A Myth Retold By: Stella
Long ago, in the ancient world,
there lived a wealthy king. His name was
Midas. The thing he most desired was
gold. He would stand for hours in his
huge treasure room, gazing at his massive piles of wealth.
Midas had a
daughter whose name was Chrysanthe, which means golden flower. He loved her deeply and said she was worth
her weight in gold. He wanted only the
best for her and believed that the best he could do was to bequeath upon
her a lavish inheritance.
The king
walked into his treasure room one day, locking the door carefully behind
him. He delved into every nook and
cranny of the giant room and fingered the little gold pieces. He would hold them up to the one beam of
sunlight that made its way through an obscure crack in the roof.
Midas sat
down in a couch and gazed at the wealth with a wan smile. He sighed deeply. Suddenly the one beam of sunlight seemed to
expand and fill the whole room with a blinding flash. A figure appeared in the room. He wore a robe of gold, with a white tunic
that shone brilliantly. From his face
came the golden rays that filled the room.
His smile revealed a set of perfect strait white teeth, and his brown
eyes keenly surveyed the whole room in one glance.
“Why do you
look so sad, King Midas? Have you not
more wealth than any average mortal?”
“I have, but
it is not enough. I need…” Midas gazed
at the figure curiously. He looked
expectantly at Midas, whose face had lit up.
“May I
assume that you have chosen your heart’s desire? What shall it be, my dear king? Whatever it is, I will grant.”
“I wish that
everything I touch might turn into gold!”
“Ah, the
golden touch.” The stranger looked shrewdly at him. “Are you sure that you
would like me to grant this wish?”
“I am sure!”
Midas inwardly thought, “Who would ask such a thing?”
“Then you
shall have your wish tomorrow at dawn.” The stranger swept his robes around
him, and with a flash the many rays of sunlight faded into one.
II
It is a
well-known fact that Midas didn’t sleep a wink that night. He was tossing and turning until the first
ray of sunlight hit his window. As soon
as he felt the sun’s warm beams, he leapt out of bed. With a shaky hand, he touched his
bedpost. It instantly turned into solid
gold. A grin lit up his face and he
smiled: “Now I will be the richest man in the entire world!” On his chair,
Midas saw an outfit laid out. He touched
the garment, and its hem partially turned into gold. He clumsily slipped it on, weighed down more
than usual. He went out into his
garden. The rosebushes were in full
bloom. The tiny petals of the gorgeous
flowers were touched with the tiniest beads of dew. Their fragrance was sweeter than ever before,
but Midas didn’t notice. He just put out
his hand and plucked one of the flowers.
As soon as his fingertips touched the rose, it turned blood red and then
golden streaks sped across the petals.
In seconds it was the purest gold Midas had ever seen.
Midas spent
hours touching every rose with painstaking care, trying in vain to suppress his
insatiable longing for more riches.
The table was spread with a delicious breakfast. His mouth watered in anticipation as he gazed
at the food before him. Suddenly he
heard the sound of weeping coming nearer and nearer to him.
“Chrysanthe!”
Midas called to his daughter. A disconsolate
figure came toward him. Chrysanthe’s
usually bright hazel eyes were full of tears.
“What is the matter?”
“Look.” Out
of Chrysanthe’s dimpled hand tumbled one of the roses Midas had
transformed.
“I should
think you’d be happy! Why, you could buy
many, many pretty playthings with that gold!”
“I don’t
want new playthings,” Chrysanthe wept.
“All of the roses are ruined. I
went to pick some for you, but…” She sighed.
“It’s nothing
to weep about.” Midas said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Now eat your breakfast, dearest.”
Chrysanthe
soon wiped away her tears and fell to eating her breakfast with her usual
vigor. Her father smiled and sat down to
his meal. Biscuits flecked with flour
and topped with a tiny pool of butter stood in a fluffy heap on a platter in
front of him. Midas reached out eagerly
for one. Instantly the biscuit felt hard
in his hand, and he realized it was golden. “What!?” Midas sighed and reached
for the platter of eggs. They turned
into a deep, deep gold. Next he tried
the sausage. It sizzled from the pan and
little puffs of steam ringed it. That
turned into gold too. It was the same
with the crackling bacon and sticky buns.
Midas angrily snatched up the teapot.
It turned into gold, but the tea remained the same. He poured the tea into the now golden teacup
and drank it as quickly as he could. As
soon as it touched its lips, it turned into gold and burned his tongue
horribly. He leapt from his chair,
almost screaming in pain.
“Father!
Father! Whatever is the matter?” Little Chrysanthe leapt out of her chair and
walked over to her father. “Have you
burned yourself?” He held out his arms to her and hugged her.
“My sweet
little Chrysanthe.” Chrysanthe didn’t answer.
Midas looked down and moaned, “NO!” For his little ‘golden flower’ was
now truly ‘worth her weight in gold.’
Her thick brown curls were no longer brown. Her soft hazel eyes were no longer
hazel. Her rosy lips and cheeks were no
longer a delicate pink. Yes, it was
Chrysanthe, but not the Chrysanthe Midas knew.
This Chrysanthe was cold and hard.
A golden color had swept over her entire countenance, and Midas now
hated the wish he had made the day before.
III
Suddenly the
room filled with sunlight. Midas checked
his tears and exclaimed in joy.
“Praise the
gods! Please, rid me of this touch. It will be my ruin!” Midas pleaded, tears
trickling down his face.
The stranger
looked at this man with a knowing glance.
Instead of answering his question he said: “A crust of bread or a mound
of gold?”
“Bread,
bread!” Midas exclaimed, in agony over the mistake he had made.
“A glass of
water or all the treasure a man could possess?”
Midas didn’t
hesitate. Throat still burning he said:
“Water!”
“You have
grown wiser, King Midas. Heed my words
and the golden touch will leave you.
Betake yourself to your garden.
The touch will leave you once you have gone into the pool at the
bottom.” The stranger turned as if about to leave.
“Please,
before you leave.” Midas hesitated.
“Yes, my
king?”
“Is there
any way to restore...” He glanced in the direction of his breakfast, entirely
golden and his precious daughter, arms still extended for the warm embrace she
had intended to give her father.
“Bring also
buckets of water and pour it over the items you would like to restore to their
previous form. And take heed that your avarice
does not take you into its clutches again, my king.”
“Thank
you. I shall never be able to repay
you.” Midas said, rushing out the door.
He ran to
the stream and instantly dove in. As
soon as he touched the water, he felt a horrible throbbing pain pulse through
his whole body. It hurt more than
anything he had ever felt, but in a moment he found himself on the bank,
panting for breath. With trepidation he
plucked a flower and was relieved to find that it was no longer gold.
He snatched
up a bucket and hurried back into the palace.
Instantly he raced into the dining hall and covered his daughter with
water. In moments she cried:
“Father, oh
Father, please DO stop. You’re wetting
my new dress!” Her curls hung limp, but her face was rosy and prettier than
ever! She didn’t remember a bit of the
ordeal, and Midas didn’t tell her what had happened. Most peculiar of all were the golden streaks
that lingered in his daughter’s hair Years
later, Midas could be seen bouncing grandchildren on his knee. Fondling their blonde curls with paternal
devotion, he said: “And that is the story of the golden touch.”
“Did you
ever see the man again, Grandpa?” The children asked.
Pointing in
the direction of a sunbeam, he answered, “Look closely for you never know what
you might see.”
By: Stella
Age: 13 Grade: 8th
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