THE STORY OF KING MIDAS 1 BACCHUS, the Greek god of wine, was revered as a promoter of civilization, as a lawgiver, and as a lover of peace. On a certain occasion he found his schoolmaster and foster father, Silenus,2 missing. The old man had been drinking and had wandered away and was found by some peasants who carried him to their king, Midas. King Midas3 recognized the old schoolmaster and treated him hospitably, entertaining him royally for ten days and nights. On the eleventh day he brought Silenus back and restored him in safety to his people. In return for his kindness, the god Bacchus offered to reward Midas with whatever he might wish. Midas asked that whatever he might touch should be changed into gold. Bacchus granted the request, though sorry Midas had not made a better choice. The following story tells the legend of King Midas with his first glow of enthusiasm over his new found-power, of his later repentance, and of how the god Bacchus restored the King. 1 Pronounced bǎk'us. THE STORY OF KING MIDAS It happened once upon a time in the days when other things besides men and animals were said to live upon the earth, that a certain king, Midas, did a kindness to one who was employed as a servant by the gods of the vineyards and cornfields. This god, hearing of it, said to King Midas, “Ask any gift you choose; it shall be yours. "Grant me," said Midas, "that everything I touch shall turn to gold." "It is a fool's wish," said the god, "but so be it. Everything you touch shall turn to gold.” King Midas was very happy. He would now be the richest king in the world. He opened his palace door, and lo! the door became gold. He touched the vines and they were golden leaves and flowers. He touched the fruit and it was carved in gold. He went from room to room touching everything, till his house was furnished in gold. He climbed upon a ladder, which turned to gold in his hands, and touched every brick and stone in his palace till all was pure gold. His cooks boiled water in golden kettles, and swept away golden dust with golden brooms. He sat down to dinner in a golden chair, his garments of spun gold, and his plate of solid gold, and the table linen cloth-of-gold. With delight at the richness of his house and the riches he was yet to gather, Midas helped himself from the golden dish before him. But suddenly his teeth touched something hard, harder than bone. Had the cook put stones in his food? It was nothing of the kind. Alas! his very food, as soon as it touched his lips, turned to solid gold. His heart sank within him, while the meat before him mocked his hunger. Then, was the richest king in the world to starve? A horrible fear came upon him as he poured out drink into a golden cup and the cup was filled with gold. He sat in despair. What was he to do? Of what use was all this gold, if he could not buy a crust of bread or a sip of water? The poorest plowman would now be richer than the king. Poor Midas wandered about his golden palace, the dust becoming gold under his feet, until he was all of a fever with thirst, and weak and sick with hunger. At last, in his despair, he set out to find the god of the cornfields and vineyards again, and beg him to take back the gift of gold. By and by, when nearly starved, he found the god, who cried to him, “Ha! Midas, are you not content yet? Do you want more gold?" "Gold!" cried Midas. "I hate the horrible word. I am starving. Make me the poorest man in the world, for I have learned that a mountain of gold is not worth a drop of dew." "I will take back my gift," said the god. "Go," said he, "to the river Pactolus,' trace the stream to its fountain head; there plunge in your head and body, and wash away your fault and its punishment.” Midas ran to the river Pactolus, near by. He 1 Pronounced påk-tō'lús. threw off his golden clothes and hurried, barefoot, over the sands of the river, and the sand, wherever his naked feet touched it, turned to gold. When he came from the water the terrible power of the golden touch had left him. Thenceforth Midas, hating wealth and splendor, dwelt in the country, and became a worshiper of Pan, the god of the fields. NOTES 1. King Midas. Look up other legends regarding King Midas. 2. Pactolus. A fabulous river of Greek mythology. 3. Pan. Pan was the god of the woods and fields, of flocks and shepherds. He dwelt in caves, wandered on the mountains and in valleys, and amused himself with the chase. He was so greatly feared in the woods at night and inspired such fright and terror that we get our word pan-ic from his name. 4. Look up the following words and expressions: vineyards, furnished, cloth-of-gold, horrible fear, golden palace, fever, folly, fountain head, punishment, gold creating power. EXERCISES 1. What kindness did King Midas extend to the old schoolmaster? 2. In return what reward was given him? 3. Why did the god regret the choice of King Midas? 4. Why was King Midas now so very happy? 5. What use did he at once make of this wonderful gift? 6. When did he first begin to regret that he possessed this gift? 7. Explain "The meat before him mocked his hunger.” 8. Why should he sit in despair? 9. How could the poorest plowman be richer than King Midas? 10. What remedy did he seek for his distress? 11. What questions did the god Bacchus ask him? 12. What request did King Midas now make of the god? 13. Explain "A mountain of gold is not worth a drop of dew." 14. How did the god make it possible for Midas to give back the gift? 15. What great lesson had King Midas learned? 16. If this story is a symbol of life what great truth is in it for all? ADDITIONAL READINGS HAWTHORNE: The Golden Touch, Snow Image, The Golden Fleece. GAYLEY: Classic Myths, p. 157. See Index. SMEDLEY: The Discovery. LADY CAREW: True Greatness. KIPLING: The Peace of Dives. BURNS: A Man's a Man For A' That. JANE TAYLOR: Contented John. POE: The Gold Bug. HANS ANDERSEN: The Bronze Boar, The Red Shoes. EMILY DICKINSON: Real Riches. HELEN HUNT JACKSON: Ballad of the Gold Country. "TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER 'Tis the last rose of Summer, Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone; To reflect back her blushes, I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them; Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. Thomas Moore. |