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done in the past, but a thing that is to be done in the future. It is a legend of a supernatural being called the Archangel Michael. The Newly Born Is this a story? I want to hear a story. She runs down the steps and sits on the altar at Arjillax’s feet. Arjillax The Archangel Michael was a mighty sculptor and painter. He found in the centre of the world a temple erected to the goddess of the centre, called Mediterranea. This temple was full of silly pictures of pretty children, such as Ecrasia approves. Acis Fair play, Arjillax! If she is to keep silent, let her alone. Ecrasia I shall not interrupt, Acis. Why should I not prefer youth and beauty to age and ugliness? Arjillax Just so. Well, the Archangel Michael was of my opinion, not yours. He began by painting on the ceiling the newly born in all their childish beauty. But when he had done this he was not satisfied; for the temple was no more impressive than it had been before, except that there was a strength and promise of greater things about his newly born ones than any other artist had attained to. So he painted all round these newly born a company of ancients, who were in those days called prophets and sybils, whose majesty was that of the mind alone at its intensest. And this painting was acknowledged through ages and ages to be the summit and masterpiece of art. Of course we cannot believe such a tale literally. It is only a legend. We do not believe in archangels; and the notion that thirty thousand years ago sculpture and painting existed, and had even reached the glorious perfection they have reached with us, is absurd. But what men cannot realize they can at least aspire to. They please themselves by pretending that it was realized in a golden age of the past. This splendid legend endured because it lived as a desire in the hearts of the greatest artists. The temple of Mediterranea never was built in the past, nor did Michael the Archangel exist. But today the temple is here; He points to the porch. and the man is here. He slaps himself on the chest. I, Arjillax, am the man. I will place in your theatre such images of the newly born as must satisfy even Ecrasia’s appetite for beauty; and I will surround them with ancients more august than any who walk through our woods. Martellus As before. Ha! Arjillax Stung. Why do you laugh, you who have come empty-handed, and, it seems, empty-headed? Ecrasia Rising indignantly. Oh, shame! You dare disparage Martellus, twenty times your master. Acis Be quiet, will you. He seizes her shoulders and thrusts her back into her seat. Martellus Let him disparage his fill, Ecrasia. Sitting up. My poor Arjillax, I too had this dream. I too found one day that my images of loveliness had become vapid, uninteresting, tedious, a waste of time and material. I too lost my desire to model limbs, and retained only my interest in heads and faces. I, too, made busts of ancients; but I had not your courage: I made them in secret, and hid them from you all. Arjillax Jumping down from the altar behind Martellus in his surprise and excitement. You made busts of ancients! Where are they, man? Will you be talked out of your inspiration by Ecrasia and the fools who imagine she speaks with authority? Let us have them all set up beside mine in the theatre. I have opened the way for you; and you see I am none the worse. Martellus Impossible. They are all smashed. He rises, laughing. All Smashed! Arjillax Who smashed them? Martellus I did. That is why I laughed at you just now. You will smash yours before you have completed a dozen of them. He goes to the end of the altar and sits down beside the Newly Born. Arjillax But why? Martellus Because you cannot give them life. A live ancient is better than a dead statue. He takes the Newly Born on his knee: she is flattered and voluptuously responsive. Anything alive is better than anything that is only pretending to be alive. To Arjillax. Your disillusion with your works of beauty is only the beginning of your disillusion with images of all sorts. As your hand became more skilful and your chisel cut deeper, you strove to get nearer and nearer to truth and reality, discarding the fleeting fleshly lure, and making images of the mind that fascinates to the end. But how can so noble an inspiration be satisfied with any image, even an image of the truth? In the end the intellectual conscience that tore you away from the fleeting in art to the eternal must tear you away from art altogether, because art is false and life alone is true. The Newly Born Flings her arms round his neck and kisses him enthusiastically. Martellus Rises; carries her to the curved bench on his left; deposits her beside Strephon as if she were his overcoat; and continues without the least change of tone. Shape it as you will, marble remains marble, and the graven image an idol. As I have broken my idols, and cast away my chisel and modelling tools, so will you too break these busts of yours. Arjillax Never. Martellus Wait, my friend. I do not come empty-handed today, as you imagined. On the contrary, I bring with me such a work of art as you have never seen, and an artist who has surpassed both you and me further than we have surpassed all our competitors. Ecrasia Impossible. The greatest things in art can never be surpassed. Arjillax Who is this paragon whom you declare greater than I? Martellus I declare him greater than myself, Arjillax. Arjillax Frowning. I understand. Sooner than not drown me, you are willing to clasp me round the waist and jump overboard