But now they notice that every time the wine-bowl is emptied, it fills again of its own accord, and the wine wells up again on its own! Amazed at this marvel, Baucis and Philemon are afraid, pray with hands held up in supplication and beg forgiveness for their food and unfitting entertainment. There was just one goose, their watchdog, which the masters of their tiny estate were getting ready to kill for their godly guests. But the is a fast flier and tires them out, slow as they are with age, and kept eluding them until they saw that he had run for refuge to the gods themselves. They told them not to kill him: “We are Gods!” they said, “This impious neighbourhood will pay the penalty they deserve, but you will be granted safety from it. Now leave your home, come with us and up the mountain slopes.” The pair obey, getting up with the help of their sticks, and struggle along, making their way up the long hill. When they were just a bowshot from the top, they looked back, seeing that their house alone remained, and the rest were sunk into a swamp. Dumbfounded, they were weeping for the people they knew, when they saw their little old cottage, small even for the two of them, turned into a temple. Columns replaced the timber props, the thatch shines like gold, a gilded roof and carved gates appear, and the ground is paved with marble. Then Jupiter calmly said: “Speak, you upright old man and you, his worthy wife, name your wish.” Philemon spoke briefly to Baucis, then gave their shared decision to the Gods: “We ask to be priests, and to keep your shrine; and, since we have lived our years in harmony, let the same hour see us both pass away, so that I may never have to see my wife’s pyre, nor may she have to bury me.” Their wish was granted. They were the guardians of the temple, while life was granted them. Then, when, worn down by age and the years, they happened to be standing in front of the temple steps and telling the story of the place, Baucis saw Philemon, and the old man saw her, break out into a leafy crown, and as it grew over both their faces, in the same moment they exchanged their last words while they could – “farewell husband!” Farewell wife!” – as the growth covered their mouths. And locals still point out their trees, growing side by side from their twin trunk. The old men who told me the tale were no liars – why should they lie – and indeed I have seen the garlands hanging from the boughs, and said, as I only lately laid my own: “may those dear to the Gods be gods themselves, and those who cared be cared for.”
