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 tear-drops,
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 gold 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
fulness 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 luster 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 river-side. As he scampered along, and forced
his way through the shrubbery, it was positively marvellous 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 marvellous story,
pretty much as I have 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
around Proserpina’s neck. By way of showing her gratitude, the child
besought them to go with her a little way into the field, 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.”
“We will wait, then,” answered the sea-nymphs. “But while you are gone,
we may as well lie down on a bank of soft sponge, under the water. The
air to-day is a little too dry for our comfort. But we will pop up our
heads every few minutes to see if you are coming.”
The young Proserpina ran quickly to a spot where, only the day before,
she had seen a great many flowers. These, however, were now a little past
their bloom; and wishing to give her friends the freshest and loveliest
blossoms, she strayed farther into the fields, and found some that made
her scream with delight. Never had she met with such exquisite flowers
before—violets, so large and fragrant—roses, with so rich and delicate
a blush—such superb hyacinths and such aromatic pinks—and many others,
some of which seemed to be of new shapes and colors. Two or three times,
moreover, she could not help thinking that a tuft of most splendid
flowers had suddenly sprouted out of the earth before her very eyes, as
if on purpose to tempt her a few steps farther. Proserpina’s apron was
soon filled and brimming over with delightful blossoms. She was on the
point of turning back in order to rejoin the sea-nymphs, and sit with
them on the moist sands, all twining wreaths together. But, a little
farther on, what should she behold? It was a large shrub, completely
covered with the most magnificent flowers in the world.
“The darlings!” cried Proserpina; and then she thought to herself, “I was
looking at that spot only a moment ago. How strange it is that I did not
see the flowers!”
The nearer she approached the shrub, the more attractive it looked, until
she came quite close to it; and then, although its beauty was richer than
words can tell, she hardly knew whether to like it or not. It bore above
a hundred flowers of the most brilliant hues, and each different from
the others, but all having a kind of resemblance among themselves, which
showed them to be sister blossoms. But there was a deep, glossy luster
on the leaves of the shrub, and on the petals of the flowers, that made
Proserpina doubt whether they might not be poisonous. To tell you the
truth, foolish as it may seem, she was half inclined to turn round and
run away.
“What a silly child I am!” thought she, taking courage. “It is really the
most beautiful shrub that ever sprang out of the earth. I will pull it up
by the roots, and carry it home, and plant it in my mother’s garden.”
Holding up her apron full of flowers with her left hand, Proserpina
seized the large shrub with the other, and pulled and pulled, but was
hardly able to loosen the soil about its roots. What a deep-rooted plant
it was! Again the girl pulled with all her might, and observed that the
earth began to stir and crack to some distance around the stem. She gave
another pull, but relaxed her hold, fancying that there was a rumbling
sound right beneath her feet. Did the roots extend down into some
enchanted cavern? Then, laughing at herself for so childish a notion, she
made another effort; up came the shrub, and Proserpina staggered back,
holding the stem triumphantly in her hand, and gazing at the deep hole
which its roots had left in the soil.
Much to her astonishment, this hole kept spreading wider and wider, and
growing deeper and deeper, until it really seemed to have no bottom; and
all the while, there came a rumbling noise out of its depths, louder and
louder, and nearer and nearer, and sounding like the tramp of horses’
hoofs and the rattling of wheels. Too much frightened to run away, she
stood straining her eyes into this wonderful cavity, and soon saw a team
of four sable horses snorting smoke out of their nostrils, and tearing
their way out of the earth with a splendid golden chariot whirling at
their heels. They leaped out of the bottomless hole, chariot and all;
and there they were, tossing their black manes, flourishing their black
tails, and curvetting with every one of their hoofs off the ground at
once, close by the spot where Proserpina stood. In the chariot sat the
figure of a man, richly dressed, with a crown on his head, all flaming
with diamonds. He was of a noble aspect, and rather handsome, but looked
sullen and discontented; and he kept rubbing his eyes and shading them
with his hand, as if he did not live enough in the sunshine to be very
fond of its light.
As soon as this personage saw the affrighted Proserpina, he beckoned her
to come a little nearer.
“Do not be afraid,” said he, with as cheerful a smile as he knew how to
put on. “Come! Will not you like to ride a little way with me, in my
beautiful chariot?”
But Proserpina was so alarmed, that she wished for nothing but to get
out of his reach. And no wonder. The stranger did not look remarkably
good-natured, in spite of his smile; and as for his voice, its tones were
deep and stern, and sounded as much like the rumbling of an earthquake
under ground as anything else. As is always the case with children in
trouble, Proserpina’s first thought was to call for her mother.
“Mother, Mother Ceres!” cried she, all in a tremble. “Come quickly and
save me.”
But her voice was too faint for her mother to hear. Indeed, it is most
probable that Ceres was then a thousand miles off, making the corn grow
in some far-distant country. Nor could it have availed her poor daughter,
even had she been within hearing; for no sooner did Proserpina begin to
cry out, than the stranger leaped to the ground, caught the child in his
arms, and again mounting the chariot, shook the reins, and shouted to
the four black horses to set off. They immediately broke into so swift
a gallop that it seemed rather like flying through the air than running
along the earth. In a moment, Proserpina lost sight of the pleasant vale
of Enna, in which she had always dwelt. Another instant and even the
summit of Mount Ætna had become so blue in the distance, that she could
scarcely distinguish it from the smoke that gushed out of its crater. But
still the poor child screamed, and scattered her apron full of flowers
along the way, and left a long cry trailing behind the chariot; and many
mothers, to whose ears it came, ran quickly to see if any mischief had
befallen their children. But Mother Ceres was a great way off, and could
not hear the cry.
As they rode on, the stranger did his best to soothe her.
“Why should you be so frightened, my pretty child,” said he, trying to
soften his rough voice. “I promise not to do you any harm. What! You have
been gathering flowers? Wait till we come to my palace, and I will give
you a garden full of prettier flowers than those, all made of pearls, and
diamonds, and rubies. Can you guess who I am? They call my name Pluto,
and I am the king of diamonds and all other precious stones. Every atom
of the gold and silver that lies under the earth belongs to me, to say
nothing of the copper and iron, and of the coal-mines, which supply me
with abundance of fuel. Do you see this splendid crown upon my head? You
may have it for a plaything. Oh, we shall be very good friends, and you
will find me more agreeable than you expect, when once we get out of this
troublesome sunshine.”
“Let me go home!” cried Proserpina—“let me go home!”
“My home is better than your mother’s,” answered King Pluto. “It is
a palace, all made of gold, and crystal windows; and because there is
little or no sunshine thereabouts, the apartments are illuminated with
diamond lamps. You never saw anything half so magnificent as my throne.
If you like, you may sit down on it, and be my little queen, and I will
sit on the footstool.”
“I don’t care for golden palaces and thrones,” sobbed Proserpina. “Oh, my
mother, my mother! Carry me back to my mother!”
But King Pluto, as he called himself, only shouted to his steeds to go
faster.
“Pray do not be foolish, Proserpina,” said he, in rather a sullen tone.
“I offer you my palace and my crown, and all the riches that are under
the earth, and you treat me as if I were doing you an injury. The one
thing which my palace needs is a merry little maid, to run upstairs and
down, and cheer up the rooms with her smile. And this is what you must do
for King Pluto.”
“Never!” answered Proserpina, looking as miserable as she could. “I shall
never smile again till you set me down at my mother’s door.”
But she might just as well have talked to the wind that whistled
past them; for Pluto urged on his horses, and went faster than ever.
Proserpina continued to cry out, and screamed so long and so loudly that
her poor little voice was almost screamed away; and when it was nothing
but a whisper, she happened to cast her eyes over a great, broad field of
waving grain—and whom do you think she saw? Who, but Mother Ceres, making
the corn grow, and too busy to notice the golden chariot as it went
rattling along. The child mustered all her strength, and gave one more
scream, but was out of sight before Ceres had time to turn her head.
King Pluto had taken a road which now began to grow excessively gloomy.
It was bordered on each side with rocks and precipices, between which the
rumbling of the chariot-wheels was reverberated with a noise like rolling
thunder. The trees and bushes that grew in the crevices of the rocks had
very dismal foliage; and by and by, although it was hardly noon, the air
became obscured with a gray twilight. The black horses had rushed along
so swiftly, that they were already beyond the limits of the sunshine.
But the duskier it grew, the more did Pluto’s visage assume an air of
satisfaction. After all, he was not an ill-looking person, especially
when he left off twisting his features into a smile that did not belong
to them. Proserpina peeped at his face through the gathering dusk, and
hoped that he might not be so very wicked as she at first thought him.
“Ah, this twilight is truly refreshing,” said King Pluto, “after being so
tormented with that ugly and impertinent glare of the sun. How much more
agreeable is lamplight or torchlight, more particularly when reflected
from diamonds! It will be a magnificent sight when we get to my palace.”
“Is it much farther?” asked Proserpina. “And will you carry me back when
I have seen it?”
“We will talk of that by and by,” answered Pluto. “We are just entering
my dominions. Do you see that tall gateway before us? When we pass
those gates, we are at home. And there lies my faithful mastiff at the
threshold. Cerberus! Cerberus! Come hither, my good dog!”
So saying, Pluto pulled at the reins, and stopped the chariot right
between the tall, massive pillars of the gateway. The mastiff of which
he had spoken got up from the threshold, and stood on his hinder legs,
so as to put his forepaws on the chariot-wheel. But, my stars, what a
strange dog it was! Why, he was a big, rough, ugly-looking monster, with
three separate heads, and each of them fiercer than the two others; but,
fierce as they were, King Pluto patted them all. He seemed as fond of his
three-headed dog as if it had been a sweet little spaniel, with silken
ears and curly hair. Cerberus, on the other hand, was evidently rejoiced
to see his master, and expressed his attachment, as other dogs do, by
wagging his tail at a great rate. Proserpina’s eyes being drawn to it by
its brisk motion, she saw that this tail was neither more nor less than a
live dragon, with fiery eyes, and fangs that had a very poisonous aspect.
And while the three-headed Cerberus was fawning so lovingly on King
Pluto, there was the dragon tail wagging against its will, and looking as
cross and ill-natured as you can imagine, on its own separate account.
“Will the dog bite me?” asked Proserpina, shrinking closer to Pluto.
“What an ugly creature he is!”
“Oh, never fear,” answered her companion. “He never harms people, unless
they try to enter my dominions without being sent for, or to get away
when I wish to keep them here. Down, Cerberus! Now, my pretty Proserpina,
we will drive on.”