The Story of Pandora
In the early days of man's life on the earth, when everything was
beautiful and new, there was no sickness anywhere, nor any pain, nor
sorrow. Men lived to be very old and very wise, and everywhere was
happiness such as has never been since in all the world. Now Jupiter
had not forgotten about the stealing of the sacred fire, and it angered
him that man should light his own fires and kindle the cheerful blaze
which should by right be glowing only in the halls of Olympus. The
suffering of Prometheus had not softened his wrath. He would not be
satisfied until punishment was visited upon those who had received the
stolen fire. Accordingly he called a council of the gods and spoke to
them of his desire. Though none of the deities wished to see misfortune
brought upon the race of man, they did not dare to dispute the will of
Jupiter. So they agreed to carry out the plan that he unfolded, and
before many days had passed they had fashioned, out of the same clay
from which man was made, a creature that they called woman. To her
each of the gods gave a gift such as softness, or grace, or wonderful
fairness; but Jupiter added one other quality, curiosity, and he
gave the woman the name of Pandora, which means "the gift of all the
gods."[3] Then he bade Mercury, who is the messenger of the gods, take
this new soft thing down to the earth and give her to Epimetheus for
his wife. Now Epimetheus had mourned apart from his fellows ever since
he learned of his brother's dreadful fate; and he sat day and night
in the cool silence of the forest, brooding over his sorrow. But one
day he saw some one coming toward him, led by the hand of Mercury, and
all at once he forgot to be sad; for the sunlight was shining on the
woman's golden hair, and her white arm was stretched out to him in
greeting.
For some time Epimetheus and Pandora lived happily in the gardens of
the earth, and every day Epimetheus thanked the gods for their last
and best gift to man. He never tired of watching Pandora chasing
butterflies through the tall meadow grass, or making cups out of
broad leaves, that she and Epimetheus might drink from the clear,
cool spring. One day as they were resting under the trees and eating
their simple meal of dates and wild honey, they saw a traveler coming
toward them. He was walking very slowly and seemed heavily burdened
with what appeared to be a large box. While he was yet some distance
off, Pandora ran to meet him and asked him to come into the shade and
rest. The stranger was old, and the chest that he carried bent his
shoulders almost to the ground. He looked hungry and thirsty and tired,
so Epimetheus urged him to stop and rest, and offered him some freshly
gathered dates. But the traveler--who was none other than Mercury in
disguise--replied that he could not tarry with them, for he had a long
distance yet to go. He asked them, however, to take care of his great
oak chest, for with that burden off his shoulders he could hurry on and
reach his journey's end before nightfall. He promised to come back for
the chest a few days later. Epimetheus and Pandora were delighted to be
of service to a stranger, and promised to guard the chest with great
care. The traveler thanked them and turned away; but just as they were
saying good-by, he mysteriously disappeared, and whichever way they
looked there was no trace of him to be seen.
Epimetheus was not at all eager to know what was in the mysterious
chest; but as soon as they sat down again under the trees, Pandora
began to ask a thousand questions as to who the traveler might be and
what the chest contained. Epimetheus begged her not to think any more
about it, as nothing could be learned of the old man or his burden;
but Pandora refused to be silent, and talked still more of the
probable treasure that they were guarding for the stranger. At last
Epimetheus got up angrily and walked away, wearied with her insistence.
Pandora then went over to the chest, and kneeling down beside it, she
examined the exquisitely carved figures that were on all its four
sides. Then she studied the fine golden cord that bound the chest. It
looked soft enough, and yet it was very strong; for it was made of
strands of twisted gold and was tied at the end with a curious knot.
There was no lock to be seen, and apparently nothing hindered eager
fingers from opening the lid when once the knot was unfastened and
the golden cord unwound. Pandora's fingers itched to try her skill on
the knot, and she felt sure that if she worked at it long enough, she
could finally loosen it. The figures carved on the lid were groups of
dancing children, and in the very center was one figure whose face was
so strange that Pandora sat for a long time staring at it. Now and
then she turned away, and when she looked at the face again, it had a
different expression from the one she had seen on it before. She knew
that this carved thing was not alive, and yet each time she gazed into
the strange eyes of the wooden face they were quite unlike the eyes
that had smiled or frowned or mocked at her before.
She went to see whether Epimetheus had come back, and finding that he
was still away, she returned to the chest again, but would not let
herself be tempted into so much as touching the golden cord. As she
stood wondering what to do, she thought that she heard some little
voices coming from inside the chest, and they seemed to say:--
"Open, Pandora, please, please open and let us out."
Pandora looked quickly around to see whether Epimetheus were in sight,
then she came a bit nearer to the chest and put one hand on the golden
cord. Again she heard the small voices, this time very distinctly, and
they said:--
"Open, Pandora, please, please open and let us out."
Pandora's heart was now beating fast. What _could_ be in the chest?
What poor imprisoned creatures were calling to her, begging her to
set them free? She put both hands on the golden cord, then she looked
guiltily around; but no one was in sight, no one was watching her
except some inquisitive squirrels who were peering down at her from the
branches just above her head.
Swiftly and deftly she untied the knot, which yielded easily to her
eager fingers; but even then she hesitated, fearing the anger of
Epimetheus.
The little voices cried again:--
"Open, Pandora, please, please open and let us out;" but still she
hesitated, not daring to raise the lid. Just then she heard her
husband calling to her, and she knew that there would be no chance now
to explore the contents of the mysterious chest. She must wait for that
pleasure until another time; meanwhile she would take just one peep
inside to be sure that the voices were not mocking her. So she raised
the lid very gently, but no sooner had she made the smallest opening
than out poured a host of tiny creatures like brown-winged moths; and
they swarmed all around her, biting and pinching and blistering her
soft skin until she cried out in fear and pain.
She tried to fight them off, and rushed away to find Epimetheus; but
the tormenting little sprites followed her, buzzing about her ears and
stinging her again and again. In vain she strove to brush them away,
for they clung to her dress, her hair, and her poor swollen skin. When
she reached Epimetheus she was crying bitterly, and it did not need any
questioning to find out the trouble, for the malicious little creatures
were so numerous that hundreds of them encircled Epimetheus, and bit
and stung him, just as they had done to Pandora. In the unhappy hour
that followed, while husband and wife bound soothing herbs on their
bruised skin, Pandora told Epimetheus how her fatal curiosity had led
her to open the chest and set free the host of evil things.
It was not, however, until later that they realized the extent of
Pandora's folly, for the little brown-winged creatures were all the
spirits of evil that had never before entered the world. Their names
were Sickness and Pain and Sorrow; Envy and Pride and Jealousy; Hunger,
Poverty, and Death. All these ills had envious Jupiter put into the oak
chest, and bound it with only a golden cord. He knew that sooner or
later Pandora would open the chest, and then man's life of untroubled
happiness would be forever at an end. Never again could the gardens of
the earth be places where man might hope to find peace. Evil things
had taken up their dwelling there, and they would stay for always and
always and always, as long as the world should last.
When Epimetheus and Pandora saw the hateful winged creatures settling
down on the leaves and flowers so as to be near at hand to torment
them, they wept bitter tears and wished that the gods had never created
them. In the midst of her sobbing Pandora had not, however, forgotten
about the chest, and she was still wondering what else might be inside
it, for she was sure that those mothlike things could never have wholly
filled it. Suddenly she heard a wee soft whisper coming from within
the chest, and it said: "Open, Pandora, please, please open and let me
out."
Pandora stared in surprise, for she had thought that all the evil
sprites had rushed out in that moment when she raised the lid. Was
there, then, another host of tormenting things still there; and if so,
should she let them out to add to her misery and pain?
Again the little soft voice cried: "Open, Pandora, please, please open
and let me out."
Pandora now called to Epimetheus, and together they listened to the
pleading voice which was so very soft and sweet that they were sure
it could not belong to any evil thing. Still Epimetheus was unwilling
to risk bringing any more trouble into the world; but in spite of her
remorse, Pandora was curious to see what it was that was begging so
plaintively for freedom. So with Epimetheus's consent she opened the
lid once more, and out fluttered a tiny little creature with beautiful
gauzy wings. She flew straight to Pandora, then to Epimetheus, and at
her touch all their hurts were healed and all their pain forgotten.
The name of this gentle messenger was Hope; and she had been hidden in
the chest secretly by one of the pitying gods, who grieved that Jupiter
was sending so many ills to fret mankind. The host of evil beings, once
set free, could never again be shut up in their narrow prison; but
wherever they flew--even to the remotest corner of the earth--Hope
followed them and brought healing in her wings; and when the world grew
wicked, as it did in the days that came after, so that men neglected
the altars of the gods, Hope was still remembered with votive offerings
and her shrines kept garlanded with flowers.