Classic Mythological Tales of Love and Transformation

The Mythical Pond and the Pious Couple

Not far from here, there is a pond once inhabited, now famous for its waters, mergansers, coots, and swampy lands. Jupiter came here as a mortal being, accompanied by Hermes carrying the caduceus, with his wings removed, traveling alongside his father.

The pious old Baucis and Philemon, bonded in age since their youth, grew old together in that modest house. They made their poverty endurable through mutual recognition and acceptance, unbothered by unfairness. Together, the two formed the entire household, commanding and obeying as one.

The gods reclined. The old woman rolled up her sleeves and shook the unsteady table, whose third leg was uneven, stabilizing it with a tile. After correcting the slope, she cleaned it and matched it with fresh green mint.

The Faithful Goose and the Eternal Wish

There was only one goose, the guardian of the little village, which the owners intended to sacrifice to the visiting gods. Swift on tired wings and slow with age, it evaded them for a long time, but the gods prevented it from being killed.

"We ask to be priests and protect your temple," they pleaded, "and since we have lived harmonious years together, may the same hour take us both. Let me never see my wife's grave, nor have to be buried by her."

The promises were granted: they became the guardians of the temple while life was given to them. Consumed by eternal years, while standing by chance before the sacred steps and narrating past events, Baucis saw Philemon covered in leaves, and old Philemon saw Baucis filling with foliage.

The Parting Bark

Now growing bark enclosed both of their faces. While mutual words were still exchanged, as long as they could, they said, "Oh, husband," and "Oh, wife," until the bark covered their hidden faces. The local inhabitant still shows the neighboring twin trunks of equal bodies.

All knowers are absent; they speak with gestures and signs. The more hidden the fire is, the more fiercely it burns. The common wall of the house had a thin slit that had formed in the past.

The Secret Lovers and Pyramus

No one knew of this defect for a long time, for what does love not sense? You lovers saw it first, and you made a path for your voices, where tender words safely passed with the softest murmurs.

"We are not ungrateful to you," we confess, "that a path has been given for words to reach friendly ears." Having spoken in vain of different things while sitting in different spots, by evening they said their goodbyes, giving kisses that did not cross paths.

Returning later, Pyramus saw the undeniable tracks of a wild beast in the thick dust and turned pale all over his face. When he found the blood-stained dress, he cried, "One night will destroy two lovers, and one of us desired a timid death."

The Tragic End

As he lay face up on the earth, high blood spurted out. The fruits of the tree were changed by the spray of blood into a dark, passionate hue, and the roots, soaked in blood, tinged the hanging fruits with purple.

Here, having deposed his fear so as not to fail his lover, she returned, searching for the young man with her eyes and soul. Knowing the tree she saw, the changing color of the fruit made her uncertain.

While she hesitated, she saw trembling limbs hitting the bleeding ground and stepped back, shuddering like the sea when a tiny breeze makes the surface tremble.

"Pyramus," she cried, "what misfortune has taken you from me? Pyramus, answer me! Your dearest Thisbe calls you; lift up your sleeping face!" At the name of Thisbe, Pyramus raised his heavy eyes, saw her, and closed them once again.

The Final Request and the Tree

May this be prayed for by the words of both, oh miserable and united parents, that you do not look askance at those whom true love and final hours joined being buried in the exact same tomb.

And you, tree, which now cover one miserable body with your branches, will soon cover two. Hold the signs of death and always bear dark fruits in remembrance of a double doom.

He pressed the sword to his chest, falling upon the iron that was still warm from death. Yet his pleas touched the gods and moved the parents, because the color of the fruit turns black when mature, and what remains after the funeral pyre rests in a single urn.

Pallas and Arachne

Pallas simulated an old woman, adding false gray hair to her temples and weak joints supported by a cane. Then she began to speak thus: "Not everything is denied to older age; experience comes from past years."

"Do not let your pursuit of maximum fame among mortals be in vain. Yield to the goddess, reckless one, and beg for her forgiveness with a pleading voice; she will grant mercy to the petitioner."

Without delay, both took their places in different areas and stretched the graceful, identical threads across their looms. Both were quick, and with dresses tightened at their chests, they moved their experienced arms, their passion making the work effortless. An ancient story was woven into the canvas.

Neither Pallas nor Envy could criticize that work. The blonde warrior, hurt by the success, broke the embroidered dresses—oh, heavenly crimes—and striking the forehead of Idmonia Arachne three or four times with the shuttle from Mount Cytorus, she left her humiliated.

Unable to bear it, the unhappy girl tied her spirit-strangling throat with a rope. Pallas, feeling pity, lifted her up as she hung and said, "Live on, indeed, but hang there, wicked one. May this same law of punishment—so you are not secure about the future—be dictated for your lineage and your grandchildren."