When Jupiter and Mercury wandered Phrygia in mortal guise and a thousand doors closed against them, one humble cottage opened — Baucis and Philemon, poor, old, and content, shared their last goose and their hearth with the gods; the valley flooded, only their roof was spared, and at life's end they became an intertwining oak and linden guarding the temple that rose on the spot.1
The wanderers
After the Calydonian boar and the tales of Daedalus, Ovid turns to Phrygia, where the gods often tested mortals. Jupiter and Mercury came down without their insignia and knocked at a thousand houses; every door stayed shut until they reached a small thatched cottage on the slope, where an old couple greeted them as equals.2
Humble hospitality
Baucis and Philemon had grown old together in the same cottage where they married as youths; they owned little but shared it freely — a couch, a table, olives, garden greens, and a goose they chased round the room until the gods forbade the sacrifice. The wine bowl refilled itself; the couple wept to see divine power in their poor house and prayed forgiveness for having no better fare.3
The flood
Jupiter revealed himself and led them up the hill; the valley below became a marsh, and every proud house sank — only Baucis and Philemon's cottage stood, and as they watched it turned into a temple with marble columns and a golden roof. The gods asked what reward they wished; the pair asked only to die together, serving the temple as priest and priestess.4
Oak and linden
Years later, tending the shrine, they saw each other sprouting leaves — bark covered their limbs, and they merged into an oak and a linden with intertwining branches. A latticed screen still guarded the spot in Ovid's day, and garlands hung on the boughs that had been faithful Philemon and pious Baucis.5
· EXEUNT ·
How the centuries saw it
Philemon and Baucis
Rembrandt, 1658
The moment the old couple see leaves sprouting from each other's limbs — oak and linden guarding the temple ever after.