Section 6

“What!” exclaimed the stranger. “Then you are not satisfied ?”
Midas shook his head.
“ And pray what would satisfy you?” asked the stranger. ‘Merely for the curiosity of the thing, I should be glad to know.”
Midas paused and meditated. He felt a presenti- ment that this stranger, with such a golden lustre in his good-humored smile, had come hither with both the power and the purpose of gratifying his utmost wishes. Now, therefore, was the fortunate moment, when he had but to speak, and obtain whatever possi- ble, or seemingly impossible thing, it might come into his head to ask. So he thought, and thought, and thought, and heaped up one golden mountain upon another, in his imagination, without being able to im- agine them big enough. At last, a bright idea oc- curred to King Midas. It seemed really as bright as the glistening metal which he loved so much.
Raising his head, he looked the lustrous stranger in the face.
“ Well, Midas,” observed his visitor, “I see that you have at length hit upon something that will satisfy you. Tell me your wish.”
“Tt is only this,” replied Midas. “Iam weary of collecting my treasures with so much trouble, and be- holding the heap so diminutive, after I have done my best. I wish everything that I touch to be changed to gold!”
The stranger’s smile grew so very broad, that it
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seemed to fill the room like an outburst of the sun, gleaming into a shadowy dell, where the yellow au- tumnal leaves — for so looked the lumps and particles of gold — lie strewn in the glow of light.
“The Golden Touch!” exclaimed he. “ You cer- tainly deserve credit, friend Midas, for striking out so brilliant a conception. But are you quite sure thai this will satisfy you?”
“ How could it fail?” said Midas.
“ And will you never regret the possession of it ?”
“ What could induce me?” asked Midas. “I ask nothing else, to render me perfectly happy.”
“Be it as you wish, then,” replied the stranger, waving his hand in token of farewell. ‘To-morrow, at sunrise, you will find yourself gifted with the Golden Touch.”
The figure of the stranger then became exceedingly bright, and Midas involuntarily closed his eyes. On opening them again, he beheld only one yellow sun- beam in the room, and, all around him, the glistening of the precious metal which he had spent his life in hoarding up.
Whether Midas slept as usual that night, the story does not say. Asleep or awake, however, his mind was probably in the state of a child’s, to whom a beau. tiful new plaything has been promised in the morning. At any rate, day had hardly peeped over the hills, when King Midas was broad awake, and, stretching his arms out of bed, began to touch the objects that were within reach. He was anxious to prove whether the Golden Touch had really come, according to the stranger’s promise. So he laid his finger on a chair by the bedside, and on various other things, but was grievously disappointed to perceive that they remained —
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of exactly the same substance as before. Indeed, he felt very much afraid that he had only dreamed about the lustrous stranger, or else that the latter had been making game of him. And what a miserable affair would it be, if, after all his hopes, Midas must content himself with what little gold he could scrape together by ordinary means, instead of creating it by a touch!
All this while, it was only the gray of the morning, with but a streak of brightness along the edge of the sky, where Midas could not see it. He lay in a very disconsolate mood, regretting the downfall of his hopes, and kept growing sadder and sadder, until the earliest sunbeam shone through the window, and gilded the ceiling over his head. It seemed to Midas that this bright yellow sunbeam was reflected in rather a singular way on the white covering of the bed. Looking more closely, what was his astonishment and delight, when he found that this linen fabric had been transmuted to what seemed a woven texture of the purest and brightest gold! The Golden Touch had come to him with the first sunbeam!
Midas started up, in a kind of joyful frenzy, and ran about the room, grasping at everything that hap- pened to be in his way. He seized one of the bed- posts, and it became immediately a fluted golden pillar. He pulled aside a window-curtain, in order to admit a clear spectacle of the wonders which he was performing; and the tassel grew heavy in his hand, —a mass of gold. He took up a book from the table. At his first touch, it assumed the appearance of such a splendidly bound and gilt-edged volume as one often meets with, nowadays; but, on running his fingers through the leaves, behold! it was a bundle of thin golden plates, in which all the wisdom of the book
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had grown illegible. He hurriedly put on his clothes, and was enraptured to see himself in a magnificent suit of gold cloth, which retained its flexibility and softness, although it burdened him a little with its weight. He drew out his handkerchief, which little Marygold had hemmed for him. That was likewise gold, with the dear child’s neat and pretty stitches running all along the border, in gold thread!
Somehow or other, this last transformation did not quite please King Midas. He would rather that his little daughter’s handiwork should have remained just the same as when she climbed his knee and put it into his hand.
But it was not worth while to vex himself about a trifle. Midas now took his spectacles from his pocket, and put them on his nose, in order that he might see more distinctly what he was about. In those days, spectacles for common people had not been invented, but were already worn by kings; else, how could Midas have had any? To his great perplexity, how- ever, excellent as the glasses were, he discovered that he could not possibly see through them. But this was the most natural thing in the world; for, on taking them off, the transparent crystals turned out to be plates of yellow metal, and, of course, were worthless as spectacles, though valuable as gold. It struck Midas as rather inconvenient that, with all his wealth, he could never again be rich enough to own a pair of serviceable spectacles.
“ft is no great matter, nevertheless,” said he to himself, very philosophically. “We cannot expect any great good, without its being accompanied with some small inconvenience. The Golden Touch is worth the sacrifice of a pair of spectacles, at least, if
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not of one’s very eyesight. My own eyes will serve for ordinary purposes, and little Marygold will soon be old enough to read to me.”
Wise King Midas was so exalted by his good for- tune, that the palace seemed not sufficiently spacious to contain him. He therefore went down stairs, and smiled, on observing that the balustrade of the stair- case became a bar of burnished gold, as his hand passed over it, in his descent. He lifted the door- latch Gt was brass only a moment ago, but golden when his fingers quitted it), and emerged into the garden. Here, as it happened, he found a great num- ber of beautiful roses in full bloom, and others in all the stages of lovely bud and blossom. Very delicious was their fragrance in the morning breeze. Their delicate blush was one of the fairest sights in the world; so gentle, so modest, and so full of sweet tranquillity, did these roses seem to be.
But Midas knew a way to make them far more precious, according to his way of thinking, than roses had ever been before. So he took great pains in going from bush to bush, and exercised his magic touch most indefatigably; until every individual flower and bud, and even the worms at the heart of some of them, were changed to gold. By the time this good work ‘was completed, King Midas was summoned to breakfast; and as the morning air had given him an excellent appetite, he made haste back to the palace.
What was usually a king’s breakfast in the days of Midas, I really do not know, and cannot stop now to investigate. To the best of my belief, however, on - this particular morning, the breakfast consisted of hot -pakes, some nice little brook trout, roasted potatoes,
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fresh boiled eggs, and coffee, for King Midas himself, and a bowl of bread and milk for his daughter Mary- gold. At all events, this is a breakfast fit to set be- fore a king; and, whether he had it or not, King Midas could not have had a-better.
Little Marygold had not yet made her appearance. Her father ordered her to be called, and, seating‘ him- self at table, awaited the child’s coming, in order to begin his own breakfast. To do Midas justice, he really loved his daughter, and loved her so much the more this morning, on account of the good fortune which had befallen him. It was not a great while be- fore he heard her coming along the passageway cry- ing bitterly. This circumstance surprised him, because Marygold was one of the cheerfullest little people whom you would see in a summer’s day, and hardly shed a thimbleful of tears in a twelvemonth. _When Midas heard her sobs, he determined to put little Ma- rygold into better spirits, by an agreeable surprise; so, leaning across the table, he touched his daughter’s bowl (which was a China one, with pretty figures all. around it), and transmuted it to gleaming gold.
Meanwhile, Marygold slowly and disconsolately opened the door, and showed herself with her apron at her eyes, still sobbing as if her heart would break.
“ How now, my little lady!” cried Midas. “ Pray what is the matter with you, this bright morning?”
Marygold, without taking the apron from her eyes, held out her hand, in which was one of the roses which Midas had so recently transmuted.
“ Beautiful!” exclaimed her father. ‘“ And what is there in this magnificent golden rose to make you ery?”
“ Ah, dear father!” answered the child, as well ag -
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her sobs would let her; “ it is nite beautiful, but the ugliest flower that ever grew! As soon as I was dressed Iran into the garden to gather some roses for you; because I know you like them, and like them the bet- ter when gathered by your little daughter. But, oh _ dear, dear me! What do you think has happened? Such a misfortune! All the beautiful roses, that smelled so sweetly and had so many lovely blushes, are blighted and spoilt! They are grown quite yel- low, as you see this one, and have no longer any fra- grance! What can have been the matter with them?”
“Poh, my dear little girl,— pray don’t cry about it! ” said Midas, who was ashamed to confess that he himself had wrought the change which so greatly af- flicted her. “Sit down and eat your bread and milk! You will find it easy enough to exchange a golden rose like that (which will last hundreds of years) for an ordinary one which would wither in a day.”
“TI don’t care for such roses as this!” cried Mary- gold, tossing it contemptuously away. “It has no smell, and the hard petais prick my nose!”
The child now sat down to table, but was so occu- pied with her grief for the blighted roses that she did _ not even notice the wonderful transmutation of her China bowl. Perhaps this was all the better; for Marygold was accustomed to take pleasure in looking at the queer figures, and strange trees and houses, that were painted on the circumference of the bowl; and these ornaments were now entirely lost in the yellow hue of the metal.
Midas, meanwhile, had poured out a cup of coffee, and, as a matter of course, the coffee-pot, whatever metal it may have been when he took it up, was gold when he set it down. He thought to himself, that it
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was rather an extravagant style of splendor, in a king of his simple habits, to breakfast off a service of gold, and began to be puzzled with the difficulty of keeping his treasures safe. The cupboard and the kitchen would no longer be a secure place of deposit for arti- cles so valuable as golden bowls and coffee-pots.
Amid these thoughts, he lifted a spoonful of coffee to his lips, and, sipping it, was astonished to perceive that, the instant his lips touched the liquid, it became molten gold, and, the next moment, hardened into a lump!
“ Ha!” exclaimed Midas, rather aghast.
“What is the matter, father?” asked little Mary- gold, gazing at him, with the tears still standing in her eyes.
“ Nothing, child, nothing!” said Midas. “ Eat your mill, before it gets quite cold.” ;
He took one of the nice little trouts on his plate, and, by way of experiment, touched its tail with his finger. To his horror, it was immediately transmuted from an admirably fried brook-trout into a gold-fish, though not one of those gold-fishes which people often keep in glass globes, as ornaments for the parlor. No; but it was really a metallic fish, and looked as if it had been very cunningly made by the nicest gold- smith in the world. Its little bones were now golden wires ; its fins and tail were thin plates of gold; and there were the marks of the fork in it, and all the de- licate, frothy appearance of a nicely fried fish, exactly imitated in metal. A very pretty piece of work, as you may suppose ; only King Midas, just at that mo- ment, would much rather have had a real trout in his dish than this elaborate and valuable imitation of one,
“I don’t quite see,” thought he to himself, “ nos i; am to get any breakfast!”
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He took one of the smoking-hot cakes, and had scarcely broken it, when, to his cruel mortification, though, a moment before, it had been of the whitest wheat, it assumed the yellow hue of Indian meal. To say the truth, if it had really been a hot Indian
_cake, Midas would have prized it a good deal more than he now did, when its solidity and increased weight made him too bitterly sensible that it was gold. Almost in despair, he helped himself to a boiled egg, which immediately underwent .2 change similar to those of the trout and the cake. The egg, indeed, might have been mistaken for one of those which the famous goose, in the story-book, was in the habit of laying; but King Midas was the only goose that had had anything to do with the matter.
“ Well, this is a quandary!” thought he, leaning back in his chair, and iooking quite enviously at little Marygold, who was now eating her bread and milk with great satisfaction. ‘Such a costly breakfast be- fore me, and nothing that can be eaten!”
Hoping that, by dint of great dispatch, he might avoid what he now felt to be a considerable inconven- ience, King Midas next snatched a hot potato, and at- tempted to cram it into his mouth, and swallow it in a
‘hurry. But the Golden Touch was too nimble for him. He found his mouth full, not of mealy potato, but of solid metal, which so burnt his tongue that he roared aloud, and, jumping up from the table, began to dance and stamp about the room, both with pain and affright.
“‘ Father, dear father!” cried little Marygold, who was a very affectionate child, “pray what is the matter? Have you burnt your mouth?”
“ Ah, dear child,” groaned Midas, dolefully, “I don’t know what is to become of your poor father! ”
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And, truly, my dear little folks, did you ever hear of such a pitiable case in all your lives? Here was liter- ally the richest breakfast that could be set before a king, and its very richness made it absolutely good for nothing. The poorest laborer, sitting down to his crust of bread and cup of water, was far better off than King Midas, whose delicate food was really worth its weight in gold. And what was to be done? Al- ready, at breakfast, Midas was excessively hungry. ' Would he be less so by dinner-time? And how rav-. enous would be his appetite for supper, which must undoubtedly consist of the same sort of indigestible dishes as those now before him! How many days, think you, would he survive a continuance of this rich fare ?
These reflections so troubled wise King Midas, that he began to doubt whether, after all, riches are the one desirable thing in the world, or even the most desir- able. But this was only a passing thought. So fas-_ cinated was Midas with the glitter of the yellow metal, that he would still have refused to give up the Golden Touch for so paltry a consideration as a breakfast. Just imagine what a price for one meal’s victuals! It would have been the same as paying millions and mill- ions of money (and as many millions more as would take forever to reckon up) for some fried trout, an egg, a potato, a hot cake, and a cup of coffee !