grasping at everything that happened 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 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, however, 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.
"It 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 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 fortune that the palace seemed
not sufficiently spacious to contain him. He therefore went downstairs,
and smiled, on observing that the balustrade of the staircase became a bar
of burnished gold, as his hand passed over it in his descent. He lifted
the door-latch (it 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 number 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 cakes,
some nice little brook trout, roasted potatoes, fresh boiled eggs, and
coffee, for King Midas himself, and a bowl of bread and milk for his
daughter Marygold. At all events, this is a breakfast fit to set before 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 himself 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 before he
heard her coming along the passage-way crying 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 Marygold 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 cry?"
"Ah, dear father!" answered the child, as well as her sobs would let her;
"it is not beautiful, but the ugliest flower that ever grew! As soon as I
was dressed I ran into the garden to gather some roses for you; because I
know you like them, and like them the better 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 sweet and had so many
lovely blushes, are blighted and spoilt! They are grown quite yellow, as
you see this one, and have no longer any fragrance! 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
afflicted 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."
"I don't care for such roses as this!" cried Marygold, tossing it
contemptuously away. "It has no smell, and the hard petals prick my nose!"
The child now sat down to table, but was so occupied 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 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 articles 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 Marygold, gazing at him, with
the tears still standing in her eyes.
"Nothing, child, nothing!" said Midas. "Eat your milk, 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 goldsmith 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 delicate, 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 moment, 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, "how I am to get any
breakfast!"
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 a 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
looking quite enviously at little Marygold, who was now eating her bread
and milk with great satisfaction. "Such a costly breakfast before 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 inconvenience, King Midas next snatched a hot potato,
and attempted 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!"
And, truly, my dear little folks, did you ever hear of such a pitiable
case in all your lives? Here was literally 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? Already, at
breakfast, Midas was excessively hungry. Would he be less so by
dinner-time? And how ravenous 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 desirable. But this was only a passing thought. So
fascinated 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 millions 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!
"It would be quite too dear," thought Midas.
Nevertheless, so great was his hunger, and the perplexity of his
situation, that he again groaned aloud, and very grievously too. Our
pretty Marygold could endure it no longer. She sat, a moment, gazing at
her father, and trying with all the might of her little wits to find out
what was the matter with him. Then, with a sweet and sorrowful impulse to
comfort him, she started from her chair, and, running to Midas, threw her
arms affectionately about his knees. He bent down and kissed her. He felt
that his little daughter's love was worth a thousand times more than he
had gained by the Golden Touch.
"My precious, precious Marygold!" cried he.
But Marygold made no answer.
Alas, what had he done? How fatal was the gift which the stranger
bestowed! The moment the lips of Midas touched Marygold's forehead, a
change had taken place. Her sweet, rosy face, so full of affection as it
had been, assumed a glittering yellow color, with yellow teardrops
congealing on her cheeks. Her beautiful brown ringlets took the same tint.
Her soft and tender little form grew hard and inflexible within her
father's encircling arms. Oh, terrible misfortune! The victim of his
insatiable desire for wealth, little Marygold was a human child no longer,
but a golden statue!
Yes, there she was, with the questioning look of love, grief, and pity,
hardened into her face. It was the prettiest and most woeful sight that
ever mortal saw. All the features and tokens of Marygold were there; even
the beloved little dimple remained in her golden chin. But the more
perfect was the resemblance, the greater was the father's agony at
beholding this golden image, which was all that was left him of a
daughter. It had been a favorite phrase of Midas, whenever he felt
particularly fond of the child, to say that she was worth her weight in
gold. And now the phrase had become literally true. And now, at last, when
it was too late, he felt how infinitely a warm and tender heart, that
loved him, exceeded in value all the wealth that could be piled up betwixt
the earth and sky!
It would be too sad a story, if I were to tell you how Midas, in the
fullness of all his gratified desires, began to wring his hands and bemoan
himself; and how he could neither bear to look at Marygold, nor yet to
look away from her. Except when his eyes were fixed on the image, he could
not possibly believe that she was changed to gold. But stealing another
glance, there was the precious little figure, with a yellow tear-drop on
its yellow cheek, and a look so piteous and tender that it seemed as if
that very expression must needs soften the gold, and make it flesh again.
This, however, could not be. So Midas had only to wring his hands, and to
wish that he were the poorest man in the wide world, if the loss of all
his wealth might bring back the faintest rose-color to his dear child's
face.
While he was in this tumult of despair, he suddenly beheld a stranger
standing near the door. Midas bent down his head, without speaking; for he
recognized the same figure which had appeared to him, the day before, in
the treasure-room, and had bestowed on him this disastrous faculty of the
Golden Touch. The stranger's countenance still wore a smile, which seemed
to shed a yellow lustre all about the room, and gleamed on little
Marygold's image, and on the other objects that had been transmuted by the
touch of Midas.
"Well, friend Midas," said the stranger, "pray how do you succeed with the
Golden Touch?"
Midas shook his head.
"I am very miserable," said he.
"Very miserable, indeed!" exclaimed the stranger. "And how happens that?
Have I not faithfully kept my promise with you? Have you not everything
that your heart desired?"
"Gold is not everything," answered Midas. "And I have lost all that my
heart really cared for."
"Ah! So you have made a discovery, since yesterday?" observed the
stranger. "Let us see, then. Which of these two things do you think is
really worth the most,--the gift of the Golden Touch, or one cup of clear
cold water?"
"O blessed water!" exclaimed Midas. "It will never moisten my parched
throat again!"
"The Golden Touch," continued the stranger, "or a crust of bread?"
"A piece of bread," answered Midas, "is worth all the gold on earth!"
"The Golden Touch," asked the stranger, "or your own little Marygold,
warm, soft, and loving as she was an hour ago?"
"Oh, my child, my dear child!" cried poor Midas, wringing his hands. "I
would not have given that one small dimple in her chin for the power of
changing this whole big earth into a solid lump of gold!"
"You are wiser than you were, King Midas!" said the stranger, looking
seriously at him. "Your own heart, I perceive, has not been entirely
changed from flesh to gold. Were it so, your case would indeed be
desperate. But you appear to be still capable of understanding that the
commonest things, such as lie within everybody's grasp, are more valuable
than the riches which so many mortals sigh and struggle after. Tell me,
now, do you sincerely desire to rid yourself of this Golden Touch?"
"It is hateful to me!" replied Midas.
A fly settled on his nose, but immediately fell to the floor; for it, too,
had become gold. Midas shuddered.
"Go, then," said the stranger, "and plunge into the river that glides past
the bottom of your garden. Take likewise a vase of the same water, and
sprinkle it over any object that you may desire to change back again from
gold into its former substance. If you do this in earnestness and
sincerity, it may possibly repair the mischief which your avarice has
occasioned."
King Midas bowed low; and when he lifted his head, the lustrous stranger
had vanished.
You will easily believe that Midas lost no time in snatching up a great
earthen pitcher (but, alas me! it was no longer earthen after he touched
it), and hastening to the riverside. As he scampered along, and forced his
way through the shrubbery, it was positively marvelous to see how the
foliage turned yellow behind him, as if the autumn had been there, and
nowhere else. On reaching the river's brink, he plunged headlong in,
without waiting so much as to pull off his shoes.
"Poof! poof! poof!" snorted King Midas, as his head emerged out of the
water. "Well; this is really a refreshing bath, and I think it must have
quite washed away the Golden Touch. And now for filling my pitcher!"
As he dipped the pitcher into the water, it gladdened his very heart to
see it change from gold into the same good, honest earthen vessel which it
had been before he touched it. He was conscious, also, of a change within
himself. A cold, hard, and heavy weight seemed to have gone out of his
bosom. No doubt his heart had been gradually losing its human substance,
and transmuting itself into insensible metal, but had now softened back
again into flesh. Perceiving a violet, that grew on the bank of the river,
Midas touched it with his finger, and was overjoyed to find that the
delicate flower retained its purple hue, instead of undergoing a yellow
blight. The curse of the Golden Touch had therefore really been removed
from him.
King Midas hastened back to the palace; and I suppose the servants knew
not what to make of it when they saw their royal master so carefully
bringing home an earthen pitcher of water. But that water, which was to
undo all the mischief that his folly had wrought, was more precious to
Midas, than an ocean of molten gold could have been. The first thing he
did, as you need hardly be told, was to sprinkle it by handfuls over the
golden figure of little Marygold.
No sooner did it fall on her than you would have laughed to see how the
rosy color came back to the dear child's cheek! and how she began to
sneeze and sputter!--and how astonished she was to find herself dripping
wet, and her father still throwing more water over her!
"Pray do not, dear father!" cried she. "See how you have wet my nice
frock, which I put on only this morning!"
For Marygold did not know that she had been a little golden statue; nor
could she remember anything that had happened since the moment when she
ran with outstretched arms to comfort poor King Midas.
Her father did not think it necessary to tell his beloved child how very
foolish he had been, but contented himself with showing how much wiser he
had now grown. For this purpose he led little Marygold into the garden,
where he sprinkled all the remainder of the water over the rose-bushes,
and with such good effect that above five thousand roses recovered their
beautiful bloom. There were two circumstances, however, which, as long as
he lived, used to put King Midas in mind of the Golden Touch. One was,
that the sands of the river sparkled like gold; the other, that little
Marygold's hair had now a golden tinge, which he had never observed in it
before she had been transmuted by the effect of his kiss. This change of
hue was really an improvement, and made Marygold's hair richer than in her
babyhood.
When King Midas had grown quite an old man, and used to trot Marygold's
children on his knee, he was fond of telling them this marvelous story,
pretty much as I have now told it to you. And then would he stroke their
glossy ringlets, and tell them that their hair, likewise, had a rich shade
of gold, which they had inherited from their mother.
"And to tell you the truth, my precious little folks," quoth King Midas,
diligently trotting the children all the while, "ever since that morning,
I have hated the very sight of all other gold, save this!"
THE POMEGRANATE SEEDS
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
Mother Ceres was exceedingly fond of her daughter Proserpina, and seldom
let her go alone into the fields. But, just at the time when my story
begins, the good lady was very busy, because she had the care of the
wheat, and the Indian corn, and the rye and barley, and, in short, of the
crops of every kind, all over the earth; and as the season had thus far
been uncommonly backward, it was necessary to make the harvest ripen more
speedily than usual. So she put on her turban, made of poppies (a kind of
flower which she was always noted for wearing), and got into her car drawn
by a pair of winged dragons, and was just ready to set off.
"Dear mother," said Proserpina, "I shall be very lonely while you are
away. May I not run down to the shore, and ask some of the sea-nymphs to
come up out of the waves and play with me?"
"Yes, child," answered Mother Ceres. "The sea-nymphs are good creatures,
and will never lead you into any harm. But you must take care not to stray
away from them, nor go wandering about the fields by yourself. Young
girls, without their mothers to take care of them, are very apt to get
into mischief."
The child promised to be as prudent as if she were a grown-up woman, and,
by the time the winged dragons had whirled the car out of sight, she was
already on the shore, calling to the sea-nymphs to come and play with her.
They knew Proserpina's voice, and were not long in showing their
glistening faces and sea-green hair above the water, at the bottom of
which was their home. They brought along with them a great many beautiful
shells; and, sitting down on the moist sand, where the surf wave broke
over them, they busied themselves in making a necklace, which they hung
round Proserpina's neck. By way of showing her gratitude, the child
besought them to go with her a little way into the fields, so that they
might gather abundance of flowers, with which she would make each of her
kind playmates a wreath.
"Oh, no, dear Proserpina," cried the sea-nymphs; "we dare not go with you
upon the dry land. We are apt to grow faint, unless at every breath we can
snuff up the salt breeze of the ocean. And don't you see how careful we
are to let the surf wave break over us every moment or two, so as to keep
ourselves comfortably moist? If it were not for that, we should soon look
like bunches of uprooted sea-weed dried in the sun."
"It is a great pity," said Proserpina, "but do you wait for me here, and I
will run and gather my apron full of flowers, and be back again before the
surf wave has broken ten times over you. I long to make you some wreaths
that shall be as lovely as this necklace of many-colored shells."