UNIT 5: Baucis and Philemon

I was a child in Phrygia when the gods came down. People said they saw nothing, but I remember. Our city was full of pride, yet behind its polished walls lay a great blemish—greed and cruelty. When two ragged nomads knocked on doors, they met only insults. One man shouted a blunt warning and raised his stick; another woman, not capable of kindness, hurled stones. We children laughed until fatigue dragged us inside. We did not know these strangers were the supreme Jupiter and Mercury in disguise.

That evening, word spread that an old couple—Baucis and Philemon—had offered the strangers food and hospitality. Their hut was tiny, yet it glowed with a festive warmth. I later heard that Philemon began to detect miracles: bread that never vanished, wine that refilled itself. While our leaders continued to persecute the weak, the old pair treated strangers as honored guests. We thought little of it, until the sky blackened. Thunder shook the ground, and the gods revealed their power.

By morning, our grand houses had collapsed, while a marble temple rose where the hut once stood. The gods asked the couple’s wish, and they begged only to serve together. When their years had run their span, they did not die apart. Their lives would conclude as one, transformed into an oak and a linden sharing the same roots. I still pass beneath their branches. They transport no words, but their silence tells the story: kindness endures, while cruelty crumbles.