Aphrodite's Gaze
And the Curse of Beauty
“And Zeus who thunders on high was stung in spirit, and his dear heart was angered when he saw the far-seen ray of fire amongst men. Forthwith, he made an evil thing for men as the price of fire; for the very famous Limping God, Hephaestus, formed of earth the likeness of a maiden.”
- Hesiod, 8th century B.C.
“WILL YOU SIT IN MY WORKSHOP?” Hephestus, the lame god, Olympus’ great craftsman, and my husband asked me. I lay in a chair in our home on Olympus, sipping honeyed wine. A plate of half-eaten ambrosia sat on the windowsill beside me. I turned to face my spouse, the ugliest of the gods and sighed at his miserable presence.
“You know I loathe the smell of coal fire,” I replied.
“I know, but I am not working at the forge today. Mighty Zeus has commissioned a work made out of clay.”
I sat up from my lounging, “What could you make from clay that is fit for the king of Olympus?”
“Come sit with me, and you shall see,” my husband smiled. He rarely had the upper hand in any conversation, let alone one with me. He relished this fleeting position of advantage. I rolled my eyes. His pettiness annoyed me, but I stood to follow him to the workshop attached to our dwelling.
The fires were cool in the forge, but I could still smell the lingering dirty aroma of the black smoke by which my husband earned his place among the Olympians. My nose crinkled. I was born of seafoam and starlight. Fire is my nemesis, and I am certain Zeus understood the irony of betrothing me to the maker of flames.
I wrapped my skirts tight around my legs to keep the hems from brushing against any of the soot-stained surfaces. It’s almost impossible to be around Hephaestus without accumulating ash on one’s clothes.
He led me through the forge where he usually does his business and into the courtyard. Flowers of every size and color bloomed all around, and the grass was soft underfoot. No thorns and thistles grow on Olympus, so all the gods except Hermes tread barefoot when they walk here. A mound of moist clay of the highest grade sat in the midst of the small paradise with a chair by its side. Hephaestus beckoned me to sit, and I examined the setup. The potter’s tools lay in a satchel across from the chair rather than beside it.
“Do you want me to model for you?” I asked, simultaneously flattered and annoyed by the proposition.
“Zeus asked me to make a beautiful woman out of earth for the men that Prometheus created. Who better to mold her from than you?”
“You lie,” I said. “Zeus is furious with Prometheus and those fire-wielding mud men. He would not want you to bless those abominations with such beauty.”
“Oh, but the woman is not a blessing,” Hephaestus said, his grin growing wide. “Zeus intends for her to be a curse upon mankind. Her beauty and charms are meant to bring the mortal race misery.”
“And so you thought I would be a fitting muse?” I asked. I am not ashamed to say that my face reddened; my voice became shrill.
“Of course. It is your form that has been my bane. That and your affairs with Ares, Hermes, and any other god who does not walk with a limp.” He said the word ‘limp’ as though it disgusted him. “Whose likeness would curse mankind better than the one who has cursed me?”
“You impotent wretch,” I shouted, but Hephaestus absorbed my barb with his work-hardened skin and grinned all the more. “Do your work from memory. I will not lend you my form to look upon,” I said and stormed out of the courtyard. My skirts billowed in my wake and came away blackened and stained as I left through the forge.
TIME PASSED. I still burned with fury towards my husband, so it could not have been longer than a century. It was not night; the sky cannot darken in heaven, but Ares snored from his side of the mattress. I rose from the bed in which he and I lay together. I knew he would not wake for some time. Love always conquers war, and the god of conflict is no exception to that rule. I left the room and walked through my abode with only a thin shawl draped about me, hoping Hephaestus might see me and become enraged at my radiance.
I went to the courtyard where I knew his creation stood, but the craftsman was missing. I looked at the clay. It no longer resembled the mud of the earth. Instead, the form of a female body— my female body— stood in its place. As much as I despise my husband, I must give his hands and mind credit. The statue’s resemblance to me was startling. The figure’s clay hair looked ready to twist in the breeze; her neck was elegant. She had slender arms and a nipped waist above full hips where delicate hands rested. Her legs tapered to thin ankles and small feet. All of me was there on display, and I shuddered. Hephaestus possessed a perfect memory, for he had only seen me disrobed once, and that was by accident. Yet there I was, formed out of clay.
“So this is the curse meant for mankind,” I said to myself. I walked around the lifeless clay and looked for imperfections. There were a few, but I knew they must be intentional; Hephaestus’ hand does not slip in his craft. I found a blemish here and a dimple there, but overall, the only thing lacking from the girl was the breath of life.
“Incredible, isn’t she,” said a voice behind me. A voice I could not fail to recognize even if I tried. I turned to find Zeus, the god of all the gods, watching me like the eagle that is his emblem.
“Is she all that you desired?” I asked, trying not to appear startled by Zeus’ presence at my home.
“She is all that I could have hoped for,” he said with a predatory smirk. I counted myself lucky to never have been the subject of those lustful eyes. Then I remembered who the clay girl was modeled from. I pulled my shawl tight around me and wished for a cloak.
“Is she made for you or for men?” I asked, but Hephaestus interrupted before Zeus could answer. He entered the room and animated it with shock and horror.
“She isn’t ready yet!” He screamed and tossed a dirty sheet over the clay woman. “You must leave now, both of you.”
“I am tired of waiting, Hephaestus,” Zeus, the hurler of thunderbolts, bellowed in reply. “Finish the woman soon. There are many ways to punish a god, and you do not wish to tempt me to wrath.”
Hephaestus and I both trembled. All in Olympus witnessed the binding of Prometheus and the first of his eternal eviscerations by the cloud-bringer’s own raptors. Zeus’ propensity for cruelty was as unbounded as his sensual appetites. Every god learned about fear from the punishment of Prometheus. Every god learned that though we cannot die, there are fates worse than death.
“I just need a little more time,” Hephaestus said. He stood between Zeus and the creation like a protective shepherd between his flocks and a wolf. Zeus prowled closer. The air crackled as a dying fire. Hephaestus didn’t cower, and I was surprised to find pride in me for my husband’s defiance.
“I expect you to be finished before the horses of Helios gallop three times over the face of the earth,” Zeus said, “You have three days, Hephaestus. Man cannot go unpunished any longer.”
AFTER ZEUS WENT AWAY, I left the courtyard before Hephaestus could confront me. I knew he would search for something to vent his frustration on, and I possessed no desire to be what he found first. I did not return to Ares either but went to look upon mankind from above.
There is a place on Olympus where one can sit and see the world below. It is like a ledge; if one is daring, one can hang one’s feet off and dangle them in the space between the earth and the sky. I do not go there often, but I knew then that it was the one place Hephaestus would not go.
It was dark on the earth below. I could see the first men, those horrid little creatures, huddled around their pathetic flame; they sheltered the fire from the wind with their bodies and worshiped it with their breath. Men look hideous to me. They are ill-formed and rough as if the mud they are made from consists of more gravel than silt. I can’t find pity for them, and I wonder what Prometheus saw in his creation. What made him steal fire from heaven to give it to them? I wonder if Prometheus thinks of man each time the eagles come to rip open his side.
The little brutes I watched bore no resemblance to the masterpiece standing in my husband’s courtyard, and I realized then that the woman Hephaestus made would not be a curse upon mankind. Mankind would be a curse upon her. I could see that man would be unable to comprehend her beauty. They would have no appreciation for her delicate nature or her gentle form. Instead, they would grope for her and deal roughly with her. They would break and abuse her like iron against an anvil. Looking at man, I did not find pity for them but for their curse.
THREE DAYS PASSED IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE. What is time to a god? If I had not heard Zeus’ threats, I would not have counted the rising of Helios in his emblazoned chariot at all. But rise and fall, the titan of the sun did, and Zeus came knocking on the door with the rest of the pantheon following close behind. The other gods expected a show. Either Hephaestus delivered a wonder, or Zeus dealt cruelly with another immortal.
Much to the gods’ chagrin, Hephaestus was ready when Zeus arrived. Like many craftsmen, my husband works best under deadlines, and his latest work was no exception. Zeus, nine other gods, and countless other minor deities entered the courtyard. I stood near my husband. The center of attention, the clay woman, was shrouded in the same dirty sheet Hephaestus thrust over her the other night. I wondered if he had done any further work on the figure or if he had decided to leave the sculpture as Zeus and I had first found it.
“Well, Hephaestus, what do you have to show for yourself?” Zeus asked once all of the heavenly hosts were gathered. Hephaestus fidgeted with the corner of the sheet in his hand, but he did not look unsure of himself. He cleared his throat before speaking.
“O Zeus of the thunderbolt,” Hephaestus began, “watcher of sea havens, ruler of Olympus. You asked me to make a beautiful woman out of the earth, and I did just that. I am finished with my toil. Here is my gift to mankind. Meet the first woman, Pandora.”
With a flourish, Hephaestus uncovered the clay. A collective gasp went up from all of the gods. Hephaestus had made many great things before, but this ‘woman’ was his crowning achievement. If the statue was beautiful before, she was magnificent now. She stood clothed in a white gown made of the finest weaving, no doubt a contribution from Athena. Her clay hair hung over her shoulders and down her back like a cape of fleece. Her poised lips looked as though she might introduce herself at any moment.
Zeus smiled lecherously. “Wonderful,” he said, turning to the crowd as though he were responsible for Hephaestus’ genius. “The first woman requires gifts. Come and bless her so that she may be a burden upon mankind.”
Zeus beckoned the rest of the gods. Bright-eyed Athena stepped forward first and put a veil over the statue’s eyes and a garland of flowers around its neck.
“I bless you with the craft of weaving, by which man will know they are naked and ashamed,” Athena said.
Hermes came next. The wily god slithered to the front like a snake through the grass. “I give you beguiling words and soft speech, by which man will know they are dull and lack cunning.”
One by one, the gods blessed the lifeless statue with backhanded gifts. Hera, the queen of the gods, gave curiosity so that man would know their ignorance, and bright Apollo gave her the gift of singing so that man would know their own voices are harsh and discordant. I watched silently beside my husband. The gods enjoyed their wit, but my mind was on the brutes of darkness that dwelt below the heavens who were about to receive this offering. I thought of their meaty faces, grubby fingers, and the fire they cherished so dearly. It would be long before any man possessed enough intellect to understand the curse laid upon them from above. They were sure to destroy or devour this poor girl long before then.
Poseidon, the last of the pantheon, placed his gift of a pearl necklace around the statue. “So that man will look to the seas for treasure but find tragedy instead,” the sea god said.
It was not my turn. Hephaestus already gave the gift of my beauty to the clay, but since I considered this unwilling on my part, I felt entitled to bestow one last charm on the pretty lump of wet dirt. No god or goddess objected, and I came near to the statue. I took off my pale gold earrings and worked them into the clay ears Hephaestus had fashioned. Then, with a whisper so low that even the gods could not hear but still carried my divine authority, I said, “I give you grace, by which man can learn to love.”
WHEN I FINISHED, Zeus stepped back into the center of the ceremony. He did not face the deathless gods but looked at the lifeless clay form. He carried a large black jar in one hand, and with the other, he touched the face. Zeus leaned close as if to kiss her but placed his open mouth over her nose and lips, blowing a mighty breath of life into the earthen nostrils. Pandora’s eyes came alive and then went wide with terror. She fought against the sky father, which only increased his zealous embrace. She beat at him with her fists, but still, Zeus held her to his tongue. I heard her scream echo down his throat, and then Zeus released her and laughed while she looked around for safety. The others laughed, too. Even I laughed at the absurdity of a mortal seeking shelter in our midst. Mortals are, after all, amusing to the gods.
“Do not fear, sweet Pandora. You are safe.” Zeus held out his gift. “Take this,” he said and handed her the jar. “This is your final gift, but do not open it here. Take it with you to the man you shall marry. It is a wedding gift from the gods.”
Pandora did as she was told, though many questions hung around her newly-born mind. She cradled the jar like an infant but touched the lid as though already tempted to break the seal.
“Don’t,” Zeus all but shouted. He pushed her hand aside and pressed against the jar to ensure its lid was closed. “Do not open it here.”
All of the gods looked on with interest. What could be held within the jar, and where could Zeus have fetched it? I glanced at my husband with eyes that asked if the workmanship was his, but he shook his head.
“Hermes, take Pandora down from here,” Zeus said quickly, “I am certain that man is eager to receive its bride.”
Hermes, the messenger of the gods, took Pandora’s hand. She did not shy away from his presence as she did from Zeus. Hermes is finer-featured and less imposing than the king of the gods, though no less dangerous. I watched the pair take to the air and leave the courtyard for the cold, dark world below.
I went to the ledge from where the gods can observe the earth. I am, after all, the goddess of love and desire. Therefore, weddings and brides are my interests. I found Pandora and bright Hermes easy on the sodden earth. He did not take her to mankind first, which I thought was wise. Instead, Hermes led the first woman to a grove of olive trees that were in bloom. White petals danced in the wind and frolicked in the dark tresses of Pandora’s hair. But Hermes and Pandora were not the only ones present in the grove. The titan, Epimetheus, the procrastinating god of excuse and brother of Prometheus, emerged out of the shade.
“Oh, there you are, Epimetheus,” I heard Hermes say, feigning shock at the titan’s presence. “Look, friend, I have brought a gift for you from the gods. Meet Pandora, who is to be your wife.”
I gasped. This was not right. Zeus said Pandora was meant for man and not a titan. Did the almighty sky father deceive his own pantheon? Epimetheus was wary at first. It was well known to all of us that Prometheus’ last warning to his brother was to refuse any gift from another god. So far, Epimetheus had upheld his brother’s parting wish. But how could he deny Pandora? She possessed my beauty, Athena’s deft hands, Hera’s curiosity, the subtlety of Hermes, and the treasures of the deep. If ever there was a worthy wife for a god, it was Pandora.
Still, Epimetheus examined his bride doubtfully. The titan crossed his arms like a stable hand judging a mare.
Then, I understood my greatest folly. Not only did Pandora possess attributes meant to beguile men, she also possessed the power to inspire love. But for an immortal to find love with one who dies is to condemn oneself to misery, which is the punishment Zeus desired for Epimetheus. My final gift was the most necessary for Zeus’ plan to succeed. I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. I wanted to scream and warn the foolish titan, but I knew that act would only put me in chains beside Prometheus.
Epimetheus’ guard let down the longer he stood by Pandora. I could see his demeanor soften. In the end, he held out his hand to accept Pandora, and Hermes proclaimed their union sealed.
“What is this you have?” Epimetheus asked his lovely new bride. She held out the jar.
“It is our wedding gift,” Pandora said. Her voice was as pure and sweet as nectar. She touched the lid, and Hermes fled from the grove.
“What is inside?” Epimetheus asked.
“I do not know,” Pandora replied, and she opened the lid.
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Short stories are published on a monthly basis. If you missed my previous story BY MY FRUIT you can find it at the link below.
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This was so delightful. I don’t know too much about green mythology, but this made me want to dig more!