Part 4 — ACT III, SCENE I

Myr. Pygmalion's heard that he must lose his wife, And swears, by all the gods that reign above, He will not live if she deserts him now! What—what is to be done?

Gal. Myrine here! Where is Pygmalion? Myr. Oh, wretched girl! Art thou not satisfied with all the ill Thy heedlessness has worked, that thou art come To gaze upon thy victim's misery? Well, thou hast come in time! Gal. What dost thou mean? Myr. Why, this is what I mean; he will not live, Now that Cynisca has deserted him. O, girl, his blood will be upon thy head! Gal. Pygmalion will not live! Pygmalion die! And I, alas, the miserable cause! Oh, what is to be done? Myr. I do not know. And yet there is one chance, but one alone; I'll see Cynisca, and prevail on her To meet Pygmalion but once again. Gal. But should she come too late? He may not live Till she returns. Myr. I'll send him now to thee, And tell him that his wife awaits him here. He'll take thee for Cynisca; when he speaks Answer thou him as if thou wast his wife. Gal. Yes, yes, I understand. Myr. Then I'll be gone. The gods assist thee in this artifice! [Exit Myrine. Gal. The gods will help me, for the gods are good. [Kneels.] Oh, heaven, in this great grief I turn to thee, Teach me to speak to him, as, ere I lived, Cynisca spake to him. Oh, let my voice Be to Pygmalion as Cynisca's voice, And he will live—for her and not for me— Yet he will live. I am the fountain head

Of all the horrors that surround him now, And it is fit that I should suffer this; Grant this, my first appeal—I do not ask Pygmalion's love; I ask Pygmalion's life.

Pygmalion! Pyg. I have no words in which To tell the joy with which I heard that prayer. Oh, take me to thine arms, my dearly loved! And teach me once again how much I risked In risking such a heaven-sent love as thine. Gal. [believing that he refers to her]. Pygmalion! my love! Pygmalion! Once more those words! again! say them again! Tell me that thou forgivest me the ill That I unwittingly have worked on thee! Pyg. Forgive thee? Why, my wife, I did not dare To ask thy pardon, and thou askest mine. The compact with thy mistress, Artemis, Gave thee a heaven-sent right to punish me. I've learnt to take whate'er the gods may send.

Gal. [with an effort]. But then, this woman, Galatea— Pyg. Well? Gal. Thy love for her is dead? Pyg. I had no love. A miracle Did crown my handiwork, and brought to life The fair creation of my sculptor's skill, I yielded to her god-sent influence, For I had worshiped her before she lived Because she called Cynisca's face to me; But when she lived—that love died—word by word. Gal. That is well said; thou dost not love her then? She is no more to thee than senseless stone? Pyg. Speak not of her, Cynisca, for I swear

The unhewn marble of Pentelicus Hath charms for me, which she, in all her glow Of womanly perfection, could not match. Gal. I'm very glad to hear that this is so. Thou art forgiven! Pyg. Thou hast pardoned me, And though the law of Artemis declared Thy pardon should restore to me the light Thine anger took away, I would be blind, I would not have mine eyes lest they should rest On her who caused me all this bitterness! Gal. Indeed, Pygmalion, 'twere better thus; If thou couldst look on Galatea now, Thy love for her, perchance, might come again. Pyg. No, no. Gal. They say that she endureth pains That mock the power of words. Pyg. It should be so. Gal. Hast thou no pity for her? [Cynisca comes down. Pyg. No, not I. The ill that she hath worked on thee, on me, And on Myrine, surely were enough To make us curse the hour that gave her life. She is not fit to live upon this world! Gal. Upon this worthy world, thou sayest well. The woman shall be seen of thee no more.

What wouldst thou with her now? Thou hast thy wife!

Pyg. Cynisca! see! the light of day is mine! Once more I look upon thy well loved face!

Myr. Pygmalion! See—Galatea's here! [Galatea kneels. Pyg. Away from me, Woman or statue! Thou the only blight That ever fell upon my love—begone,

For thou hast been the curse of all who fell Within the compass of thy waywardness! Cyn. No, no; recall those words, Pygmalion, Thou knowest not all. Gal. Nay, let me go from him; That curse—his curse still ringing in mine ears, For life is bitterer to me than death. [She mounts the pedestal. Farewell, Pygmalion, I am not fit To live upon this world—this worthy world. Farewell, Pygmalion. Farewell, farewell!

Cyn. Thou art unjust to her as I to thee! Hers was the voice that pardoned thee—not mine. I knew no pity till she taught it me. I heard the words she spoke, and little thought That they would find an echo in my heart; But so it was. I took them for mine own, And asking for thy pardon, pardoned thee!

Pyg. Cynisca! Is this so? Cyn. In truth it is. Gal. [behind curtain]: Farewell, Pygmalion! Farewell—farewell!