by Mary Shelley
To him I dare not speak, nor yet to Lacon;
No human ears may hear what must be told.
I cannot keep it in, assuredly;
I shall some night discuss it in my sleep.
It will not keep! Oh! greenest reeds that sway
And nod your feathered heads beneath the sun,
Be you depositaries of my soul,
Be you my friends in this extremity[:]
I shall not risk my head when I tell you
The fatal truth, the heart oppressing fact,
(stooping down & whispering)
(Enter Midas, Silenus & others, who fall back during the scene; Midas is always anxious about his crown, & Zopyrion gets behind him & tries to smother his laughter.)
Silen. (very drunk) Again I find you, Bacchus, runaway!
Welcome, my glorious boy! Another time
Stray not; or leave your poor old foster-father
In the wild mazes of a wood, in which
I might have wandered many hundred years,
Had not some merry fellows helped me out,
And had not this king kindly welcomed me,
I might have fared more ill than you erewhile
In Pentheus’ prisons, that death fated rogue.
Bac. (to Midas.) To you I owe great thanks & will reward
Your hospitality. Tell me your name
And what this country is.
Midas. My name is Midas —
The Reeds (nodding their heads).
Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.
Midas. (turning round & seizing Zopyrion).
Villain, you lie! he dies who shall repeat
Those traitrous words. Seize on Zopyrion!
The Reeds. Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.
Mid. Search through the crowd; it is a woman’s voice
That dares belie her king, & makes her life
A forfeit to his fury.
Asph. There is no woman here.
Bac. Calm yourself, Midas; none believe the tale,
Some impious man or gamesome faun dares feign
In vile contempt of your most royal ears.
Off with your crown, & shew the world the lie!
Mid. (holding his crown tight)
Never! What[!] shall a vile calumnious slave
Dictate the actions of a crowned king?
Zopyrion, this lie springs from you — you perish!
Zopy. I, say that Midas has got asses’ ears?
May great Apollo strike me with his shaft
If to a single soul I ever told
So false, so foul a calumny!
Bac. Midas!
The Reeds. Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.
Bac. Silence! or by my Godhead I strike dead
Who shall again insult the noble king.
Midas, you are my friend, for you have saved
And hospitably welcomed my old faun;
Choose your reward, for here I swear your wish,
Whatever it may be, shall be fulfilled.
Zopyr. (aside) Sure he will wish his asses’ ears in Styx.
Midas. What[!] may I choose from out the deep, rich mine
Of human fancy, & the wildest thoughts
That passed till now unheeded through my brain,
A wish, a hope, to be fulfilled by you?
Nature shall bend her laws at my command,
And I possess as my reward one thing
That I have longed for with unceasing care.
Bac. Pause, noble king, ere you express this wish[.]
Let not an error or rash folly spoil
My benefaction; pause and then declare,
For what you ask shall be, as I have sworn.
Mid. Let all I touch be gold, most glorious gold!
Let me be rich! and where I stretch my hands,
(That like Orion I could touch the stars!)
Be radiant gold! God Bacchus, you have sworn,
I claim your word, — my ears are quite forgot!
The Reeds. Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.
Mid. You lie, & yet I care not —
Zopyr. (aside to Midas) Yet might I
But have advised your Majesty, I would
Have made one God undo the other’s work —
Midas. (aside to Zopyr).
Advise yourself, my friend, or you may grow
Shorter by a head ere night. — I am blessed,
Happier than ever earthly man could boast.
Do you fulfil your words?
Bac. Yes, thoughtless man!
And much I fear if you have not the ears
You have the judgement of an ass. Farewel!
I found you rich & happy; & I leave you,
Though you know it not, miserably poor.
Your boon is granted, — touch! make gold! Some here
Help carry old Silenus off, who sleeps
The divine sleep of heavy wine. Farewel!
Mid. Bacchus, divine, how shall I pay my thanks[?]
(Exeunt.)
END OF FIRST ACT.
ACT II
Scene; a splendid apartment in the Palace of Midas.
Enter Midas
(with a golden rose in his hand).
Mid. Gold! glorious gold! I am made up of gold!
I pluck a rose, a silly, fading rose,
Its soft, pink petals change to yellow gold;
Its stem, its leaves are gold — and what before
Was fit for a poor peasant’s festal dress
May now adorn a Queen. I lift a stone,
A heavy, useless mass, a slave would spurn,
What is more valueless? ‘Tis solid gold!
A king might war on me to win the same.
And as I pass my hand thus through the air,
A little shower of sightless dust falls down
A shower of gold. O, now I am a king!
I’ve spread my hands against my palace walls,
I’ve set high ladders up, that I may touch
Each crevice and each cornice with my hands,
And it will all be gold: — a golden palace,
Surrounded by a wood of golden trees,
Which will bear golden fruits. — The very ground
My naked foot treads on is yellow gold,
Invaluable gold! my dress is gold!
Now I am great! Innumerable armies
Wait till my gold collects them round my throne;
I see my standard made of woven gold.
Waving o’er Asia’s utmost Citadels,
Guarded by myriads invincible.
Or if the toil of war grows wearisome,
I can buy Empires: — India shall be mine,
Its blooming beauties, gold-encrusted baths,
Its aromatic groves and palaces,
All will be mine! Oh, Midas, ass-eared king!
I love thee more than any words can tell,
That thus thy touch, thou man akin to Gods,
Can change all earth to heaven, — Olympian gold!
For what makes heaven different from earth!
Look how my courtiers come! Magnificent!
None shall dare wait on me but those who bear
An empire on their backs in sheets of gold.
Oh, what a slave I was! my flocks & kine,
My vineyards & my corn were all my wealth
And men esteemed me rich; but now Great Jove
Transcends me but by lightning, and who knows
If my gold win not the Cyclopean Powers,
And Vulcan, who must hate his father’s rule,
To forge me bolts? — and then — but hush! they come.
Enter Zopyrion, Asphalion, & Lacon.
Lac. Pardon us, mighty king —
Mid. What would ye, slaves?
Oh! I could buy you all with one slight touch
Of my gold-making hand!
Asph. Royal Midas,
We humbly would petition for relief.
Mid. Relief I Bring me your copper coin, your brass,
Or what ye will — ye’ll speedily be rich.
Zopyr. ‘Tis not for gold, but to be rid of gold,
That we intrude upon your Majesty.
I fear that you will suffer by this gift,
As we do now. Look at our backs bent down
With the huge weight of the great cloaks of gold.
Permit us to put on our shabby dress,
Our poor despised garments of light wool: —
We walk as porters underneath a load.
Pity, great king, our human weaknesses,
Nor force us to expire —
Mid. Begone, ye slaves!
Go clothe your wretched limbs in ragged skins!
Take an old carpet to wrap round your legs,
A broad leaf for your feet — ye shall not wear
That dress — those golden sandals — monarch like.
Asph. If you would have us walk a mile a day
We cannot thus — already we are tired
With the huge weight of soles of solid gold.
Mid. Pitiful wretches! Earth-born, groveling dolts!
Begone! nor dare reply to my just wrath!
Never behold me more! or if you stay
Let not a sigh, a shrug, a stoop betray
What poor, weak, miserable men you are.
Not as I — I am a God! Look, dunce!
I tread or leap beneath this load of gold!
(Jumps & stops suddenly.)
I’ve hurt my back: — this cloak is wondrous hard!
No more of this! my appetite would say
The hour is come for my noon-day repast.
Lac. It comes borne in by twenty lusty slaves,
Who scarce can lift the mass of solid gold,
That lately was a table of light wood.
Here is the heavy golden ewer & bowl,
In which, before you eat, you wash your hands.
Mid. (lifting up the ewer)
This is to be a king! to touch pure gold!
Would that by touching thee, Zopyrion,
I could transmute thee to a golden man;
A crowd of golden slaves to wait on me!
(Pours the water on his hands.)
But how is this? the water that I touch
Falls down a stream of yellow liquid gold,
And hardens as it falls. I cannot wash —
Pray Bacchus, I may drink! and the soft towel
With which I’d wipe my hands transmutes itself
Into a sheet of heavy gold. — No more!
I’ll sit and eat: — I have not tasted food
For many hours, I have been so wrapt
In golden dreams of all that I possess,
I had not time to eat; now hunger calls
And makes me feel, though not remote in power
From the immortal Gods, that I need food,
The only remnant of mortality!
(In vain attempts to eat of several dishes.)
Alas! my fate! ‘tis gold! this peach is gold!
This bread, these grapes & all I touch! this meat
Which by its scent quickened my appetite
Has lost its scent, its taste,—’tis useless gold.
Zopyr. (aside) He’d better now have followed my advice.
He starves by gold yet keeps his asses’ ears.
Mid. Asphalion, put that apple to my mouth;
If my hands touch it not perhaps I eat.
Alas! I cannot bite! as it approached
I felt its fragrance, thought it would be mine,
But by the touch of my life-killing lips
‘Tis changed from a sweet fruit to tasteless gold,
Bacchus will not refresh me by his gifts,
The liquid wine congeals and flies my taste.
Go, miserable slaves! Oh, wretched king!
Away with food! Its sight now makes me sick.
Bring in my couch! I will sleep off my care,
And when I wake I’ll coin some remedy.
I dare not bathe this sultry day, for fear
I be enclosed in gold. Begone!
I will to rest: — oh, miserable king!
(Exeunt all but Midas. He lies down, turns restlessly for some time & then rises.)
Oh! fool! to wish to change all things to gold!
Blind Ideot that I was! This bed is gold;
And this hard, weighty pillow, late so soft,
That of itself invited me to rest,
Is a hard lump, that if I sleep and turn
I may beat out my brains against its sides.
Oh! what a wretched thing I am! how blind!
I cannot eat, for all my food is gold;
Drink flies my parched lips, and my hard couch
Is worse than rock to my poor bruised sides.
I cannot walk; the weight of my gold soles
Pulls me to earth: — my back is broke beneath
These gorgeous garments — (throws off his cloak)
Lie there, golden cloak!
There on thy kindred earth, lie there and rot!
I dare not touch my forehead with my palm
For fear my very flesh should turn to gold.
Oh! let me curse thee, vilest, yellow dirt!
Here, on my knees, thy martyr lifts his voice,
A poor, starved wretch who can touch nought but thee[,]
Wilt thou refresh me in the heat of noon?
Canst thou be kindled for me when I’m cold?
May all men, & the immortal Gods,
Hate & spurn thee as wretched I do now.
(Kicks the couch, & tries to throw down the pillow but cannot lift it.)
I’d dash, thee to the earth, but that thy weight
Preserves thee, abhorred, Tartarian Gold!
Bacchus, O pity, pardon, and restore me!
Who waits?
Enter Lacon.
Go bid the priests that they prepare
Most solemn song and richest sacrifise; —
Which I may not dare touch, lest it should turn
To most unholy gold.
Lacon. Pardon me, oh King,
But perhaps the God may give that you may eat,
And yet your touch be magic.
Mid. No more, thou slave!
Gold is my fear, my bane, my death! I hate
Its yellow glare, its aspect hard and cold.
I would be rid of all. — Go bid them haste.
(Exit Lacon.)
Oh, Bacchus I be propitious to their prayer!
Make me a hind, clothe me in ragged skins —
And let my food be bread, unsavoury roots,
But take from me the frightful curse of gold.
Am I not poor? Alas! how I am changed!
Poorer than meanest slaves, my piles of wealth
Cannot buy for me one poor, wretched dish: —
In summer heat I cannot bathe, nor wear
A linen dress; the heavy, dull, hard metal
Clings to me till I pray for poverty.
Enter Zopyrion, Asphalion & Lacon.
Zopyr. The sacrifice is made, & the great God,
Pitying your ills, oh King, accepted it,
Whilst his great oracle gave forth these words.
“Let poor king Midas bathe in the clear stream
“Of swift Pactolus, & to those waves tran[s]fer
“The gold-transmuting power, which he repents.”
Mid. Oh joy! Oh Bacchus, thanks for this to thee
Will I each year offer three sucking lambs —
Games will I institute — nor Pan himself
Shall have more honour than thy deity.
Haste to the stream, — I long to feel the cool
And liquid touch of its divinest waves.
(Exeunt all except Zopyrion and Asphalion.)
Asph. Off with our golden sandals and our cloaks!
Oh, I shall ever hate the sight of gold!
Poor, wealthy Mi
das runs as if from death
To rid him quick of this meta[l]lic curse.
Zopyr. (aside) I wonder if his asses[‘] ears are gold;
What would I give to let the secret out?
Gold! that is trash, we have too much of it, —
But I would give ten new born lambs to tell
This most portentous truth — but I must choke.
Asph. Now we shall tend our flocks and reap our corn
As we were wont, and not be killed by gold.
Golden fleeces threatened our poor sheep,
The very showers as they fell from heaven
Could not refresh the earth; the wind blew gold,
And as we walked the thick sharp-pointed atoms
Wounded our faces — the navies would have sunk —
Zopyr. All strangers would have fled our gold-cursed shore,
Till we had bound our wealthy king, that he
Might leave the green and fertile earth unchanged; —
Then in deep misery he would have shook
His golden chains & starved.
Enter Lacon.
Lacon. Sluggards, how now I
Have you not been to gaze upon the sight?
To see the noble king cast off the gift
Which he erewhile so earnestly did crave[?]
Asph. I am so tired with the weight of gold
I bore to-day I could not budge a foot
To see the finest sight Jove could display.
But tell us, Lacon, what he did and said.
Lac. Although he’d fain have run[,] his golden dress
And heavy sandals made the poor king limp
As leaning upon mine and the high priest’s arm,
He hastened to Pactolus. When he saw