Pandora(86)

‘I was struck by Helen’s artistry,’ Sir William cuts in. ‘I used Johann Tischbein to sketch my pieces, but sometimes he was engaged elsewhere so I often commissioned Helen in his place.’

‘Wait,’ Lady Hamilton interrupts. ‘I think I remember … One summer you had visitors, didn’t you, William, and a child was with them. Miss Blake, that was you?’

‘It was indeed, my dear,’ Sir William returns. ‘But pray, Dora, continue. Naples?’

Dora takes a breath. ‘I think you might be able to explain this part better than I.’

‘Very well.’ Their host takes a sip of his wine, fills it again from the carafe in the middle of the table. ‘We were dining on the balcony, I remember, overlooking the bay.’ He looks to Dora. ‘You were sitting on your mother’s lap.’

Dora offers a watery smile. ‘I remember.’

He inclines his head. ‘I commended Helen’s choice to name you Pandora. The name means “all-gifted” and I thought it quite charming. She told me she had named you after the myth. When I asked her why, she told me how the story had always fascinated her as a child.’

‘And what is the story?’ Lady Hamilton asks.

Over the table Edward catches Dora’s eye. She understands what he asks her, though he does not speak the words aloud. Are you all right? his eyes say, and Dora’s chest tightens. Her anger at him is not diminished but she feels numb to it right now, finds herself nodding in answer, and Sir William seems to interpret this as permission to deviate from her own history still further.

‘There have been many variations of the myth over the course of history. For the purpose of tonight’s explanation I shall recount the most common one.’ He takes a breath. ‘You must know, of course, that in Greek myth their God was Zeus. For millennia, the world was made up only of gods and demigods and mythical creatures. Although their lives were by no means harmonious it was, in many respects, a perfect world. Zeus though, dissatisfied with this so-called “perfect world” – which he considered now altogether far too boring – tasked his good friend Prometheus to create the first humans out of mud and Zeus’ own spittle, and the goddess Athena animated them with her breath.

‘However, all these humans were male, and they did not possess the ability to make fire which Zeus considered a skill only the gods may own. But Prometheus felt that humans were meant to evolve and create, so he stole the fire of Hephaestus, the god of blacksmiths, and bestowed it upon the humans. When he discovered Prometheus’ treachery, Zeus had Hephaestus create the first human female and gave her all the womanly wiles that many believe are the cause of man’s downfall. This first female was named Pandora.

‘But even then, Zeus’ revenge was not complete. Before releasing her he gave Pandora a jar – not a box, as many believe. That error is due to a mistranslation attributed to the Dutch philosopher Erasmus. In his Latin account of the story he changed the Greek pithos to pyxis which means, literally, “box”. But the point is there was a pithos, and Zeus ordered her never to open it.

‘Pandora was then gifted to Prometheus’ brother, Epimetheus. The two fell deeply in love and were happy for many years. But the call of the pithos would not let Pandora rest. One night, unable to sleep, she opened the lid of the jar and alas, Zeus’ revenge was realised. Out came all the evils of the world from which we have never recovered: Illness, Violence, Deceit, Misery and Want. Pandora was so shocked by what she had done, that she closed the lid just before the final evil could be released. Zeus had added Hope to the pithos, to punish and torture man. He believed that Hope was often the false promise of good to come. I believe that it is up to interpretation whether Hope is considered Evil or Good.’

The room sits in a suspension of quiet. The air seems charged, as if the mythical tale is a living thing that has been awoken by its very narration. Sir William takes a sip of wine; the others follow suit. It is Mr Ashmole who breaks the silence.

‘How does all this connect to Miss Blake?’

Sir William looks to her. ‘My dear?’ he prompts.

Dora takes a deep, steadying breath. Out of her few fragmented mirror shards of memory, this is the one that has stuck with her all these years, the one that has remained fully formed in her mind’s eye. She remembers her mother’s voice recalling the Pandora myth at bedtime as Dora turned the cameo over and over and over in the palm of her tiny hand. But of course it never occurred to her that the pithos she has been sketching might have been the very same one her mother spoke of, all those years before.

‘My mother believed,’ Dora begins, ‘that the original Pandora was real. Not the woman of myth, of course, but I remember her saying – as you suggested earlier, Lady Hamilton – that suspicion, fable, it all comes from some form of truth. My mother reasoned that there may well have been someone in ancient Greece of that name, a woman of great power and beauty, likely of aristocratic lineage, and that a vase was created as homage to her. Another argument might be that she was a corrupt woman since the myth tells that Pandora released all natural evils into the world, and therefore the vase was made as some form of insult. Either way, my mother thought it probable that a vase existed, one that would have been distinct enough to carry such a legend down through the generations. But I had no idea this was what my parents were looking for during those last weeks. To me it was just another dig site, like any other I had been on over the years.’