{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_VI/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_VI","id":"wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_VI","license":"Public Domain / CC-BY-SA (see source)","rights_basis":"wikisource_site_inclusion_policy","source":"wikisource","source_url":"https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Age_of_Fable/Chapter_VI","summary":null,"tags":["Headers_applying_DefaultSort_key","Pages_using_center_block_with_style_parameter","Subpages"],"text":"VI. MIDAS \u2014 BAUCIS AND PHILEMON\n\nBacchus, on a certain occasion, found his old schoolmaster and\nfoster-father, Silenus, missing. The old man had been drinking,\nand in that state wandered away, and was found by some peasants,\nwho carried him to their king, Midas. Midas recognized him, and\ntreated him hospitably, entertaining him for ten days and nights\nwith an unceasing round of jollity. On the eleventh day he brought\nSilenus back, and restored him in safety to his pupil. Whereupon\nBacchus offered Midas his choice of a reward, whatever he might\nwish. He asked that whatever he might touch should be changed into\ngold. Bacchus consented, though sorry that he had not made a\nbetter choice. Midas went his way, rejoicing in his new-acquired\npower, which he hastened to put to the test. He could scarce\nbelieve his eyes when he found a twig of an oak, which he plucked\nfrom the branch, become gold in his hand. He took up a stone; it\nchanged to gold. He touched a sod; it did the same. He took an\napple from the tree; you would have thought he had robbed the\ngarden of the Hesperides. His joy knew no bounds, and as soon as\nhe got home, he ordered the servants to set a splendid repast on\nthe table. Then he found to his dismay that whether he touched\nbread, it hardened in his hand; or put a morsel to his lips, it\ndefied his teeth. He took a glass of wine, but it flowed down his\nthroat like melted gold.\n\nIn consternation at the unprecedented affliction, he strove to\ndivest himself of his power; he hated the gift he had lately\ncoveted. But all in vain; starvation seemed to await him. He\nraised his arms, all shining with gold, in prayer to Bacchus,\nbegging to be delivered from his glittering destruction. Bacchus,\nmerciful deity, heard and consented. \"Go,\" said he, \"to the River\nPactolus, trace the stream to its fountain-head, there plunge your\nhead and body in, and wash away your fault and its punishment.\" He\ndid so, and scarce had he touched the waters before the gold-\ncreating power passed into them, and the river-sands became\nchanged into gold, as they remain to this day.\n\nThenceforth Midas, hating wealth and splendor, dwelt in the\ncountry, and became a worshipper of Pan, the god of the fields. On\na certain occasion Pan had the temerity to compare his music with\nthat of Apollo, and to challenge the god of the lyre to a trial of\nskill. The challenge was accepted, and Tmolus, the mountain god,\nwas chosen umpire. The senior took his seat, and cleared away the\ntrees from his ears to listen. At a given signal Pan blew on his\npipes, and with his rustic melody gave great satisfaction to\nhimself and his faithful follower Midas, who happened to be\npresent. Then Tmolus turned his head toward the Sun-god, and all\nhis trees turned with him. Apollo rose, his brow wreathed with\nParnassian laurel, while his robe of Tyrian purple swept the\nground. In his left hand he held the lyre, and with his right hand\nstruck the strings. Ravished with the harmony, Tmolus at once\nawarded the victory to the god of the lyre, and all but Midas\nacquiesced in the judgment. He dissented, and questioned the\njustice of the award. Apollo would not suffer such a depraved pair\nof ears any longer to wear the human form, but caused them to\nincrease in length, grow hairy, within and without, and movable on\ntheir roots; in short, to be on the perfect pattern of those of an\nass.\n\nMortified enough was King Midas at this mishap; but he consoled\nhimself with the thought that it was possible to hide his\nmisfortune, which he attempted to do by means of an ample turban\nor head-dress. But his hair-dresser of course knew the secret. He\nwas charged not to mention it, and threatened with dire punishment\nif he presumed to disobey. But he found it too much for his\ndiscretion to keep such a secret; so he went out into the meadow,\ndug a hole in the ground, and stooping down, whispered the story,\nand covered it up. Before long a thick bed of reeds sprang up in\nthe meadow, and as soon as it had gained its growth, began\nwhispering the story, and has continued to do so, from that day to\nthis, every time a breeze passes over the place.\n\nThe story of King Midas has been told by others with some\nvariations. Dryden, in the \"Wife of Bath's Tale,\" makes Midas's\nqueen the betrayer of the secret:\n\n\"This Midas knew, and durst communicate\n\nTo none but to his wife his ears of state.\"\n\nMidas was king of Phrygia. He was the son of Gordius, a poor\ncountryman, who was taken by the people and made king, in\nobedience to the command of the oracle, which had said that their\nfuture king should come in a wagon. While the people were\ndeliberating, Gordius with his wife and son came driving his wagon\ninto the public square.\n\nGordius, being made king, dedicated his wagon to the deity of the\noracle, and tied it up in its place with a fast knot. This was the\ncelebrated Gordian knot, which, in after times it was said,\nwhoever should untie should become lord of all Asia. Many tried to\nuntie it, but none succeeded, till Alexander the Great, in his\ncareer of conquest, came to Phrygia. He tried his skill with as\nill success as others, till growing impatient he drew his sword\nand cut the knot. When he afterwards succeeded in subjecting all\nAsia to his sway, people began to think that he had complied with\nthe terms of the oracle according to its true meaning.\n\nBAUCIS AND PHILEMON\n\nOn a certain hill in Phrygia stands a linden tree and an oak,\nenclosed by a low wall. Not far from the spot is a marsh, formerly\ngood habitable land, but now indented with pools, the resort of\nfen-birds and cormorants. Once on a time Jupiter, in, human shape,\nvisited this country, and with him his son Mercury (he of the\ncaduceus), without his wings. They presented themselves, as weary\ntravellers, at many a door, seeking rest and shelter, but found\nall closed, for it was late, and the inhospitable inhabitants\nwould not rouse themselves to open for their reception. At last a\nhumble mansion received them, a small thatched cottage, where\nBaucis, a pious old dame, and her husband Philemon, united when\nyoung, had grown old together. Not ashamed of their poverty, they\nmade it endurable by moderate desires and kind dispositions. One\nneed not look there for master or for servant; they two were the\nwhole household, master and servant alike. When the two heavenly\nguests crossed the humble threshold, and bowed their heads to pass\nunder the low door, the old man placed a seat, on which Baucis,\nbustling and attentive, spread a cloth, and begged them to sit\ndown. Then she raked out the coals from the ashes, and kindled up\na fire, fed it with leaves and dry bark, and with her scanty\nbreath blew it into a flame. She brought out of a corner split\nsticks and dry branches, broke them up, and placed them under the\nsmall kettle. Her husband collected some pot-herbs in the garden,\nand she shred them from the stalks, and prepared them for the pot.\nHe reached down with a forked stick a flitch of bacon hanging in\nthe chimney, cut a small piece, and put it in the pot to boil with\nthe herbs, setting away the rest for another time. A beechen bowl\nwas filled with warm water, that their guests might wash. While\nall was doing, they beguiled the time with conversation.\n\nOn the bench designed for the guests was laid a cushion stuffed\nwith sea-weed; and a cloth, only produced on great occasions, but\nancient and coarse enough, was spread over that. The old lady,\nwith her apron on, with trembling hand set the table. One leg was\nshorter than the rest, but a piece of slate put under restored the\nlevel. When fixed, she rubbed the table down with some sweet-\nsmelling herbs. Upon it she set some of chaste Minerva's olives,\nsome cornel berries preserved in vinegar, and added radishes and\ncheese, with eggs lightly cooked in the ashes. All were served in\nearthen dishes, and an earthenware pitcher, with wooden cups,\nstood beside them. When all was ready, the stew, smoking hot, was\nset on the table. Some wine, not of the oldest, was added; and for\ndessert, apples and wild honey; and over and above all, friendly\nfaces, and simple but hearty welcome.\n\nNow while the repast proceeded, the old folks were astonished to\nsee that the wine, as fast as it was poured out, renewed itself in\nthe pitcher, of its own accord. Struck with terror, Baucis and\nPhilemon recognized their heavenly guests, fell on their knees,\nand with clasped hands implored forgiveness for their poor\nentertainment. There was an old goose, which they kept as the\nguardian of their humble cottage; and they bethought them to make\nthis a sacrifice in honor of their guests. But the goose, too\nnimble, with the aid of feet and wings, for the old folks, eluded\ntheir pursuit, and at last took shelter between the gods\nthemselves. They forbade it to be slain; and spoke in these words:\n\"We are gods. This inhospitable village shall pay the penalty of\nits impiety; you alone shall go free from the chastisement. Quit\nyour house, and come with us to the top of yonder hill.\" They\nhastened to obey, and, staff in hand, labored up the steep ascent.\nThey had reached to within an arrow's flight of the top, when\nturning their eyes below, they beheld all the country sunk in a\nlake, only their own house left standing. While they gazed with\nwonder at the sight, and lamented the fate of their neighbors,\nthat old house of theirs was changed into a temple. Columns took\nthe place of the corner posts, the thatch grew yellow and appeared\na gilded roof, the floors became marble, the doors were enriched\nwith carving and ornaments of gold. Then spoke Jupiter in\nbenignant accents: \"Excellent old man, and woman worthy of such a\nhusband, speak, tell us your wishes; what favor have you to ask of\nus?\" Philemon took counsel with Baucis a few moments; then\ndeclared to the gods their united wish. \"We ask to be priests and\nguardians of this your temple; and since here we have passed our\nlives in love and concord, we wish that one and the same hour may\ntake us both from life, that I may not live to see her grave, nor\nbe laid in my own by her.\" Their prayer was granted. They were the\nkeepers of the temple as long as they lived. When grown very old,\nas they stood one day before the steps of the sacred edifice, and\nwere telling the story of the place, Baucis saw Philemon begin to\nput forth leaves, and old Philemon saw Baucis changing in like\nmanner. And now a leafy crown had grown over their heads, while\nexchanging parting words, as long as they could speak. \"Farewell,\ndear spouse,\" they said, together, and at the same moment the bark\nclosed over their mouths. The Tyanean shepherd still shows the two\ntrees, standing side by side, made out of the two good old people.\n\nThe story of Baucis and Philemon has been imitated by Swift, in a\nburlesque style, the actors in the change being two wandering\nsaints, and the house being changed into a church, of which\nPhilemon is made the parson. The following may serve as a\nspecimen:\n\n\"They scarce had spoke, when, fair and soft,\n\nThe roof began to mount aloft;\n\nAloft rose every beam and rafter;\n\nThe heavy wall climbed slowly after.\n\nThe chimney widened and grew higher,\n\nBecame a steeple with a spire.\n\nThe kettle to the top was hoist.\n\nAnd there stood fastened to a joist,\n\nBut with the upside down, to show\n\nIts inclination for below;\n\nIn vain, for a superior force,\n\nApplied at bottom, stops its course;\n\nDoomed ever in suspense to dwell,\n\n'Tis now no kettle, but a bell.\n\nA wooden jack, which had almost\n\nLost by disuse the art to roast,\n\nA sudden alteration feels\n\nIncreased by new intestine wheels;\n\nAnd, what exalts the wonder more.\n\nThe number made the motion slower;\n\nThe flier, though 't had leaden feet,\n\nTurned round so quick you scarce could see't;\n\nBut slackened by some secret power,\n\nNow hardly moves an inch an hour.\n\nThe jack and chimney, near allied,\n\nHad never left each other's side:\n\nThe chimney to a steeple grown,\n\nThe jack would not be left alone;\n\nBut up against the steeple reared,\n\nBecame a clock, and still adhered;\n\nAnd still its love to household cares\n\nBy a shrill voice at noon declares,\n\nWarning the cook-maid not to burn\n\nThat roast meat which it cannot turn;\n\nThe groaning chair began to crawl,\n\nLike a huge snail, along the wall;\n\nThere stuck aloft in public view,\n\nAnd with small change, a pulpit grew.\n\nA bedstead of the antique mode,\n\nCompact of timber many a load,\n\nSuch as our ancestors did use,\n\nWas metamorphosed into pews,\n\nWhich still their ancient nature keep\n\nBy lodging folks disposed to sleep.\"","title":"The Age of Fable/Chapter VI","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":2261}