March 1, 2020

Jean-Léon Gérôme, Pygmalion and Galatea, ca. 1890.

Pygmalion
By: Ovid from book 10 of the Metamorphoses

Pygmalion had seen the shameless lives of Cyprus’ women; and disgusted by the many sins to which the female mind had been inclined by nature, he resigned himself: for years he lived alone, without 5 a spouse: he chose no wife to share his couch. “Meanwhile, Pygmalion began to carve in snow-white ivory, with wondrous art, a female figure more exquisite than a woman who was born could ever match. 10 That done, he falls in love with his own work. The image seems, in truth, to be a girl; one could have thought she was alive and keen to stir, to move her limbs, had she not been too timid: with his art, he’s hidden art. 15 He is enchanted and, within his heart, the likeness of a body now ignites a flame. He often lifts his hand to try his work, to see if it indeed is flesh or ivory; he still will not admit 20 it is but ivory. He kisses it: it seems to him that, in return, he's kissed. He speaks to it, embraces it; at each caress, the image seems to yield beneath his fingers: and he is afraid he’ll leave 25 some sign, some bruise. And now he murmurs words of love, and now he offers gifts that girls find pleasing: shells, smooth pebbles, little birds, and many-colored flowers, painted balls, and amber tears that the Heliades 30 let drop from trees. He—after draping it with robes—adorns its fingers with fine gems, its neck with a long necklace; light beads hang down from its ears, and ribbons grace its breast. All this is fair enough, but it’s not less 35 appealing in its nakedness. He rests the statue on the covers of his bed, on fabric dyed with hues of Sidon’s shells; he calls that form the maid that shares his couch and sets its head on cushions—downy, soft delicately, 40 as if it could respond. “The day of Venus’ festival had come— the day when, from all Cyprus, people thronged; and now-their curving horns are sheathed with gold— the heifers fall beneath the fatal blows 45 that strike their snow-white necks; the incense smokes. Pygmalion, having paid the honors owed to Venus, stopped before the altar: there the sculptor offered—timidly—this prayer: ‘0 gods, if you indeed can grant all things, 50 then let me have the wife I want’—and here he did not dare to say ‘my ivory girl’ but said instead, ‘one like my ivory girl.’ And golden Venus (she indeed was there at her own feast-day) understood his prayer: 55 three times the flame upon her altar flared more brightly, darting high into the air— an omen of the goddess’ kindly care. At once, Pygmalion, at home again, seeks out the image of the girl; he bends 60 over his couch; he kisses her. And when it seems her lips are warm, he leans again to kiss her; and he reaches with his hands to touch her breasts. The ivory had lost its hardness; now his fingers probe; grown soft, 65 the statue yields beneath the sculptor’s touch, just as Hymettian wax beneath the sun grows soft and, molded by the thumb, takes on so many varied shapes—in fact, becomes more pliant as one plies it. Stupefied, 70 delighted yet in doubt, afraid that he may be deceived, the lover tests his dream: it is a body! Now the veins—beneath his anxious fingers—pulse. Pygmalion pours out rich thanks to Venus; finally, 75 his lips press lips that are not forgeries. The young girl feels these kisses; blushing, she lifts up her timid eyes; she seeks the light; and even as she sees the sky, she sees her lover. Venus graces with her presence 80 the wedding she has brought about. And when the moon shows not as crescent but as orb for the ninth time, Pygmalion’s wife gives birth to Paphos—and in honor of that child, Cyprus has since been called the Paphian isle.” 85

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