Baucis and Philemon
by H. P. Maskell, Francis Storr
Half-a-Hundred Hero Tales
On the slopes of the Phrygian hills,
there once
dwelt a pious old couple named Baucis and
Philemon. They had lived all their lives in a tiny
cottage of wattles, thatched with straw, cheerful and
content in spite of their poverty.
As this worthy couple sat dozing by the fireside
one evening in the late autumn, two strangers
came and begged a shelter for the night. They
had to stoop to enter the humble doorway, where
the old man welcomed them heartily and bade
them rest their weary limbs on the settle before
the fire.
Meanwhile Baucis stirred the embers, blowing
them into a flame with dry leaves, and heaped on
the fagots to boil the stew-pot. Hanging from the
blackened beams was a rusty side of bacon. Philemon
cut off a rasher to roast, and, while his
guests refreshed themselves with a wash at the
rustic trough, he gathered pot-herbs from his
patch of garden. Then the old woman, her hands
trembling with age, laid the cloth and spread the
table.
It was a frugal meal, but one that hungry
wayfarers could well relish. The first course was an
omelette of curdled milk and eggs, garnished with
radishes and served on rude oaken platters. The
cups of turned beechwood were filled with homemade
wine from an earthen jug. The second
course consisted of dried figs and dates, plums,
sweet-smelling apples, and grapes, with a piece
of clear, white honeycomb. What made the meal
more grateful to the guests was the hearty spirit
in which it was offered. Their hosts gave all they
had without stint or grudging.
But all at once something happened which
startled and amazed Baucis and Philemon. They
poured out wine for their guests, and, lo! each
time the pitcher filled itself again to the brim.
The old couple then knew that their
guests were not mere mortals - indeed, they were no
other than Jupiter and Mercury come down to earth
in the disguise of poor travelers. Being ashamed
of their humble entertainment, Philemon hurried
out and gave chase to his only goose, intending
to kill and roast it. But his guests forbade him,
saying:
"In mortal shape we have come
down, and at a hundred houses asked for lodging and
rest. For answer a hundred doors were shut and locked
against us. You alone, the poorest of all, have
received us gladly and given us of your best. Now
it is for us to punish these impious people who
treat strangers so churlishly, but you two shall be
spared. Only leave your cottage and follow us to
yonder mountaintop."
So saying, Jupiter and Mercury
led the way, and the two old folks hobbled after them.
Presently they reached the top of the mountain, and
Baucis and Philemon saw all the country round,
with villages and people, sinking into a marsh -
while their own cottage alone was left standing.
And while they gazed, their cottage was
changed into a white temple. The doorway became
a porch with marble columns. The thatch
grew into a roof of golden tiles. The little garden
about their home became a park.
Then Jupiter, regarding Baucis and Philemon
with kindly eyes, said: "Tell me, O good old man
and you good wife, what may we do in return for
your hospitality?"
Philemon whispered for a moment with Baucis,
and she nodded her approval. "We desire," he
replied, "to be your servants, and to have the
care of this temple. One other favor we would
ask. From boyhood I have loved only Baucis,
and she has lived only for me. Let the selfsame
hour take us both away together. Let me never
see the tomb of my wife, nor let her suffer the
misery of mourning my death."
Jupiter and Mercury, pleased with these
requests, willingly granted both, and endowed
Baucis and Philemon with youth and strength as
well. The gods then vanished from their sight,
but as long as their lives lasted Baucis and
Philemon were the guardians of the white temple that
once had been their home.
And when again old age overtook them, they
were standing one day in front of the sacred
porch, and Baucis, turning her gaze upon her
husband, saw him slowly changing into a gnarled
oak tree. And Philemon, as he felt himself rooted
to the ground, saw Baucis at the same time turning
into a leafy linden.
And as their faces disappeared behind the green
foliage, each cried unto the other, "Farewell,
dearest love!" and again, "Dearest love,
farewell!" And their human forms were changed to
trees and branches.
And still, if you visit the spot, you may see an
oak and a linden tree with branches intertwined. |
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