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Various - Myths That Every Child Should Know

V >> Various >> Myths That Every Child Should Know




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 If he had cried out, Pandora would probably have withdrawn her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 swarms 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 afterward. 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 their
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 humour, 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 toward 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
humour 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 toward 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 humour 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!"

So, with one consent, the two children again lifted the lid. Out flew a
sunny and smiling little personage, and Hovered about the room, throwing
a light wherever she went. Have you never made the sunshine dance into
dark corners, by reflecting it from a bit of looking glass? Well, so
looked the winged cheerfulness of this fairy-like stranger, amid the
gloom of the cottage. She flew to Epimetheus, and laid the least touch
of her finger on the inflamed spot where the Trouble had stung him, and
immediately the anguish of it was gone. Then she kissed Pandora on the
forehead, and her hurt was cured likewise.

After performing these good offices, the bright stranger fluttered
sportively over the children's heads, and looked so sweetly at them,
that they both began to think it not so very much amiss to have opened
the box, since, otherwise, their cheery guest must have been kept a
prisoner among those naughty imps with stings in their tails.

"Pray, who are you, beautiful creature?" inquired Pandora.

"I am to be called Hope!" answered the sunshiny figure. "And because I
am such a cheery little body, I was packed into the box, to make amends
to the human race for that swarm of ugly Troubles, which was destined to
be let loose among them. Never fear I we shall do pretty well in spite
of them all."

"Your wings are coloured like the rainbow!" exclaimed Pandora. "How very
beautiful!"

"Yes, they are like the rainbow," said Hope, "because, glad as my nature
is, I am partly made of tears as well as smiles."

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

"As long as you need me," said Hope, with her pleasant smile--"and that
will be as long as you live in the world--I promise never to desert you.
There may come times and seasons, now and then, when you will think
that I have utterly vanished. But again, and again, and again, when
perhaps you least dream of it, you shall see the glimmer of my wings on
the ceiling of your cottage. Yes, my dear children, and I know something
very good and beautiful that is to be given you hereafter!"

"Oh tell us," they exclaimed--"tell us what it is!"

"Do not ask me," replied Hope, putting her finger on her rosy mouth.
"But do not despair, even if it should never happen while you live on
this earth. Trust in my promise, for it is true."

"We do trust you!" cried Epimetheus and Pandora, both in one breath.

And so they did; and not only they, but so has everybody trusted Hope,
that has since been alive. And to tell you the truth, I cannot help
being glad--(though, to be sure, it was an uncommonly naughty thing for
her to do)--but I cannot help being glad that our foolish Pandora peeped
into the box. No doubt--no doubt--the Troubles are still flying about
the world, and have increased in multitude, rather than lessened, and
are a very ugly set of imps, and carry most venomous stings in their
tails. I have felt them already, and expect to feel them more, as I grow
older. But then that lovely and lightsome little figure of Hope! What in
the world could we do without her? Hope spiritualises the earth; Hope
makes it always new; and, even in the earth's best and brightest aspect,
Hope shows it to be only the shadow of an infinite bliss hereafter!




CHAPTER IX

THE CYCLOPS


When the great city of Troy was taken, all the chiefs who had fought
against it set sail for their homes. But there was wrath in heaven
against them, for indeed they had borne themselves haughtily and cruelly
in the day of their victory. Therefore they did not all find a safe and
happy return. For one was shipwrecked, and another was shamefully slain
by his false wife in his palace, and others found all things at home
troubled and changed, and were driven to seek new dwellings elsewhere.
And some, whose wives and friends and people had been still true to them
through those ten long years of absence, were driven far and wide about
the world before they saw their native land again. And of all, the wise
Ulysses was he who wandered farthest and suffered most.

He was well-nigh the last to sail, for he had tarried many days to do
pleasure to Agamemnon, lord of all the Greeks. Twelve ships he had with
him--twelve he had brought to Troy--and in each there were some fifty
men, being scarce half of those that had sailed in them in the old days,
so many valiant heroes slept the last sleep by Simois and Scamander, and
in the plain and on the seashore, slain in battle or by the shafts of
Apollo.

First they sailed northwest to the Thracian coast, where the Ciconians
dwelt, who had helped the men of Troy. Their city they took, and in it
much plunder, slaves and oxen, and jars of fragrant wine, and might
have escaped unhurt, but that they stayed to hold revel on the shore.
For the Ciconians gathered their neighbours, being men of the same
blood, and did battle with the invaders, and drove them to their ship.
And when Ulysses numbered his men, he found that he had lost six out of
each ship.

Scarce had he set out again when the wind began to blow fiercely; so,
seeing a smooth sandy beach, they drave the ships ashore and dragged
them out of reach of the waves, and waited till the storm should abate.
And the third morning being fair, they sailed again, and journeyed
prosperously till they came to the very end of the great Peloponnesian
land, where Cape Malea looks out upon the southern sea. But contrary
currents baffled them, so that they could not round it, and the north
wind blew so strongly that they must fain drive before it. And on the
tenth day they came to the land where the lotus grows--a wondrous fruit,
of which whosoever eats cares not to see country or wife or children
again. Now the Lotus eaters, for so they call the people of the land,
were a kindly folk, and gave of the fruit to some of the sailors, not
meaning them any harm, but thinking it to be the best that they had to
give. These, when they had eaten, said that they would not sail any more
over the sea; which, when the wise Ulysses heard, he bade their comrades
bind them and carry them, sadly complaining, to the ships.

Then, the wind having abated, they took to their oars, and rowed for
many days till they came to the country where the Cyclopes dwell. Now, a
mile or so from the shore there was an island, very fair and fertile,
but no man dwells there or tills the soil, and in the island a harbour
where a ship may be safe from all winds, and at the head of the harbour
a stream falling from the rock, and whispering alders all about it. Into
this the ships passed safely, and were hauled up on the beach, and the
crews slept by them, waiting for the morning. And the next day they
hunted the wild goats, of which there was great store on the island, and
feasted right merrily on what they caught, with draughts of red wine
which they had carried off from the town of the Ciconians.

But on the morrow, Ulysses, for he was ever fond of adventure, and would
know of every land to which he came what manner of men they were that
dwelt there, took one of his twelve ships and bade row to the land.
There was a great hill sloping to the shore, and there rose up here and
there a smoke from the caves where the Cyclopes dwelt apart, holding no
converse with each other, for they were a rude and savage folk, but
ruled each his own household, not caring for others. Now very close to
the shore was one of these caves, very huge and deep, with laurels round
about the mouth, and in front a fold with walls built of rough stone,
and shaded by tall oaks and pines. So Ulysses chose out of the crew the
twelve bravest, and bade the rest guard the ship, and went to see what
manner of dwelling this was, and who abode there. He had his sword by
his side, and on his shoulder a mighty skin of wine, sweet smelling and
strong, with which he might win the heart of some fierce savage, should
he chance to meet with such, as indeed his prudent heart forecasted that
he might.

So they entered the cave, and judged that it was the dwelling of some
rich and skilful shepherd. For within there were pens for the young of
the sheep and of the goats, divided all according to their age, and
there were baskets full of cheeses, and full milkpails ranged along the
wall. But the Cyclops himself was away in the pastures. Then the
companions of Ulysses besought him that he would depart, taking with
him, if he would, a store of cheeses and sundry of the lambs and of the
kids. But he would not, for he wished to see, after his wont, what
manner of host this strange shepherd might be. And truly he saw it to
his cost!

It was evening when the Cyclops came home, a mighty giant, twenty feet
in height, or more. On his shoulder he bore a vast bundle of pine logs
for his fire, and threw them down outside the cave with a great crash,
and drove the flocks within, and closed the entrance with a huge rock,
which twenty wagons and more could not bear. Then he milked the ewes and
all the she goats, and half of the milk he curdled for cheese, and half
he set ready for himself, when he should sup. Next he kindled a fire
with the pine logs, and the flame lighted up all the cave, showing him
Ulysses and his comrades.

"Who are ye?" cried Polyphemus, for that was the giant's name. "Are ye
traders, or, haply, pirates?"

For in those days it was not counted shame to be called a pirate.

Ulysses shuddered at the dreadful voice and shape, but bore him bravely,
and answered, "We are no pirates, mighty sir, but Greeks, sailing back
from Troy, and subjects of the great King Agamemnon, whose fame is
spread from one end of heaven to the other. And we are come to beg
hospitality of thee in the name of Zeus, who rewards or punishes hosts
and guests according as they be faithful the one to the other, or no."

"Nay," said the giant, "it is but idle talk to tell me of Zeus and the
other gods. We Cyclopes take no account of gods, holding ourselves to
be much better and stronger than they. But come, tell me where have you
left your ship?"

But Ulysses saw his thought when he asked about the ship, how he was
minded to break it, and take from them all hope of flight. Therefore he
answered him craftily:

"Ship have we none, for that which was ours King Poseidon brake, driving
it on a jutting rock on this coast, and we whom thou seest are all that
are escaped from the waves."

Polyphemus answered nothing, but without more ado caught up two of the
men, as a man might catch up the whelps of a dog, and dashed them on the
ground, and tore them limb from limb, and devoured them, with huge
draughts of milk between, leaving not a morsel, not even the very bones.
But the others, when they saw the dreadful deed, could only weep and
pray to Zeus for help. And when the giant had ended his foul meal, he
lay down among his sheep and slept.

Then Ulysses questioned much in his heart whether he should slay the
monster as he slept, for he doubted not that his good sword would pierce
to the giant's heart, mighty as he was. But, being very wise, he
remembered that, should he slay him, he and his comrades would yet
perish miserably. For who should move away the great rock that lay
against the door of the cave? So they waited till the morning. And the
monster woke, and milked his flocks, and afterward, seizing two men,
devoured them for his meal. Then he went to the pastures, but put the
great rock on the mouth of the cave, just as a man puts down the lid
upon his quiver.

All that day the wise Ulysses was thinking what he might best do to save
himself and his companions, and the end of his thinking was this: There
was a mighty pole in the cave, green wood of an olive tree, big as a
ship's mast, which Polyphemus purposed to use, when the smoke should
have dried it, as a walking staff. Of this he cut off a fathom's length,
and his comrades sharpened it and hardened it in the fire, and then hid
it away. At evening the giant came back, and drove his sheep into the
cave, nor left the rams outside, as he had been wont to do before, but
shut them in. And having duly done his shepherd's work, he made his
cruel feast as before. Then Ulysses came forward with the wine skin in
his hand, and said:

"Drink, Cyclops, now that thou hast feasted. Drink, and see what
precious things we had in our ship. But no one hereafter will come to
thee with such like, if thou dealest with strangers as cruelly as thou
hast dealt with us."

Then the Cyclops drank, and was mightily pleased, and said, "Give me
again to drink, and tell me thy name, stranger, and I will give thee a
gift such as a host should give. In good truth this is a rare liquor.
We, too, have vines, but they bear not wine like this, which indeed must
be such as the gods drink in heaven."

Then Ulysses gave him the cup again, and he drank. Thrice he gave it to
him, and thrice he drank, not knowing what it was, and how it would work
within his brain.

Then Ulysses spake to him. "Thou didst ask my name, Cyclops. Lo! my name
is No Man. And now that thou knowest my name, thou shouldst give me thy
gift."

And he said, "My gift shall be that I will eat thee last of all thy
company."

And as he spake he fell back in a drunken sleep. Then Ulysses bade his
comrades be of good courage, for the time was come when they should be
delivered. And they thrust the stake of olive wood into the fire till it
was ready, green as it was, to burst into flame, and they thrust it into
the monster's eye; for he had but one eye, and that in the midst of his
forehead, with the eyebrow below it. And Ulysses leant with all his
force upon the stake, and thrust it in with might and main. And the
burning wood hissed in the eye, just as the red-hot iron hisses in the
water when a man seeks to temper steel for a sword.

Then the giant leapt up, and tore away the stake, and cried aloud, so
that all the Cyclopes who dwelt on the mountain side heard him and came
about his cave, asking him, "What aileth thee, Polyphemus, that thou
makest this uproar in the peaceful night, driving away sleep? Is any one
robbing thee of thy sheep, or seeking to slay thee by craft or force?"

And the giant answered, "No Man slays me by craft."

"Nay, but," they said, "if no man does thee wrong, we cannot help thee.
The sickness which great Zeus may send, who can avoid? Pray to our
father, Poseidon, for help."

Then they departed; and Ulysses was glad at heart for the good success
of his device, when he said that he was No Man.

But the Cyclops rolled away the great stone from the door of the cave,
and sat in the midst stretching out his hands, to feel whether perchance
the men within the cave would seek to go out among the sheep.

Long did Ulysses think how he and his comrades should best escape. At
last he lighted upon a good device, and much he thanked Zeus for that
this once the giant had driven the rams with the other sheep into the
cave. For, these being great and strong, he fastened his comrades under
the bellies of the beasts, tying them with osier twigs, of which the
giant made his bed. One ram he took, and fastened a man beneath it, and
two others he set, one on either side. So he did with the six, for but
six were left out of the twelve who had ventured with him from the ship.
And there was one mighty ram, far larger than all the others, and to
this Ulysses clung, grasping the fleece tight with both his hands. So
they waited for the morning. And when the morning came, the rams rushed
forth to the pasture; but the giant sat in the door and felt the back of
each as it went by, nor thought to try what might be underneath. Last of
all went the great ram. And the Cyclops knew him as he passed and said:

"How is this, thou, who art the leader of the flock? Thou art not wont
thus to lag behind. Thou hast always been the first to run to the
pastures and streams in the morning, and the first to come back to the
fold when evening fell; and now thou art last of all. Perhaps thou art
troubled about thy master's eye, which some wretch--No Man, they call
him--has destroyed, having first mastered me with wine. He has not
escaped, I ween. I would that thou couldst speak, and tell me where he
is lurking. Of a truth I would dash out his brains upon the ground, and
avenge me of this No Man."

So speaking, he let him pass out of the cave. But when they were out of
reach of the giant, Ulysses loosed his hold of the ram, and then unbound
his comrades. And they hastened to their ship, not forgetting to drive
before them a good store of the Cyclops' fat sheep. Right glad were
those that had abode by the ship to see them. Nor did they lament for
those that had died, though they were fain to do so, for Ulysses
forbade, fearing lest the noise of their weeping should betray them to
the giant, where they were. Then they all climbed into the ship, and
sitting well in order on the benches, smote the sea with their oars,
laying-to right lustily, that they might the sooner get away from the
accursed land. And when they had rowed a hundred yards or so, so that a
man's voice could yet be heard by one who stood upon the shore, Ulysses
stood up in the ship and shouted:

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