Introductory to "The Golden Touch"
At noon, our juvenile2 party assembled in a dell, through the depths of which ran a little brook. The dell was narrow, and its steep sides, from the margin3 of the stream upward, were thickly set with trees, chiefly walnuts4 and chestnuts5, among which grew a few oaks and maples6. In the summer time, the shade of so many clustering branches, meeting and intermingling across the rivulet7, was deep enough to produce a noontide twilight8. Hence came the name of Shadow Brook. But now, ever since autumn had crept into this secluded9 place, all the dark verdure was changed to gold, so that it really kindled10 up the dell, instead of shading it. The bright yellow leaves, even had it been a cloudy day, would have seemed to keep the sunlight among them; and enough of them had fallen to strew11 all the bed and margin of the brook with sunlight, too. Thus the shady nook, where summer had cooled herself, was now the sunniest spot anywhere to be found.
The little brook ran along over its pathway of gold, here pausing to form a pool, in which minnows were darting12 to and fro; and then it hurried onward13 at a swifter pace, as if in haste to reach the lake; and, forgetting to look whither it went, it tumbled over the root of a tree, which stretched quite across its current. You would have laughed to hear how noisily it babbled14 about this accident. And even after it had run onward, the brook still kept talking to itself, as if it were in a maze15. It was wonder-smitten, I suppose, at finding its dark dell so illuminated16, and at hearing the prattle17 and merriment of so many children. So it stole away as quickly as it could, and hid itself in the lake.
In the dell of Shadow Brook, Eustace Bright and his little friends had eaten their dinner. They had brought plenty of good things from Tanglewood, in their baskets, and had spread them out on the stumps18 of trees, and on mossy trunks, and had feasted merrily, and made a very nice dinner indeed. After it was over, nobody felt like stirring.
"We will rest ourselves here," said several of the children, "while Cousin Eustace tells us another of his pretty stories."
Cousin Eustace had a good right to be tired, as well as the children, for he had performed great feats19 on that memorable20 forenoon. Dandelion, Clover, Cowslip, and Buttercup were almost most persuaded that he had winged slippers21, like those which the Nymphs gave Perseus; so often had the student shown himself at the tip-top of a nut-tree, when only a moment before he had been standing22 on the ground. And then, what showers of walnuts had he sent rattling23 down upon their heads, for their busy little hands to gather into the baskets! In short, he had been as active as a squirrel or a monkey, and now, flinging himself down on the yellow leaves, seemed inclined to take a little rest.
But children have no mercy nor consideration for anybody's weariness; and if you had but a single breath left, they would ask you to spend it in telling them a story.
"Cousin Eustace," said Cowslip, "that was a very nice story of the Gorgon's Head. Do you think you could tell us another as good?"
"Yes, child," said Eustace, pulling the brim of his cap over his eyes, as if preparing for a nap. "I can tell you a dozen, as good or better, if I choose."
"O Primrose24 and Periwinkle, do you hear what he says?" cried Cowslip, dancing with delight. "Cousin Eustace is going to tell us a dozen better stories than that about the Gorgon's Head!"
"I did not promise you even one, you foolish little Cowslip!" said Eustace, half pettishly25. "However, I suppose you must have it. This is the consequence of having earned a reputation! I wish I were a great deal duller than I am, or that I had never shown half the bright qualities with which nature has endowed me; and then I might have my nap out, in peace and comfort!"
But Cousin Eustace, as I think I have hinted before, was as fond of telling his stories as the children of hearing them. His mind was in a free and happy state, and took delight in its own activity, and scarcely required any external impulse to set it at work.
How different is this spontaneous play of the intellect from the trained diligence of maturer years, when toil26 has perhaps grown easy by long habit, and the day's work may have become essential to the day's comfort, although the rest of the matter has bubbled away! This remark, however, is not meant for the children to hear.
Without further solicitation27, Eustace Bright proceeded to tell the following really splendid story. It had come into his mind as he lay looking upward into the depths of a tree, and observing how the touch of Autumn had transmuted28 every one of its green leaves into what resembled the purest gold. And this change, which we have all of us witnessed, is as wonderful as anything that Eustace told about in the story of Midas.
The Golden Touch
Once upon a time, there lived a very rich man, and a king besides, whose name was Midas; and he had a little daughter, whom nobody but myself ever heard of, and whose name I either never knew, or have entirely29 forgotten. So, because I love odd names for little girls, I choose to call her Marygold.
This King Midas was fonder of gold than of anything else in the world. He valued his royal crown chiefly because it was composed of that precious metal. If he loved anything better, or half so well, it was the one little maiden30 who played so merrily around her father's footstool. But the more Midas loved his daughter, the more did he desire and seek for wealth. He thought, foolish man! that the best thing he could possibly do for this dear child would be to bequeath her the immensest pile of yellow, glistening31 coin, that had ever been heaped together since the world was made. Thus, he gave all his thoughts and all his time to this one purpose. If ever he happened to gaze for an instant at the gold-tinted clouds of sunset, he wished that they were real gold, and that they could be squeezed safely into his strong box. When little Marygold ran to meet him, with a bunch of buttercups and dandelions, he used to say, "Poh, poh, child! If these flowers were as golden as they look, they would be worth the plucking!"
And yet, in his earlier days, before he was so entirely possessed33 of this insane desire for riches, King Midas had shown a great taste for flowers. He had planted a garden, in which grew the biggest and beautifullest and sweetest roses that any mortal ever saw or smelt34. These roses were still growing in the garden, as large, as lovely, and as fragrant35, as when Midas used to pass whole hours in gazing at them, and inhaling36 their perfume. But now, if he looked at them at all, it was only to calculate how much the garden would be worth if each of the innumerable rose-petals37 were a thin plate of gold. And though he once was fond of music (in spite of an idle story about his ears, which were said to resemble those of an ass), the only music for poor Midas, now, was the chink of one coin against another.
At length, as people always grow more and more foolish, unless they take care to grow wiser and wiser, Midas had got to be so exceedingly unreasonable38, that he could scarcely bear to see or touch any object that was not gold. He made it his custom, therefore, to pass a large portion of every day in a dark and dreary39 apartment, under ground, at the basement of his palace. It was here that he kept his wealth. To this dismal40 hole—for it was little better than a dungeon—Midas betook himself, whenever he wanted to be particularly happy. Here, after carefully locking the door, he would take a bag of gold coin, or a gold cup as big as a washbowl, or a heavy golden bar, or a peck-measure of gold-dust, and bring them from the obscure corners of the room into the one bright and narrow sunbeam that fell from the dungeon-like window. He valued the sunbeam for no other reason but that his treasure would not shine without its help. And then would he reckon over the coins in the bag; toss up the bar, and catch it as it came down; sift41 the gold-dust through his fingers; look at the funny image of his own face, as reflected in the burnished42 circumference43 of the cup; and whisper to himself, "O Midas, rich King Midas, what a happy man art thou!" But it was laughable to see how the image of his face kept grinning at him, out of the polished surface of the cup. It seemed to be aware of his foolish behavior, and to have a naughty inclination44 to make fun of him.
Midas called himself a happy man, but felt that he was not yet quite so happy as he might be. The very tip-top of enjoyment45 would never be reached, unless the whole world were to become his treasure-room, and be filled with yellow metal which should be all his own.
Now, I need hardly remind such wise little people as you are, that in the old, old times, when King Midas was alive, a great many things came to pass, which we should consider wonderful if they were to happen in our own day and country. And, on the other hand, a great many things take place nowadays, which seem not only wonderful to us, but at which the people of old times would have stared their eyes out. On the whole, I regard our own times as the strangest of the two; but, however that may be, I must go on with my story.
Midas was enjoying himself in his treasure-room, one day, as usual, when he perceived a shadow fall over the heaps of gold; and, looking suddenly up, what should he behold46 but the figure of a stranger, standing in the bright and narrow sunbeam! It was a young man, with a cheerful and ruddy face. Whether it was that the imagination of King Midas threw a yellow tinge47 over everything, or whatever the cause might be, he could not help fancying that the smile with which the stranger regarded him had a kind of golden radiance in it. Certainly, although his figure intercepted48 the sunshine, there was now a brighter gleam upon all the piled-up treasures than before. Even the remotest corners had their share of it, and were lighted up, when the stranger smiled, as with tips of flame and sparkles of fire.
As Midas knew that he had carefully turned the key in the lock, and that no mortal strength could possibly break into his treasure-room, he, of course, concluded that his visitor must be something more than mortal. It is no matter about telling you who he was. In those days, when the earth was comparatively a new affair, it was supposed to be often the resort of beings endowed with supernatural power, and who used to interest themselves in the joys and sorrows of men, women, and children, half playfully and half seriously. Midas had met such beings before now, and was not sorry to meet one of them again. The stranger's aspect, indeed, was so good-humored and kindly49, if not beneficent, that it would have been unreasonable to suspect him of intending any mischief50. It was far more probable that he came to do Midas a favor. And what could that favor be, unless to multiply his heaps of treasure?
The stranger gazed about the room; and when his lustrous51 smile had glistened52 upon all the golden objects that were there, he turned again to Midas.
"You are a wealthy man, friend Midas!" he observed. "I doubt whether any other four walls, on earth, contain so much gold as you have contrived53 to pile up in this room."
"I have done pretty well,—pretty well," answered Midas, in a discontented tone. "But, after all, it is but a trifle, when you consider that it has taken me my whole life to get it together. If one could live a thousand years, he might have time to grow rich!"
"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 meditated55. He felt a presentiment56 that this stranger, with such a golden lustre57 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 possible, 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 imagine them big enough. At last, a bright idea occurred 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."
"It is only this," replied Midas. "I am weary of collecting my treasures with so much trouble, and beholding58 the heap so diminutive59, 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 seemed to fill the room like an outburst of the sun, gleaming into a shadowy dell, where the yellow autumnal leaves—for so looked the lumps and particles of gold—lie strewn in the glow of light.
"The Golden Touch!" exclaimed he. "You certainly deserve credit, friend Midas, for striking out so brilliant a conception. But are you quite sure that this will satisfy you?"
"How could it fail?" said Midas.
"And will you never regret the possession of it?"
"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 beheld61 only one yellow sunbeam in the room, and, all around him, the glistening of the precious metal which he had spent his life in hoarding62 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 beautiful 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 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 miserable63 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 streak64 of brightness along the edge of the sky, where Midas could not see it. He lay in a very disconsolate65 mood, regretting the downfall of his hopes, and kept growing sadder and sadder, until the earliest sunbeam shone through the window, and gilded66 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 astonishment67 and delight, when he found that this linen68 fabric69 had been transmuted to what seemed a woven texture70 of the purest and brightest gold! The Golden Touch had come to him with the first sunbeam!
Midas started up, in a kind of joyful71 frenzy72, and ran about the room, grasping at everything that happened to be in his way. He seized one of the bed-posts, and it became immediately a fluted73 golden pillar. He pulled aside a window-curtain, in order to admit a clear spectacle of the wonders which he was performing; and the tassel74 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 illegible75. He hurriedly put on his clothes, and was enraptured76 to see himself in a magnificent suit of gold cloth, which retained its flexibility77 and softness, although it burdened him a little with its weight. He drew out his handkerchief, which little Marygold had hemmed78 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 transformation79 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 vex80 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 transparent81 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 inconvenient82 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 philosophically83. "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 exalted84 by his good fortune, that the palace seemed not sufficiently85 spacious86 to contain him. He therefore went down stairs, 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 brass87 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 fragrance88 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 tranquillity89, 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 indefatigably90; 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 trout91, 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 passageway 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 sobs92, he determined93 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 disconsolately94 opened the door, and showed herself with her apron95 at her eyes, still sobbing96 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 sweetly and had so many lovely blushes, are blighted97 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 wrought99 the change which so greatly afflicted100 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 wither101 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 prick102 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 ornaments103 were now entirely lost in the yellow hue104 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 extravagant105 style of splendor106, 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, sipping107 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 parlor108. No; but it was really a metallic109 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 fins110 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 mortification111, 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 quandary112!" thought he, leaning back in his chair, and looking quite enviously113 at little Marygold, who was now eating her bread and milk with great satisfaction. "Such a costly114 breakfast before me, and nothing that can be eaten!"
Hoping that, by dint115 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 cram116 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," groaned117 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 literally118 the richest breakfast that could be set before a king, and its very richness made it absolutely good for nothing. The poorest laborer119, 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 ravenous120 would be his appetite for supper, which must undoubtedly121 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 paltry123 a consideration as a breakfast. Just imagine what a price for one meal's victuals124! 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 bent125 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.
Alas126, what had he done? How fatal was the gift which the stranger bestowed127! The moment the lips of Midas touched Marygold's forehead, a change had taken place. Her sweet, rosy128 face, so full of affection as it had been, assumed a glittering yellow color, with yellow tear-drops congealing129 on her cheeks. Her beautiful brown ringlets took the same tint32. Her soft and tender little form grew hard and inflexible130 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 woful 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 infinitely131 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 wring132 his hands and bemoan133 himself; and how he could neither bear to look at Marygold, nor yet to look away from her. Except when his eyes were fixed134 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 soften135 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 tumult136 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 disastrous137 faculty138 of the Golden Touch. The stranger's countenance139 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?"
"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, wringing141 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 shuddered142.
"Go, then," said the stranger, "and plunge143 into the river that glides144 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 sincerity145, it may possibly repair the mischief which your avarice146 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 pitcher147 (but, alas me! it was no longer earthen after he touched it), and hastening to the river-side. As he scampered148 along, and forced his way through the shrubbery, it was positively149 marvellous to see how the foliage150 turned yellow behind him, as if the autumn had been there, and nowhere else. On reaching the river's brink151, he plunged152 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 refreshing153 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 vessel154 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 bosom155. No doubt, his heart had been gradually losing its human substance, and transmuting156 itself into insensible metal, but had now softened157 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 blight98. 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 undo122 all the mischief that his folly158 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 sputter159!—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 contented54 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 trot160 Marygold's children on his knee, he was fond of telling them this marvellous story, pretty much as I have now told it to you. And then would he stroke their glossy161 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, diligently162 trotting163 the children all the while, "ever since that morning, I have hated the very sight of all other gold, save this!"
Shadow Brook
After the Story
"Well, children," inquired Eustace, who was very fond of eliciting164 a definite opinion from his auditors165, "did you ever, in all your lives, listen to a better story than this of 'The Golden Touch'?"
"Why, as to the story of King Midas," said saucy166 Primrose, "it was a famous one thousands of years before Mr. Eustace Bright came into the world, and will continue to be so as long after he quits it. But some people have what we may call 'The Leaden Touch,' and make everything dull and heavy that they lay their fingers upon."
"You are a smart child, Primrose, to be not yet in your teens," said Eustace, taken rather aback by the piquancy167 of her criticism. "But you well know, in your naughty little heart, that I have burnished the old gold of Midas all over anew, and have made it shine as it never shone before. And then that figure of Marygold! Do you perceive no nice workmanship in that? And how finely I have brought out and deepened the moral! What say you, Sweet Fern, Dandelion, Clover, Periwinkle? Would any of you, after hearing this story, be so foolish as to desire the faculty of changing things to gold?"
"I should like," said Periwinkle, a girl of ten, "to have the power of turning everything to gold with my right forefinger168; but, with my left forefinger, I should want the power of changing it back again, if the first change did not please me. And I know what I would do, this very afternoon!"
"Pray tell me," said Eustace.
"Why," answered Periwinkle, "I would touch every one of these golden leaves on the trees with my left forefinger, and make them all green again; so that we might have the summer back at once, with no ugly winter in the mean time."
"O Periwinkle!" cried Eustace Bright, "there you are wrong, and would do a great deal of mischief. Were I Midas, I would make nothing else but just such golden days as these over and over again, all the year throughout. My best thoughts always come a little too late. Why did not I tell you how old King Midas came to America, and changed the dusky autumn, such as it is in other countries, into the burnished beauty which it here puts on? He gilded the leaves of the great volume of Nature."
"Cousin Eustace," said Sweet Fern, a good little boy, who was always making particular inquiries169 about the precise height of giants and the littleness of fairies, "how big was Marygold, and how much did she weigh after she was turned to gold?"
"She was about as tall as you are," replied Eustace, "and, as gold is very heavy, she weighed at least two thousand pounds, and might have been coined into thirty or forty thousand gold dollars. I wish Primrose were worth half as much. Come, little people, let us clamber out of the dell, and look about us."
They did so. The sun was now an hour or two beyond its noontide mark, and filled the great hollow of the valley with its western radiance, so that it seemed to be brimming with mellow170 light, and to spill it over the surrounding hill-sides, like golden wine out of a bowl. It was such a day that you could not help saying of it, "There never was such a day before!" although yesterday was just such a day, and to-morrow will be just such another. Ah, but there are very few of them in a twelvemonth's circle! It is a remarkable171 peculiarity172 of these October days, that each of them seems to occupy a great deal of space, although the sun rises rather tardily173 at that season of the year, and goes to bed, as little children ought, at sober six o'clock, or even earlier. We cannot, therefore, call the days long; but they appear, somehow or other, to make up for their shortness by their breadth; and when the cool night comes, we are conscious of having enjoyed a big armful of life, since morning.
"Come, children, come!" cried Eustace Bright. "More nuts, more nuts, more nuts! Fill all your baskets; and, at Christmas time, I will crack them for you, and tell you beautiful stories!"
So away they went; all of them in excellent spirits, except little Dandelion, who, I am sorry to tell you, had been sitting on a chestnut-bur, and was stuck as full as a pincushion of its prickles. Dear me, how uncomfortably he must have felt!
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1
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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walnuts
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| 胡桃（树）( walnut的名词复数 )； 胡桃木 | |
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chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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7
rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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10
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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11
strew
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| vt.撒；使散落；撒在…上，散布于 | |
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12
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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13
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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14
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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15
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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17
prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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18
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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21
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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23
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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24
primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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pettishly
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26
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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solicitation
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| n.诱惑；揽货；恳切地要求；游说 | |
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28
transmuted
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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30
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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31
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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32
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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34
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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35
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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inhaling
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| v.吸入( inhale的现在分词 ) | |
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37
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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38
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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41
sift
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| v.筛撒，纷落，详察 | |
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42
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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43
circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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44
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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45
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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46
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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47
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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48
intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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49
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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50
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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51
lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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52
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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54
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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55
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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56
presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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57
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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58
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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59
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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60
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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61
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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62
hoarding
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| n.贮藏；积蓄；临时围墙；囤积v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
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63
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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64
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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65
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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66
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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67
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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68
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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69
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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71
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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72
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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73
fluted
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| a.有凹槽的 | |
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74
tassel
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| n.流苏，穗；v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须 | |
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75
illegible
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| adj.难以辨认的，字迹模糊的 | |
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76
enraptured
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| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
flexibility
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| n.柔韧性，弹性，（光的）折射性，灵活性 | |
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78
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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79
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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80
vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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81
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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82
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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83
philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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84
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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85
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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87
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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88
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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90
indefatigably
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| adv.不厌倦地，不屈不挠地 | |
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91
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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92
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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93
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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95
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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96
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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97
blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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98
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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99
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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100
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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102
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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103
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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104
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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105
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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106
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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107
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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108
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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109
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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110
fins
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| [医]散热片；鱼鳍；飞边；鸭掌 | |
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111
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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112
quandary
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| n.困惑，进迟两难之境 | |
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113
enviously
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| adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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114
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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115
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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116
cram
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| v.填塞，塞满，临时抱佛脚，为考试而学习 | |
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117
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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118
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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119
laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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120
ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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121
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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122
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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123
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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124
victuals
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| n.食物；食品 | |
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125
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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126
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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127
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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129
congealing
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| v.使凝结，冻结( congeal的现在分词 )；（指血）凝结 | |
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130
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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131
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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132
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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133
bemoan
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| v.悲叹，哀泣，痛哭；惋惜，不满于 | |
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134
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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135
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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136
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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137
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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138
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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139
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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140
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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141
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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142
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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143
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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144
glides
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| n.滑行( glide的名词复数 )；滑音；音渡；过渡音v.滑动( glide的第三人称单数 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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145
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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146
avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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147
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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148
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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149
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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150
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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151
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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152
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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153
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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154
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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155
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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156
transmuting
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的现在分词 ) | |
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157
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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158
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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159
sputter
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| n.喷溅声；v.喷溅 | |
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160
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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161
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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162
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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163
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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164
eliciting
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| n. 诱发, 引出 动词elicit的现在分词形式 | |
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165
auditors
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| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
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166
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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167
piquancy
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| n.辛辣，辣味，痛快 | |
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168
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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169
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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170
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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171
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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172
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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173
tardily
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| adv.缓慢 | |
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