HE |S|ew Pandora ^ 'Si ■0^ ri- . 1' >*■ Kav *%if^. ^ ..■•■f.^":: ■ttJJiC **i>. •c^,, f/ "C.*->^ J.: -' '.5> V ! LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Shelf ...RS4-/\/^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. ^^ /■. The [New Pandora A DRAMA V^ HARRIET H. ROBINSON nCT 101889 ^^ 1. 3 b': I NKW YOl G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS t\t ]^lurbo(luf (km l88o Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2010 witii funding from Tine Library of Congress littp://www.arcliive.org/details/newpandoradramaOOrobi The New Pandora A DRAMA HARRIET H. ROBINSON •-OA/Q^ ^^« OCT 191889 '-^^ NEW YOS G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 8;^£ Jlnicherbother ^ttss 1889 PS ^7 1^ COPYRIGHT BV HARRIET H. ROBINSON Press of G. P. Putnam's Sons New York THE NEW PANDORA ' ' It fell in the ancient periods, Which the brooding soul surveys, Or ever the wild Time coined itself Into calendar months and days." PERSONS REPRESENTED. Pandora — The first woman. Aetes — A primitive man. HARMomA \ Children of Pandora and Aetes. Olen — A Norseman, lover of Harmonia. Hope. Epimetheus. Vulcan. Two Cyclops. SopoLiSj PoLiTES, Pelias, Lycus, Miccus, Dolops, Stilpo, Bias, Dion, Cleon, Asbolus, Saon, and Kurnus — Primitive men. Scene : Greece in the primeval age. " It fell in the ancient periods, Which the brooding soul surveys, Or ever the wild Time coined itself Into calendar months and days." PERSONS REPRESENTED. Pandora — The first woman. Aetes — A primitive man. Harmonla [ Children of Pandora and Aetes. Olen — A Norseman, lover of Harmonia. Hope. Epimetheus. Vulcan. Two Cyclops. SopoLiSj PoLiTES, Pelias, Lycus, Miccus, Dolops, Stilpo, Bias, Dion, Cleon, Asbolus, Saon, and Kurnus — Primitive men. Scene : Greece in the primeval age. PROLOGUE. " But Jove our food conceal'd : Prometheus' art With fraud illusive had incens'd his heart ; Sore ills to man devis'd the heavenly Sire, And hid the shining element of fire. Prometheus then, benevolent of soul, In hollow reed the spark recovering stole : * O son of Japhet ! ' with indignant heart Spake the cloud-gatherer, ' O, unmatch'd in art ! ' * This fire shall draw perdition on the race, And all enamour'd shall their bane embrace.' The Sire who rules the earth and sways the pole Had said, and laughter fiU'd his secret soul : He bade the crippled god his hest obey, And mould with tempering water plastic clay ; With human nerve and human voice invest The limbs elastic and the breathing breast; Fair as the blooming goddesses above, 7 8 THE NEW PANDORA. A virgin's likeness with the looks of love. He bade Minerva teach the skill that sheds A thousand colours in the gliding threads: He call'd the magic of love's golden queen To breathe around a witchery of mien ; And eager passion's never-sated flame, And cares of dress that prey upon the frame ; Bade Hermes last endue with craft refin'd Of treacherous manners, and a shameless mind; Then by the feather'd messenger of heaven The name Pandora to the maid was given ; For all the gods conferr'd a gifted grace To crown this mischief of the mortal race. The Sire commands the winged herald bear The finish'd nymph, th' inextricable snare : To Epimetheus was the present brought, Prometheus' warning vanish'd from his thought- That he disclaim each offering from the skies, And straight restore, lest ill to man arise. But he receiv'd; and conscious knew too late Th' insidious gift, and felt the curse of fate. Whilom on earth the sons of men abode From evil free and labour's galling load ; Free from diseases that with racking rage THE NEW PANDORA, 9 Precipitate the pale decline of age. Now swift the days of manhood haste away, And misery's pressure turns the temples gray. The woman's hands an ample casket bear; — She lifts the lid, — she scatters ills in air, Hope sole remain'd within, nor took her flight, Beneath the casket's verge conceal'd from sight. Th' unbroken cell with closing lid the maid Seal'd, and the cloud-assembler's voice obey'd. Issued the rest in quick dispersion hurl'd, And woes innumerous roam'd the breathing world." The Works and Days — Hesiod. ACT L Scene I. — The Creation of Woman. Scene II. — Pandora. Scene III. — The Primitive Man. Scene IV. — The Ills Let Loose. Scene V. — Pandora and Aetes. THE NEW PANDORA. ACT I. Scene I. — A cave in the earth, in which are standing a huge anvil and forge, a rude stone bench, and a tripod holding a small brass ewer. Enter Vulcan and the two Cyclops, bearing a mass of clay, which they lay on the bench. VULCAN. Mould soft, mould fine the dainty clod. Add myrrh, Frankincense, nard, the rose's cheek. A lock Of starry gold, the violet's purple eye. The veined marble's blue, its creamy white : 'T is something finer far than common clay. Cyclops, kneading the clay and pouring, now and then, from the ewer. We '11 stir, we '11 mix, we '11 mould with care The tempered clay, with motion rare ; We '11 knead the mass, with strength refin'd, This source of ills to all mankind. Who Jove would circumvent. Himself he cheats, ha ! ha ! 12 THE NEW PANDORA, Sly Prometheus stole golden fire, And great Jove laughed in secret ire. And bade us form, with artful grace, A mischief for the mortal race. Who Jove would circumvent, Himself he cheats, ha ! ha ! \The clay has gradually assumed human shape ; the feet are well defined. VULCAN. Raise up the form and stand it on its feet, That I may finish what high Jove commands. Leave me alone; I would with tranquil mind Fashion this form that is to cheat mankind. \^Exeunt Cyclops. Vulcan stands on the bench and moulds the clay until the beautiful head and bust of a maiden appear. Scene II. — A path leading down a mountain side. Olympus at the back, '' snow-covered and rose- crowned." Enter Epimetheus and Pandora, bearing a large casket. They set it down. EPIMETHEUS. Dost thou remember who created thee ? THE NEW PANDORA. 1 3 PANDORA, hesitatingly. When first I oped mine eyes, and saw the day, I stood afar upon the mountain height ; Nor knew I aught ; and gods and goddesses Encircled me and bade me lift mine eyes. I looked, and joyous life informed my veins. Then stepped a goddess forth, and o'er my form, Pulsing with life, a snow-white garment laid, And o'er my head a veil, and round my brow A coronet, embossed with curious sliapes. Another hung about me golden chains ; And then the bright-eyed Hours around m3 threw Garlands of spring, fair meadow blooms, the hues Of primrose yellow, daisy white, all blent With violet's flush and sad Narcissus' smile, While creeping up and down the flowery wreath The sun-eyed pimpernel looked shyly forth, EPIMETHEUS, interrupting. Yes ; but, my child, didst thou not know thy fate ? PANDORA. My fate ? Oh, no ! And what should be my fate ? I only know that life is sweet. All day Through happy fields or sunny vales I roamed. Companion of the white-winged messengers. Minerva wise, taught me to weave the web With colors gay, that interlace and glide Within each other, like the glancing leaves. 14 THE NEW PANDORA. Fair Aphrodite gave me many a gift, And all the gods conferred on me a grace, And I was named Pandora, all-endowed. EPIMETHEUS. Did not fleet Mercury, that led thee forth From high Olympus, tell thee of thy fate ? PANDORA. Oh, no ! He bade me walk with him adown The vale. And on the way strange words he said That I must go with thee to some far land. And carry all the gifts the gods had given. And mine as well, said he. And I endow [S/ie hesitates. Thee now with wily falsehood, tricksy ways, With speech insidious and with shameless mind. And then he left me and I walked with thee To this fair spot, and this is all I know. EPIMETHEUS, meditating. So ! from the lips of this too guileful god. There comes the first of evil thoughts to thee. {^Aside. Poor child ! and must I tell thee of thy fate ? [ To her. No woman ere had lived on earth until Thou cam'st, and men have lived from evil free. No toil have they, no baneful care, no pain, THE NEW PANDORA. 1 5 Nor have they known of dainties hid in earth, Or healing herbs. Mallow no virtue hath, Nor yet papaver's sleep-inviting juice ; For angry Jove hath kept them from their eyes Since was the time my brother angered him, PANDORA. Thy brother angered Jove, the god of gods ? EPIMETHEUS, » Prometheus was the friend of man. He strove In plans 'gainst Jove, and with illusive art And fraud incensed the god (in sacrifice He kept the better part for man ; to Jove He gave the bones, the semblance of the ox). And Jove, to be revenged on mortal man, Hid deep the shining element of fire. But Prometheus, benevolent of soul, Who sought to help mankind, o'er-reached great Jove, Stole fire from heaven to light the abodes of men. PANDORA. Stole fire from heaven ! EPIMETHEUS. Yes, child, and thus it happed My brother brought down this great good to man : He was a Titan's son ; Clymene gave Him birth, — a nymph of Ocean's dancing stream ; — 1 6 THE NEW PANDORA. He ever thought that Jove ill-treated man, So tried to help him, teach him how to live. This : and for that he stole the fire, he lies Enchained on craggy rocks of Caucasus, And evermore the eagle's, beak doth rend And daily feast on his undying heart. PANDORA. Is there no help ? EPIMETHEUS. No, none. So all must fare Who Jove defy, or bend not to his' will. PANDORA. Ah, me ! How came it that he stole the fire ? EPIMETHEUS. One day he stood by sea-green Ida's mount And Jove defied, saying : I fear thee not ; For man I strive. His good is more to me Than tranquil bliss with thee and all thy gods. Then spoke the angry god in thunder tones ; With fierce bolts sought to stab Prometheus' heart. But he, with courage grand, undaunted stood ; Tight in his hand a fennel stalk he bore. And high in air he held it to the sky. When through its hollow tube, white-hot with rage, Jove's bolt was hurled. It stabbed the ground. He fell. THE NEW PANDORA. 1 7 Soon he arose, alert. The yellow flame Had caught the low-hung bush, the tawny grass Embraced, and seized the hollow tree. Aloft It strove, and crackled all around ; it burned With jocund flame. Prometheus seized the prize, And, shut in chambers dim, laid it to rest. And now, in men's abodes, or hollow caves. It lies imprisoned fast, for man's own use. PANDORA. ' But what hath this to do with me ? EPIMETHEUS. Hearken, And I will tell. When Jove beheld the fire, He laughed in scorn and said : O man, exult Thou not in triumph over Jove. This fire Shall draw perdition down on all thy race j An evil shall be wrought, a beauteous snare, A mischief dire to thee, inventive man ! He called to Vulcan (halting in both feet. The artist god, maker of forms of things), Bade him with water temper plastic clay. And make a beauteous maid, who, seeming fair And good, to mortal man should yet bring ills. Bring sorrow, pain, and care to all his kind. That maid art thou ! For this thou com'st to earth ! THE NE W PANDORA. PANDORA. What ! / bring ills to man ? What ! / the source ! I ne'er knew ills, why should I be their source ? EPIMETHEUS. So Jove decrees. A seeming blessing thou, But yet a curse PANDORA. What ! I, a curse ? Great Jove ! Oh, why did he a woman me create ? And why, in high revenge for that the son Of fair Clymene stole the fire from heaven, Should I, too, bear the blame ? It was not I ! I did not ask to live. I had no choice. Ah, let me go ! Back to Olympus' height. And leave this clogging, weary earth behind ! EPIMETHEUS. It may not be. Olympus' mount is left Far off, remote. There was thy place of birth, (Who touches heaven before he lives, and brings Its radiant memories with him, sure is blest !) And ne'er again until dissolves in dust Thy toil-worn clay, wilt thou its summit reach. Thy lot is earthly life, with man to live. Go ! live thy life appointed. Do not ask The reason why, nor question Jove's behest. THE NEW PANDORA. 1 9 PANDORA. Why didst thou take me from bright Mercury, And lead me here to earth ? EPIMETHEUS. It was my fate. In spite of what my brother said, — to take No gift from Jove, for in it lay a snare, — I thee received. For that I brought thee here To earth, adown the track of time my^ name Will hateful be. I shall be called " pur-blind " And " Epimetheus of the erring mind." Scene III. — An open glade. At the back Aetes, Lycus, Sopolis, Miccus, and other men, lying on the ground. Some are eating j others wrestling. Enter Epimetheus and Pandora. pandora. What are these forms I see ? They look like gods, Yet rough and wild, with tangled hair and beard. Low on the ground they lie. Such shapes I ne'er Have seen while on Olympus' mount I dwelt. epimetheus. These shapes, my child, are men, thy mates. pandora. My mates ! 20 THE NEW PANDORA. EPIMETHEUS. Yes, they are made of clay like thee, not clothed As are the gods. But yet, as 't was with thee, The will of Jove called them to life. And they Inhabit this fair earth at his behest. A few are good, some bad, indifferent some. Thee hath he sent to live and do as they. PANDORA. I live and do as they ?. I, who have been The blest companion of the white-winged gods ? Great Jove, have pity ! Let me not be sent Of thy revenge th' unwilling instrument ! Scene IV. — A woody spot with tangled underbrush, and a rill of water. At the front a hut roofed with bark and open on all sides. Mount Ossa in the dis- tance. Enter Pandora and Epimetheus, bearing the casket. epimetheus. Here will we rest. Undo the casket's rim, And scatter forth the ills that thou hast brought, pandora. Why must I lift the lid and scatter ills ? THE NEW PANDORA. 21 EPIMETHEUS. It is thy fate. Obey, nor ask me why. [Pandora lifts the lid of the casket. Cloudy shapes arise and vanish from the hut. EPIMETHEUS. Are all the ills abroad ? PANDORA. , Yes, all abroad Save one ; one yet remains within the verge. EPIMETHEUS. 'T is Hope, a seeming ill, but yet a good. Shut down the lid. PANDORA. Why may not Hope come forth ? EPIMETHEUS. Not yet. When all thy life with man is done And thou and he, raised to an equal height, Subdued, uplifted, disciplined, refined. Stand side by side beneath the arching blue, And both can see the meaning of your lives. Then will sweet Hope come forth (when thou dost will) And dwell with man upon the breathing earth. 22 THE NEW PANDORA. And now I leave thee. Thus far have I brought A tender maiden toward a woman's lot. \Exit Epimetheus. [Pandora leans dejectedly against the hut. Cloudy shapes are seen flitting to and fro at the back. CHORUS OF ILLS. Away we float, to brood on the earth ; Settle, settle, on land and sea. In the darkness of Hades we had our birth, Breeding, seething, untiringly. DISEASE speaks. I shall live in the fens, in the sea-green mould, Lurking, lurking, in pleasures gay ; The maiden fair and the youth so bold. And the new-born child, I shall steal away. SORROW speaks. I shall blanch the cheek, and whiten the hair, Eating, eating, the heart's core out ; Bend the mother's form, blight the maiden fair, Break the father's pride, make all men doubt. PAIN speaks. I shall twist the limbs and shorten the breath, Racking, racking, the whole day long ; Waste the infant's life, bring to beauty death, Make youth seem a cheat, and age a wrong. THE NEW PANDORA. 23 CARE Speaks. I shall bend the neck with an unseen pack, Garking, carking, at every ear ; I shall wrinkle the forehead and bow the back, Make life a burden and death a fear. TOIL speaks. I shall harden the hands, bind the face to the sod, Grinding, grinding, in life's hard mill ; And man shall be changed to a slave and a clod, Toiling forever his mouth to fill. ALL together. Away we float, to brood on the earth, Settle, settle, on land and sea ; In the darkness of Hades we had our birth. Breeding, seething, untiringly. PANDORA, who has been listening in terror^ steps forward. Great Jove ! what had I done ? What rage refined Made me to bring these ills on all mankind ? Scene V. — The same ; with an ilex tree in the fore- ground. In the centre of the open hut is a rude bench, on which lie a dead kid, a gourd, some dried fruit, figs, bunches of grapes, etc. PANDORA wearily. He bade me food prepare ere he should come. 24 THE NEW PANDORA. \^Takes off her flowers J they fall to pieces in her hands. Poor flowers ! your day was short, your life was brief ! How fades the primrose sweet, how dim the eye Of violet looks ! And columbine, her leaves Of vermeil hue, droop like my garments' pride. \Takes off her veil, coronet, cestus, and ornaments, and hangs them at a corner of the hut. Fair veil, that decked my virgin brow, by wise Minerva wrought, your fleeting day is done ! And ye, my jewels rare, and coronet, — Hang where ye will. For me thy golden pomp No more will gleam. Gone my companions all ! ' And far away, Olympus lies, my home, Where I, in maiden freedom walked, nor cared To change my lot. Ah me ! no more to sup At banquets fine, nor drink of nectar full The crystal cup, at tables set for gods ! O my lost life ! How can I thee forget, And dwell with man, or ever be his mate ! How I do loathe this place — this common earth Where I must dwell, — the life I 'm doomed to lead ! Last night, when I was left within th« hut, Aetes came. When me he saw, and viewed The casket o'er, and heard my story sad. He murmured and complained to all the gods THE NEW PANDORA. 2$ For sending such a gift ; for that with me He must accept the ills. Oh, I would fly ! But where ? The vale is full of men. This morn I saw them prowling round the hut wherein I hidden lay. Oh, I do fear this man Who me reluctant takes, nor thanks the gods ! Ah, why, great Jove, hast thou created me ? [Takes off her mantle and appears in a white tunic. ' When forth Aetes went and left me here, Before my sight he seized a trembling kid, And, rending it in twain, he said : Clean this j Prepare the food^ and when I come from chase I 'II eat my fill. I ne'er did this before. \She takes a flint knife and tries to flay the kid, but gives up in disgust. I cannot eat raw flesh. I ne'er did that. The gods have taught me I must eat baked food. Ah me ! I have no fire ! Where is 't ? What said Old Epimetheus ? JVow, in men's abodes, In chambers di?n, or hollow caves, it rests. Great Jove ! If I must suffer thus that man May have his fire, O let me share the good ! [She comes out of the hut and kneels beneath the ilex tree. A little bird sings and twitters over her head. Being all-endowed, she has the power to understand its language. 26 THE NEW PANDORA. What saith the bird ? Rub two sticks ! rub two sticks ! Will that bring me bright fire ? I '11 heed its song. \She rubs two pieces of wood together^ and a spark appears. Behold, the fire ! Now can I bake the kid And eat. 'T is yestermorn since I did eat. . \She reenters the hut, cuts off a little piece of the kid, and puts it on the fire. She then draws a log from outside the hiit and places it at the bench for a seat, brings a gourd of water from the rill, gathers some leaves, atid is ar- ranging the fruit when Aetes enters, and throws himself on the ground. AETES. What hast to eat ? Where is the meat, the fruit ? Bring all to me, that I may eat my fill. PANDORA. Wilt thou not sit ? AETES. I ne'er did sit, but ate My food from off the earth. 'T is better so. PANDORA. The gods all sit at table when they eat. THE NEW PANDORA. 2/ AETES, roughly. Well, if thou wilt. \^Sees the meat on the fire. What 's that ? PANDORA. 'T is meat, for me. I ne'er did eat raw flesh, nor can I now. AETES. I, Thou 'rt mighty fine ! 'T is good enough for me. PANDORA. Yes, but among the gods I ne'er did eat Raw flesh. The gods do not ; 't is not their food. AETES. We are not gods : we eat the food of men. Bring me the grapes ; the water fetch. [Pandora ivaits on him. He makes a great ado eating and drinking, and spills the water. She silently offers him a leaf to wipe his beard. He flings it down in disgust. Woman ! Wilt thou not eat ? You live no more with gods. pandora. I cannot eat as thou dost. 28 THE NEW PANDORA. AETES. As thou wilt. Eat thy baked meat alone, and be content. It seems I do not suit thee ; and my ways They do not please thee. But thou 'It ne'er forget That thou no more dost live with gods, but men. Remember, thou art sent to live with me. Make of 't the best thou canst ; and so will I. And now I leave thee, and I haste with speed ; Instead of one mouth I have two to feed. \Exit. PANDORA. Remember ? Would I could forget the fate That brought me here as thy unwilling mate ! ACT II. ACT II. Scene I. — The Little Woman-Child. Scene II. — Primitive Men. Scene III.— Death of the Child. Scene IV.— The Deserted Mate. Scene V. — The Runaway Mate. Scene VI.— The Return. Scene VII. — The Reconciliation. ACT II. Scene I. — Same as Act /., Scene V. The under- brush is cleared, and the hut, which is at the back, is closed on all sides. Over the door qre trained rose and clematis vines, and near the entrance flowers are planted. Aetes sits outside the door making a rude plough. Pandora sits beneath the ilex tree holding a child, and singing softly to herself. pandora's lullaby. Sleep, softly sleep, Little woman-child, On my aching heart, — Still its tumult wild. Sleep, softly sleep. Sleep, gently sleep, O fair be thy lot ! My sorrowful fate O follow it not ! Sleep, gently sleep. Sleep, sweetly sleep ; The ewe on the lea 31 32 THE NEW PANDORA. And the doe hath her young, And I, only thee. Sleep, sweetly sleep. Come, tranquil hour, Low-laden with sleep, Come, gentle zephyr, And watch o'er her keep. Sleep, baby, sleep. \_She rises, goes past Aetes and enters the hut. He looks after her. Scene II. — Inside the hut. There is a shelf with gourds, wooden sJ>oons, flint knives, etc. In the centre is a low table on which are meat, barley cake, and fruit. A rude loom stands in one corner, near which is sitsl)ended a baby's hammock, or cradle, made of skins. The casket is at the back. Pandora stands near the hammock. Aetes sits in the doorway at work on his plough. PANDORA, turning to Aetes. I dread the coming of these men, so rude Are they. I hear them oft within the wood, And hide myself, and fear the child will cry. And they will enter, when thou art away. aetes. They 're not all rough. Some are as good as I. [Or as I was before thou cam'st.] And would Be well behaved did they not live alone. THE NEW PANDORA, 33 \Enter Lycus, Sopolis, Polites, and Miccus, former co77ipanions of Aetes. They throw thefnselves on the floor of the hut. Pandora offers them wreaths. Aetes puts his on his head. V01ATE.S follows his example, while the others examine theirs curiously. Pandora of- fers food to all. SOPOLIS. What is this myrtle for, so twisted up ? AETES. It was the custom in the woman's home To twine the brows of guests with wreaths. She doth It in remembrance of the gods, her mates Aforetime, for 't was so they sat at feasts. \Aside. Confound those gods ! That Mercury I hate. She dwelleth oft upon his ways, repeats The nonsense soft he poured into her ear. MICCUS, putting his wreath on the back of his head. I wonder which god 't is I look most like ? SOPOLIS. It must be Bacchus, come without his goat ! 34 THE NEW PANDORA. LYCUS. See how he eats ! He cuts the flesh with knives, And in his maw he places little bits, As if 't were berries small or cornels red. SOPOLIS. See how he sits ! The earth, it seems, he scorns ! He doth not eat the flesh he giveth us. Say, what is that thou 'rt putting in thy maw ? AETES. 'T is flesh that 's baked with fire, — the woman's way. MICCUS. Dost like it ? AETES. So — so. She doth think it good. MICCUS. Oh ! She doth think it good ! A pretty use To make of fire ! I 'd rather keep its flame To warm myself, when chill Boreas blows ; Bake my own haunches, not the kid's soft flesh ! [Pandora hands some dried fruit and berries, on a large leaf. LYCUS. What is this leaf for, put beneath the figs .'' THE NEW PANDORA. 35 AETES. To drop thy champings in, — not on the ground. Miccus, derisively. Is this the woman's way ? Dost thou like this ? AETES, aside. I think, mayhap, 't is needless, but 't is so She likes it. , LYCUS. Then 't is so must we ! {Aside.) Mayhap ! [T^ey finish eating, and Sopolis and Miccus pull some long green leaves out of their tunics, cram them into their mouths and chew, spitting around. AETES. Be careful where ye spit ! She doth not like It done within the hut. LYCUS. What stuff ! I 'd teach Her, very soon, that I would do whate'er I choose ; have my own way ; that she should do As / should please, and that my word was law. [ The child makes a little cry. What 's that ? 36 THE NEW PANDORA. AETES. It is the child. LYCUS. What child hast thou ? MICCUS. Where was the man-child found ? AETES. 'T is not a man, It is a woman-child. MICCUS. Where found you it ? AETES. I found it not. 'T is hers — and mine — our child. MICCUS. Her child and thine ! Did it not come as we ? Didst thou not find it hid in hollow woods, Or mountain dells, or in some flowery bed Of parsley or of thyme ? AETES. No, 't is her child. The woman gave it birth, e'en as the doe THE NEW PANDORA. 37 Brings forth the dappled fawn, the goat her kid, The ewe her yeanling, and the kine their young. \The men all look with wonder on the child. LYCUS, laughing. I ne'er did hear of aught so strange [ But 't is The woman's way, no doubt, with all the rest. 'T is deep enough ! She leads him like a sheep ! [^(?««^ Pandora's veil, mantle, and ornaments, he puts them on and says, mincingly, to Aetes. Is this the way she looked when first she came ? And did she smile, like this, and sweetly say : Aetes, I have come to live with thee, To lift thee from the ground, to make thee sit And eat thy food, and bake it, if I please. And thou must chew it j — as if thou wert sick And loathed it, not with relish strong, and smacks Of chops, that show how toothsome 't is and good ! POLITES. See how the woman shakes ! Thou shouldst not fright Her thus ; keep thou thy antics for thy mates. [Aetes smiles a little, but Pandora retreats tow- ard the child's cradle. 38 THE NEW PANDORA. LYCUS. What is 't to thee ? I '11 see how she doth shake ! \He goes up to Pandora, and attempts to take hold of her arm. Aetes flies at hi?n, knocks him down, and drives him from the hut. The others follow, Polites with an apologetic ges- ture. K^'^^% fastens the door and turns tow- ard Pandora, who. is standing, in terror, by the cradle; AETES. Thou 'rt safe ! But mind, if one of them should come When I 'm away, bethink thee which one 't is. I '11 teach him that if woman's ways are deep. There 's something in a man that 's more than sheep. Scene III. — The same. Pandora sitting listlessly near the loom. In her hand is a little child's shoe made of white fur. Enter Aetes, who goes to the cradle, looks into it, touches the child, and starts back. He then looks all round the hut, as if searching for something. aetes. Where is the child ? pandora. Ah me ! I do not know. THE NEW PANDORA. 39 [Aetes looks again into the cradle, partly lifts the child ^ groans heavily, and then turns fiercely tow- ard Pandora, who shrinks from him. AETES. What ails the child ? What hast thou done to it ? PANDORA. Indeed, I know not. I have nothing done. \She falls at his feet, weeping and moaning. This morn, when thou didst quit the hut and left Me sorrowing here, at all the words, the taunts. We both did use, the child set up a cry. I heeded not, but made my plaint to Jove, And mourned for lost Olympus, where I strayed In virgin freedom, nor had wished to roam — A careless maiden, with, unthinking mind. AETES. The child ! the child ! Thou woman, where 's the child ? PANDORA, unheeding. But fate, stern fate, and Jove's command, brought me To this low hut, this common life. 40 THE NEW PANDORA. AETES. The child! The child ! What hast thou done with that ? Where is 't ? PANDORA, still unheeding. And I did curse great Jove, with bitter cries For that he made me woman. And the child Cried out again. Unto my breast its lips I laid ; it drank and in my face it smiled. The agony was gone from out my heart. But ah ! the child felt all the pang. Its head Back in my arms it laid, its face grew dark, Its breath went out, its snowy limbs grew still. AETES, angrily. Thou woman, source of all my ills ! For thee I toil all through the weary day. Once, when I wanted food, I seized the flying fawn. Tore out its heart, drank of its blood. Well-fed Was I. But now I flocks and herds must tend, Must till the earth, and snare the tender bird. That thou mayst eat and thrive. I happy lived ; And if I dirty was, as oft thou sayst, I was enough content. I knew nor toil Nor care ; nor knowledge had, — but lived in peace. Now thou dost make me bear long days of toil. And suffer sorrows, ills, and pains untold. THE NEW PANDORA. 41 PANDORA, rising. I cannot help that Jove created me ; Would he had not, or left me in my home Where erst I dwelt in bliss. There broke the morn With songs, the hills responding echoed back The strain ; fresh came the food prepared for gods ; Like clouds the garments grew. But nov/ my days, So full of pain, I pass in thy rude hut. With frets and cares new-born, ,and grief un- plumbed ! In toil and sorrow must I ever live. AETES, looking again into the cradle. Thou woman ! Jove did make thee for a curse. For this he sent thee, and he has his will. PANDORA. I did not wish to come to thee, nor stay When I was brought ; nor did I want the child. It was thy will that gave it us, not mine. AETES. What is 't thou sayst ? Wert thou not sent to me, As was the ewe, the mare, the mottled doe ? PANDORA. Oh yes, I am the same ! The mare, the ewe, The mottled doe, no choice of owners hath. No more had I ! But they have seasons, times ; 42 THE NEW PANDORA. They bear their young with willing joy. But I Alone, thy mate and not the brute's, have here No choice. AETES. But I will have thee for mine own. PANDORA. Thou dost possess the clay, made far below In Vulcan's workshop, but it is not 1 ! That, Heav'n-born, still eludes thee, tho* thou tread'st Its mould to dust. AETES, in surprise. I did not know thou hadst A thought like this PANDORA. Thou didst not ask, nor care To know how hard it is for me who dwelt Aforetime with the gods, to drudge for thee, To care for all thy needs. AETES. And that thou wast Not willing to become my mate. Is 't thus ? PANDORA. I was not asked ! THE NEW PANDORA. 43 AETES. And art thou not content ? Thou hast enough to eat, art housed and fed ? PANDORA. Thou 'rt born of earth, and canst not understand ! Dost thou not know that still around me clings My heavenly birth ? That thou art not as I ? Oh, I would rather be the mate of him Who whispered in my guileless ear the first Alluring words ! Or Epimetheus ! He, Though old and blind, were better far. They both Are god-descended, or of Titans bold. But thou ! No glimpse of god-like birth I find In thee ! From far-off heights no sun-light comes To enter thine abode. How can I be Content ? AETES. Then will I leave thee, here to dwell Alone. And I *11 go live with my old mates Thou call'st the wild men of the woods. Go thou To Hades — and for aught I care. Or else Go back to thy high-dwelling home again ; Go back and find your lying Mercury ! \Exit Aetes, PANDORA, Ah me ! I cannot go, nor ever more My earthly feet will tread its heavenly floor. 44 "^^^ NEW PANDORA. Scene IV. — The same. Pandora alone. She goes to the child's cradle and looks in. PANDORA, Where is the child ? Indeed, where is the child ? Its form is there, just as mine was before I oped mine eyes on those remembered heights ; Just as I was when Vulcan carried me From out his workshop dim. But where the voice, The smile, the joy, the loving looks, the life ? Where are the pulses warm that filled its frame, The ways so sweet that lightened my sad life ? I know not. Neither do I know from whence It came. What is this thing, not made of clay — The life ! — that laughs and sings, despairs and weeps ? Where does it go ? To what far land I ne'er Can reach, has gone what erst I called the child ? Oh ! ice-bound feet no spring can loose, where is The power unseen that led thee forth alone ? \^She sits down wearily at the loom. Invisible spirits sing over the body of the little child. SPIRITS. Come away ! First-born child of an earthly maid, Come away to the valley of rest. Come and play where the flowers like stars are laid. LITTLE CHILD-SPIRIT. I would sleep on her soft-falling breast. THE NEW PANDORA. 45 SPIRITS. Come away ! Unwelcome hast thou been, and cold on thy brow Rest the eyes that should look only love ; Sweet bud, thou wilt bloom where the still waters flow In the green shining pastures above. Come away ! Come away ! In his mercy Jove c^lls thee away. LITTLE CHILD-SPIRIT. Oh, no, no, I would stay ! I would rest ! SPIRITS, We wait for thee : thou must no longer delay. LITTLE CHILD-SPIRIT. Let me sleep on her soft-falling breast. SPIRITS. Come away ! PANDORA. My child, my child ! Thou art indeed my child ! I falsely said, when in my grief and pain. That thou wert not my child ! Go not away I Or take me with thee to the unseen land. 46 THE NEW PANDORA. SPIRITS. Come away, child, 't is for thee, not thy mother, We leave her to sorrow and pain. When the hard day of life for her is all over We '11 unite you, forever, again. Come away ! LITTLE CHILD-SPIRIT, feebly. Let me stay ! Let me rest On her soft-falling breast ! [ The song dies away and Pandora sinks to the ground. Scene V. — A glade, in which are several hutSy some better than others. Rude farming implements are scattered around, and some goats and cows are tethered in the background. Lycus, Sopolis, Mic- cus, PoLiTES, Pelias, Stilpo, and Kurnus are seen, some busy with their farming implements. Pol- ITES is mending a net, and Miccus is playing with the animals. Enter Aetes. LYCUS. Why, here 's Aetes ! He 's come back again ! How haps that thou dost deign to visit us ? Or, hast thou come to live with men, and be A man's companion, not a woman's mate ? AETES, hesitatingly. Mayhap ! — I 've come to stay awhile, that is THE NEW PANDORA. 47 SOPOLIS. Bring forth the meat, the ripest figs, the grapes ; 'T was so we fared when we did visit him. \Brings out meat, fruit, etc. LYCUS, aside. I well remember how / fared that day. But I '11 repay ! If he the woman 's left, Then shall she be my mate. {Aloud) Give him the best. With open arms the welcome guest receive. [T/ze men sit on the ground, Aetes on a little mound. They eat in a rollicking way — all but PoLiTES and Pelias — throwing the bones and grape-skins at each other. Aetes does not eat the meat j but sits in a dejected attitude, eats a few grapes and mechanically drops the skins into his right hand. SOPOLIS, observing aetes. Seest thou, his dress no longer is like ours ? But tricked with colors gay, like autumn leaves Of oak or chestnut when they drop their balls ; Or yellow hamamelis' dancing plume. LYCUS. She made it. 'T is the woman's work ; her will That tricks him out, just as she doth bedeck Herself. She fair and comely looks, by Jove ! 48 THE NEW PANDORA. MICCUS. If we lived in Aetes' hut, we should Be forced to eat baked meat, our champings hold Within a leaf, not throw them on the ground, Or at each other, in disport and play ; Nor could we chew the long green plant in peace. LYCUS. . Not on the ground, said he. She likes it not ! Ha, ha ! I wonder if she 'd like it now. \To Aetes, who does not notice what the men say, but sighs and is silent. Why dost not eat the meat we eat ? Thou 'It find No baked flesh here. No woman's ways with us ! POLITES, aside. Would that we might, to quell such swine as thou ! AETES. I know it well. Thou need'st not bruit it forth. [jSr/ Let us go forth. I saw this morn some flowers Like those that thou didst wear within thy wreath When first thou cam'st to make complete my world. I left them there (thou know'st my careful ways, — I never wanton pluck their blooms, to tread. As some men do, their broken lives to dust, — I love to see them nodding on their stems). But thou wilt like to gather them to adorn. To beautify our home, — as oft thou dost — And then I see thee as thou wast that day When first thou cam'st to earth, a beauteous maid, To me wert given, to evermore be mine. And make my lowly hut resplendent shine. YThey go out. Scene II. — Woods surrounding an open glade. Ossa at the back. Enter Harmonia, panting, and leading a white doe with a rope of grass. HARMONIA. A merry chase thou 'st led me, lole ! From steep to steep, I folloAved thee adown The wood embossed side of Ossa's mount, And jocund Zephyr tracked our flying feet. And reaching Dryads caught my flowing hair. My pretty doe, wilt thou not speak to me. And tell me when the fair-haired comes this way ? 78 THE NEW PANDORA. harmonia's song. lole ! lole ! My lole, now tell me true, When will the fair-haired come this way ? With manly shape and eyes of blue, With stature tall, and step so gay ? lole! lole! In thy soft ear, my pretty doe, I '11 tell thee all my secret plan ; 'T is this — and I will speak it loWj — Mayhap I '11 love this fair-haired man. lole ! lole ! Away, away, my lole ! Go whisper softly in his ear, Tell him what I have told to thee ; A mortal maiden waits him here, lole! lole! [ The doe makes a little noise. What saith the doe ? My mother dear its speech Would understand. I cannot. I 'm earth-born, Not all-endowed as she. But yet, enough \Enter Olen unseen, at the back. For earthly life — 't is so my father saith. Yet would I know what speaks swift Archelous, As on he flies past Pindus' peaceful glades ; THE NEW PANDORA. 79 He sweeps the crinkled shadows of the woods Adown his path, and louder far he sings Than all the rhythmic runes the wood-nymphs hymn. \_She unties the doe. Away she bounds ! "Would I were born of Heaven ! Would I were like my mother dear ! Then I Should know the language of the wopds, the waves, The speech of bird and arrowy-footed doe. But my inheritance is all of earth, 'T is swiftness, vigor, ruddy health and strength. [Olen springs forward and attempts to seize her. Away, rude man ! How dar'st thou seize me thus. OLEN. I want thee ! Woman aye was given to man ! HARMONIA. It may be so ; but not unless she wills. OLEN. Thy father seized thy mother — so 't is said. I thought it was the way. HARMONIA. *T is not the way, At least with me ! My mother had no choice ; 80 THE NEW PANDORA. Jove willed it so. But he no longer wills That maids be seized by men, unless they choose. OLEN. I '11 buy thee, then ! I '11 to thy father give My sandals shod with gold, my spear, my bow Of strength. HARMONIA. Thou canst not buy my father's child ! My father's spirit dwelleth deep in me, 'T is my inheritance. I '11 not be seized. But will my freedom keep. Now go thy ways, And learn to speak a maiden fair, and when Thou thinkest best to sue, I '11 answer thee. OLEN. Be not so angry, I have loved thee long. HARMONIA. If thou dost love me, make thyself a man. Just like my father, or Polites kind OLEN. What is 't I do thou dost so much dislike ? HARMONIA. Dost thou not chew the dirty weed ? And then — Thou followest the nymphs of wood and stream. THE NEW PANDORA. 8l OLEN. [ Takes something out of his mouth and throws it behind hi?n. I do no harm. And I will grow more mild — {Aside. I '11 never speak with one of them again, — [ To her. Learn better habits. Wilt thou be my wife ? I 've loved thee long. HARMONIA. Where hast thou seen me ? OLEN. Here Within the wood I Ve watched thee. HARMONIA. I 've seen thee, A-creeping, prowling round amid the trees. Thy meaching face did look as looks the sheep, Or hairy satyr leering from the bush. [Aside. I did not think so, but he knows it not. [ To him. I never thought thou lookst on me as prey ! Thou hadst a look as if thou wanted food — Some grapes, or figs, or kids ; but not a mate. 82 THE NEW PANDORA. OLEN. But wilt thou not forgive me, list to me ? HARMONIA. Where dost thou come from, with thy long fair hair? \Aside. I like it well. OLEN. From Northern woods I come, From Woden's land ; Asgard is his abode. Within his palace, seated on his throne, He overlooks the heavens and the earth. Hugin and Munin on his shoulders sit, And every day to all the world they fly. To bring him news of what they 've seen and heard. HARMONIA. Oh, I have seen them on the tulip-tree, And fed them oft with bits of wheaten cake. OLEN. I fed these ravens black from earliest youth ; And, like a curious boy, I listened well To all their wondrous tales, and in my heart I pondered them. HARMONIA. What name was given to thee. Thou shepherd of the birds ? THE NEW PANDORA. 83 OLEN. I 'm Olen called. One day they came full freighted to the North. The news is great, they said. In sunny lands. Where thro' Thessalian plams Peneus winds, Near high Olympus to the Thermean gulf, Where Southern gods have their abode, is born A daughter to Pandora {all endowed ) — The only woman-child of all the Greeks. HARMONIA. But I an elder brother have. His name Is Charlico ; he 's fair, like thee. And then ? OLEN. And then I fed the birds full well, and oft I coaxed them each to tell his tale again. And in my heart I said : She shall be mine ! This mortal maid shall be my own true wife. HARMONIA. And why, since thou wast there, didst thou not seize A maid from thine own land } GLEN. I like them not. They 're not like thee. They are immortals all — The maids of Woden's land, Asgard's abode, — 84 THE NEW PANDORA. They are the Valkyriors, the messengers Who bring slain heroes to Valhalla's hall. And when they fly on their strong horses, armed With shield and spear, their yellow hair illumes The northern sky — and this foretells that rain And cold are near. It is her sign. HARMONIA. My mother sees them oft. OLEN. I ever wished a maid Of mortals born. I want a wife to stay At home, and not go flying all abroad. HARMONIA. How didst thou know the way to look for me ? GLEN. Each year, on their return, the ravens brought Me news of thee. They said : She walks, she grows Apace J her hair is dark, and midnight broods Within her eyes. Last year, when they came back To Woden's land, I fed them well with choice And juicy bits of Schrimer's side, — the boar Whose ever growing flesh the heroes eat Who bravely die, and after feast — and then Did coax them soft to tell me news of thee. THE NEW PANDORA. 85 HARMONiA, aside. How happy am I, listening to his tale ! OLEN. She is a maiden grown j she 's tall^ they said, And like the Delian palm, she rears her head. Her form is lithe, and like Munychia's bow Whenever she twangs the string, she doth rebound, If bent against her will. \Laughing^ I 've found it so ! HARMONIA, The ravens know ! With beechen twigs I scared Them oft, when they my red-winged pigeon vexed, Or stole the seed-corn scattered near his cote, OLEN, resuming. Around her limbs, they said, her chiton falls In colors numerous as are in the bow That Bifrost builds to arch the flood and tell That rain is o'er. No longer did I wait, But took the barley cake, dried flesh and fish. And cheese from milk of red Audhumbla made, My bow of strength, my double-headed spear. And came to find thy land. HARMONIA. Did'st safely come ? 86 THE NEW PANDORA. OLEN. I lost my way, and brambles tore my limbs. Ofttimes wild beasts pursued me, and the heat Of southern suns oppressed me sore. But yet My heart, it ever sang : Far in the South A mortal maiden dwells, and waits for me. HARMONIA. How couldst thou know that I would wait for thee, Nor mate with one belonging to my race ? OLEN. I knew that thou wouldst ever wait for me. True love, such love as mine, must find response, — E'en though the endless years, the earth itself. Should roll between. And so for thee I came. The only wife for me in all the world. HARMONIA, aside. joy ! I can no longer hide my love. [ To him. 1 did not know that thou wouldst come. And yet I thought — -young Dolops — he is not my choice. And all my life I will unmated go, Unless there comes a better man than he, Who knoweth how to treat a maid. I hate His boorish ways, his habits rude despise. THE NEW PANDORA. 8/ OLEN. I knew thou wouldst. But yet, I am, mayhap, As rude as he in some things that I do. But I am strange to thee ; and thou, perchance, Not seeing me, as thou dost him, mayst think I better am. I 'm well content thou shouldst. HARMONIA. \ Thou must be better far than Dolops is, If thou wouldst have me speak with thee again ! OLEN. Almost a year I 've wandered 'mong the haunts Of men, have learned their ways. Far different they From those of heroes brave who come to dwell In Woden's halls : and some I must unlearn I fear, if I would gain thy love. HARMONIA. Indeed. Thou must ! OLEN. But wilt thou love me then ? HARMONIA. I will. No longer can I hide from thee my love. Because I love thee, and for that alone. 88 THE NEW PANDORA. Will I become thy wife. And yet not then, Unless my father and my mother will. Come thou with me, relate to them thy tale ; Ask their consent. OLEN. Thy father fear I not. I 've met him oft in councils of the men. It is thy mother that I fear to ask, — She is so all-endowed ! HARMONIA. Thou need'st not fear. The all-endowed doth aye with favor look On those who are less gifted than themselves ; And treat with kindness those not blessed as they, OLEN. Then will to me thy mother kindness show. And thou wilt favor, love me, be my wife ! Although thy mother all-endowed may be, Thou 'It ever be the more endowed to me. [ They go out together. Scene III. — Inside the hut. Another room, with rustic seats and tables, some carved in an artistic man- ner. The cradle is in one corner, covered with a white mantle. Saffron curtains edged with red divide the room from that beyond, VAi/i'DO'SiA enters and sits down THE NEW PANDORA. 89 wearily. Enter Dolops {a young man), and Miccus, who goes about looking at every thing in the room. DOLOPS, peering around. Is strong Aetes here ? I see him not. YTo Pandora. Good morn to thee ! How fares the woman-child ? PANDOR^, startled. The woman-child ? What dost thou mean ? My heart ! DOLOPS. Thine own Harmonia. She 's well-grown and fit PANDORA, aside. I thought he meant the child aye lost to me. \To him. And what wouldst thou with her ? DOLOPS. She 's fit to mate With man. I ask for her. (I would not ask, But that I fear the strong Aetes' arm.) PANDORA. My bright Harmonia mate with such as thou ! No, never ! And 't is well her father hears Thee not. He 'd say thee nay in more than words. 90 THE NEW PANDORA. Miccus, who has been slily examining the cradle. I see none here. There is no woman-child. I wonder where they keep them now. Dolops Has come for one. How wroth he '11 be when he Finds out that none are here saved up for him. {Chuckles to himself and continues the search. DOLOPS. Thou need'st not be so wroth ! Harmonia doth Consort already with such mates as I, — With one at least. She 's often in the woods. With Olen of the North I 've seen her walk. He held her hand, embraced her form and kissed Her mouth and blooming cheek. {Aside. I should not dare To lie like this, were old Aetes here. PANDORA. 'T is false ! Away ! or I myself will strike Thee dumb ! {Exit Dolops. MICCUS. It was not I. Thou can'st not say That I did ask for her. I did not want The child. PANDORA. No, 't was not thee. But didst thou see My bright Harmonia walking in the woods With Olen of the North ? THE NEW PANDORA. pi MICCUS. It was no harm. Young Olen is a brave and handsome man. And if he took her hand, embraced her form, And kissed her mouth, where was the harm in that ? (I did not see it, but I need not tell.) [Pandora groans and sighs. And now she makes the noise Aetes, made. She taught it him ! A fool she makes of him. I 'm glad no woman e'er was made for me. [Exit Enter Aetes. AETES. What ails my sweetest love, my own true mate ? PANDORA, weeping. Young Dolops came, and for Harmonia asked To be his mate. I told him nay ; I said She should not live with one so rough as he. This angered him, and sharply he replied : Already she consorts with such as I. She is the mate of Olen of the North. AETES. Consorts with men ? And walks, unknown to us. With Olen of the North ? It cannot be. Or, if 't is true, there *s in it nothing wrong. A child of thine can ne'er do aught amiss. 92 THE NEW PANDORA. PANDORA. I ever strove to teach her right AETES. Yet still, She is like me, with instincts strong and wild, Robust, and full of bounding health. Within Her veins doth course a sensuous life unknown To thine. She is a child of Nature, free As air. But trained by thy sweet hand, the force That oft, aforetime, did in me o'ertop My better self, is made to guide and rule The currents of her life. PANDORA. Aetes kind ! I 'm glad she is like thee. I ever wished My children might be brave and strong like thee. AETES. I 'm strong enough — and so is wickedness, — And yet, I ofttimes think, a character, In order to be strong, must have a dash Of darkness in 't, of gracelessness. This force, It is a fearful thing. It is like fire, A useful servant 't is, if kept within The bounds ; but if it 'scapes and spreads abroad, It seizes, devastates all that doth come In reach. I 'm thankful that I have no more. THE NEW PANDORA. 93 PANDORA. She may be wilful — but deceitful ! — nay ! Nor weak, incapable ! O, much I lean Upon her stronger nature, as I do On thine ! AETES. Yes, I am made to lean upon, And so, mayhap, is she. She looks like me ; She 's dark, and hath my birthmark on her cheek. The ugly mole thou oft hast teased me with. 'T is a deformity in me ; with her It is a beauty-spot, it foils the rose Upon her cheek. So strong is she, we need Not fear a fall. PANDORA. I know she 's good and true ; And yet, my heart doth ache to think on what Young Dolops said. AETES. How orderly her ways ! Whate'er she useth, she doth aye put back In its own place. Her threads within the web Are tangled not, but set with even care As is the order of the standing corn, Or rhythmic barley bowing in the breeze. An order-loving nature doth not bring Disaster to the home ; it doth cement 94 THE NEW PANDORA. Its walls. She honors us, and doth respect Herself, and e'en for love will not go wrong. PANDORA. She ever said : If e'er I mate, a man I'll have just like my father. AETES. Yes, and thou .Did'st answer : Thou canst not a better have. PANDORA. But these wild men. They are not like to thee. AETES.. The breed 's the same. But in them all I see A difference. Some are good, some wild, and some More tame, and willing to be taught. 'T is hard To show these men how best to apply the arts Prometheus taught. Some take what I impart As if 't were mother's milk (if that they 'd known), Like Pelias just, Polites ever apt. But most ! the thunderbolt of Jove himself Could not to their dull ears the knowledge break ; Some learning fear, as 't were a raging boar.- PANDORA. That foolish Miccus thou didst try to teach To plant a hedge like thine, tree following tree. As goats when led by sire or dam adown THE NEW PANDORA, 95 The mountain path, each after each ! His trees Were scattered left and right, and looked like goats By sudden panic seized ! AETES. And when I said : Thin out, make straight thy hedge, \ was done ! And now The trees all stand, some here, some there, with space Enough between to drive a fatted ox, A herd of kine, or millet-loaded wain. PANDORA. I could not let Harmonia consort With men so rude as these. The life they lead, After her life with us, she could not share. AETES. Our home will not be always hers. She will Not be content. But we must hope the best. Polites learns the arts with easy grace, And Dolops, were he not so rough, is deft. And Pelias, ever just, is loved by all. This Olen may have traits as good as theirs. I 've seen him oft. He aye defers to me. The North breeds noble men ; there Goudan reigns, And Ask and Emba, man and woman, dwell. May it not be, young Olen is their child ? 96 THE NEW PANDORA. PANDORA. Thou bring'st the light of morning to my soul ! AETES. I will go forth, see if she walks with him. Take heart, remember what I say to thee : A child of thine can never go astray. She 's not so good as thou, but good enough For any man. I hope for her he 's meet. Not many men are fit to have a mate. And very few are fit to live with one. Thus saith the father ! Thankful may he be His own dear mate doth not with him agree. \Exit. PANDORA. What comfort my Aetes gives to me ! His love doth aye surround me, and he lifts All burdens from my heart. All, all but one ! \Reenter Aetes leading Olen and Harmonia. They go to Pandora. AETES. Thou mother, here is Olen of the North. olen. Thou all-endowed, thy daughter bids me come To ask of thee that she may be my wife. If thou dost will, her father gives consent. THE NEW PANDORA, 97 PANDORA Dost love Harmonia ? OLEN. Yes, indeed I do ! PANDORA. What wouldst thou do for her ? OLEN, , O, everything ! Take sucTi good care of her ! Will till the earth, Will hunt and fish, and gather fruit ; will build A hut, make spoons and knives, {looking around'\ a bench, a loom, {Sees the cradle. A little cradle, too, mayhap I could. HARMONIA. Thou silly goose OLEN, examining it. In truth, I think I could A cradle make. PANDORA. Harmonia, my child HARMONIA. My mother dear 98 THE NEW PANDORA. PANDORA. — And dost thou love this man ? Dost thou desire to live with him ? to leave Thy home, leave Charlico, thy father's arms, His sheltering care, thy childhood's walks and ways, The sacred spot whereon thy life began ? Wilt leave all this and with a stranger go ? And dost thou love him, child, enough for this ? HARMONIA. Yes, mother dear, I do ; and ever shall While life endures. I willing go with him, If thou dost say, unto the farthest verge Of all the world. PANDORA. Thanks be to all the gods ! Then go. Go thou with him and share his lot ; Be his true mate. Go to his empty hut ; Go make a home for him like to thine own, To meet the needs of thee and thine. OLEN. I think She will not miss her home. I '11 love her well. PANDORA. Where love abides, that hut is full. Its roof With plenty drops ; the poorest vessels made THE NEW PANDORA. 99 By loving hands are bright as dishes set For highest gods. I 'm glad for thee, but grieve At parting from thee, daughter of my love. OLEN. {^Takes Harmonia by the hand and leads her to Pandora. I thank thee, all-endowed. I honor thee, Thou mother of my love, e'en as I do The one who gave me birth, and in the North Waits my return. \^To Harmonia. Thou first and only one ! Thou first sweet maid of woman born ! PANDORA, aside. That lives ! OLEN. And thou shalt go with me to mine own land, To Woden's land, far in the North, to live Near Ymirs' well that springs from Jotunheim. Within its depths do wit and wisdom dwell. And they will teach thee lore of Asgard's halls ; The song of Bragi, god of poesie ; How Frey doth make the rain and sunshine fall, And all the fruits of earth. His sister, too. Fair Freya, child of music, spring, and flowers. Breather of love-lorn songs, friend of the elves — lOO THE NEW PANDORA. HARMONIA. I care not for the gods. I 've seen them all. They only know one thing apiece, can learn No more : one 's swift, one drinks the wine, one plays The lyre, one hammers, and another fights. I 'd rather have a man can do them all ! OLEN, taking her hand. And my Harmonia shall be ever young. For there Iduna holds the box which keeps The apples red, one taste of which doth make The old grow young, revives a hero dead To ride his steed again on Asgard's plains. And over all, in love, Alfadur reigns. \Exeunt, hand in hand. AETES. Thou see'st, Harmonia could not go astray. PANDORA. My wise Aetes ! Thou art right alway. ACT IV. ACT IV. • Scene I. — Hope and Charlico. Scene II. — Primitive Men in Council. Scene III. — The Husband and Wife. ACT IV. Scene I. — Inside the hut. Enter Charlico with a pipe of reeds. He seats himself nectr the casket and plays a melancholy strain. CHARLICO. Why am I not like other men ? They seek The field, the trailing-footed oxen drive, And till the soil, while I sit idling here. They rest content, and with dull mind their eyes See naught in nature but the source of food. I cannot be like them, for I do know The secrets of the woods, the abodes where dwell The daughters nine of Cronos' greatest son. The dryads and the nymphs of grot and stream Oft talk to me ; the bird, and insect small That on the bending grass doth plume his wings, The beasts, the fowls with pinions set that sail Anear Nomion's car, are known to me. Yet am I not content, nor satisfied. \He repeats the melancholy -strain j it is softly echoed from the casket. I04 THE NEW PANDORA. What 's that ? 'T is like th' Etesian wind that breathes Along the ^Egean Sea. HOPE, from the casket. 'T is I ! 't is Hope ! Song of Hope. I lurk in the gloaming, I hide in the night, I am pining and longing To come to the light. I wait in the darkness, O, would I were free ! But to Hope's secret heart Only Love holds the key. As I rest in my prison. So fain would I bide In the soul of my loved one ; In his breast would I hide. Then haste to my chamber, Sweet Love ! set me free ! Break the bonds so enchaining That keep me from thee. CHARLICO. How long hast thou been here ? I know thy voice, In dreams I 've heard it, 'mong the woods and vales. THE NEW PANDORA. 105 HOPE. Since first thy mother and the purblind one, With toilsome steps brought me adown to earth, CHARLICO, Why hast thou not come forth ? HOPE. I am not called. When I was le'ft within the casket's rim — The only good, and that a latent one — Thy mother plead that I might then come forth. Old Epimetheus said to her these words : Not yet. When all thy life with man is done. And thou and he, raised to an equal height. Subdued, uplifted, disciplined, refined. Stand side by side beneath the arching blue. And both can see the meaning of your lives, Then will sweet Hope come forth {ivhen thou dost will), And dwell with man upon the breathing earth. CHARLICO. My mother oft hath told me this sad tale. HOPE. I could not grow while in thy parents' home Dissension ruled. But when they dwelt in love, And with rejoicing hearts brought thee to life — The longed-for, welcome child, — then I began I06 THE NEW PANDORA. To grow. Then oft thy mother prayed to Jove That he would bid me forth to dwell on earth. CHARLICO. Would I had known it, /had bid thee forth ! HOPE. The time is near at hand. In all my veins There throbs a newer life, and in my form Expands a force that lifts me, till P seem To fill the casket full. But I must stay Until thy mother wills. How breaks the morn ? CHARLICO. How breaks the morn ? HOPE. How opes the eye of day ? How comes the light to earth ? CHARLICO. It softly comes ; From crevasses unnumbered gently burst A thousand branching flames, and then the sky Is all abloom. Anon, the earth awakes ; Each form of life that erst was hushed in sleep Doth sing the morning song. THE NEW PANDORA. I07 HOPE. Tell me the tale, For I have never heard the morning song. CHARLICO. At early morn high on a rock I sat. Deep grayness covered all, no sound was heard ; Each little life was hushed in rest. Silence So vast, that makes the soul for^vermore Acquainted with its God, slept over all. And if my spiritual ear could then have heard, Interpreted the voice that in me speaks, Then should I once for all have known myself. But like inscrutable Nature, it was dumb. HOPE. How woke the world ? How found it voice to speak ? CHARLICO. At first a far-off bird attuned his pipe ; Then thousands joined the song, and thronged in air A myriad insects swift ; and creatures small. That always sleep o' nights, came forth to eat ; The cattle woke and lowed among the hills ; The zephyrs 'gan their dance. The rosy Hours Led forth bright Clarian's car. He took the steeds And up the slanting East brought th' advancing day. I08 THE NEW PANDORA. HOPE. How looks the world outside ? Has springtime come ? CHARLICO. 'T is early Spring. The humble shepherd's purse With footstep round, dots all the plain ; along The path Arbutus creeps and Verna lifts Her head ; in deepest woods the wind-flower hides. And in the sandy roads, though bruised by foot Of man and beast, doth Arenaria ope Her dreamy eye. Meadows are carpeted With daffodil. The air is honey sweet. HOPE. How fair, how lovely, is this unseen world ! CHARLICO. Then wilt thou not come forth and share my life ? I 've seen thee oft, in clouds, and in the brook. When Artemis lifts up her gracious head And through the trees her eye-beams dart, — a path Of light, I see thy form pass up and down The luminous way. In thought I follow thee And oft on rock and tree I carve thy face. I cannot live unless thou dost come forth. HOPE. How didst thou live before my voice was heard ? How can Love feed on what it hath not seen ? THE NEW PANDORA. 109 CHARLICO. Love needs not see the one it loves. 'T is like Thyself, impalpable. It feeds on air, A fancied glance, a sigh, an imagined touch. 'T is of immortal birth, like thee. 'T will live Long after thine own sweetest self is dust. This do I offer thee — undying Love ; The only fitting mate on earth iqx Hope. HOPE. How didst thou grow ? How opes the life of man ? CHARLICO. When first I found the 7 in me, and knew I was not like the things I saw, I stood And looked far off from out the hut's low door, Then at the woods, the mountain top, the vale, The russet kid that rollicked at my feet , Then at my hands, my golden hair that fell Below my knee, my tunic short, my limbs, My bare and rosy feet, and said : These are Not I ; for I am this small thing that smiles And sees, can run, and chase the butterflies. HOPE. It was not thus with me. To life I sprang Complete and full, though dormant long I 've lain. no THE NEW PANDORA. CHARLICO. And when the /in me began to grow, At first it wondered, then it sought to grasp. Then tmderstand j then /ear a,nd pride it knew. J'oy came ; desire it felt when first it heard Thy voice, for then it learned to /ove, and will Forever after yearn for thee, sweet Hope ! HOPE. How didst thou know to make the melodious strain, The first sweet sound that caught my awakening ear ? CHARLICO. Once, lying on the mount, and listening rapt To every voice of bird and bee and flower, There fluttered o'er my head a tremulous breath, As of a wandering god who passed unseen. I seized my pipe of reeds, and trembling drew Such sounds entrancing, as had ne'er been heard Below the skies. And then did I create HOPE. The notes divine that roused my soul to life And bade mine eyes behold the light of day ! CHARLICO. And since that time, I only care to sit Alone, and breathe the honeyed notes that float Through secret inmost chambers of my soul. Would they could lure thee forth to dwell with me ! THE NEW PANDORA. Ill HOPE. I come to all mankind, as well as thee, To make complete thy mother's work on earth. She is of Heaven, I am earth-bound. My path Is as the bird's, that threads the woods. Hers leads To skies remote and near, that span, o'erreach And hollow in the rounded world. CHARLICO. ' If thou Art sent to help mankind, with me begin. The youngest, weakest, saddest of them all. I need thee most. Come forth and dwell with me ! HOPE. I cannot, till thy mother wills. Nor must I speak to thee again, until the time Hath come to lead me forth. This thou shalt do, For Jove hath willed that Love shall set me free. CHARLICO. How can Love live, once having known sweet Hope ? How can Love breathe Avithout its breath of life ? HOPE. Tell not thy mother thou didst speak with me, Or that my coming is so near at hand. For, though she doth desire me much, she fears 112 THE NEW PANDORA. To ask of Jove the promised boon. In dreams A messenger to her will come. I '11 warn Thee softly of my near approach. Farewell. CHARLICO. O, not farewell ! Invisible thou art, But go not, go not from my happy heart. Enter Pandora, with a young lamb in her arms. PANDORA. A little lamb, that straying from the fold Hath lost its way ! I found it in the wood. Thy father hath gone seeking for its dam. Canst thou not help ? What, crooning still alone, With thy Pandean pipe ! Go, seek the glades And breathe the air. Shake off thy listless dreams ! CHARLICO. I fain would useful be, but 't is in vain. PANDORA. My son, go help thy father find the ewe. Accept thy lot, be more like other men. Be not so silent, so distraught ; but more Content to use the gifts the gods do give. CHARLICO. Dear mother, I '11 obey ; but ah ! my heart Will not be there ; nor shall I see the dam, THE NEW PANDORA. II3 Nor know her if I do. I cannot tell A mother-bleat from any common bleat In all the flock ; they 're all alike to me. PANDORA. My poor son ! go thy ways. There is no need. Thy father doth not want thy help. The ewe He '11 find a dozen times ere thou dost start. CHARLICO. I can no different be, my mother dear. If thou couldst read my mind, then wouldst thou know. \Exit. PANDORA, looking after him. Useful thou art — enough. 'T is not for me To blame thee that thou art Pandora's child. Full well I know that beauty hath its use, Its place, its lesson in the world ; that 't is The servant and the friend of man, as much As labor is. \She makes a bed for the lamb and puts it down. How beautiful is thought ! It wraps the soul, and makes the body seem A thing of air ! It knows nor time, nor space, But free it roams, more sv/ift, more subtile, yea, Etherial more than are the gods ! Ah me ! I sometimes wish that I had naught to do 114 "^HE NEW PANDORA. But think my thoughts ; and yet amid my toil, However hard and mean, such fancies rise As might have had their birth 'midst woods and flowers. And when I make the fire in early morn, Or sweep the hearthstone up, such glorious scenes Along the climbing blaze arise, ascend, As well may fill the sun-god's home, or stream Through Heaven's blue, adown his shining beam. Scene II. — A bare knolls surrounded by a circle or enclosure of stones like a rude forum ; a few mastick shrubs and chamomile flowers are growing. Aetes, SopoLis, Poi,iTES, Miccus, DoLOPS and others. Aetes sits on the knoll, the rest are in groups^ some sittings some standings and talking in an excited manner. aetes. Now, since the time hath come, if there is aught That I can settle, give advice about, I '11 do my best to hear and judge it well. CLEON. Sopolis made a fire against my field And burned my lentils up. Shall fire brought down For each man's good, be left to burn his food ? AETES. Fire should be kept within the bounds. No man Hath right to reckless use a thing that 's made THE NEW PANDORA. 11$ For all. He should consult his neighbor's needs, And be as careful of his neighbor's goods As of his own. This is true brotherhood. KURNUS, I had within my cave wild pears, dried figs, And cakes well baked, stored up for Winter's use, When Dion slily came and helped himself. Shall one man take another's food, as 't were His own ? Shall I, with frugal care, lay up My store for use of cunning thieves ? AETES. What 's thine Is thine ; and no more right hath he to take Thy store, than thou hast right to his. If we Allow that stealing 's right, then will no man Have aught belonging to himself. 'T is thus : — You steal from me ; I steal from you ; and he Doth steal from both ; and others steal from him. Then who owns any thing ? Possessions aye Should sacred be ; and what the difference is 'Twixt mine and thine,— the first law 't is to learn. It doth uphold, sustain the rights of man. DIDYME. Kurnus hath set an altar on the plain To sacrifice to Jove. What right hath he To worship there, instead of on the mount ? Il6 THE NEW PANDORA. AETES. It matters not where man doth worship Jove, On mount or plain, if reverently he sets His altar up. Not unto sacrifice Must we set bounds. Let each man suit himself. SAON. My goats did stray, and one, a small one, fought With Stilpo's old he-goat, and mine was killed. Shall animals be kept that do this harm ? That kill defenceless goats when they do stray ? AETES. There is a rule all men should know ; 't is this : When goats oft fight, and bullocks clasp their horns, It doth behoove their owners that they keep These creatures far apart and much beyond Each others' reach. MICCUS. My ewe roamed in the vale, And she was set upon by Perses' dog. And dropped her lamb ; it died. Shall dogs be kept To worry neighbors' sheep and kill their lambs ? AETES. If thou would'st save thy lambs, make close thy bounds. Secure thy fold and keep thy ewe at home. THE NEW PANDORA. W] DION, My two milch cows I swapped with Cleon here, For two fleet mares ; together they '11 not go. One pulls and jerks, the other stays behind And balks and plants her feet as firmly set As is mount Pelion on his moveless rocks. Shall men exchange good useful kine for brutes 111 matched as these ? All men that for me delve Aye bend the neck, and shall a horse demur ? AETES. A bargain is a bargain. Easy 't is To govern kine and herds, and men mayhap, But master of a horse thou canst not be Unless thou canst control thyself. A horse Not mated, should be trained to suit. The fast Held in, the slow one urged — he surer is — The danger lies with him that 's swift ; he needs The tighter rein ; he 's hardest to control. DOLOPS. This Olen of the North ! Shall he come here, And take the only mortal maid there is And carry her away ? She sure should mate With one of us, of her own race, — with me. I need some one to weave, and make the cake Of barley wet with honey and with milk. And she might keep the hut and feed the kine And hoe the lentils, keep the vetches down. Il8 THE NEW PANDORA. Too hard I work all through the summer heat, And olive gathering, — there 's too much for one ! AETES. If thou hadst wanted her, first in the field Shouldst thou have been, to gain her own consent. SOPOLIS. Well hast thou judged for other men ! Now try ■ Thy wisdom on thyself ! I fain would bound My land. It lies in Tempe's vale and near Peneus' watery bank. I viewed it o'er And found Aetes here, \turns to the rest\ our judge^ who knows What 's each man's right, had planted olive trees And made a hedge that shaded all my vines That grow anear the mount. Why shall he plant On all the sunny spots ? Shall he engross All Heaven ? AETES. I thought the right was mine, nor did I mean to encroach. I 've always planted there. My mate, Pandora, deems she hath a right To all the land that borders on the heights ; That 't is her dower ; 't is her inheritance. SOPOLIS, with contempt. Thy mate ! THE NEW PANDORA. 119 MICCUS. A woman doth not know enough To have a voice in this— in men's affairs ! DOLOPS. I 'd like to see my mate — if one I had — Claim her own land ! I 'd turn her from the hut. POLITES. ( Would that Pandora might be here with us. Could her soft voice be heard, we should have peace. Her word would settle many points that now Remain unsolved, for that we do not get Her side,— the woman view, her thought, her speech. DION. Were she my mate she should give up her right, — To land that she doth call her dower, — to me. It seems a woman should obey a man ; It is the first,— and last thing she should learn. AETES. A woman should no more obey a man Than should a man a woman. One 's a slave Who doth obey against the will. Know this : \to Dion. My mate 's no more my slave than I am hers. \He gets down from his seat. I20 THE NEW PANDORA. SOPOLIS. If we let her come here, she '11 rule us all. MICCUS. I thought her business was to children bear. 'T is long since any came. She 'd better keep To that. I wonder why they don't increase Within her hut. The woman's way, mayhap ! DOLOPS. More women children would not come amiss Now that the Northman 's grabbed the only one. (But that he beat me in the race, and threw Me wrestling, I would take her from him yet !) POLITES, to SOPOLIS. It looketh ill for thee to say such things Of one who brought so much doth civilize. Who taught us how to cure ourselves when ill ? AETES. Who but my mate ? Being all-endowed, she brought With her the leech's skill. Bound'ries of land — The cause of your complaint — were first set up By her advice ; she saw ye planting here And there and everywhere, the flocks and herds Roaming at will and trampling all the land, And said enclosures would be good. Had she THE NEW PANDORA. 12 1 Not come, ye never would have thought to claim Each man his land, to have disputes about. SOPOLIS. Thou 'dst better take thy mate up to the mount And leave her there, the other side the hedge. We want no woman round, nor yet to hear What she doth say, nor what ^\i^,knows. Full soon Thou 'It bring her here to sit with us, and speak! \Laughs derisively. MICCUS. A woman's honey tongue would wile a god. AETES. I ofttimes think, could she be here, that ye Would speak like men, not bellow forth like bulls. To her own land I '11 not give up her right. \^To SOPOLIS. But that I 'm counsellor here, the choice of all, I 'd beat thee black and blue. \^To the rest^^ Your quarrels now Decide yourselves. I will not come again Till she can come with me, speak for herself. POLITES. I trust thou wilt not leave us. Let us talk The matter over, settle it in peace. 122 THE NEW PANDORA, AETES. Among yourselves ye may. I '11 bide the result, • \Exit. Dion takes Aetes' seat. SOPOLIS. If she doth come, then will not / again. MICCUS. I '11 stay away ! DOLOPS. And if we let her come, Who '11 keep the hut ? cleon. When she doth ask to come 'T is time enough to say we '11 have her here. SOPOLIS. We '11 have no woman here. POLITES. It seemeth me It is not right to treat her thus. I think Her influence doth make us what we are. Before she came we lived in caves, like bears, Nor built we huts till after she appeared. We sowed broadcast the barley, lentils, wheat ; It sprang up where it listed. When 't was ripe We sorted it, and weeks it took to lay THE NEW PANDORA. 1 23 The barley here, the millet there, the wheat, All separate upon the threshing place. PELIAS. She taught us how to make the barley cake, Stirred up with olive oil and milk ; preserve The figs, dipped first in honey, and laid by For Winter's use (to flavor porridge with) ; To curdle, bind the milk with fig-tree juice. She taught us fish to salt, and how to sew Our garments firmly with the ox-hide thews. POLITES. 'T would do no harm, methinks, to let her come ; If she doth have a right to land, she ought To state her claim. We tell our grievances, — They 're heard and fairly judged. Why should not she ? We owe her this, if not for justice's sake, — For that she helps us to improve our lot. DION, to PELIAS. Wouldst thou not have thy way against her will ? Wouldst thou not rule ? Should she not thee obey ? PELIAS. I should say not. Her way might be as good, Her will tend to the right, as well as mine ; Then why should she obey ? 124 "^HE NEW PANDORA. POLITES. We each should learn Of each ; respect each other's ways, nor e'er Coerce ; I ever try to learn of thee, \to Pelias] I like to learn. And why not learn of her ? I 'd gladly learn of her, had I a mate ! Ah, me ! where is the mate of whom I speak ! Would that she lived, — for me. DION. Thou wouldst be led, Coerced ! POLITES. Mayhap, and yet I 'm not so sure ! We should confer and counsel each with each. When I thought she was right, I should agree. 'T would be the same with her. I 'd like to have Pandora here. I like Aetes' ways, And know he could not be the man he is, — Our judge, our counsellor, — without her help, Without the discipline their children bring Into their lives. DION. We 've heard enough of this ! Now let us hear what Bias hath to say. He 's big with speech. THE NEW PANDORA. 1 25 BIAS. She is not strong enough ; Nor can she wrestle, pitch the quoit, nor run To reach the goal. She cannot plough, fell trees, The slow-back oxen drive, or chase the boar, The wild bull conquer, catch the ebon mares That up the craggy side of Ossa fly With snorting lip and streaming ^ail and mane. DION, She cannot fight, nor yet protect herself. She surely should not speak ! BIAS. She doth not eat So much as one of us, nor yet the same. She will not eat raw flesh ; she cooks her meat With fire. How can she be as strong as we ? DION. She 's small, her frame, her head, her voice is less, Far less than ours : therefore she must not speak. STiLPO {the old man). Look at the ills she brought ! We ne'er knew toil Before she came. The labor of one day Would yield enough of food to last a year. No ague hot, nor errors of the flesh Did make our old bones ache, eh — heugh ! 126 THE NEW PANDORA. These ills Pandora brought — and cannot cure — do make My life most hard to bear. If she comes here, She '11 bring on us a thousand more as bad. CLEON. Jove meant not she should speak. 'Tis 'gainst his will. No woman's voice was heard when gods and nien Assembled on the day he sent her forth. Nor did he give consent that she should come To gatherings of men ; she must not come ! POLITES. If she the weaker is, more reason then That we should justice do. The strong should heed The suppliant's cry, the weak one's pleading voice. ASBOLUS. Hold thou ! Let this prevail ! Thy arguments Are good enough, but mine o'ertops them all. She is a woman ! That is cause enough, Good reason why she should not speak, nor join Our councils. Jove did make her for a curse, A snare inextricable, source of hurt, A seeming good, but a pernicious ill. He made her vain, and with a treacherous mind. THE NEW PANDORA. 1 27 POLITES. Go to ! Thou 'st said enough ! I '11 hear no more ! \Exit. ASBOLUS. My sack is not yet empty, nor my bin — A baneful care ; she fills the earth with woe ; Keeps blessed Hope still fugitive and lost ; Makes misery's crushing hand seiz^ all our lives And woes innumerable roam the world. PELIAS. I, too, have heard enough ! Thou boor ! thou cur ! Thou coward, ever brave when there 's no need ! Thou railer 'gainst the weak ! thou blatant foe Of woman ! Be assured the time will come When thou must answer all thou 'st said 'gainst her. \Exit. ASBOLUS. Her being woman — dost not see — is cause Sufficient, that she should not come, nor plead Her claim, her right to her inheritance In gatherings of men ? She shall not come ! CLEON. Aetes strong, — what if he doth insist ? His strength doth vanquish all. His voice per- suades Men's minds against their will. The straight he bends, 128 THE NEW PANDORA. The weak he props, the crooked he doth raise, Supports the toppling, leads us all at will. And then, urbane Polites, Pelias just. Are on his side. I fear they will prevail. Miccus, in terror. If she comes here, the world will all go wrong. The goats will stray ; the ewes set on by dogs ; The cows will all be out of time ; the figs Be stole ; more women come ; bound'ries let loose ; Altars be raised to Jove in every place ; Olympus turned to grass and all burned up ! STILPO. When that time comes, O let us thankful be Not many of us will be there to see ! Scene III. — An inner room in the hut. Pandora alone f wearily planning a coat of skins. Enter Aetes, angrily. AETES. What dost thou think ? Sopolis claimed thy land ! Contending 'gainst my right to plant the trees So near the heavenly mount. My mate, I said, Deems all the land that borders on that side Belongs to her, — V is her inheritance. Then he set up a shout, and others drowned THE NEW PANDORA. 1 29 My voice. With speeches mean they taunted thee (All but Polites kind and Pelias just) That thou art woman ; and this roused my ire. I raged and left them, saying angrily : / '// ne'er come back till ye do send for her To speak her right. I '11 not go there again ! PANDORA. For that men do not let me sit with them And have a voice about mine own affairs, It is no cause thou shouldst thy duty shirk. I trust thou wilt return. AETES. What right had he To claim thy land ? 'T is that thou 'rt woman, dear. He would not dare to claim a rood from me ! PANDORA. He had no right. 'T is might that rules with him. AETES. Why shouldst thou not go there with me ? Thou goest All otherwhere ? PANDORA. Thou know'st I little care What bounds my scope, what my possessions are I30 THE NEW PANDORA. This side the mount. 'T is more to me what lies Beyond. And yet, for my dear children's sake, I much desire to keep, to have them keep. The ground that touches all my heavenly home — My true inheritance, and theirs through me. AETES. And thou shalt keep it ! They shall never touch A single spot. It shall descend to all Thy race, and they shall ever have the right To plant the tree that yields the bread of life. PANDORA. If I should go, it would not be to claim My land, so much as tell them what I see Upon the farther side ; that men may live As tho' they too were heirs, and might sometime Possess the mount. Would I might show the way ! Would I could tell them that those heavenly heights Hold in their teeming sides a boon more rare Than olive-trees, than lentils, fields of corn ! Would I were strong, like thee, and that my sex No hindrance were to me ! AETES. I think it not ! If I in youth, advantage o'er thee had, Now, older grown, thou more than equal art. Thy womanhood made thee to see the right, THE NEW PANDORA. 131 While yet my manhood grovelled far below. I had to fight for mastery o'er myself, But thou didst conquer by thy nature pure. PANDORA. Give me no praise for that to earth I brought Th' intuitive sense ; I but the medium am By which the woman element came down To earth. 'T is different far from man ; but yet No better and no worse. 'T is not confined To me, nor to Harmonia, for my son Is feminine, my daughter like to thee. AETES. Sex hath no limitations thou need'st fear ! For in itself, believe me, it is naught. The quality of mind is all. I note That we, tho' man and woman, are alike. We eat and drink, we sleep and wake ; our wants Are all the same ; we must be clothed. And both Alike must suffer if we sin. We ask For justice ; we are parents ; all our lives Are bound in one. Alone we should be naught. To us, our children dear a likeness bear. E'en as we are the blended likenesses Of Him, the father, — mother, of mankind. And so I think that thou shouldst say thy word Concerning thine own land. But if thou think'st 'T is better not— for fear of broils and words 132 THE NEW PANDORA. Much better left unsaid — why, I will go Alone, and tell them what thou sayst. And so From very shame they may at last consent. But if they do not, we will little care ; The time will come when they will wish thee there. ACT V. ACT V. Scene I. — Hope's Signal to Love. Scene II. — Pandora's Prayer for Hope. Scene III. — Hope Comes into the World. ACT V. Scene I. — The room with the^ casket. Charlico alonCy in a listless attitude. CHARLICO. Would I were happy, as my sister is. Or as in that supremest hour when Hope First spoke to me. What is this happiness ? This permeating force, intangible. That filled the inmost fibre of my life, That fed each tissue, satisfied my soul ? But now 't is gone, and hunger doth consume My being's core, and saps its fount of life. "[^Scatters flowers on the casket. Enter Pandora. PANDORA. Arouse, my son ! Look not within thyself With introverted gaze. Look up ! No more Brood o'er thy thoughts, thy imaginary griefs. Thou must not think that beauty dwells on earth Alone for thee. The hind that turns the clod And bends to his low task, sees beauty too. For him, the crested thistle rears its fronds, 135 136 THE NEW PANDORA. The gentian's fringes droop, the azalea blooms ; He sees the star-flower rear its gilded rays, The moonlit clethra wave its feathery leaves ; To welcome his approach corydalis nods. Thou hast no right to waste thy manhood thus. The beautiful 't is well to seek and love, But thou must also heed stern duty's voice : It binds in closest bonds all earthly things. CHARLICO. I am not, cannot be, the useful kind. PANDORA. The useful kind is good, hath qualities That thou should'st imitate, not criticise. They do the needful work for those who dream And let the world go by. The dreamer's life Is sweet ; 't is also weak, enervating. He only tops fair Pindus' height, who climbs Its rugged sides. CHARLICO sighs. I 'm on the heights full oft. And in the depths. I 've known the greatest bliss, Been sunk in sorrow deeper than the sea. PANDORA. My son ! who helps his kind, and works his best, Is greater far than he who idly dreams. THE NEW PANDORA. 1 37 \Aside. Unhappy boy ! How can I teach to him What I in vain have tried to teach myself ? \A soft strain proceeds from the casket. CHARLICO. What sound doth fill the air ! PANDORA. I hear no sound, Save in the distant tree the wood-bird sings, And o'er its sandy nest the swallow makes Her soft melodious plaint. CHARLICO. \Aside. Would I could tell ! PANDORA. My son, what aileth thee ? What lights thy face ? It gleams and glows. 'T is like the ascending sun, Through cloudy bars, high-piled. Or yet, the fire Prometheus brought that shines in chambers dim. CHARLICO. It means, O mother, I a mate shall have ! It means that thou, ere snows shall crown thine age, Wilt gain what thou hast longed for all thy life ! 138 THE NEW PANDORA. It means, thy son no more shall dwell alone ! It means, O joy ! that o'er the impatient world A blessing hid from man will be unfurled. Scene II. — Outside the hut. Autumn foliage. The ilex-tree stands as in Act /., Scene V. Pandora comes from the hut slowly and wearily, and sits on a rustic seat beneath the tree. PANDORA aside. How like a flame burns that bright golden tree ! When first I came to earth 't was early spring ; The fig-tree's leaf was like the dove's small foot, And rosy-pointed buds, upon the oak Had burst. But now, in autumn colors dressed, It stands. 'T is like a woman crowned with love, Who waits the annunciation of a life That will be born of her — her perfect flower. And so I stand, but all my yellowing leaves, In this still autumn eve, do drop and drop On mother earth, who gladly welcomes them. I can but trust that in me lies the germ Of everlasting being, to bud and grow In newer, rounder life ; but yet myself, — As is the tree that lives and dies each year, But after its own kind, and still the same. I feel my end is near. All night in dreams I held the child, and up Olympus' side I toiled and groped along. When at the top THE NEW PANDORA. 139 Appeared my very self, but young and fair, Just as when down the way to earth I came, Led by swift Mercury, and crowned with flowers. (How my contractile feet the soft mead spurned !) To this fair shape I gave the little child ; It vanished, leaving me a heavy clod. Jove ! Let me not return to thee, until Through me, my race receives a crowning good. \She kneels under the ilex-tree. pandora's prayer. Great Jove ! 't is I, Pandora, mother of my kind. I heed thy message clear, sent me by Hypnos pale. I ask thee not that this my life may be prolonged. That I may live again among the immortal gods. But this I ask, that I may be allowed by thee To do one single thing to make my kind more good. More happy for that I have lived. Thou madest me The source, the messenger of ills to man. But I Have learned thy true intent, interpreted thy thought — That, 'neath each seeming ill, a hidden blessing lies. And what I could do, that I did, to obey thy will. This legacy would I bequeath, this one pure gift To all my race, — I fain would bid sweet Hope come forth. I40 THE NEW PANDORA. Let me not die while still the only good lies hid Within the casket's verge. O, let me bid it forth ! If thou dost think me worthy of the boon, O hear My supplication, Father, hearken to my cry ! Scene III. — Inside the hut. The loom is set against the wall. The cradle is gone. The casket is drawn to the front, and is covered with autumn flowers. Pandora sits with her distaff, in a listless attitude. Enter Aetes. AETES. Why, thou dost weep ! What ails my dearest mate ? Thou look'st as when the first-born child laid there — - (Not all my cries could wake its slumbers deep). PANDORA. Aetes, I was not to blame ? I sinned Unknowingly. AETES. I blamed thee not ; 't was I ! I was to blame ! PANDORA. No, I ! I loved it not, 'T was this that killed the child. It drank my tears ; 'T was lulled to sleep with my repining song. It died for lack of mother-love : no child. No youngling, e'er can thrive that yearns for this. THE NEW PANDORA. I41 AETES. Thou did'st not know, how could'st thou know, thy grief Would wither, sap the source of all its life ? PANDORA. How have I mourned ! Ah, me ! how strange it is ! Life's mystery is this : What parents do Is mirrored in their children ; changeless laws Proclaim, that neither intercession, prayer, Nor yet repentance, can atone for deeds By parents done, — transgressions of the flesh. 'T is sins like these will cheat mankind of half His heritage ; take from his nerves the steel, His bones the marrow, rob his brain of strength. AETES. Grieve not so much. Thou 'dst scarce begun to learn Oh, how much living doth it take, before A soul can from the flesh arise new-born, Unhindered by its clay ! Thou found'st me on The lowest plane of life ; me hast thou raised. Uplifted unto heights ne'er known to man. PANDORA. And thou hast lifted me. We could not rise Alone ; thy wings of love have me upborne. And though I oft regret the ills I brought — 142 THE NEW PANDORA. AETES. The ills are naught. The good that thou hast brought Outweighs them all a thousand times. Mayhap 'T was Jove's intent. Before thou cam'st, a clod, An undeveloped soul was I ; these ills Have made me man, of Jove's high attributes Inheritor. This marvel thou hast wrought. PANDORA. More hast thou wrought for me. A puling maid. Unsatisfied was I, complaining oft Of my sad lot. Thou hast developed me And made to bloom the soul that in the bud Infolded lay, nor knew if it were weed Or flower. Thou art my strength, my comforter, Now, in mine age, when I am faded, wan. AETES. Thou art my flower whose blossoms span the year. PANDORA. No more I welcome thee with gayest steps, But feeble, tottering, scarce thy neck can reach. No more the web grows 'neath my skilful hands ; My loom is silent, and my shuttle stays Where last I left it, tangled in the web. No more the morning breaks in songs, the light Is gone from Ossa's mount and Pindus' top. THE NEW PANDORA. I43 AETES. Mourn not, my mate, for thou hast done enough. Thou never canst be old. A light within Thine eyes doth rise to greet me, younger far Than day's first beam. Thou canst not change to me. For in mine eyes thou 'rt ever young and fair, And home thou mak'st the brightest place on earth. PANDORA. How blest the wedded home where friendship reigns ! Its walls coherent are with light and warmth ; Within its depths dwell comfort, patience, love. There hides no sin, nor aught contaminate. Freedom of speech is welcomed there, and each Is just to each. There order, neatness rules, As meets the needs of all. No single one Lays down the law that will coerce the rest. 'T is not too finely kept for daily use. The noble souls that in it dwell, go forth To their appointed task ; and they return, With joyful hearts, as do the gods, to seek Their sleeping-place, their many-chambered rest. Thither, in sacred silence of the night. The spirit of its dead may glad return, And o'er the sleeping one, with loving kiss May bend, sure that the memory of no deed Unworthy, no unfaithful thought, can come 144 '^HE NEW PANDORA. Between their souls to mar the perfect bliss Of such serene communion. \^She bows her head^ This, dear love ! This is the wedded home, thine own, and mine. AETES, in alarm. What dost thou mean ? Return ? Thou 'It not leave me ? PANDORA, after a moment. I would not willingly, but I am called. AETES. Who called thee ? Thou 'It not go ; thou canst' not go? PANDORA. But Jove hath called me through the gate of dreams. AETES. Thou wouldst not leave me here, — to live alone ? PANDORA. Unless Jove wills. This only do I know : A vision came before my sleeping eyes. I stood upon a height, just as I stood Ere yet my pulsing veins were filled with life, And there to me a shape appeared, that said : Thou wilt go back to thy remembered home. THE NEW PANDORA. " I45 This life 's a hut made for thy dwelling-place A few short years, and through its open door Are glimpses seen of yet another home j Or, 't is a hedge so green that bounds thy scope Along whose bosky side ye walk, and like Th' impounded deer, an outlet seek. This life Is closely welded to the life beyond. Be sure of this : there is no break, no break / AETES. How shall I know thee there ; if on the earth I stay, till old and worn, and blind mayhap As I may be ? PANDORA. Wouldst thou not know my voice, My touch, my hand ? AETES. Yes, I should know thy voice, Tho' blended with the myriad angels' song ; Thy touch would thrill me, tho' a hundred years Eternal blindness darkened all my world ; My hand thine own would find, would recognize, E'en though 't were stretched with thousand wejr- coming ones. PANDORA. So should I thine ! We need not fear to part ! 146 THE NEW PANDORA. AETES. Then am I reconciled. This world is good — So good, I fain would stay here, love, with thee — But if the other is its counterpart, It is enough. Forget me not ! Grow not Away from me ! PANDORA. Whatever happeneth, dear, I e'er shall love thee, ever long for thee. If I could know that I might bid sweet Hope Come forth to dwell with those I leave on earth, Then could I almost willing go. Ah me ! Am I subdued, uplifted, disciplined, Refined, as Epimetheus said ? I doubt. AETES. As much as woman can be, sure art thou. But I 'm not good enough to walk with thee. PANDORA. Thou art. Let us be just. Whate'er we lack, We both are sure of this : that we do know The meaning of our lives. AETES. Thy love taught me. How can we part ! How can I let thee go ! THE NEW PANDORA. 147 PANDORA, My Steadfast mate ! Now is the time full near When all will be fulfilled. He knoweth best Who rules. \^Enter Charlico, Olen, and Harmonia. Soft music sounds from the casket j Charlico springs toward it j it falls slowly apart and Hope, ever young and fair, arises. Charlico takes her right hand, Harmonia her left, and they lead her to Pandora. Pandora rises. Joy ! Joy ! My children bring me Hope ! CHARLICO. Dear mother, grieve no more, for here is Hope. And mourn no more the ills thou brought'st to earth. Hope hast thou also brought, the longed-for good. 'T is she completes the rounded score of life. I am content. She fills my soul. What more Can man desire, for Hope is in the world ? Her heavenly smile will drive away all ills. Beneath all pain and sorrow she will bide, Will lead the spirit to its heavenly home. PANDORA. I thank and bless thee, O almighty Jove, Thou hast created me ! For now I see That thou didst mean me for the messenger 148 THE NEW PANDORA. Of good to man. And now I know, for that I woman am, doth not confine my scope. Sex cannot limit the immortal mind. We are ourselves, with individual souls, Still struggling onward toward the infinite. \To Aetes. Would we might go together ! • AETES. Would we might ! [ The hut expands. At the back stands Olympus. The gate of clouds is seen a little way up its side, guarded by the Hours. Shadowy figures pass and repass behind it j one, a beautiful maiden, stands near the gate, and holds out both hands. A path leads upward from the hut. A soft prelude is sounded, — '' Come away " — as in Act II., Scene IV. Song of the Child- Spirit. Come away, mother dear, to the beautiful land, Come and rest in its chambers of peace ; 'T is thy first-born that calls thee, her beckoning hand Entreats thy worn spirit's release. Come away. THE NEW PANDORA. I49 Come away ; God is good. 'Neath his sheltering care, Lives thy little one, lost long ago ; Behold her a maiden immortal and fair, Only happiness, joy, doth she know. Come away. Come away ; through the cloud-gate the bright pathway lies. Far away from all sorrow and pain. Come, follow thy child to her home in the skies, Reunited forever again. Come away. PANDORA, to her children. Grieve not for me ; this life is lived. I leave With thee the greatest good. This have I gained Through pain and sorrowing still unknown to thee. [ To Aetes. My love ! Dear mate of my undying life, Not willingly I leave thee here alone. But soon thou 'It follow me, farewell ! farewell ! [Hope advances and points to the gate. Pandora toils painfully up the path. Aetes springs after her and falls. Pandora turns, takes his hand, raises hifn, and they walk on together, and enter the gate of clouds, which closes behind them. 150 • THE NEW PANDORA. Hope, still pointing. Ever the heart of the mother will yearn Upward, to follow the lead of the child. \She turns to Charlico, and unclasps her cestus .. in token that she gives herself to him. Har- MONiA falls on the breast of Olen. Olympus is shut in and they are left in the hut. Song of the Immortals. SEMICHORUS. Thou hast conquered ! Rise triumphant Upward toward thy being's sun, All the world is changed, uplifted, For the life that thou hast won. CHORUS. Rise, O rise, ye souls immortal ! Break, O break, imprisoning clay ! Pass, ye heavenly guests, pass onward ; Hope, exultant, points the way. SEMICHORUS. Suffering is the great redeemer, Joy and pain together bide ; 'T was to save from sin and sorrow, The little first-born child hath died. THE NE W PANDORA. I 5 I CHORUS. Rise, O rise, ye souls immortal ! Break, O break, imprisoning clay ! Pass, ye heavenly guests, pass onward, Hope, exultant, points the way. ^1 ^"^1^^ ^^.4. M'^%r^i^^^^^4f^^'^ PreservationTechnologies yr/-~^ ^TC- ^W¥:;^^f^7 V Cr^^^ jw ^ a world leader in collections preservation ^ V^ ^IV^ J v> -^s-^^K.Z-ii.'^C/. r 111 Thomson Park Dnve r^5 -^-"'^V- ^<*^ ^1?^ ??^' ^^ X^a\ Cranberry Townshp PA16066 ■--iW ^ Vi- -M^^H./^tt/.^'f' 111 Thomson Park Dnve ^■"hV ^i^ ^"^ ?^>' ^3, £i 4 Cranberry Townsh p PA 16066