ACIS. Oh, stow it, Ecrasia. Your lips are not so squeamish as all that. Studies of what? THE NEWLY BORN [_from the temple steps_] Ancients. ACIS [_surprised but not scandalized_] Ancients! ECRASIA. Yes, ancients. The one subject that is by the universal consent of all connoisseurs absolutely excluded from the fine arts. [_To Arjillax_] How can you defend such a proceeding? ARJILLAX. If you come to that, what interest can you find in the statues of smirking nymphs and posturing youths you stick up all over the place? ECRASIA. You did not ask that when your hand was still skilful enough to model them. ARJILLAX. Skilful! You high-nosed idiot, I could turn such things out by the score with my eyes bandaged and one hand tied behind me. But what use would they be? They would bore me; and they would bore you if you had any sense. Go in and look at my busts. Look at them again and yet again until you receive the full impression of the intensity of mind that is stamped on them; and then go back to the pretty-pretty confectionery you call sculpture, and see whether you can endure its vapid emptiness. [_He mounts the altar impetuously_] Listen to me, all of you; and do you, Ecrasia, be silent if you are capable of silence. ECRASIA. Silence is the most perfect expression of scorn. Scorn! That is what I feel for your revolting busts. ARJILLAX. Fool: the busts are only the beginning of a mighty design. Listen. ACIS. Go ahead, old sport. We are listening. _Martellus stretches himself on the sward beside the altar. The Newly Born sits on the temple steps with her chin on her hands, ready to devour the first oration she has ever heard. The rest sit or stand at ease._ ARJILLAX. In the records which generations of children have rescued from the stupid neglect of the ancients, there has come down to us a fable which, like many fables, is not a thing that was 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?