Midas no sooner beheld the red nose and bloated appearance of the wanderer, than he recognized him as Bacchus’ tutor, and volunteered to lead him back to his divine pupil. Delighted to see Silenus again, Bacchus promised Midas any reward he wished; whereupon Midas, who was an avaricious old king, fell upon his knees, and humbly besought the god to grant that all he touched might be changed into gold.
“‘Give me,’ says he (nor thought he ask’d too much),
‘That with my body whatsoe’er I touch,
Changed from the nature which it held of old,
May be converted into yellow gold.’”
Ovid (Croxall’s tr.).
Bacchus immediately signified that his prayer was granted; and Midas, overjoyed at the success of his bold venture, wandered back to his palace, testing his new-won power, which changed all to gold at a mere touch of one of his fingers.
“Down from a lowly branch a twig he drew,
The twig straight glitter’d with a golden hue.
He takes a stone, the stone was turn’d to gold:
A clod he touches, and the crumbling mold
Acknowledged soon the great transforming power,
In weight and substance like a mass of ore.
He pluck’d the corn, and straight his grasp appears
Fill’d with a bending tuft of golden ears.
An apple next he takes, and seems to hold
The bright Hesperian vegetable gold:
His hand he careless on a pillar lays,
With shining gold the fluted pillars blaze.”
Ovid (Croxall’s tr.).
The sight of these and many other wonders, wrought by a mere touch, filled his heart with joy; and in his elation he bade his servants prepare a sumptuous feast, and invite all his courtiers to share his merriment. His commands were obeyed with the utmost celerity, and Midas beamed with satisfaction as he took his place at the head of the board, and viewed the choice dishes and wines prepared for his delectation.
Here, too, however, a new revelation awaited him; for cloth, plate, and cup turned to gold, as did the food and drink as soon as they met his eager lips.
“Whose powerful hands the bread no sooner hold,
But all its substance is transform’d to gold:
Up to his mouth he lifts the savory meat,
Which turns to gold as he attempts to eat:
His patron’s noble juice of purple hue,
Touch’d by his lips, a gilded cordial grew,
Unfit for drink; and, wondrous to behold,
It trickles from his jaws a fluid gold.
The rich poor fool, confounded with surprise,
Starving in all his various plenty lies.”
Ovid (Croxall’s tr.).
In the midst of plenty, the gnawing pangs of hunger now made themselves felt; and the precious gift, which prevented his allaying them, soon lost all its attractions. With weary feet, Midas now retraced the road he had traveled in his pride a few hours before, again cast himself at Bacchus’ feet, and this time implored him to take back the inconvenient gift, which prevented him from satisfying his natural appetites.
His distress seemed so real, that Bacchus bade him go and wash in the Pactolus River, if he would be rid of the power which had so soon turned into a curse. Midas hastened off to the river and plunged in its tide, noting that even its sands all turned to gold beneath his tread; since when,
“Pactolus singeth over golden sands.”
Gray.