The Paradise of Children

Long, long ago, when the world was still young, there lived a child named Epimetheus who had no father or mother. So that he wouldn't be lonely, the gods sent another child, also without parents, to be his playmate and helper. Her name was Pandora.

The first thing Pandora saw when she entered the cottage where Epimetheus lived was a large box. And almost the first question she asked him was, “Epimetheus, what do you have in that box?”

“My dear little Pandora,” answered Epimetheus, “that is a secret. You must be kind and not ask questions about it. The box was left here to be kept safe, and I myself don't know what it contains.”

It is thousands of years since the myths tell us that Epimetheus and Pandora lived, and the world today is very different from what it was then. There were no fathers or mothers to take care of the children because there was no danger or trouble of any kind. There were no clothes to mend, and plenty to eat and drink. Whenever a child wanted dinner, he found it growing on a tree. It was a very pleasant life indeed. No work had to be done, no lessons studied; all was play and dancing and the sweet voices of children talking, singing like birds, or laughing merrily all day long.

But Pandora was not entirely happy because of Epimetheus’ explanation about the box. “Where can it have come from?” she kept asking herself, “and what on earth could be inside it?” At last she spoke to Epimetheus.

“You might open the box,” Pandora said, “and then we could see its contents for ourselves.”

“Pandora, what are you thinking of?” Epimetheus exclaimed. His face showed so much horror at the idea of looking into a box that had been given to him on the condition that he never open it, that Pandora thought it best not to suggest it again. Still, she couldn't stop thinking and talking about it.

“At least,” she said, “you can tell me how it came here.”

“It was left at the door,” Epimetheus replied, “just before you came, by a person who looked very smiling and intelligent and could hardly keep from smiling as he set it down. He wore an odd kind of cloak and a cap that seemed partly made of feathers, so it looked as if it had wings.”

“What sort of staff did he have?” asked Pandora.

“Oh, the most curious staff you ever saw!” cried Epimetheus. “It was like two serpents twisting around a stick, carved so naturally that I first thought the serpents were alive.”

“I know him,” said Pandora thoughtfully. “Nobody else has such a staff. It was Mercury, and he brought me here as well as the box. No doubt he intended it for me, and most likely it contains pretty dresses for me to wear, or toys for us both, or something nice to eat.”

“Perhaps so,” answered Epimetheus, turning away, “but until Mercury comes back and gives his permission, neither of us has any right to lift the lid.”

One day not long after, Epimetheus went to gather figs and grapes by himself, without asking Pandora. Ever since she had come, he had heard about that box—nothing but the box—and he was tired of it. As soon as he was gone, Pandora knelt down on the floor and looked intently at it.

The box was made of beautiful wood, highly polished so that Pandora could see her face in it. The edges and corners were carved with wonderful skill. Around the edge were figures of graceful men and women and the prettiest children ever seen, reclining or playing in gardens and forests. The most beautiful face of all was carved in high relief in the center of the box. There was nothing else except the dark, rich smoothness of the wood and that one face with a garland of flowers around its brow. The features had a kind of mischievous expression for all their loveliness, and if the mouth had spoken, it would probably have said, “Don't be afraid, Pandora! What harm can there be in opening a box? Never mind that poor, simple Epimetheus. You are wiser than he and have ten times as much courage. Open the box and see if you don't find something very pretty.”

On this particular day, when Pandora was alone, her curiosity grew so great that at last she touched the box. She was more than half determined to open it if she could. First, she tried to lift it. It was heavy—much 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 then let it fall with a pretty loud thump. A moment later, she almost thought she heard something stir inside. She wasn't quite sure, but her curiosity grew stronger than ever. Suddenly her eyes fell on a curious knot of gold that tied it. She took it in her fingers and, almost without meaning to, she soon busily tried to undo it.

It was a very intricate knot indeed, but at last, by pure accident, Pandora gave the cord a twist and it unwound itself, as if by magic. The box was without a fastening.

“This is the strangest thing I ever knew,” Pandora said. “What will Epimetheus say? And how can I possibly tie it again?”

Then the thought came into her naughty little heart that, since she would be suspected of looking into the box, she might as well do so at once.

As Pandora raised the lid, the cottage suddenly darkened, for a black cloud had swept over the sun and seemed to bury it alive. There had been a low growling and grumbling that broke into a heavy peal of thunder. But Pandora paid no attention to all this. She 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. At the same time, she heard the voice of Epimetheus in the doorway, exclaiming as if in pain, “Oh, I am stung! I am stung! Naughty Pandora, why have you opened this wicked box?”

Pandora let fall the lid and looked up to see what had happened to Epimetheus. The thundercloud had darkened the room so much that she could not clearly see what was in it. But she heard a disagreeable buzzing, as if many huge flies or giant bees were darting about. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, she saw a crowd of ugly little shapes, looking very spiteful, with bat wings and terribly long stings in their tails. It was one of these that had stung Epimetheus. Not long after, Pandora herself began to cry. An odious little monster had settled on her forehead and would have stung her deeply if Epimetheus had not run and brushed it away.

Now, if you wish to know what these ugly things were that escaped from the box, I must tell you that they were the whole family of earthly troubles. There were evil passions, many species of cares, more than a hundred and fifty sorrows, diseases in a vast number of strange and painful shapes, and more kinds of naughtiness than it would be useful to talk about. In short, everything that has since afflicted the souls and bodies of mankind had been shut up in the mysterious box given to Epimetheus and Pandora to keep safely, so that the happy children of the world might never be bothered 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 now.

But it was impossible for the two children to keep the ugly swarm in their little cottage. Pandora flung open the windows and doors to try to get rid of them, and sure enough, away flew the winged troubles and so pestered and tormented the people everywhere that none of them smiled for many days afterward. And the children of the earth, who before had seemed ageless, now grew older day by day and soon became youths and maidens, men and women, and then old folks before they dreamed of such a thing.

Meanwhile, naughty Pandora and Epimetheus remained in the cottage. Both had been painfully stung. Epimetheus sat down sullenly in a corner with his back to Pandora. As for poor little Pandora, she threw herself on the floor and rested her head on the fatal box, crying 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 Epimetheus was too out of humor to answer.

Again the tap! It sounded like the tiny knuckles of a fairy’s hand.

“Who are you?” asked Pandora. “Who are you inside this dreadful box?”

A sweet little voice came from within: “Only lift the lid, and you shall see.”

“No, no,” answered Pandora. “I have had enough of lifting the lid. You need never think that I will be so foolish as to let you out.”

“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 have no relation to me, as you would soon find out if you would only lift the lid.”

Indeed, there was a kind of cheerful witchery in the tone that made it almost impossible to refuse what this little voice asked. Pandora’s heart had grown lighter with every word from the box. Epimetheus, too, had left his corner and seemed in better spirits.

“Epimetheus!” exclaimed Pandora. “Come what may, I am resolved to lift the lid.”

“And since the lid seems very heavy,” said Epimetheus, running across the room, “I will help you.”

So, together, the two children lifted the lid. Out flew a sunny, smiling little person and hovered about the room, throwing light wherever she went. Have you ever made the sunshine dance into dark corners by reflecting it from a bit of mirror? So appeared the winged cheerfulness of this fairy-like stranger amid the gloom of the cottage. She flew to Epimetheus and laid the lightest touch of her finger on the inflamed spot where the trouble had stung him, and immediately the pain was gone. Then she kissed Pandora on the forehead, and her hurt was cured as well.

“Who are you, beautiful creature?” asked Pandora.

“I am to be called Hope,” explained the sunshiny figure. “And because I am such a cheerful person, I was packed by the gods into the box to make amends for the swarm of ugly troubles. Never fear! We shall do pretty well in spite of them.”

“Your wings are colored like the rainbow,” exclaimed Pandora. “How beautiful!”

“And will you stay with us,” asked Epimetheus, “forever and ever?”

“As long as you need me,” said Hope, “and that will be as long as you live in the world. I promise never to desert you.”

So Pandora and Epimetheus found Hope, and so has everyone else who has trusted her since that day. The troubles are still flying around the world, but we have that lovely, lightsome fairy, Hope, to cure their stings and make the world new for us.