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“King Midas with his daughter” by Walter Crane is in the public
domain.

The Golden Touch
By Nathaniel Hawthorne

1851

Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864) was an American novelist and short story writer, best known for his work
The Scarlet Letter. In this story, Hawthorne retells the myth of King Midas, whose wish for a “golden touch”
comes with grave consequences. As you read, take notes on how Hawthorne foreshadows the danger of
Midas’ gift, and how this helps reveal the story’s theme.

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
entirely 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 maiden 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 bequeath1

her the immensest pile of yellow, glistening 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!”

[1]

1. Bequeath (verb) to give or hand down a valuable possession

1

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And yet, in his earlier days, before he was so entirely possessed 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 smelt. These roses were still growing in the garden, as large, as
lovely, and as fragrant, as when Midas used to pass whole hours in gazing at them, and inhaling 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
innumerable2 rose-petals 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),3 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 unreasonable, 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 dreary apartment,
underground, at the basement of his palace. It was here that he kept his wealth. To this dismal 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 peckmeasure 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; sift the gold-dust through his fingers; look at the funny image
of his own face, as reflected in the burnished circumference 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 inclination 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 tiptop of
enjoyment 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 behold 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 tinge 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 intercepted 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.

[5]

2. Innumerable (adjective) too many to count
3. a reference to another myth of King Midas: after questioning the Greek god Apollo’s victory in a musical competition

against the god of wilderness Pan, Midas was cursed by Apollo with the ears of a donkey

2

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 kindly, if not beneficent,4 that it would have been unreasonable to suspect him of
intending any mischief. 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 lustrous smile had glistened 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 contrived 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 meditated. He felt a presentiment5 that this stranger, with such a golden lustre 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 beholding the
heap so diminutive,6 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.

[10]

[15]

4. Beneficent (adjective) generous, charitable, helpful
5. a feeling that something is about to happen; a premonition
6. Diminutive (adjective) very small

3

“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?”

“What could induce me?” asked Midas. “I ask nothing else, to render me perfectly happy.”

“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 beheld only one yellow sunbeam in the room, and, all around him, the glistening of the precious
metal which he had spent his life in hoarding 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 miserable 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 streak of brightness along the edge of the sky,
where Midas could not see it. He lay in a very disconsolate mood, regretting the downfall of his hopes, and kept
growing sadder and sadder, until the earliest sunbeam shone through the window, and gilded 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 astonishment and delight, when he found that
this linen fabric had been transmuted to what seemed a woven texture of the purest and brightest gold! The
Golden Touch had come to him with the first sunbeam!

Midas started up, in a kind of joyful frenzy, 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 fluted golden pillar. He pulled aside a
window-curtain, in order to admit a clear spectacle of the wonders which he was performing; and the tassel
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 illegible. He hurriedly put on his clothes, and was enraptured7 to see himself in a
magnificent suit of gold cloth, which retained its flexibility and softness, although it burdened him a little with
its weight. He drew out his handkerchief, which little Marygold had hemmed for him. That was likewise gold,
with the dear child’s neat and pretty stitches running all along the border, in gold thread!

[20]

[25]

7. Enraptured (adjective) filled with delight

4

Somehow or other, this last transformation 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 worthwhile to vex8 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,9 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 transparent 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 inconvenient 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 philosophically. “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 exalted by his good fortune, that the palace seemed not sufficiently spacious to contain
him. He therefore went down stairs, and smiled, on observing that the balustrade10 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 brass 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 fragrance 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 tranquility,11 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
indefatigably;12 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 trout, 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.

[30]

8. Vex (verb) to bother or distress
9. Perplexity (noun) confusion or bewilderment

10. A balustrade is an old term for a railing.
11. Tranquility (noun) calm or peace
12. Indefatigably (adverb) without fatigue, untiringly

5

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 sobs, he
determined 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 transmuted13 it to
gleaming gold.

Meanwhile, Marygold slowly and disconsolately14 opened the door, and showed herself with her apron at her
eyes, still sobbing 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 blighted 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
wrought the change which so greatly afflicted 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
wither in a day.”

“I don’t care for such roses as this!” cried Marygold, tossing it contemptuously15 away. “It has no smell, and the
hard petals prick 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 ornaments were now entirely lost in the yellow hue 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
extravagant style of splendor, 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.

[35]

[40]

13. to apply the fabled alchemical process of changing base metals into gold
14. Disconsolately (adverb) without cheer, in a downcast or dejected manner
15. Contemptuously (adverb) expressing hatred or disapproval

6

Amid these thoughts, he lifted a spoonful of coffee to his lips, and, sipping 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 parlor. No; but it was really a
metallic fish, and looked as if it had been very cunningly made by the nicest gold-smith in the world. Its little
bones were now golden wires; its fins 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 mortification,16 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 goose17 that had had anything to do with the matter.

“Well, this is a quandary!”18 thought he, leaning back in his chair, and looking quite enviously at little Marygold,
who was now eating her bread and milk with great satisfaction. “Such a costly breakfast before me, and nothing
that can be eaten!”

Hoping that, by dint 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 cram 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,” groaned Midas, dolefully,19 “I don’t know what is to become of your poor father!”

[45]

[50]

[55]

16. Mortification (noun) embarrassment, humiliation, or shame
17. The term “goose,” besides referring to the animal, also means idiot.
18. Quandary (noun) a state of confusion or doubt
19. Dolefully (adverb) expressing grief or sadness

7

And, truly, my dear little folks, did you ever hear of such a pitiable case in all your lives? Here was literally the
richest breakfast that could be set before a king, and its very richness made it absolutely good for nothing. The
poorest laborer, 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 ravenous would be his appetite for supper,
which must undoubtedly 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
paltry20 a consideration as a breakfast. Just imagine what a price for one meal’s victuals!21 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 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 insatiable22 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 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 infinitely
a warm and tender heart, that loved him, exceeded in value all the wealth that could be piled up betwixt23 the
earth and sky!

[60]

20. Paltry (adjective) unimportant, trivial, or inferior
21. food
22. Insatiable (adjective) impossible to satisfy
23. archaic term for “between”

8

It would be too sad a story, if I were to tell you how Midas, in the fullness 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 tumult24 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 faculty25 of the Golden Touch. The
stranger’s countenance26 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 …