 
pygmalion was a sculptor, a worker in marble, bronze, and ivory. 
he was so young and handsome that the girls as they went past his workshop 
used to look in and admire him. 
they hoped that he would notice them. 
but pygmalion was devoted only to his art. 
people seemed noisy and trivial to him, and ugly too. 
he had an image of beauty in his mind, and he worked over his statues from 
morning to night in search of a loveliness beyond his powers of expression. 
in truth, the statues of pygmalion were far more beautiful than human 
beings. 
each statue was more nearly perfect than the last. 
still, in every one pygmalion felt that there was something lacking. 
while others would stand entranced before them, he never cared to look on 
anything he had finished. 
immediately he was absorbed in his next work. 
at last, however, he was working on an ivory statue of a girl in which he 
seemed to have expressed exactly what he longed to show. 
even before it was done, he would lay down the chisel and stare at his 
work for hours. 
by the time the statue was nearly finished, pygmalion could think of 
nothing else. 
in his very dreams the statue of the girl haunted him. 
then she seemed to wake up and come alive. 
this idea gave him exquisite pleasure, and he used to dwell on it. 
the dreams passed into daydreams until for many days pygmalion made little 
progress on his almost-finished statue. 
he would sit gazing at the maiden, whom he had christened galatea. 
