He told her many times how lovely she was. When he went out for walks, she was always on his mind, and he searched for presents for her. Smooth pebbles, winding shells, and wild flowers. His delicate hands made jewellery for her out of silver and amber. He slipped a ring on her finger. He draped her in lovely dresses. He even brought her a little pet bird for company while he was away. He lay her down on the bed with a soft pillow for her head. When he spoke to her, he gave her a name, Galatea. Of course, Aphrodite saw all of this, and she laughed at the sculptor who scorned all women and who yet, had fallen in love with one, or the idea of one, sprung from his own imagination and craft.
“Yes,” she thought. “My power is greater than that of all the gods and goddesses.”
It was the holiday of Aphrodite. People were dancing and singing in the streets. Incense burnt on the altar of love in the temple. Pygmalion kneeled down and prayed:
“Oh Mighty Aphrodite! I have chosen the girl I wish to marry. She is my sculpture. Please bring her to life, for I can love no other.”
Aphrodite saw that the heart of Pygmalion had changed. She knew that he had done her a great honour by falling in love. She made the flame on the alter leap and dance for joy. Pygmalion understood that she had granted his greatest wish, and he rushed home. He found the statue, standing quite still as she always did. There were tears of disappointment in his eyes. He held her darling hand and stroked her slender arm. Gradually he felt her skin soften, as wax softens in the sunshine. She began to turn from snow white to slightly pink. There was warmth in her body. Gradually she leaned her head back, and her hair fell down loosely over her shoulders. Her eyes moved. Her mouth opened. The statue of Pygmalion was alive!
Pygmalion married Galatea and he soon discovered that she was not actually perfect – because no living person is. Only a statue or a figment of the imagination can attain perfection. But she was lovely, and that was more than enough. They lived very happily together. A year later, a lovely baby was born to the sculptor and his wife. They called him Paphos, and as time went by, the place on the island where Aphrodite was born was named after him.
0
Reviews (0)