagecrosses the garden.That page again! 'Tis twice within the weekThe supple-waisted, pretty-ankled knaveHas crossed my garden at this self-same hour,Trolling a canzonetta with an airAs if he owned the villa. Why, the fop!He might have doffed his bonnet as he passed.I'll teach him better if he comes again.What does he at the villa? O! perchanceHe comes in the evening when his master's out,To lisp soft romance in the ready earOf Beatrice's dressing-maid; but thenShe has one lover. Now I think she's two:This gaudy popinjay would make the third,And that's too many for an honest girl!I'll ask the Countess—no, I'll not do that;She'd laugh at me; and vow by the MadonnaThis varlet was some noble in disguise,Seeking her favor. Then I'd let the lightOf heaven through his doublet—I would—yes,That is, I would, were I a jealous man:But then I'm not.When he comes out againI'll stop him, question him, and know the truth.I cannot sit in the garden of a nightBut he glides by me in his jaunty dress,Like a fantastic phantom!—never looksTo the right nor left, but passes gayly on,As if I were a statue. Soft, he comes!I'll make him speak, or kill him; then, indeed,It were unreasonable to ask it. Soh!I'll speak him gently at the first, and then—ThePageenters by a gate in the villa-garden, and walks past theCount.Ho! pretty page, who owns you?Page.No one now.Once Signor Juan, but I am his no more.Lara.What, then, you stole from him?Page.O! no, sir, no.He had so many intrigues on his hands,There was no sleep for me nor night nor day.Such carrying of love-favors and pink notes!He's gone abroad now, to break other heartsAnd so I left him.Lara.A frank knave.Page.To-nightI've done his latest bidding—Lara.As you should—Page.A duty wed with pleasure—'twas to takeA message to a countess all forlorn,In yonder villa.Lara. [aside].Why! that villa's mine!A message to a countess all forlorn?In yonder villa?Page.Ay, sir. You can seeThe portico among the mulberries,Just to the left, there.Lara.Ay, I see, I see.A pretty villa. And the lady's name?Page.The lady's name, sir?Lara.Ay, the lady's name.Page.O! that's a secret which I cannot tell.Lara.No? but you shall, though, or I'll strangle you!In my strong hands your slender neck would snapLike a fragile pipe-stem.Page.You are choking me!O! loose your grasp, sir!Lara.Then the name! the name!Page.Countess of Lara.Lara.Not her dressing-maid?Page.No, no, I said the mistress, not the maid.Lara.And then you lied. I never saw two eyesSo wide and frank but they'd a pliant tongueTo shape a lie for them. Say you are false!Tell me you lie, and I will make you rich,I'll stuff your cap with ducats twice a year.Page.Well, then—I lie.Lara.Ay, now you lie, indeed!I see it in the cunning of your eyes;Night cannot hide the Satan leering there.Only a little lingering fear of heavenHolds me from dirking you between the ribs!Page.What would you have? I will say nothing, then.Lara.Say everything, and end it! Here is gold.You brought a billet to the Countess—well?What said the billet?Page.Take away your hand.And, by St. Mary, I will tell you all.There, now, I breathe. You will not harm me, sir?Stand six yards off, or I will not a word.It seems the Countess promised Signor JuanA set of turquoise—Lara.Turquoise? Ha! that's well.Page.Just so—wherewith my master was to paySome gaming debts; but yester-night the cardsTumbled a golden mountain at his feet;And ere he sailed, this morning, Signor JuanGave me a perfumed, amber-tinted note,For Countess Lara, which, with some adieus,Craved her remembrance morning, noon, and night;Her prayers while gone, her smiles when he returned;Then told his sudden fortune with the cards,And bade her keep the jewels. That is all.Lara.All? Is that all? 'T has only cracked my heart!A heart, I know, of little, little worth—An ill-cut ruby, scarred and scratched before,But now quite broken! I have no heart, then;Men should not have, when they are wronged like this.Out of my sight, thou demon of bad news![ExitLara.Page.I did not think 't would work on him like that.How pale he grew! Alack! I fear some illWill come of this. I'll to the Countess now,And warn her of his madness.[ExitPage.

Lara.The third moon of our marriage, Beatrice!It hangs in the still twilight, large and full,Like a ripe orange.

Lara.

The third moon of our marriage, Beatrice!

It hangs in the still twilight, large and full,

Like a ripe orange.

Beatrice.Like an orange? yes,But not so red, Count. Then it has no stem.Now, as 'tis hidden by those drifts of cloud,With one thin edge just glimmering through the dark,'Tis like some strange, rich jewel of the east,In the cleft side of a mountain.And that reminds me—speaking of jewels—love,There is a set of turquoise at Malan's,Ear-drops and bracelets and a necklace—ah!If they were mine.

Beatrice.

Like an orange? yes,

But not so red, Count. Then it has no stem.

Now, as 'tis hidden by those drifts of cloud,

With one thin edge just glimmering through the dark,

'Tis like some strange, rich jewel of the east,

In the cleft side of a mountain.

And that reminds me—speaking of jewels—love,

There is a set of turquoise at Malan's,

Ear-drops and bracelets and a necklace—ah!

If they were mine.

Lara.And so they should be, dear,Were I Aladdin, and had slaves o' the lampTo fetch me ingots. Why, then, Beatrice,All Persia's turquoise-quarries should be yours,Although your hand is heavy now with gemsThat tear my lips when I would kiss its whiteness.Oh! so you pout! Why make that full-blown roseInto a bud again?

Lara.

And so they should be, dear,

Were I Aladdin, and had slaves o' the lamp

To fetch me ingots. Why, then, Beatrice,

All Persia's turquoise-quarries should be yours,

Although your hand is heavy now with gems

That tear my lips when I would kiss its whiteness.

Oh! so you pout! Why make that full-blown rose

Into a bud again?

Beatrice.You love me not.

Beatrice.

You love me not.

Lara.A coquette's song.

Lara.

A coquette's song.

Beatrice.I sing it.

Beatrice.

I sing it.

Lara.A poor song.

Lara.

A poor song.

Beatrice.You love me not, or love me over-much,Which makes you jealous of the gems I wear!You do not deck me as becomes our state,For fear my grandeur should besiege the eyesOf Monte, Clari, Marcus, and the rest—A precious set! You're jealous, sir!

Beatrice.

You love me not, or love me over-much,

Which makes you jealous of the gems I wear!

You do not deck me as becomes our state,

For fear my grandeur should besiege the eyes

Of Monte, Clari, Marcus, and the rest—

A precious set! You're jealous, sir!

Lara.Not I.I love you.

Lara.

Not I.

I love you.

Beatrice.Why, that is as easy saidAs any three short words; takes no more breathTo say, "I hate you." What, sir, have I livedThree times four weeks your wedded loyal wife,And do not know your follies? I will wager(If I could trap his countship into this!)The rarest kisses I know how to giveAgainst the turquoise, that within a monthYou'll grow so jealous—and without a cause,Or with a reason thin as window glass—That you will ache to kill me!

Beatrice.

Why, that is as easy said

As any three short words; takes no more breath

To say, "I hate you." What, sir, have I lived

Three times four weeks your wedded loyal wife,

And do not know your follies? I will wager

(If I could trap his countship into this!)

The rarest kisses I know how to give

Against the turquoise, that within a month

You'll grow so jealous—and without a cause,

Or with a reason thin as window glass—

That you will ache to kill me!

Lara.Will you so?And I—let us clasp hands and kiss on it.

Lara.

Will you so?

And I—let us clasp hands and kiss on it.

Beatrice.Clasp hands, Sir Trustful; but not kiss—nay, nay!I will not pay my forfeit till I lose.

Beatrice.

Clasp hands, Sir Trustful; but not kiss—nay, nay!

I will not pay my forfeit till I lose.

Lara.And I'll not lose the forfeit.

Lara.

And I'll not lose the forfeit.

Beatrice.We shall see.

Beatrice.

We shall see.

[ExitBeatrice.

[ExitBeatrice.

Lara.She has as many fancies as the windWhich now, like slumber, lies 'mong spicy isles,Then suddenly blows white furrows in the sea!Lovely and dangerous is my leopardess.To-day, low-lying at my feet; to-morrow,With great eyes flashing, threatening doleful death—With strokes like velvet! She's no common clay,But fire and dew and marble. I'll not throwSo rare a wonder in the lap o' the world!Jealous? I am not jealous—though they saySome sorts of love breed jealousy. And yet,I would I had not wagered; it impliesDoubt. If I doubted? Pshaw! I'll walk awhileAnd let the cool air fan me. 'Twas not wise.'Tis only Folly with its cap and bellsCan jest with sad things. She seemed earnest, too.What if, to pique me, she should overstepThe pale of modesty, and give bold eyes(I could not bear that, nay, not even that!)To Marc or Claudian? Why, such things have beenAnd no sin dreamed of. I will watch her close.There, now, I wrong her.

Lara.

She has as many fancies as the wind

Which now, like slumber, lies 'mong spicy isles,

Then suddenly blows white furrows in the sea!

Lovely and dangerous is my leopardess.

To-day, low-lying at my feet; to-morrow,

With great eyes flashing, threatening doleful death—

With strokes like velvet! She's no common clay,

But fire and dew and marble. I'll not throw

So rare a wonder in the lap o' the world!

Jealous? I am not jealous—though they say

Some sorts of love breed jealousy. And yet,

I would I had not wagered; it implies

Doubt. If I doubted? Pshaw! I'll walk awhile

And let the cool air fan me. 'Twas not wise.

'Tis only Folly with its cap and bells

Can jest with sad things. She seemed earnest, too.

What if, to pique me, she should overstep

The pale of modesty, and give bold eyes

(I could not bear that, nay, not even that!)

To Marc or Claudian? Why, such things have been

And no sin dreamed of. I will watch her close.

There, now, I wrong her.

Yet if she,To win the turquoise of me, if she should—O cursèd jewels! Would that they were hungAbout the glistening neck of some mermaidA thousand fathoms underneath the sea![APagecrosses the garden.That page again! 'Tis twice within the weekThe supple-waisted, pretty-ankled knaveHas crossed my garden at this self-same hour,Trolling a canzonetta with an airAs if he owned the villa. Why, the fop!He might have doffed his bonnet as he passed.I'll teach him better if he comes again.What does he at the villa? O! perchanceHe comes in the evening when his master's out,To lisp soft romance in the ready earOf Beatrice's dressing-maid; but thenShe has one lover. Now I think she's two:This gaudy popinjay would make the third,And that's too many for an honest girl!I'll ask the Countess—no, I'll not do that;She'd laugh at me; and vow by the MadonnaThis varlet was some noble in disguise,Seeking her favor. Then I'd let the lightOf heaven through his doublet—I would—yes,That is, I would, were I a jealous man:But then I'm not.

Yet if she,

To win the turquoise of me, if she should—

O cursèd jewels! Would that they were hung

About the glistening neck of some mermaid

A thousand fathoms underneath the sea!

[APagecrosses the garden.

That page again! 'Tis twice within the week

The supple-waisted, pretty-ankled knave

Has crossed my garden at this self-same hour,

Trolling a canzonetta with an air

As if he owned the villa. Why, the fop!

He might have doffed his bonnet as he passed.

I'll teach him better if he comes again.

What does he at the villa? O! perchance

He comes in the evening when his master's out,

To lisp soft romance in the ready ear

Of Beatrice's dressing-maid; but then

She has one lover. Now I think she's two:

This gaudy popinjay would make the third,

And that's too many for an honest girl!

I'll ask the Countess—no, I'll not do that;

She'd laugh at me; and vow by the Madonna

This varlet was some noble in disguise,

Seeking her favor. Then I'd let the light

Of heaven through his doublet—I would—yes,

That is, I would, were I a jealous man:

But then I'm not.

When he comes out againI'll stop him, question him, and know the truth.I cannot sit in the garden of a nightBut he glides by me in his jaunty dress,Like a fantastic phantom!—never looksTo the right nor left, but passes gayly on,As if I were a statue. Soft, he comes!I'll make him speak, or kill him; then, indeed,It were unreasonable to ask it. Soh!I'll speak him gently at the first, and then—

When he comes out again

I'll stop him, question him, and know the truth.

I cannot sit in the garden of a night

But he glides by me in his jaunty dress,

Like a fantastic phantom!—never looks

To the right nor left, but passes gayly on,

As if I were a statue. Soft, he comes!

I'll make him speak, or kill him; then, indeed,

It were unreasonable to ask it. Soh!

I'll speak him gently at the first, and then—

ThePageenters by a gate in the villa-garden, and walks past theCount.

ThePageenters by a gate in the villa-garden, and walks past the

Count.

Ho! pretty page, who owns you?

Ho! pretty page, who owns you?

Page.No one now.Once Signor Juan, but I am his no more.

Page.

No one now.

Once Signor Juan, but I am his no more.

Lara.What, then, you stole from him?

Lara.

What, then, you stole from him?

Page.O! no, sir, no.He had so many intrigues on his hands,There was no sleep for me nor night nor day.Such carrying of love-favors and pink notes!He's gone abroad now, to break other heartsAnd so I left him.

Page.

O! no, sir, no.

He had so many intrigues on his hands,

There was no sleep for me nor night nor day.

Such carrying of love-favors and pink notes!

He's gone abroad now, to break other hearts

And so I left him.

Lara.A frank knave.

Lara.

A frank knave.

Page.To-nightI've done his latest bidding—

Page.

To-night

I've done his latest bidding—

Lara.As you should—

Lara.

As you should—

Page.A duty wed with pleasure—'twas to takeA message to a countess all forlorn,In yonder villa.

Page.

A duty wed with pleasure—'twas to take

A message to a countess all forlorn,

In yonder villa.

Lara. [aside].Why! that villa's mine!A message to a countess all forlorn?In yonder villa?

Lara. [aside].

Why! that villa's mine!

A message to a countess all forlorn?

In yonder villa?

Page.Ay, sir. You can seeThe portico among the mulberries,Just to the left, there.

Page.

Ay, sir. You can see

The portico among the mulberries,

Just to the left, there.

Lara.Ay, I see, I see.A pretty villa. And the lady's name?

Lara.

Ay, I see, I see.

A pretty villa. And the lady's name?

Page.The lady's name, sir?

Page.

The lady's name, sir?

Lara.Ay, the lady's name.

Lara.

Ay, the lady's name.

Page.O! that's a secret which I cannot tell.

Page.

O! that's a secret which I cannot tell.

Lara.No? but you shall, though, or I'll strangle you!In my strong hands your slender neck would snapLike a fragile pipe-stem.

Lara.

No? but you shall, though, or I'll strangle you!

In my strong hands your slender neck would snap

Like a fragile pipe-stem.

Page.You are choking me!O! loose your grasp, sir!

Page.

You are choking me!

O! loose your grasp, sir!

Lara.Then the name! the name!

Lara.

Then the name! the name!

Page.Countess of Lara.

Page.

Countess of Lara.

Lara.Not her dressing-maid?

Lara.

Not her dressing-maid?

Page.No, no, I said the mistress, not the maid.

Page.

No, no, I said the mistress, not the maid.

Lara.And then you lied. I never saw two eyesSo wide and frank but they'd a pliant tongueTo shape a lie for them. Say you are false!Tell me you lie, and I will make you rich,I'll stuff your cap with ducats twice a year.

Lara.

And then you lied. I never saw two eyes

So wide and frank but they'd a pliant tongue

To shape a lie for them. Say you are false!

Tell me you lie, and I will make you rich,

I'll stuff your cap with ducats twice a year.

Page.Well, then—I lie.

Page.

Well, then—I lie.

Lara.Ay, now you lie, indeed!I see it in the cunning of your eyes;Night cannot hide the Satan leering there.Only a little lingering fear of heavenHolds me from dirking you between the ribs!

Lara.

Ay, now you lie, indeed!

I see it in the cunning of your eyes;

Night cannot hide the Satan leering there.

Only a little lingering fear of heaven

Holds me from dirking you between the ribs!

Page.What would you have? I will say nothing, then.

Page.

What would you have? I will say nothing, then.

Lara.Say everything, and end it! Here is gold.You brought a billet to the Countess—well?What said the billet?

Lara.

Say everything, and end it! Here is gold.

You brought a billet to the Countess—well?

What said the billet?

Page.Take away your hand.And, by St. Mary, I will tell you all.There, now, I breathe. You will not harm me, sir?Stand six yards off, or I will not a word.It seems the Countess promised Signor JuanA set of turquoise—

Page.

Take away your hand.

And, by St. Mary, I will tell you all.

There, now, I breathe. You will not harm me, sir?

Stand six yards off, or I will not a word.

It seems the Countess promised Signor Juan

A set of turquoise—

Lara.Turquoise? Ha! that's well.

Lara.

Turquoise? Ha! that's well.

Page.Just so—wherewith my master was to paySome gaming debts; but yester-night the cardsTumbled a golden mountain at his feet;And ere he sailed, this morning, Signor JuanGave me a perfumed, amber-tinted note,For Countess Lara, which, with some adieus,Craved her remembrance morning, noon, and night;Her prayers while gone, her smiles when he returned;Then told his sudden fortune with the cards,And bade her keep the jewels. That is all.

Page.

Just so—wherewith my master was to pay

Some gaming debts; but yester-night the cards

Tumbled a golden mountain at his feet;

And ere he sailed, this morning, Signor Juan

Gave me a perfumed, amber-tinted note,

For Countess Lara, which, with some adieus,

Craved her remembrance morning, noon, and night;

Her prayers while gone, her smiles when he returned;

Then told his sudden fortune with the cards,

And bade her keep the jewels. That is all.

Lara.All? Is that all? 'T has only cracked my heart!A heart, I know, of little, little worth—An ill-cut ruby, scarred and scratched before,But now quite broken! I have no heart, then;Men should not have, when they are wronged like this.Out of my sight, thou demon of bad news!

Lara.

All? Is that all? 'T has only cracked my heart!

A heart, I know, of little, little worth—

An ill-cut ruby, scarred and scratched before,

But now quite broken! I have no heart, then;

Men should not have, when they are wronged like this.

Out of my sight, thou demon of bad news!

[ExitLara.

[ExitLara.

Page.I did not think 't would work on him like that.How pale he grew! Alack! I fear some illWill come of this. I'll to the Countess now,And warn her of his madness.[ExitPage.

Page.

I did not think 't would work on him like that.

How pale he grew! Alack! I fear some ill

Will come of this. I'll to the Countess now,

And warn her of his madness.

[ExitPage.

Scene: Beatrice's chamber. Beatrice sits on a fauteuil in the attitude of listening.

Scene: Beatrice's chamber. Beatrice sits on a fauteuil in the attitude of listening.

Beatrice.Hist! that's his step. Miriam, place the lightsFarther away; keep you behind the screen,Breathing no louder than a lily does;For if you stir or laugh 'twill ruin all.Miriam.Laugh! I am faint with terror.Beatrice.Then be still.Move not for worlds until I touch the bell,Then do the thing I told you. Hush! his stepSounds in the corridor, and I'm asleep!Laraenters. He approaches within a few yards ofBeatrice,pauses, and looks at her.Lara.Asleep!—and guilt can slumber! Guilt can lieDown-lidded and soft-breathed like innocence!Hath dreams as sweet as childhood's—who can tell?Were I an artist, and did wish to paintA devil to perfection, I'd not limnA hornèd monster, with a leprous skin,Red-hot from Pandemonium—not I.But with my delicatest tints, I'd paintA woman in the glamour of her youth,All garmented with loveliness and mystery!How fair she is! Her beauty glides betweenMe and my purpose, like a pleading angel.[Beatricesighs.Her dream's broke, like a bubble, in a sigh.She'll waken soon, and that—that must not be!I could not kill her if she looked at me.I loved her, loved her, by the saints, I did—I trust she prayed before she fell asleep!Beatrice[springing up].So, you are come—your dagger in your hand?Your lips compressed and blanchèd, and your hairTumbled wildly all about your eyes,Like a river-god's? O love, you frighten me!And you are trembling. Tell me what this means.Lara.Oh! nothing, nothing—I did think to writeA note to Juan, to Signor Juan, my friend(Your cousin and my honorable friend);But finding neither ink nor paper here,I thought to scratch it with my dagger's pointUpon your bosom, Madam! That is all.Beatrice.You've lost your senses!Lara.Madam, no, I've found 'em!Beatrice.Then lose them quickly, and be what you were.Lara.I was a fool, a dupe—a happy dupe.You should have kept me in my ignorance;For wisdom makes us wretched, king and clown.Countess of Lara, you are false to me!Beatrice.Now, by the saints—Lara.Now, by the saints, you are!Beatrice.Upon my honor—Lara.On your honor? fie!Swear by the ocean's feathery froth, for thatIs not so light a substance.Beatrice.Hear me, love!Lara.Lie to that marble Io! I am sickTo the heart with lying.Beatrice.You've the ear-ache, sir,Got with too much believing.Lara.Beatrice,I came to kill you.Beatrice.Kiss me, Count, you mean!Lara.If killing you be kissing you, why yes.Beatrice. Ho! come not near me with such threatening looks,Stand back there, if you love me, or have loved![AsLaraadvances,Beatriceretreats to the table and rings a small hand-bell.Miriam,in the dress of a page, enters from behind the screen and steps between them.Lara[starting back].The Page? now, curse him! What? no! Miriam?Hold! 'twas at twilight, in the villa-garden,At dusk, too, on the road to Mantua;But here the light falls on you, man or maid!Stop now; my brain's bewildered. Stand you there,And let me touch you with incredulous hands!Wait till I come, nor vanish like a ghost.If this be Juan's page, why, where is Miriam?If this be Miriam, where's—by all the saints,I have been tricked!Miriam[laughing].By two saints, with your leave!Lara.The happiest fool in Italy, for my age!And all the damning tales you fed me with,You Sprite of Twilight, Imp of the old Moon!—Miriam[bowing].Were arrant lies as ever woman told;And though not mine, I claim the price for them—This cap stuffed full of ducats twice a year!Lara.A trap! a trap that only caught a fool!So thin a plot, I might have seen through it.I've lost my reason!Miriam.And your ducats!Beatrice.AndA certain set of turquoise at Malan's!

Beatrice.Hist! that's his step. Miriam, place the lightsFarther away; keep you behind the screen,Breathing no louder than a lily does;For if you stir or laugh 'twill ruin all.

Beatrice.

Hist! that's his step. Miriam, place the lights

Farther away; keep you behind the screen,

Breathing no louder than a lily does;

For if you stir or laugh 'twill ruin all.

Miriam.Laugh! I am faint with terror.

Miriam.

Laugh! I am faint with terror.

Beatrice.Then be still.Move not for worlds until I touch the bell,Then do the thing I told you. Hush! his stepSounds in the corridor, and I'm asleep!

Beatrice.

Then be still.

Move not for worlds until I touch the bell,

Then do the thing I told you. Hush! his step

Sounds in the corridor, and I'm asleep!

Laraenters. He approaches within a few yards ofBeatrice,pauses, and looks at her.

Laraenters. He approaches within a few yards ofBeatrice,pauses, and looks at her.

Lara.Asleep!—and guilt can slumber! Guilt can lieDown-lidded and soft-breathed like innocence!Hath dreams as sweet as childhood's—who can tell?Were I an artist, and did wish to paintA devil to perfection, I'd not limnA hornèd monster, with a leprous skin,Red-hot from Pandemonium—not I.But with my delicatest tints, I'd paintA woman in the glamour of her youth,All garmented with loveliness and mystery!How fair she is! Her beauty glides betweenMe and my purpose, like a pleading angel.

Lara.

Asleep!—and guilt can slumber! Guilt can lie

Down-lidded and soft-breathed like innocence!

Hath dreams as sweet as childhood's—who can tell?

Were I an artist, and did wish to paint

A devil to perfection, I'd not limn

A hornèd monster, with a leprous skin,

Red-hot from Pandemonium—not I.

But with my delicatest tints, I'd paint

A woman in the glamour of her youth,

All garmented with loveliness and mystery!

How fair she is! Her beauty glides between

Me and my purpose, like a pleading angel.

[Beatricesighs.

[Beatricesighs.

Her dream's broke, like a bubble, in a sigh.She'll waken soon, and that—that must not be!I could not kill her if she looked at me.I loved her, loved her, by the saints, I did—I trust she prayed before she fell asleep!

Her dream's broke, like a bubble, in a sigh.

She'll waken soon, and that—that must not be!

I could not kill her if she looked at me.

I loved her, loved her, by the saints, I did—

I trust she prayed before she fell asleep!

Beatrice[springing up].So, you are come—your dagger in your hand?Your lips compressed and blanchèd, and your hairTumbled wildly all about your eyes,Like a river-god's? O love, you frighten me!And you are trembling. Tell me what this means.

Beatrice[springing up].

So, you are come—your dagger in your hand?

Your lips compressed and blanchèd, and your hair

Tumbled wildly all about your eyes,

Like a river-god's? O love, you frighten me!

And you are trembling. Tell me what this means.

Lara.Oh! nothing, nothing—I did think to writeA note to Juan, to Signor Juan, my friend(Your cousin and my honorable friend);But finding neither ink nor paper here,I thought to scratch it with my dagger's pointUpon your bosom, Madam! That is all.

Lara.

Oh! nothing, nothing—I did think to write

A note to Juan, to Signor Juan, my friend

(Your cousin and my honorable friend);

But finding neither ink nor paper here,

I thought to scratch it with my dagger's point

Upon your bosom, Madam! That is all.

Beatrice.You've lost your senses!

Beatrice.

You've lost your senses!

Lara.Madam, no, I've found 'em!

Lara.

Madam, no, I've found 'em!

Beatrice.Then lose them quickly, and be what you were.

Beatrice.

Then lose them quickly, and be what you were.

Lara.I was a fool, a dupe—a happy dupe.You should have kept me in my ignorance;For wisdom makes us wretched, king and clown.Countess of Lara, you are false to me!

Lara.

I was a fool, a dupe—a happy dupe.

You should have kept me in my ignorance;

For wisdom makes us wretched, king and clown.

Countess of Lara, you are false to me!

Beatrice.Now, by the saints—

Beatrice.

Now, by the saints—

Lara.Now, by the saints, you are!

Lara.

Now, by the saints, you are!

Beatrice.Upon my honor—

Beatrice.

Upon my honor—

Lara.On your honor? fie!Swear by the ocean's feathery froth, for thatIs not so light a substance.

Lara.

On your honor? fie!

Swear by the ocean's feathery froth, for that

Is not so light a substance.

Beatrice.Hear me, love!

Beatrice.

Hear me, love!

Lara.Lie to that marble Io! I am sickTo the heart with lying.

Lara.

Lie to that marble Io! I am sick

To the heart with lying.

Beatrice.You've the ear-ache, sir,Got with too much believing.

Beatrice.

You've the ear-ache, sir,

Got with too much believing.

Lara.Beatrice,I came to kill you.

Lara.

Beatrice,

I came to kill you.

Beatrice.Kiss me, Count, you mean!

Beatrice.

Kiss me, Count, you mean!

Lara.If killing you be kissing you, why yes.

Lara.

If killing you be kissing you, why yes.

Beatrice. Ho! come not near me with such threatening looks,Stand back there, if you love me, or have loved!

Beatrice. Ho! come not near me with such threatening looks,

Stand back there, if you love me, or have loved!

[AsLaraadvances,Beatriceretreats to the table and rings a small hand-bell.Miriam,in the dress of a page, enters from behind the screen and steps between them.

[AsLaraadvances,Beatriceretreats to the table and rings a small hand-bell.Miriam,in the dress of a page, enters from behind the screen and steps between them.

Lara[starting back].The Page? now, curse him! What? no! Miriam?Hold! 'twas at twilight, in the villa-garden,At dusk, too, on the road to Mantua;But here the light falls on you, man or maid!Stop now; my brain's bewildered. Stand you there,And let me touch you with incredulous hands!Wait till I come, nor vanish like a ghost.If this be Juan's page, why, where is Miriam?If this be Miriam, where's—by all the saints,I have been tricked!

Lara[starting back].

The Page? now, curse him! What? no! Miriam?

Hold! 'twas at twilight, in the villa-garden,

At dusk, too, on the road to Mantua;

But here the light falls on you, man or maid!

Stop now; my brain's bewildered. Stand you there,

And let me touch you with incredulous hands!

Wait till I come, nor vanish like a ghost.

If this be Juan's page, why, where is Miriam?

If this be Miriam, where's—by all the saints,

I have been tricked!

Miriam[laughing].By two saints, with your leave!

Miriam[laughing].

By two saints, with your leave!

Lara.The happiest fool in Italy, for my age!And all the damning tales you fed me with,You Sprite of Twilight, Imp of the old Moon!—

Lara.

The happiest fool in Italy, for my age!

And all the damning tales you fed me with,

You Sprite of Twilight, Imp of the old Moon!—

Miriam[bowing].Were arrant lies as ever woman told;And though not mine, I claim the price for them—This cap stuffed full of ducats twice a year!

Miriam[bowing].

Were arrant lies as ever woman told;

And though not mine, I claim the price for them—

This cap stuffed full of ducats twice a year!

Lara.A trap! a trap that only caught a fool!So thin a plot, I might have seen through it.I've lost my reason!

Lara.

A trap! a trap that only caught a fool!

So thin a plot, I might have seen through it.

I've lost my reason!

Miriam.And your ducats!

Miriam.

And your ducats!

Beatrice.AndA certain set of turquoise at Malan's!

Beatrice.

And

A certain set of turquoise at Malan's!

Characters: Hardcastle, hospitable and urbane, with a touch of humor in his nature; Marlow and Hastings who come from London to visit the Hardcastles; servants.Scene: Hardcastle's house. Young Marlow and Hastings have journeyed from London to the home of Mr. Hardcastle, an old family friend whom they have never seen. They are deceived into believing they are many miles from their destination when they really have arrived. They are told that Mr. Hardcastle's house is a public inn. This leads to much confusion. The genial Hardcastle is drilling his servants.

Characters: Hardcastle, hospitable and urbane, with a touch of humor in his nature; Marlow and Hastings who come from London to visit the Hardcastles; servants.

Scene: Hardcastle's house. Young Marlow and Hastings have journeyed from London to the home of Mr. Hardcastle, an old family friend whom they have never seen. They are deceived into believing they are many miles from their destination when they really have arrived. They are told that Mr. Hardcastle's house is a public inn. This leads to much confusion. The genial Hardcastle is drilling his servants.

EnterHardcastle,followed byDiggoryand three or four awkwardServants

Mr. H. Well, I hope you're perfect in the table exercise I have been teaching you these three days. You all know your posts and your places, and can show that you have been used to good company, without stirring from home?

All. Ay! ay!

Mr. H. When company comes, you are not to pop out and stare, and then run in again, like frightened rabbits in a warren.

All. No! no!

Mr. H. You, Diggory, whom I have taken from the barn, are to make a show at the side table; and you, Roger, whom I have advanced from the plough, are to place yourself behind my chair. But you're not to stand so, with your hands in your pockets. Take your hands from your pockets, Roger; and from your head, you blockhead you! See how Diggory carries his hands. They're a little too stiff, indeed, but that's no great matter.

Diggory. Ay, mind how I hold them. I learned to hold my hands this way, when I was upon drill for the militia. And so being upon drill——

Mr. H. You must not be so talkative, Diggory; you must be all attention to the guests. You must hear us talk, and not think of talking; you must see us drink, and not think of drinking; you must see us eat, and not think of eating.

Dig. By the laws, your worship, that's perfectly unpossible.

[Exeunt.

EnterServants,showing inMarlowandHastings

Serv. Welcome, gentlemen, very welcome. This way.

Hast. After the disappointments of the day, welcome once more, Charles, to the comforts of a clean room, and a good fire. Upon my word, a very well-looking house; antique, but creditable.

Mar. The usual fate of a large mansion. Having first ruined the master by good housekeeping, it at last comes to levy contributions as an inn.

Hast. As you say, we passengers are to be taxed to pay all these fineries. I have often seen a good side-board, or a marble chimney-piece, though not actually put in the bill, inflame the bill confoundedly.

Mar. Travelers, George, must pay in all places. The only difference is, that in good inns you pay dearly for luxuries; in bad inns you are fleeced and starved.

EnterHardcastle

Mr. H. Gentlemen, once more you are heartily welcome. Which is Mr. Marlow? Sir, you're heartily welcome. It's not my way, you see, to receive my friends with my back to the fire. I like to give them a hearty reception in the old style at my gate. I like to see their horses and trunks taken care of.

Mar. [aside]. He has got our names from the servants already. [ToHardcastle.] We approve your caution and hospitality. [ToHastings.] I have been thinking, George, of changing our traveling dresses in the morning, I am grown confoundedly ashamed of mine.

Mr. H. [putting chairs and tables in order in background]. I beg, Mr. Marlow, you'll use no ceremony in this house.

Hast. I fancy, George, you're right; the first blow is half the battle. I intend opening the campaign with the white and gold.

Mr. H. Mr. Marlow—Mr. Hastings—gentlemen—pray be under no restraint in this house. This is Liberty Hall, gentlemen. You may do just as you please here.

Mar. Yet, George, if we open the campaign too fiercely at first, we may want ammunition before it is over. I think to reserve the embroidery to secure a retreat.

Mr. H. Your talking of a retreat, Mr. Marlow, puts me in mind of the Duke of Marlborough, when he went to besiege Denain. He first summoned the garrison—

Mar. Aye, and we'll summon your garrison, old boy.

Mr. H. He first summoned the garrison, which might consist of about five thousand men—

Hast. What a strange fellow is this!

Mr. H. I say, gentlemen, as I was telling you, he summoned the garrison, which might consist of about five thousand men—

Mar. Well, but suppose—

Mr. H. Which might consist of about five thousand men, well appointed with stores, ammunition, and other implements of war. Now, says the Duke of Marlborough to George Brooks, that stood next to him—you must have heard of George Brooks—I'll pawn my dukedom, says he, but I take that garrison without spilling a drop of blood. So—

Mar. What, my good friend, if you give us a glass of punch in the meantime, it would help us to carry on the siege with vigor.

Mr. H. Punch, sir?

Mar. Yes, sir, punch. A glass of warm punch, after our journey, will be comfortable. This is Liberty Hall, you know.

Mr. H. Here's a cup, sir.

Mar. [aside]. So this fellow, in his Liberty Hall, will only let us have just what he pleases.

Mr. H. I hope you'll find it to your mind. I have prepared it with my own hands, and I believe you'll own the ingredients are tolerable. Will you be so good as to pledge me, sir? Here, Mr. Marlow, here is to our better acquaintance. [Drinks.]

Mar. [aside]. A very impudent fellow, this! but he's a character, and I'll humor him a little. [Aloud.] Sir, my service to you. [Drinks.]

Hast. [aside]. I see this fellow wants to give us his company, and forgets that he's an inn-keeper before he has learned to be a gentleman.

Mar.From the excellence of your cup, my old friend, I suppose you have a good deal of business in this part of the country. Warm work, now and then, at elections, I suppose?

Mr. H.No, sir; I have long given that work over.

Hast.So, then, you have no turn for politics, I find?

Mr. H.Why, no, sir; there was a time, indeed, when I fretted myself about the mistakes of government, like other people; but finding myself every day grow more angry, and the government no better, I left it to mend itself. Sir, my service to you. [Drinks.]

Hast.So that, with eating above stairs, and drinking below, with receiving your friends within, amusing them without, you lead a good, pleasant, bustling life of it.

Mr. H.I do stir about a great deal, that's certain. Half the differences of the parish are adjusted in this very parlor.

Mar.And you have an argument in your cup, old gentleman, better than any in Westminster Hall.

Mr. H.Aye, young gentleman, that, and a little philosophy.

Mar.[aside]. Well, this is the first time I ever heard of an inn-keeper's philosophy.

Hast.So, then, like an experienced general, you attack them on every quarter. If you find their reason manageable you attack it with your philosophy; if you find they have no reason, you attack them with this. Here's your health, my philosopher.

Mr. H.Good, very good, thank you; ha! ha! Your generalship puts me in mind of Prince Eugene, when he fought the Turks at the battle of Belgrade. You shall hear.

Mar.Instead of the battle of Belgrade, I think it's almost time to talk about supper. What has your philosophy got in the house for supper?

Mr. H.For supper, sir? Was ever such a request made to a man in his own house?

Mar.Yes, sir, supper, sir; I begin to feel an appetite. I shall make devilish work to-night in the larder, I promise you.

Mr. H.Such a brazen dog sure never my eyes beheld. Why, really, sir, as for supper, I can't well tell. My Dorothy and the cook-maid settle these things between them. I leave these kind of things entirely to them.

Mar.You do, do you?

Mr. H.Entirely. By-the-bye, I believe they are in actual consultation upon what's for supper this moment in the kitchen.

Mar.Then I beg they'll admit me as one of their privy council. It's a way I have got. When I travel, I always choose to regulate my own supper. Let the cook be called. No offense, I hope, sir.

Mr. H.O, no, sir, none in the least; yet I don't know how; our Bridget, the cook-maid, is not very communicative upon these occasions. Should we send for her she might scold us all out of the house.

Hast.Let's see the list of the larder, then. I ask it as a favor. I always match my appetite to my bill of fare.

Mar.Sir, he's very right, and it's my way too.

Mr. H.Sir, you have a right to command here. Here, Roger, bring us the bill of fare for to-night's supper—I believe it's drawn out. Your manner, Mr. Hastings, puts me in mind of my uncle, Colonel Gunthorp. It was a saying of his, that no man was sure of his supper till he had eaten it.

EnterRoger,with a bill of fare

Hast.[aside]. All upon the high ropes! His uncle a colonel—we shall soon hear of his mother being a justice of the peace. But let's hear the bill of fare. [ExitRoger.

Mar.What's here? For the first course, for the second course, for the dessert! The devil, sir! do you think we have brought down the whole joiner's company, or the corporation of Bedford? two or three little things, clean and comfortable, will do.

Hast.But let's hear it.

Mar."For the first course at the top, a pig's face and prune sauce."

Hast.Out with your pig, I say.

Mar.Out with your prune sauce, say I.

Mr. H.And yet, gentlemen, to men that are hungry, pig, with prune sauce, is very good eating. But, gentlemen, you are my guests, make what alterations you please. Is there anything else you wish to retrench or alter, gentlemen?

Mar.Why, really, sir, your bill of fare is so exquisite, that any one part of it is full as good as another. Send us what you please. So much for supper. And now to see that our beds are aired, and luggage properly taken care of.

Mr. H.I entreat you'll leave all that to me. You shall not stir a step.

Mar.Leave that to you? I protest, sir. You must excuse me, I always look to these things myself.

Mr. H.I must insist, sir, you'll make yourself easy on that head.

Mar.You see I'm resolved on it. [Aside.] A very troublesome fellow this as ever I met with.

Mr. H.Well, sir, I'm resolved at least to attend you.

[ExeuntMarlowandHastings.

[Aside.] This may be modern modesty, but I never saw anything look so like old-fashioned impudence. What could my old friend Sir Charles Marlow mean by recommending his son as the modestest young man in town! To me he appears the most impudent piece of brass that ever spoke with a tongue!

[ExitHardcastle.

Characters: Pygmalion, an Athenian sculptor; Cynisca, his wife; Galatea, an animated statue.Scene: Pygmalion's studio; several classical statues are placed about the room; at the back a cabinet containing a statue of Galatea, before which curtains are drawn concealing the statue.

Characters: Pygmalion, an Athenian sculptor; Cynisca, his wife; Galatea, an animated statue.

Scene: Pygmalion's studio; several classical statues are placed about the room; at the back a cabinet containing a statue of Galatea, before which curtains are drawn concealing the statue.

Pyg.It all but breathes—therefore it talks aloud!It all but moves—therefore it walks and runs!It all but lives, and therefore it is life!No, no, my love, the thing is cold, dull stone,Shaped to a certain form, but still dull stone,The lifeless, senseless mockery of life.The gods make life, I can make only death!Why, my Cynisca, though I stand so well,The merest cut-throat, when he plies his trade,Makes better death than I with all my skill!Cyn.Hush, my Pygmalion! the gods are good,And they have made thee nearer unto themThan other men; this is ingratitude!Pyg.Not so; has not a monarch's second sonMore cause for anger that he lacks a throneThan he whose lot is cast in slavery?Cyn.Not much more cause, perhaps, but more excuse.Now I must go.Pyg.So soon, and for so long?Cyn.One day, 'twill quickly pass away!Pyg.With those who measure time, by almanacs, no doubt,But not with him who knows no days save thoseBorn of the sunlight of Cynisca's eyes;It will be night with me till she returns.Cyn.Then sleep it through, Pygmalion! But stay,Thou shalt not pass the weary hours alone;Now mark thou this—while I'm away from thee,There stands my only representative;[Withdrawing curtains.She is my proxy, and I charge you, sir,Be faithful unto her as unto me!Into her quietly attentive earPour all thy treasures of hyperbole,And give thy nimble tongue full license, lestDisuse should rust its glib machinery;[Advancing.If thoughts of love should haply crowd on thee,There stands my other self, tell them to her,She'll listen well; nay, that's ungenerous,For she is I, yet lovelier than I,And hath no temper, sir, and hath no tongue;Thou hast thy license—make good use of it.Already I'm half jealous—there![Draws curtain concealing statue.It's gone.The thing is but a statue after all,And I am safe in leaving thee with her;Farewell, Pygmalion, till I return.[Exit.Pyg."The thing is but a statue after all!"Cynisca little thought that in those wordsShe touched 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 meTo say what kernel lies within its shell;It shall contain a man, a woman, a 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 makeAre straight limbed fellows, each magnificentIn 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 men,And yet infinitesimally small!"Galatea[from behind curtain].Pygmalion!Pyg.Who called?Gal.Pygmalion![Pygmaliontears away curtain and, discoversGalateaalive.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 nowA living, breathing woman, excellentIn every attribute of womankind.Gal.Where am I, then?Pyg.Why, born into the worldBy 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 itselfIs one of many, many thousand grovesIn 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 modeled you in clay—my artisansThen roughed 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 is this life?Pyg.It is.Gal.And not long sinceI was a cold, dull stone. I recollectThat by some means I knew that I was stone,That was the first dull gleam of conscience;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 surrounded me, and I, alone,That pedestal—that curtain—then a voiceThat called on Galatea! At that word,Which seemed to shake my marble to the core,That which was dim before, came evident.Sounds, that had hummed around me, indistinct,Vague, meaningless—seemed to resolve themselvesInto a language I could understand;I felt my frame pervaded with a glowThat seemed to thaw my marble into flesh;Its cold hard substance throbbed with active life,My limbs grew supple, and I moved—I lived!Lived in the ecstasy of new born life;Lived in the love of him that fashioned me;Lived in a thousand tangled thoughts of hope,Love, gratitude, thoughts that resolved themselvesInto one word, that word, Pygmalion![Kneels.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 framed,To wait on woman, and protect her fromAll 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 might live!Gal.I'm glad I am a woman.[He leads her down.Pyg.So am I.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 manWhose word or deed gave Galatea pain.Gal.Then there are other men in this strange world?Pyg.There are indeed.Gal.And other women?Pyg.Yes;Though for the moment I'd forgotten it;Yes, other women.Gal.And for all of theseMen work, and toil, and mourn, and weep and fight?Pyg.It is man's duty, if he's called upon,To fight for all; he works for those he loves.Gal.Then by thy works I know thou lovest me.Pyg.Indeed, I love thee!Gal.With what kind of love?Pyg.I love thee as a sculptor does his work![Aside.] There is 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 loveThat I shall run some risk in dealing with.Gal.And why, Pygmalion?Pyg.Such love as thineA man may not receive, except indeedFrom 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 meFor unreflecting and presumptuous prayer!I prayed that thou shouldst live. I have my prayer,And now I see the fearful consequenceThat 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!Gal.How beautiful! I am very glad to knowThat both our tastes agree so perfectly;Why, my Pygmalion, I did not thinkThat aught could be more beautiful than thou,Till I behold 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 innocenceThou sayest things that others would reprove.Gal.Indeed, Pygmalion; then it is wrongTo think that one is exquisitely fair?Pyg.Well, Galatea, it's a sentimentThat every 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 theeI took her features—lovely in themselves—And in the marble made them lovelier still.Gal.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 that I am lovelier than she.And am I better?Pyg.That I do not know.Gal.Then she has faults.Pyg.Very few indeed;Mere trivial blemishes, that serve to showThat she and I are of one common kin.I love her all the better for such faults.Gal.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 sinTo sit as lovingly as we sit now.Gal.Is sin so pleasant? If to sit and talkAs 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 nowThe kind of fault that only serves to showThat 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'm 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 pleased she'll be to know when she returns,That there was some one here to fill her place.Pyg.Yes, I should say she'd be extremely pleased.Gal.Why, there is something in thy voice which saysThat thou art jesting. Is it possibleTo 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.Teach me the art.Pyg.The art will come in time.My wife will not be pleased; there—that's the truth.Gal.I do not think that I shall like thy wife.Tell me more of her.Pyg.Well—Gal.What did she sayWhen last she left thee?Pyg.Humph! Well, let me see;Oh! true, she gave thee to me as my wife,—Her solitary representative;She feared I should be lonely till she came.And counseled me, if thoughts of love should come,To speak those thoughts to thee, as I am wontTo speak to her.Gal.That's right.Pyg.But when she spokeThou wast a stone, now thou art flesh and blood,Which makes a difference.Gal.It's a strange world;A woman loves her husband very much,And cannot brook that I should love him too;She fears he will be lonely till she comes,And will not let me cheer his loneliness;She bids him breathe his love to senseless stone,And when that stone is brought to life—be dumb!It's a strange world, I cannot fathom it.Pyg. [aside].Let me be brave and put an end to this.Come Galatea—till my wife returns,My sister shall provide thee with a home;Her house is close at hand.Gal.Send me not hencePygmalion; let me stay.Pyg.It may not be.Come, Galatea, we shall meet again.Gal.Do with me as thou wilt, Pygmalion!But we shall meet again?—and very soon?Pyg.Yes, very soon.Gal.And when thy wife returns,She'll let me stay with thee?Pyg.I do not know.[Aside]. Why should I hide the truth from her [aloud] alas!I may not see thee then.Gal.Pygmalion!What fearful words are these?Pyg.The bitter truth.I may not love thee; I must send thee hence.Gal.Recall those words, Pygmalion, my love!Was it for this that heaven gave me life?Pygmalion, have mercy on me; see,I am thy work, thou hast created me;The gods have sent me to thee. I am thine!Thine! only, and unalterably thine!This is the thought with which my soul is charged.Thou tellest me of one who claims thy love,That thou hast love for her alone. Alas!I do not know these things; I only knowThat heaven has sent me here to be with thee.Thou tellest me of duty to thy wife,Of vows that thou wilt love but her. Alas!I do not know these things; I only knowThat heaven, who sent me here, has given meOne all absorbing duty to discharge—To love thee, and to make thee love again.

Pyg.It all but breathes—therefore it talks aloud!It all but moves—therefore it walks and runs!It all but lives, and therefore it is life!No, no, my love, the thing is cold, dull stone,Shaped to a certain form, but still dull stone,The lifeless, senseless mockery of life.The gods make life, I can make only death!Why, my Cynisca, though I stand so well,The merest cut-throat, when he plies his trade,Makes better death than I with all my skill!

Pyg.

It all but breathes—therefore it talks aloud!

It all but moves—therefore it walks and runs!

It all but lives, and therefore it is life!

No, no, my love, the thing is cold, dull stone,

Shaped to a certain form, but still dull stone,

The lifeless, senseless mockery of life.

The gods make life, I can make only death!

Why, my Cynisca, though I stand so well,

The merest cut-throat, when he plies his trade,

Makes better death than I with all my skill!

Cyn.Hush, my Pygmalion! the gods are good,And they have made thee nearer unto themThan other men; this is ingratitude!

Cyn.

Hush, my Pygmalion! the gods are good,

And they have made thee nearer unto them

Than other men; this is ingratitude!

Pyg.Not so; has not a monarch's second sonMore cause for anger that he lacks a throneThan he whose lot is cast in slavery?

Pyg.

Not so; has not a monarch's second son

More cause for anger that he lacks a throne

Than he whose lot is cast in slavery?

Cyn.Not much more cause, perhaps, but more excuse.Now I must go.

Cyn.

Not much more cause, perhaps, but more excuse.

Now I must go.

Pyg.So soon, and for so long?

Pyg.

So soon, and for so long?

Cyn.One day, 'twill quickly pass away!

Cyn.

One day, 'twill quickly pass away!

Pyg.With those who measure time, by almanacs, no doubt,But not with him who knows no days save thoseBorn of the sunlight of Cynisca's eyes;It will be night with me till she returns.

Pyg.

With those who measure time, by almanacs, no doubt,

But not with him who knows no days save those

Born of the sunlight of Cynisca's eyes;

It will be night with me till she returns.

Cyn.Then sleep it through, Pygmalion! But stay,Thou shalt not pass the weary hours alone;Now mark thou this—while I'm away from thee,There stands my only representative;[Withdrawing curtains.She is my proxy, and I charge you, sir,Be faithful unto her as unto me!Into her quietly attentive earPour all thy treasures of hyperbole,And give thy nimble tongue full license, lestDisuse should rust its glib machinery;[Advancing.If thoughts of love should haply crowd on thee,There stands my other self, tell them to her,She'll listen well; nay, that's ungenerous,For she is I, yet lovelier than I,And hath no temper, sir, and hath no tongue;Thou hast thy license—make good use of it.Already I'm half jealous—there![Draws curtain concealing statue.It's gone.The thing is but a statue after all,And I am safe in leaving thee with her;Farewell, Pygmalion, till I return.[Exit.

Cyn.

Then sleep it through, Pygmalion! But stay,

Thou shalt not pass the weary hours alone;

Now mark thou this—while I'm away from thee,

There stands my only representative;

[Withdrawing curtains.

She is my proxy, and I charge you, sir,

Be faithful unto her as unto me!

Into her quietly attentive ear

Pour all thy treasures of hyperbole,

And give thy nimble tongue full license, lest

Disuse should rust its glib machinery;

[Advancing.

If thoughts of love should haply crowd on thee,

There stands my other self, tell them to her,

She'll listen well; nay, that's ungenerous,

For she is I, yet lovelier than I,

And hath no temper, sir, and hath no tongue;

Thou hast thy license—make good use of it.

Already I'm half jealous—there!

[Draws curtain concealing statue.

It's gone.

The thing is but a statue after all,

And I am safe in leaving thee with her;

Farewell, Pygmalion, till I return.

[Exit.

Pyg."The thing is but a statue after all!"Cynisca little thought that in those wordsShe touched 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 meTo say what kernel lies within its shell;It shall contain a man, a woman, a 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 makeAre straight limbed fellows, each magnificentIn 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 men,And yet infinitesimally small!"

Pyg.

"The thing is but a statue after all!"

Cynisca little thought that in those words

She touched 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, a 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 limbed 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 men,

And yet infinitesimally small!"

Galatea[from behind curtain].Pygmalion!

Galatea[from behind curtain].

Pygmalion!

Pyg.Who called?

Pyg.

Who called?

Gal.Pygmalion!

Gal.

Pygmalion!

[Pygmaliontears away curtain and, discoversGalateaalive.

[Pygmaliontears away curtain and, discoversGalateaalive.

Pyg.Ye gods! It lives!

Pyg.

Ye gods! It lives!

Gal.Pygmalion!

Gal.

Pygmalion!

Pyg.It speaks!I have my prayer! my Galatea breathes!

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.

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.

Pyg.

Why, from yonder pedestal.

Gal.That pedestal! Ah, yes, I recollect.There was a time when it was part of me.

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 nowA living, breathing woman, excellentIn every attribute of womankind.

Pyg.

That time has passed forever, thou art now

A living, breathing woman, excellent

In every attribute of womankind.

Gal.Where am I, then?

Gal.

Where am I, then?

Pyg.Why, born into the worldBy miracle.

Pyg.

Why, born into the world

By miracle.

Gal.Is this the world?

Gal.

Is this the world?

Pyg.It is.

Pyg.

It is.

Gal.This room?

Gal.

This room?

Pyg.This room is portion of a house;The house stands in a grove, the grove itselfIs one of many, many thousand grovesIn Athens.

Pyg.

This room is portion of a house;

The house stands in a grove, the grove itself

Is one of many, many thousand groves

In Athens.

Gal.And is Athens then the world?

Gal.

And is Athens then the world?

Pyg.To an Athenian—Yes—

Pyg.

To an Athenian—Yes—

Gal.And I am one?

Gal.

And I am one?

Pyg.By birth and parentage, not by descent.

Pyg.

By birth and parentage, not by descent.

Gal.But how came I to be?

Gal.

But how came I to be?

Pyg.Well—let me see.Oh—you were quarried in Pentelicus;I modeled you in clay—my artisansThen roughed 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.

Pyg.

Well—let me see.

Oh—you were quarried in Pentelicus;

I modeled you in clay—my artisans

Then roughed 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 is this life?

Gal.

Then is this life?

Pyg.It is.

Pyg.

It is.

Gal.And not long sinceI was a cold, dull stone. I recollectThat by some means I knew that I was stone,That was the first dull gleam of conscience;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 surrounded me, and I, alone,That pedestal—that curtain—then a voiceThat called on Galatea! At that word,Which seemed to shake my marble to the core,That which was dim before, came evident.Sounds, that had hummed around me, indistinct,Vague, meaningless—seemed to resolve themselvesInto a language I could understand;I felt my frame pervaded with a glowThat seemed to thaw my marble into flesh;Its cold hard substance throbbed with active life,My limbs grew supple, and I moved—I lived!Lived in the ecstasy of new born life;Lived in the love of him that fashioned me;Lived in a thousand tangled thoughts of hope,Love, gratitude, thoughts that resolved themselvesInto one word, that word, Pygmalion![Kneels.

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 conscience;

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 surrounded me, and I, alone,

That pedestal—that curtain—then a voice

That called on Galatea! At that word,

Which seemed to shake my marble to the core,

That which was dim before, came evident.

Sounds, that had hummed around me, indistinct,

Vague, meaningless—seemed to resolve themselves

Into a language I could understand;

I felt my frame pervaded with a glow

That seemed to thaw my marble into flesh;

Its cold hard substance throbbed with active life,

My limbs grew supple, and I moved—I lived!

Lived in the ecstasy of new born life;

Lived in the love of him that fashioned me;

Lived in a thousand tangled thoughts of hope,

Love, gratitude, thoughts that resolved themselves

Into one word, that word, Pygmalion!

[Kneels.

Pyg.I have no words to tell thee of my joy,O woman—perfect in thy loveliness.

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?

Gal.

What is that word? Am I a woman?

Pyg.Yes.

Pyg.

Yes.

Gal.Art thou a woman?

Gal.

Art thou a woman?

Pyg.No, I am a man.

Pyg.

No, I am a man.

Gal.What is a man?

Gal.

What is a man?

Pyg.A being strongly framed,To wait on woman, and protect her fromAll 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 might live!

Pyg.

A being strongly framed,

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 might live!

Gal.I'm glad I am a woman.[He leads her down.

Gal.

I'm glad I am a woman.

[He leads her down.

Pyg.So am I.

Pyg.

So am I.

Gal.That I escape the pains thou hast to bear?

Gal.

That I escape the pains thou hast to bear?

Pyg.That I may undergo those pains for thee.

Pyg.

That I may undergo those pains for thee.

Gal.With whom then wouldst thou fight?

Gal.

With whom then wouldst thou fight?

Pyg.With any manWhose word or deed gave Galatea pain.

Pyg.

With any man

Whose word or deed gave Galatea pain.

Gal.Then there are other men in this strange world?

Gal.

Then there are other men in this strange world?

Pyg.There are indeed.

Pyg.

There are indeed.

Gal.And other women?

Gal.

And other women?

Pyg.Yes;Though for the moment I'd forgotten it;Yes, other women.

Pyg.

Yes;

Though for the moment I'd forgotten it;

Yes, other women.

Gal.And for all of theseMen work, and toil, and mourn, and weep and fight?

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 called upon,To fight for all; he works for those he loves.

Pyg.

It is man's duty, if he's called upon,

To fight for all; he works for those he loves.

Gal.Then by thy works I know thou lovest me.

Gal.

Then by thy works I know thou lovest me.

Pyg.Indeed, I love thee!

Pyg.

Indeed, I love thee!

Gal.With what kind of love?

Gal.

With what kind of love?

Pyg.I love thee as a sculptor does his work![Aside.] There is diplomacy in that reply.

Pyg.

I love thee as a sculptor does his work!

[Aside.] There is 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?

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.

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?

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 loveThat I shall run some risk in dealing with.

Pyg.

A kind of love

That I shall run some risk in dealing with.

Gal.And why, Pygmalion?

Gal.

And why, Pygmalion?

Pyg.Such love as thineA man may not receive, except indeedFrom one who is, or is to be, his wife.

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.

Gal.

Then I will be thy wife.

Pyg.That may not be;I have a wife—the gods allow but one.

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?

Gal.

Why did the gods then send me here to thee?

Pyg.I cannot say—unless to punish meFor unreflecting and presumptuous prayer!I prayed that thou shouldst live. I have my prayer,And now I see the fearful consequenceThat must attend it!

Pyg.

I cannot say—unless to punish me

For unreflecting and presumptuous prayer!

I prayed that thou shouldst live. I have my prayer,

And now I see the fearful consequence

That must attend it!

Gal.Yet thou lovest me?

Gal.

Yet thou lovest me?

Pyg.Who could look on that face and stifle love?

Pyg.

Who could look on that face and stifle love?

Gal.Then I am beautiful?

Gal.

Then I am beautiful?

Pyg.Indeed thou art.

Pyg.

Indeed thou art.

Gal.I wish that I could look upon myself,But that's impossible.

Gal.

I wish that I could look upon myself,

But that's impossible.

Pyg.Not so indeed,This mirror will reflect thy face. Behold!

Pyg.

Not so indeed,

This mirror will reflect thy face. Behold!

Gal.How beautiful! I am very glad to knowThat both our tastes agree so perfectly;Why, my Pygmalion, I did not thinkThat aught could be more beautiful than thou,Till I behold myself. Believe me, love,I could look in this mirror all day long.So I'm a woman.

Gal.

How beautiful! I am 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 behold 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!

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.

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 innocenceThou sayest things that others would reprove.

Pyg.

Hush! Galatea—in thine innocence

Thou sayest things that others would reprove.

Gal.Indeed, Pygmalion; then it is wrongTo think that one is exquisitely fair?

Gal.

Indeed, Pygmalion; then it is wrong

To think that one is exquisitely fair?

Pyg.Well, Galatea, it's a sentimentThat every woman shares with thee;They think it—but they keep it to themselves.

Pyg.

Well, Galatea, it's a sentiment

That every woman shares with thee;

They think it—but they keep it to themselves.

Gal.And is thy wife as beautiful as I?

Gal.

And is thy wife as beautiful as I?

Pyg.No, Galatea, for in forming theeI took her features—lovely in themselves—And in the marble made them lovelier still.

Pyg.

No, Galatea, for in forming thee

I took her features—lovely in themselves—

And in the marble made them lovelier still.

Gal.Oh! then I'm not original?

Gal.

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.

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 that I am lovelier than she.And am I better?

Gal.

I'm very glad that I am lovelier than she.

And am I better?

Pyg.That I do not know.

Pyg.

That I do not know.

Gal.Then she has faults.

Gal.

Then she has faults.

Pyg.Very few indeed;Mere trivial blemishes, that serve to showThat she and I are of one common kin.I love her all the better for such faults.

Pyg.

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.Tell me some faults and I'll commit them now.

Gal.

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 sinTo sit as lovingly as we sit 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 talkAs 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 nowThe kind of fault that only serves to showThat thou and I are of one common kin?

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.

Pyg.

Indeed, I'm very much afraid it is.

Gal.And dost thou love me better for such fault?

Gal.

And dost thou love me better for such fault?

Pyg.Where is the mortal that could answer "no"?

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?

Gal.

Why, then I'm satisfied, Pygmalion;

Thy wife and I can start on equal terms.

She loves thee?

Pyg.Very much.

Pyg.

Very much.

Gal.I'm glad of that.I like thy wife.

Gal.

I'm glad of that.

I like thy wife.

Pyg.And why?

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.

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.

Pyg. [aside.]

I doubt it much.

Gal.Is she within?

Gal.

Is she within?

Pyg.No, she is not within.

Pyg.

No, she is not within.

Gal.But she'll come back?

Gal.

But she'll come back?

Pyg.Oh, yes, she will come back.

Pyg.

Oh, yes, she will come back.

Gal.How pleased she'll be to know when she returns,That there was some one here to fill her place.

Gal.

How pleased she'll be to know when she returns,

That there was some one here to fill her place.

Pyg.Yes, I should say she'd be extremely pleased.

Pyg.

Yes, I should say she'd be extremely pleased.

Gal.Why, there is something in thy voice which saysThat thou art jesting. Is it possibleTo say one thing and mean another?

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.

Pyg.

Yes,

It's sometimes done.

Gal.How very wonderful!So clever!

Gal.

How very wonderful!

So clever!

Pyg.And so very useful.

Pyg.

And so very useful.

Gal.Yes.Teach me the art.

Gal.

Yes.

Teach me the art.

Pyg.The art will come in time.My wife will not be pleased; there—that's the truth.

Pyg.

The art will come in time.

My wife will not be pleased; there—that's the truth.

Gal.I do not think that I shall like thy wife.Tell me more of her.

Gal.

I do not think that I shall like thy wife.

Tell me more of her.

Pyg.Well—

Pyg.

Well—

Gal.What did she sayWhen last she left thee?

Gal.

What did she say

When last she left thee?

Pyg.Humph! Well, let me see;Oh! true, she gave thee to me as my wife,—Her solitary representative;She feared I should be lonely till she came.And counseled me, if thoughts of love should come,To speak those thoughts to thee, as I am wontTo speak to her.

Pyg.

Humph! Well, let me see;

Oh! true, she gave thee to me as my wife,—

Her solitary representative;

She feared I should be lonely till she came.

And counseled me, if thoughts of love should come,

To speak those thoughts to thee, as I am wont

To speak to her.

Gal.That's right.

Gal.

That's right.

Pyg.But when she spokeThou wast a stone, now thou art flesh and blood,Which makes a difference.

Pyg.

But when she spoke

Thou wast a stone, now thou art flesh and blood,

Which makes a difference.

Gal.It's a strange world;A woman loves her husband very much,And cannot brook that I should love him too;She fears he will be lonely till she comes,And will not let me cheer his loneliness;She bids him breathe his love to senseless stone,And when that stone is brought to life—be dumb!It's a strange world, I cannot fathom it.

Gal.

It's a strange world;

A woman loves her husband very much,

And cannot brook that I should love him too;

She fears he will be lonely till she comes,

And will not let me cheer his loneliness;

She bids him breathe his love to senseless stone,

And when that stone is brought to life—be dumb!

It's a strange world, I cannot fathom it.

Pyg. [aside].Let me be brave and put an end to this.Come Galatea—till my wife returns,My sister shall provide thee with a home;Her house is close at hand.

Pyg. [aside].

Let me be brave and put an end to this.

Come Galatea—till my wife returns,

My sister shall provide thee with a home;

Her house is close at hand.

Gal.Send me not hencePygmalion; let me stay.

Gal.

Send me not hence

Pygmalion; let me stay.

Pyg.It may not be.Come, Galatea, we shall meet again.

Pyg.

It may not be.

Come, Galatea, we shall meet again.

Gal.Do with me as thou wilt, Pygmalion!But we shall meet again?—and very soon?

Gal.

Do with me as thou wilt, Pygmalion!

But we shall meet again?—and very soon?

Pyg.Yes, very soon.

Pyg.

Yes, very soon.

Gal.And when thy wife returns,She'll let me stay with thee?

Gal.

And when thy wife returns,

She'll let me stay with thee?

Pyg.I do not know.[Aside]. Why should I hide the truth from her [aloud] alas!I may not see thee then.

Pyg.

I do not know.

[Aside]. Why should I hide the truth from her [aloud] alas!

I may not see thee then.

Gal.Pygmalion!What fearful words are these?

Gal.

Pygmalion!

What fearful words are these?

Pyg.The bitter truth.I may not love thee; I must send thee hence.

Pyg.

The bitter truth.

I may not love thee; I must send thee hence.

Gal.Recall those words, Pygmalion, my love!Was it for this that heaven gave me life?Pygmalion, have mercy on me; see,I am thy work, thou hast created me;The gods have sent me to thee. I am thine!Thine! only, and unalterably thine!This is the thought with which my soul is charged.Thou tellest me of one who claims thy love,That thou hast love for her alone. Alas!I do not know these things; I only knowThat heaven has sent me here to be with thee.Thou tellest me of duty to thy wife,Of vows that thou wilt love but her. Alas!I do not know these things; I only knowThat heaven, who sent me here, has given meOne all absorbing duty to discharge—To love thee, and to make thee love again.

Gal.

Recall those words, Pygmalion, my love!

Was it for this that heaven gave me life?

Pygmalion, have mercy on me; see,

I am thy work, thou hast created me;

The gods have sent me to thee. I am thine!

Thine! only, and unalterably thine!

This is the thought with which my soul is charged.

Thou tellest me of one who claims thy love,

That thou hast love for her alone. Alas!

I do not know these things; I only know

That heaven has sent me here to be with thee.

Thou tellest me of duty to thy wife,

Of vows that thou wilt love but her. Alas!

I do not know these things; I only know

That heaven, who sent me here, has given me

One all absorbing duty to discharge—

To love thee, and to make thee love again.

[Pygmaliontakes her in his arms, and embraces her passionately.]

Characters: Pygmalion; Myrine, his sister; Cynisca, his wife; Galatea.Scene: Pygmalion's studio.

Characters: Pygmalion; Myrine, his sister; Cynisca, his wife; Galatea.

Scene: Pygmalion's studio.

EnterMyrine

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