PYGMALION AND THE STATUE. FROM THE TENTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.
The Propœtides, for their impudent behaviour, being turned into
stone by Venus, Pygmalion, Prince of Cyprus, detested all
women for their sake, and resolved never to marry. He falls
in love with a statue of his own making, which is changed
into a maid, whom he marries. One of his descendants is
Cinyras, the father of Myrrha; the daughter incestuously
loves her own father, for which she is changed into a tree,
which bears her name. These two stories immediately follow
each other, and are admirably well connected.
Pygmalion, loathing their lascivious life,
Abhorred all womankind, but most a wife;
So single chose to live, and shunned to wed,
Well pleased to want a consort of his bed.
Yet fearing idleness, the nurse of ill,
In sculpture exercised his happy skill;
And carved in ivory such a maid, so fair,
As nature could not with his art compare,
Were she to work; but in her own defence,
Must take her pattern here, and copy hence.
Pleased with his idol, he commends, admires,
Adores; and last, the thing adored desires.
A very virgin in her face was seen,
And, had she moved, a living maid had been:
One would have thought she could have stirred, but strove
With modesty, and was ashamed to move.
Art, hid with art, so well performed the cheat,
It caught the carver with his own deceit.
He knows 'tis madness, yet he must adore,
And still the more he knows it, loves the more;
The flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft,
Which feels so smooth, that he believes it soft.
Fired with this thought, at once he strained the breast,
And on the lips a burning kiss impressed.
'Tis true, the hardened breast resists the gripe,
And the cold lips return a kiss unripe;
But when, retiring back, he looked again,
To think it ivory was a thought too mean;
So would believe she kissed, and courting more,
Again embraced her naked body o'er;
And, straining hard the statue, was afraid
His hands had made a dint, and hurt his maid;
Explored her, limb by limb, and feared to find
So rude a gripe had left a livid mark behind.
With flattery now he seeks her mind to move,
And now with gifts, the powerful bribes of love:
He furnishes her closet first; and fills
The crowded shelves with rarities of shells;
Adds orient pearls, which from the conchs he drew,
And all the sparkling stones of various hue;
And parrots, imitating human tongue,
And singing-birds in silver cages hung;
And every fragrant flower, and odorous green,
Were sorted well, with lumps of amber laid between;
Rich fashionable robes her person deck;
Pendants her ears, and pearls adorn her neck;
Her tapered fingers too with rings are graced,
And an embroidered zone surrounds her slender waist.
Thus like a queen arrayed, so richly dressed,
Beauteous she showed, but naked showed the best.
Then from the floor he raised a royal bed,
With coverings of Sidonian purple spread;
The solemn rites performed, he calls her bride,
With blandishments invites her to his side,
And as she were with vital sense possessed,
Her head did on a plumy pillow rest.
The feast of Venus came, a solemn day,
To which the Cypriots due devotion pay;
With gilded horns the milk-white heifers led,
Slaughtered before the sacred altars, bled;
Pygmalion, offering, first approached the shrine,
And then with prayers implored the powers divine;—
“Almighty Gods, if all we mortals want,
If all we can require, be yours to grant,
Make this fair statue mine,”—he would have said,
But changed his words for shame, and only prayed,
“Give me the likeness of my ivory maid!”—
The golden Goddess, present at the prayer,
Well knew he meant the inanimated fair,
And gave the sign of granting his desire;
For thrice in cheerful flames ascends the fire.
The youth, returning to his mistress, hies,
And impudent in hope, with ardent eyes,
And beating breast, by the dear statue lies.
He kisses her white lips, renews the bliss,
And looks and thinks they redden at the kiss;
He thought them warm before: nor longer stays,
But next his hand on her hard bosom lays;
Hard as it was, beginning to relent,
It seemed the breast beneath his fingers bent;
He felt again, his fingers made a print,
'Twas flesh, but flesh so firm, it rose against the dint.
The pleasing task he fails not to renew;
Soft, and more soft at every touch it grew;
Like pliant wax, when chafing hands reduce
The former mass to form, and frame to use.
He would believe, but yet is still in pain,
And tries his argument of sense again,
Presses the pulse, and feels the leaping vein.
Convinced, o'erjoyed, his studied thanks and praise,
To her who made the miracle, he pays;
Then lips to lips he joined; now freed from fear,
He found the savour of the kiss sincere.
At this the wakened image oped her eyes,
And viewed at once the light and lover with surprise.
The goddess, present at the match she made,
So blessed the bed, such fruitfulness conveyed,
That ere ten moons had sharpened either horn,
To crown their bliss, a lovely boy was born;
Paphos his name, who, grown to manhood, walled
The city Paphos, from the founder called.
