Philemon and Baucis
Upon a hill in the land of Phrygia stands a thousand year old oak, and
close by it a linden of the same age, both surrounded by a low wall.
Many a wreath has been hung upon the boughs of the neighborly pair. Not
far from them extends a swampy lake into which empties a shallow stream.
Where in former times people dwelt, now only herons and ducks rove
about. Once Father Zeus came to this spot with his son Hermes carrying
only his wand, but not his winged cap. They were seeking hospitality in
human form. They knocked at a thousand doors praying shelter for the
night. But the people were so disobliging that the heavenly visitants
could not anywhere find lodging. At the end of the village was a hut,
humble and small, covered with straw and rushes. In this poor house
lived a happy couple, honest Philemon and Baucis, his wife, of the same
age. They had spent their joyous youth together there, and there they
had grown white-haired. They made no complaint of their poverty, but
quietly bore their hard lot, united in love, and although childless,
they were content in the mean little house which they alone occupied
together.
As the high deities approached this humble roof and entered the low
passageway with bowed heads, the honest couple met them with a hearty
greeting. The old man placed seats for them, and Baucis, clad in a
coarse dress, begged them to rest themselves. The little mother busied
herself about the hearth, stirred up the ashes, piled up dry leaves and
brushwood, and kindled a fire. Then she brought split wood and placed it
under the little kettle hanging over the fire. In the meantime Philemon
brought cabbage from his well-watered garden, deftly unleaved it, took
down a side of smoked pork with his two-tined fork from the ceiling, and
cut a huge piece from the shoulder to put into the boiling water. That
the time might not seem too long to the strangers, they exerted
themselves to entertain them with light conversation. They also poured
water into the wooden tub so that they could enjoy a foot bath. Smiling
in a friendly way, the gods accepted these proffers, and while they were
stretching their feet comfortably in the water their gracious host
prepared the couch-bed, which stood in the middle of the room. The
cushions were stuffed with rushes and the feet and frame were made of
woven willow. Philemon brought carpetings which were only kept for feast
days,--how old and poor they were!--and the divine guests prepared to
enjoy the meal which was now ready. The little mother, in her neat
apron, placed with trembling hands the three-legged table before the
couch, and as it would not stand very securely, she raised it slightly
by placing something under it. Then she rubbed the plates with fresh
mint and food was set before them. There were olives, cornelian
cherries, preserved in clear thick sirup, also radishes, endives, fine
cheese, and eggs cooked in the ashes. Baucis brought all these in
earthen dishes, besides a showily colored pitcher and neat cups of
beechwood, glazed on the inside with yellow wax, filled with milk, for
they had no wine. Nuts, figs, and dates were brought for desert, and two
dishes filled with plums and spicy apples. In the middle of the table
was a whitish honeycomb. But the finest seasoning of the meal was the
good friendly faces of the honest old couple, testifying to their
honesty and generosity.
As all were enjoying the food and drink, Philemon observed that the
pitcher contained wine instead of milk and that in spite of emptying of
the cups they were continually refilled. Then he recognized with
surprise and fear whom he was entertaining. In distress he flew to his
old companion with upraised arms and downcast eyes and implored her to
know what they should offer to their heavenly guests. Suddenly it
occurred to them that they might offer their only goose. Both ran out,
but the goose was faster than they. Hissing and flapping its wings, it
ran here and there, outdistancing the old people. Finally it ran into
the house and crouched behind the guests, as if seeking divine
protection. And it did not seek in vain.
The guests restrained the ardor of the old people and said with a laugh:
"We are gods who have come to earth to test the generosity of men. We
found your neighbors wicked and they shall be punished. But you shall
leave this house and follow us to the summit of the mountain, so that
you shall not suffer with the guilty ones." Both obeyed, and leaning
upon their staffs they wearisomely climbed the mountain. They were not
an arrow's flight from the highest peak when they anxiously looked down
and saw the whole place changed into a raging waste of waters, and of
all the houses only their own little one remained. While they stood
astonished and bewailed the fate of the others, behold the poor old hut
towered above the waters as a temple. A golden roof was supported on its
columns and its floors were of marble. Zeus turned to the trembling old
people and said: "Tell me, honest old man and worthy wife of the honest
old man, what do you most wish?" Philemon exchanged a few words with his
wife and then said: "We would be your priests. Permit us to serve in
that temple. And as we have so long lived together, let us die at the
same hour. Then I shall never see the grave of my dear wife nor will she
have to bury me."
Their wish was granted. As long as they lived they served in the temple.
And once, when weary with the weight of age and years, they were
standing on the sacred steps, thinking of their wonderful fate, Baucis
saw her Philemon and Philemon his Baucis disappearing and floating away
to the distant height. "Farewell, dear one. Farewell, beloved one," said
each as long as they could speak. Thus ended the worthy pair. He was
turned into an oak and she into a linden, and thus they remained as
close together in death as they had been in life. Goodness is prized by
the gods. They bestow honors upon those who prove themselves worthy.