grown extremely tired of the subject. “I wish, dear Pandora, you would
try to talk of something else. Come, let us go and gather some ripe figs,
and eat them under the trees, for our supper. And I know a vine that has
the sweetest and juiciest grapes you ever tasted.”
“Always talking about grapes and figs!” cried Pandora, pettishly.
“Well, then,” said Epimetheus, who was a very good-tempered child, like
a multitude of children in those days, “let us run out and have a merry
time with our playmates.”
“I am tired of merry times, and don’t care if I never have any more!”
answered our pettish little Pandora. “And, besides, I never do have any.
This ugly box! I am so taken up with thinking about it all the time. I
insist upon your telling me what is inside of it.”
“As I have already said, fifty times over, I do not know!” replied
Epimetheus, getting a little vexed. “How, then, can I tell you what is
inside?”
“You might open it,” said Pandora, looking sideways at Epimetheus, “and
then we could see for ourselves.”
“Pandora, what are you thinking of?” exclaimed Epimetheus.
And his face expressed so much horror at the idea of looking into a box,
which had been confided to him on the condition of his never opening it,
that Pandora thought it best not to suggest it any more. Still, however,
she could not help thinking and talking about the box. “At least,” said
she, “you can tell me how it came here.”
“It was left at the door,” replied Epimetheus, “just before you came, by
a person who looked very smiling and intelligent, and who could hardly
forbear laughing as he put it down. He was dressed in an odd kind of a
cloak, and had on a cap that seemed to be made partly of feathers, so
that it looked almost as if it had wings.”
“What sort of a staff had he?” asked Pandora.
“Oh, the most curious staff you ever saw!” cried Epimetheus. “It was like
two serpents twisting around a stick, and was carved so naturally that I,
at first, thought the serpents were alive.”
“I know him,” said Pandora, thoughtfully. “Nobody else has such a staff.
It was Quicksilver;[3] and he brought me hither, as well as the box.
No doubt he intended it for me; and, most probably, it contains pretty
dresses for me to wear, or toys for you and me to play with, or something
very nice for us both to eat!”
“Perhaps so,” answered Epimetheus, turning away. “But until Quicksilver
comes back and tells us so, we have neither of us any right to lift the
lid of the box.”
“What a dull boy he is!” muttered Pandora, as Epimetheus left the
cottage. “I do wish he had a little more enterprise!”
For the first time since her arrival, Epimetheus had gone out without
asking Pandora to accompany him. He went to gather figs and grapes by
himself, or to seek whatever amusement he could find, in other society
than his little playfellow’s. He was tired to death of hearing about
the box, and heartily wished that Quicksilver, or whatever was the
messenger’s name, had left it at some other child’s door, where Pandora
would never have set eyes on it. So perseveringly as she did babble
about this one thing! The box, the box, and nothing but the box! It
seemed as if the box were bewitched, and as if the cottage were not big
enough to hold it, without Pandora’s continually stumbling over it, and
making Epimetheus stumble over it likewise, and bruising all four of
their shins.
Well, it was really hard that poor Epimetheus should have a box in his
ears from morning till night; especially as the little people of the
earth were so unaccustomed to vexations, in those happy days, that they
knew not how to deal with them. Thus, a small vexation made as much
disturbance then, as a far bigger one would in our own times.
After Epimetheus was gone, Pandora stood gazing at the box. She had
called it ugly, above a hundred times; but, in spite of all that she
had said against it, it was positively a very handsome article of
furniture, and would have been quite an ornament to any room in which
it should be placed. It was made of a beautiful kind of wood, with dark
and rich veins spreading over its surface, which was so highly polished
that little Pandora could see her face in it. As the child had no other
looking-glass, it is odd that she did not value the box, merely on this
account.
The edges and corners of the box were carved with most wonderful skill.
Around the margin there were figures of graceful men and women, and the
prettiest children ever seen, reclining or sporting amid a profusion
of flowers and foliage; and these various objects were so exquisitely
represented, and were wrought together in such harmony, that flowers,
foliage, and human beings seemed to combine into a wreath of mingled
beauty. But here and there, peeping forth from behind the carved foliage,
Pandora once or twice fancied that she saw a face not so lovely, or
something or other that was disagreeable, and which stole the beauty out
of all the rest. Nevertheless on looking more closely, and touching the
spot with her finger, she could discover nothing of the kind. Some face,
that was really beautiful, had been made to look ugly by her catching a
sideway glimpse at it.
The most beautiful face of all was done in what is called high relief,
in the center of the lid. There was nothing else, save the dark, smooth
richness of the polished wood, and this one face in the center with a
garland of flowers about its brow. Pandora had looked at this face a
great many times, and imagined that the mouth could smile if it liked,
or be grave when it chose, the same as any living mouth. The features,
indeed, all wore a very lively and rather mischievous expression, which
looked almost as if it needs must burst out of the carved lips, and utter
itself in words.
Had the mouth spoken, it would probably have been something like this:
“Do not be afraid, Pandora! What harm can there be in opening the box?
Never mind that poor, simple Epimetheus! You are wiser than he, and
have ten times as much spirit. Open the box, and see if you do not find
something very pretty!”
The box, I had almost forgotten to say, was fastened; not by a lock, nor
by any other such contrivance, but by a very intricate knot of gold cord.
There appeared to be no end to this knot, and no beginning. Never was a
knot so cunningly twisted, nor with so many ins and outs, which roguishly
defied the skilfullest fingers to disentangle them. And yet, by the very
difficulty that there was in it, Pandora was the more tempted to examine
the knot, and just see how it was made. Two or three times, already,
she had stooped over the box, and taken the knot between her thumb and
forefinger, but without positively trying to undo it.
“I really believe,” said she to herself, “that I begin to see how it was
done. Nay, perhaps I could tie it up again, after undoing it. There would
be no harm in that, surely. Even Epimetheus would not blame me for that.
I need not open the box, and should not, of course, without the foolish
boy’s consent, even if the knot were untied.”
It might have been better for Pandora if she had had a little work to
do, or anything to employ her mind upon, so as not to be so constantly
thinking of this one subject. But children led so easy a life, before
any Troubles came into the world, that they had really a great deal too
much leisure. They could not be forever playing at hide-and-seek among
the flower-shrubs, or at blind-man’s-buff with garlands over their eyes,
or at whatever other games had been found out, while Mother Earth was
in her babyhood. When life is all sport, toil is the real play. There
was absolutely nothing to do. A little sweeping and dusting about the
cottage, I suppose, and the gathering of fresh flowers (which were only
too abundant everywhere), and arranging them in vases—and poor little
Pandora’s day’s work was over. And then, for the rest of the day, there
was the box!
After all, I am not quite sure that the box was not a blessing to her
in its way. It supplied her with such a variety of ideas to think of,
and to talk about, whenever she had anybody to listen! When she was in
good humor, she could admire the bright polish of its sides, and the
rich border of beautiful faces and foliage that ran all around it. Or,
if she chanced to be ill-tempered, she could give it a push, or kick it
with her naughty little foot. And many a kick did the box—(but it was a
mischievous box, as we shall see, and deserved all it got)—many a kick
did it receive. But, certain it is, if it had not been for the box, our
active-minded little Pandora would not have known half so well how to
spend her time as she now did.
For it was really an endless employment to guess what was inside. What
could it be, indeed? Just imagine, my little hearers, how busy your
wits would be, if there were a great box in the house, which, as you
might have reason to suppose, contained something new and pretty for
your Christmas or New Year’s gifts. Do you think that you should be less
curious than Pandora? If you were left alone with the box, might you
not feel a little tempted to lift the lid? But you would not do it. Oh,
fie! No, no! Only, if you thought there were toys in it, it would be so
very hard to let slip an opportunity of taking just one peep! I know not
whether Pandora expected any toys; for none had yet begun to be made,
probably, in those days, when the world itself was one great plaything
for the children that dwelt upon it. But Pandora was convinced that
there was something very beautiful and valuable in the box; and therefore
she felt just as anxious to take a peep as any of these little girls,
here around me, would have felt. And, possibly, a little more so; but of
that I am not quite so certain.
On this particular day, however, which we have so long been talking
about, her curiosity grew so much greater than it usually was, that, at
last, she approached the box. She was more than half determined to open
it, if she could. Ah, naughty Pandora!
First, however, she tried to lift it. It was heavy; quite too heavy
for the slender strength of a child, like Pandora. She raised one end
of the box a few inches from the floor, and let it fall again, with a
pretty loud thump. A moment afterwards, she almost fancied that she
heard something stir inside of the box. She applied her ear as closely
as possible, and listened. Positively, there did seem to be a kind of
stifled murmur within! Or was it merely the singing in Pandora’s ears? Or
could it be the beating of her heart? The child could not quite satisfy
herself whether she had heard anything or no. But, at all events, her
curiosity was stronger than ever.
As she drew back her head, her eyes fell upon the knot of gold cord.
“It must have been a very ingenious person who tied this knot,” said
Pandora to herself. “But I think I could untie it nevertheless. I am
resolved, at least, to find the two ends of the cord.”
So she took the golden knot in her fingers, and pried into its
intricacies as sharply as she could. Almost without intending it,
or quite knowing what she was about, she was soon busily engaged in
attempting to undo it. Meanwhile, the bright sunshine came through the
open window; as did likewise the merry voices of the children, playing
at a distance, and perhaps the voice of Epimetheus among them. Pandora
stopped to listen. What a beautiful day it was! Would it not be wiser, if
she were to let the troublesome knot alone, and think no more about the
box, but run and join her little playfellows, and be happy?
All this time, however, her fingers were half unconsciously busy with the
knot; and happening to glance at the flower-wreathed face on the lid of
the enchanted box, she seemed to perceive it slyly grinning at her.
“That face looks very mischievous,” thought Pandora. “I wonder whether it
smiles because I am doing wrong! I have the greatest mind in the world to
run away!”
But just then, by the merest accident, she gave the knot a kind of a
twist, which produced a wonderful result. The gold cord untwined itself
as if by magic, and left the box without a fastening.
“This is the strangest thing I ever knew!” said Pandora. “What will
Epimetheus say? And how can I possibly tie it up again?”
She made one or two attempts to restore the knot, but soon found it
quite beyond her skill. It had disentangled itself so suddenly that she
could not in the least remember how the strings had been doubled into
one another; and when she tried to recollect the shape and appearance of
the knot, it seemed to have gone entirely out of her mind. Nothing was to
be done, therefore, but to let the box remain as it was until Epimetheus
should come in.
“But,” said Pandora, “when he finds the knot untied, he will know that I
have done it. How shall I make him believe that I have not looked into
the box?”
And then the thought came into her naughty little heart, that, since
she would be suspected of having looked into the box, she might just
as well do so at once. Oh, very naughty and very foolish Pandora! You
should have thought only of doing what was right, and of leaving undone
what was wrong, and not of what your playfellow Epimetheus would have
said or believed. And so perhaps she might, if the enchanted face on the
lid of the box had not looked so bewitchingly persuasive at her, and if
she had not seemed to hear, more distinctly than before, the murmur of
small voices within. She could not tell whether it was fancy or no; but
there was quite a little tumult of whispers in her ear—or else it was her
curiosity that whispered—“Let us out, dear Pandora—pray let us out! We
will be such nice pretty playfellows for you! Only let us out!”
“What can it be?” thought Pandora. “Is there something alive in the box?
Well!—yes!—I am resolved to take just one peep! Only one peep; and then
the lid shall be shut down as safely as ever! There cannot possibly be
any harm in just one little peep!”
But it is now time for us to see what Epimetheus was doing.
This was the first time, since his little playmate had come to dwell with
him, that he had attempted to enjoy any pleasure in which she did not
partake. But nothing went right; nor was he nearly so happy as on other
days. He could not find a sweet grape or a ripe fig (if Epimetheus had a
fault, it was a little too much fondness for figs); or, if ripe at all,
they were overripe, and so sweet as to be cloying. There was no mirth in
his heart, such as usually made his voice gush out, of its own accord,
and swell the merriment of his companions. In short, he grew so uneasy
and discontented, that the other children could not imagine what was the
matter with Epimetheus. Neither did he himself know what ailed him, any
better than they did. For you must recollect that, at the time we are
speaking of, it was everybody’s nature, and constant habit, to be happy.
The world had not yet learned to be otherwise. Not a single soul or body,
since these children were first sent to enjoy themselves on the beautiful
earth, had ever been sick or out of sorts.
At length, discovering that, somehow or other, he put a stop to all the
play, Epimetheus judged it best to go back to Pandora, who was in a humor
better suited to his own. But, with a hope of giving her pleasure, he
gathered some flowers, and made them into a wreath, which he meant to
put upon her head. The flowers were very lovely—roses, and lilies, and
orange-blossoms, and a great many more, which left a trail of fragrance
behind, as Epimetheus carried them along; and the wreath was put together
with as much skill as could reasonably be expected of a boy. The fingers
of little girls, it has always appeared to me, are the fittest to twine
flower-wreaths; but boys could do it, in those days, rather better than
they can now.
And here I must mention that a great black cloud had been gathering in
the sky, for some time past, although it had not yet overspread the sun.
But, just as Epimetheus reached the cottage door, this cloud began to
intercept the sunshine, and thus to make a sudden and sad obscurity.
He entered softly; for he meant, if possible, to steal behind Pandora,
and fling the wreath of flowers over her head, before she should be aware
of his approach. But, as it happened, there was no need of his treading
so very lightly. He might have trod as heavily as he pleased—as heavily
as a grown man—as heavily, I was going to say, as an elephant—without
much probability of Pandora’s hearing his footsteps. She was too intent
upon her purpose. At the moment of his entering the cottage, the naughty
child had put her hand to the lid, and was on the point of opening the
mysterious box. Epimetheus beheld her. If he had cried out, Pandora would
probably have withdrawn her hand, and the fatal mystery of the box might
never have been known.
But Epimetheus himself, although he said very little about it, had his
own share of curiosity to know what was inside. Perceiving that Pandora
was resolved to find out the secret, he determined that his playfellow
should not be the only wise person in the cottage. And if there were
anything pretty or valuable in the box, he meant to take half of it to
himself. Thus, after all his sage speeches to Pandora about restraining
her curiosity, Epimetheus turned out to be quite as foolish, and nearly
as much in fault, as she. So, whenever we blame Pandora for what
happened, we must not forget to shake our heads at Epimetheus likewise.
As Pandora raised the lid, the cottage grew very dark and dismal; for
the black cloud had now swept quite over the sun, and seemed to have
buried it alive. There had, for a little while past, been a low growling
and muttering, which all at once broke into a heavy peal of thunder. But
Pandora, heeding nothing of all this, lifted the lid nearly upright, and
looked inside. It seemed as if a sudden swarm of winged creatures brushed
past her, taking flight out of the box, while, at the same instant, she
heard the voice of Epimetheus, with a lamentable tone, as if he were in
pain.
“Oh, I am stung!” cried he. “I am stung! Naughty Pandora! why have you
opened this wicked box?”
Pandora let fall the lid, and, starting up, looked about her, to see
what had befallen Epimetheus. The thunder-cloud had so darkened the
room that she could not very clearly discern what was in it. But she
heard a disagreeable buzzing, as if a great many huge flies, or gigantic
mosquitoes, or those insects which we call dor-bugs, and pinching-dogs,
were darting about. And, as her eyes grew more accustomed to the
imperfect light, she saw a crowd of ugly little shapes, with bats’
wings, looking abominably spiteful, and armed with terribly long stings
in their tails. It was one of these that had stung Epimetheus. Nor was it
a great while before Pandora herself began to scream, in no less pain and
affright than her playfellow, and making a vast deal more hubbub about
it. An odious little monster had settled on her forehead, and would have
stung her I know not how deeply, if Epimetheus had not run and brushed it
away.
Now, if you wish to know what these ugly things might be, which had
made their escape out of the box, I must tell you that they were the
whole family of earthly Troubles. There were evil Passions; there were
a great many species of Cares; there were more than a hundred and fifty
Sorrows; there were Diseases, in a vast number of miserable and painful
shapes; there were more kinds of Naughtiness than it would be of any use
to talk about. In short, everything that has since afflicted the souls
and bodies of mankind had been shut up in the mysterious box, and given
to Epimetheus and Pandora to be kept safely, in order that the happy
children of the world might never be molested by them. Had they been
faithful to their trust, all would have gone well. No grown person would
ever have been sad, nor any child have had cause to shed a single tear,
from that hour until this moment.
But—and you may see by this how a wrong act of any one mortal is a
calamity to the whole world—by Pandora’s lifting the lid of that
miserable box, and by the fault of Epimetheus, too, in not preventing
her, these Troubles have obtained a foothold among us, and do not seem
very likely to be driven away in a hurry. For it was impossible, as you
will easily guess, that the two children should keep the ugly swarm in
their own little cottage. On the contrary, the first thing that they
did was to fling open the doors and windows, in hopes of getting rid of
them; and, sure enough, away flew the winged Troubles all abroad, and
so pestered and tormented the small people, everywhere about, that none
of them so much as smiled for many days afterwards. And, what was very
singular, all the flowers and dewy blossoms on earth, not one of which
had hitherto faded, now began to droop and shed their leaves, after a
day or two. The children, moreover, who before seemed immortal in the
childhood, now grew older, day by day, and came soon to be youths and
maidens, and men and women by and by, and aged people, before they
dreamed of such a thing.
Meanwhile, the naughty Pandora, and hardly less naughty Epimetheus,
remained in their cottage. Both of them had been grievously stung, and
were in a good deal of pain, which seemed the more intolerable to them,
because it was the very first pain that had ever been felt since the
world began. Of course, they were entirely unaccustomed to it, and could
have no idea what it meant. Besides all this, they were in exceedingly
bad humor, both with themselves and with one another. In order to indulge
it to the utmost, Epimetheus sat down sullenly in a corner with his back
towards Pandora; while Pandora flung herself upon the floor and rested
her head on the fatal and abominable box. She was crying bitterly, and
sobbing as if her heart would break.
Suddenly there was a gentle little tap on the inside of the lid.
“What can that be?” cried Pandora, lifting her head.
But either Epimetheus had not heard the tap, or was too much out of humor
to notice it. At any rate, he made no answer.
“You are very unkind,” said Pandora, sobbing anew, “not to speak to me!”
Again the tap! It sounded like the tiny knuckles of a fairy’s hand,
knocking lightly and playfully on the inside of the box.
“Who are you?” asked Pandora, with a little of her former curiosity. “Who
are you, inside of this naughty box?”
A sweet little voice spoke from within—
“Only lift the lid, and you shall see.”
“No, no,” answered Pandora, again beginning to sob, “I have had enough
of lifting the lid! You are inside of the box, naughty creature, and
there you shall stay! There are plenty of your ugly brothers and sisters
already flying about the world. You need never think that I shall be so
foolish as to let you out!”
She looked towards Epimetheus, as she spoke, perhaps expecting that he
would commend her for her wisdom. But the sullen boy only muttered that
she was wise a little too late.
“Ah,” said the sweet little voice again, “you had much better let me out.
I am not like those naughty creatures that have stings in their tails.
They are no brothers and sisters of mine, as you would see at once, if
you were only to get a glimpse of me. Come, come, my pretty Pandora! I am
sure you will let me out!”
And, indeed, there was a kind of cheerful witchery in the tone, that made
it almost impossible to refuse anything which this little voice asked.
Pandora’s heart had insensibly grown lighter, at every word that came
from within the box. Epimetheus, too, though still in the corner, had
turned half round, and seemed to be in rather better spirits than before.
“My dear Epimetheus,” cried Pandora, “have you heard this little voice?”
“Yes, to be sure I have,” answered he, but in no very good humor as yet.
“And what of it?”
“Shall I lift the lid again?” asked Pandora.
“Just as you please,” said Epimetheus. “You have done so much mischief
already, that perhaps you may as well do a little more. One other
Trouble, in such a swarm as you have set adrift about the world, can make
no very great difference.”
“You might speak a little more kindly!” murmured Pandora, wiping her eyes.
“Ah, naughty boy!” cried the little voice within the box, in an arch and
laughing tone. “He knows he is longing to see me. Come, my dear Pandora,
lift up the lid. I am in a great hurry to comfort you. Only let me have
some fresh air, and you shall soon see that matters are not quite so
dismal as you think them!”
“Epimetheus,” exclaimed Pandora, “come what may, I am resolved to open
the box!”
“And, as the lid seems very heavy,” cried Epimetheus, running across the
room, “I will help you!”