[ 00:00] Deep beneath the stone floors of a great palace, where the air was always cool and smelled of damp earth and old iron, a key turned in a lock. It was a heavy bronze key, worn smooth by the touch of a single man's thumb, and the sound it made as it slid into the keyhole was a low, heavy click that echoed down the dark corridor.
[ 00:30] This was the treasury of Frigia, and the man holding the key was King Midas. To the people who lived in the sunlit valleys outside the palace walls, Midas was a ruler of great fortune. His kingdom was rich, his soldiers were brave, and his palace was surrounded by gardens that were famous across the ancient world.
[ 00:56] But to Midas, the world outside was only a distraction. The only place he felt truly at peace was here, in the dark, with the door locked tight behind him.
[ 01:11] This story comes to us from the sun-drenched hills of ancient Greece, a land where people believed the gods walked among the olive groves, and the rivers held spirits of their own. Like all the best stories, it has been told and retold for thousands of years, traveling from the lips of Greek travelers to the parchment of Roman poets like Ovid, changing slightly with each voice, but keeping its true heart always the same.
[ 01:43] And in every telling, Midas begins in the dark, counting.
[ 01:49] On this particular morning, the king stepped into his vault and pulled a heavy wooden chest from the shadows into the single beam of sunlight that filtered down through a narrow grate in the ceiling. He lifted the lid. Inside lay thousands of gold coins, stamped with the faces of forgotten kings and the symbols of distant empires.
[ 02:17] Midas did not want to spend them. He did not want to buy ships or build temples or feed his people with them. He simply wanted to see them. He plunged his hands into the chest, lifting a double handful of the heavy yellow metal and letting it spill back down through his fingers. The sound was like dry autumn leaves scraping across stone, but to Midas, it was the sweetest music in the world.
[ 02:50] "Beautiful," he whispered, his voice a dry rustle in the vault. "Perfect. If only the whole world could be like this."
[ 03:01] Outside the vault, the world was indeed very different. It was soft and green and constantly changing. Midas had a daughter, a girl whose name has been lost to the centuries, but whose laughter was said to sound like water dancing over river stones. She loved the palace gardens, where she spent her days tending to the roses that grew in thick, wild hedges.
[ 03:28] These were no ordinary roses. They were the famous Frigian roses, 60-petaled and sweet-scented, filling the mountain air with a perfume so rich, it could make a traveler light-headed with joy.
[ 03:43] Every afternoon, the princess would bring a basket of these roses into the palace, hoping to draw her father out into the sunshine. She would find him sitting on his throne, his eyes fixed on the gold trim of his footstool, his mind far away in his locked vaults.
[ 04:04] "Look, Father," she would say, holding up a bloom that was the color of a summer dawn, still wet with dew. "The roses are twice as sweet today. Come walk with me in the garden. The wind is coming down from the mountains, and the air is perfect."
[ 04:23] Midas would look at the flower, and though he loved his daughter, a little sigh of disappointment would escape his lips. "It is very pretty, my child," he would say, his voice gentle but tired. "But see how the petals are already beginning to curl at the edges? By tomorrow, they will turn brown and fall into the dust. It is a pity that something so beautiful must rot. If only it were made of gold, it would never wither. It would be perfect forever."
[ 05:00] The princess would shake her head, her dark curls bouncing. "If it were made of gold, Father, it wouldn't be a rose at all. It would have no smell, and the petals would be too sharp to touch. The beauty is in the life of it, and life must change."
[ 05:19] Midas would smile, but it was the smile of a man who believed he knew a secret the rest of the world was too foolish to understand. To him, life was messy, temporary, and fragile. Gold was silent, heavy, and eternal.
[ 05:38] One evening, while Midas was walking through his beloved rose gardens, not to enjoy the flowers, but to calculate the cost of replacing the stone garden walls with polished marble, he heard a strange sound coming from the thickest part of the hedge. It was a low, rumbling snore, punctuated by the occasional happy mumble.
[ 06:04] The king called his guards, and together they parted the thorny branches. There, curled up on a bed of crushed petals, lay an old man. He did not look like a king, or a soldier, or even a respectable citizen. He was bald with a round, red nose, and a belly so large it spilled over his belt. He wore a crown of ivy leaves that had slipped sideways over one ear, and he smelled strongly of sweet fermented grapes.
[ 06:37] This was Silenus, the oldest and wisest of the satyrs, and the beloved foster father of Dionysus, the god of wine, growth, and wild places. Silenus had been wandering through the hills, enjoying the warm night and the king's excellent grapes, when he had lost his way and decided that a patch of royal roses made the finest bed in Frigia.
[ 07:03] The palace guards raised their spears, ready to drag the intruder to the dungeons, but Midas held up his hand. The king was a clever man, and he recognized the ivy crown and the wild, merry air of the sleeper. He knew that to harm a companion of Dionysus was to invite the wrath of a god who could turn men into dolphins or make vines grow from the decks of ships.
[ 07:29] "Lower your weapons," Midas commanded. "This is no ordinary beggar. We will treat him as our guest."
[ 07:36] For 10 days and 10 nights, Midas kept Silenus in his palace. He threw open his great hall and ordered his cooks to prepare the finest feasts. There were roasted meats, honeyed cakes, and jars of old wine that flowed like rivers. Silenus was delighted. He played the flute, danced clumsy dances that made the court laugh, and told wonderful stories of ancient times, when the stars were closer to the earth and the trees could speak.
[ 08:13] Midas listened to every story, but even as he smiled and filled his guest's cup, his eyes kept wandering to the gold chains around the satyr's neck, estimating their weight, calculating their worth.
[ 08:29] On the 11th morning, a great light filled the palace courtyard, and a young man appeared. He was beautiful, with dark, curling hair that smelled of grape harvests, and eyes that held the deep, mysterious green of the forest. It was Dionysus himself, come to reclaim his lost companion.
[ 08:52] The god embraced Silenus, laughing with joy to find him safe and happy. Then, turning his dark, shining eyes upon King Midas, the god spoke, and his voice was like the sound of wind through a pine forest.
[ 09:09] "King Midas," Dionysus said, "You have shown great kindness to my old teacher. You have kept his cup full and his heart light, when you could have thrown him into your dark cells. For this, I owe you a debt. Ask of me whatever gift you desire, and it shall be yours."
[ 09:29] Midas felt his heart leap into his throat. His breath came short and fast. A gift from a god! Not just any god, but the god of abundance, whose power could make the earth pour out its treasures. He did not need to think. He did not need to consult his advisors or sleep on the decision or ask his daughter what she might wish for. The desire had been burning in his chest for his entire life, growing hotter and brighter with every coin he counted in the dark.
[ 10:06] "Oh, great Dionysus," Midas said, his voice trembling with excitement. "You are indeed generous. My wish is simple. Let everything I touch be turned into bright, shining gold."
[ 10:22] The courtyard fell utterly silent. The wind stopped rustling the olive trees. The birds in the rafters ceased their singing. Even Silenus stopped his quiet snoring and looked up, his old eyes suddenly clear and sharp. Dionysus did not smile. The warmth left his beautiful face, replaced by a deep, knowing sadness. He looked at Midas not with anger, but with a pity that made the king feel suddenly cold in the morning sun.
[ 10:56] "Is this truly what you want, Midas?" the god asked, his voice low and heavy. "Think carefully. The earth holds many treasures that do not shine in the dark. There is the gold of the wheat field, the gold of the autumn leaf, the gold of a child's hair. Are you sure you wish for this?"
[ 11:17] Midas nodded eagerly, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "I am sure. What is wheat but food that is gone tomorrow? What is a leaf but waste that rots in the rain? Gold is the only thing that lasts. Give me the golden touch, and I will make Frigia the wonder of the world."
[ 11:43] Dionysus sighed, a sound like dry leaves scraping across a tomb. "So be it," he said. "Your wish is granted. When the first light of tomorrow's sun touches your face, your gift will begin. Go now, King Midas, and enjoy your wealth."
[ 12:08] With a flash of light that smelled of crushed grapes and damp earth, the god and the satyr vanished, leaving the courtyard empty.
[ 12:18] Midas stood alone in the quiet yard, his heart pounding like a war drum. He looked at his hands. They looked exactly the same, pale, slightly wrinkled at the knuckles, with the heavy signet ring of Frigia on his finger. He reached out to touch the stone pillar beside him, but nothing happened.
[ 12:41] "Tomorrow," he whispered to himself, his eyes wide. "He said tomorrow, at the first light of dawn."
[ 12:51] That night, Midas could not sleep. He lay in his great bed, staring at the high ceiling, watching the moon trace its slow path across the sky. The hours seemed to crawl like snails. He found himself counting the beat of his own heart, imagining the sun rising over the eastern mountains, bringing with it a world made of light.
[ 13:15] He thought of his daughter, sleeping in her chamber down the hall. "She will see," he thought happily. "She will see that I was right. I will make her a crown that will never lose its luster. I will make her a garden where the flowers never fade. We will be the richest monarchs who have ever lived, and our names will be remembered until the end of time."
[ 13:43] At last, the dark blue of the night sky began to soften into gray. A single bird chirped in the garden. Then, a thin, bright line of pink appeared on the horizon, and the first ray of the morning sun pierced the window of the king's bedchamber, striking him directly across the eyes. Midas sat up. The moment had come.
[ 14:13] Slowly, carefully, as if he were reaching into a nest of sleeping hornets, Midas extended his right hand. He let his fingertips rest on the heavy linen coverlet of his bed. For a second, nothing happened. Then, starting from the exact spot where his fingers touched the fabric, a yellow light began to spread. It ran like water through the threads, but where it passed, the soft linen did not wet. It stiffened.
[ 14:50] The pale gray color of the cloth vanished, replaced by a brilliant metallic gleam. Midas pulled his hand back. The coverlet lay there, but it was no longer fabric. It was a sheet of solid gold, woven from threads so fine they looked like silk, but when he touched it again, it was cold and heavy. It did not bunch in his hand. It clinked.
[ 15:21] A wild, childish laugh escaped the king's throat. "It's real!" he gasped. "It's true!" He leapt out of bed, his bare feet hitting the stone floor. He turned and touched the wooden frame of his bedpost. The dark oak instantly turned to a rich, warm yellow. The carved figures of lions on the posts became solid gold statues, their wooden eyes now shining with a metallic glare.
[ 15:53] Midas ran through his chamber like a man possessed. He touched the bronze lamp on his table. It became gold. He touched the iron key in his door. It became gold. He touched his heavy woolen robe as he pulled it over his shoulders, and as his fingers brushed the hem, the entire garment turned into a robe of spun gold, so heavy that it made his shoulders ache. But he did not care. He felt like a god walking among mortals.
[ 16:25] He flung open his door and ran out into the palace gardens. The morning air was cool and sweet, but Midas had no time for the air. He ran to the nearest oak tree and snatched a low-hanging twig. The moment his fingers closed around the bark, the green leaves stiffened into thin plates of metal, and the twig became a bar of solid gold. He threw it down. It hit the path with a heavy thud.
[ 17:01] He laughed aloud, the sound echoing through the quiet gardens. He bent down and scooped up a handful of dark soil from the garden path. As the dirt spilled through his fingers, it was no longer dirt. It was a shower of glittering gold dust that sparkled in the morning sun.
[ 17:23] "I am the richest man in the world!" he shouted to the empty sky. "I am greater than the gods themselves!" He hurried into his daughter's beloved rose garden. The bushes were heavy with the morning's blooms, their petals soft and fragrant, covered in dew. Midas walked down the rows, his hands flying from side to side. He touched a pink rose, and its soft color vanished into a brilliant yellow shine.
[ 17:55] He touched a white rose, and its delicate petals became hard and sharp. He touched the stems, and the sharp thorns turned to golden needles. Within minutes, the entire garden was transformed. The sweet, heavy scent of the Frigian roses was gone, replaced by the clean, metallic smell of polished brass. The gentle rustle of the wind through the leaves was replaced by a hard, clattering sound, like hundreds of small shields striking one another.
[ 18:29] Midas stood in the center of his golden forest, his chest heaving with excitement. It was magnificent. The sun reflected off the thousands of golden petals, creating a light so bright it made his eyes water. "They will never die now," he whispered, his heart swelling with pride. "They are perfect."
[ 18:57] He felt a sudden, sharp pang in his stomach. The excitement and the running had given him a tremendous appetite. He realized he had not eaten since the night before, and the heavy golden robe on his shoulders was making him sweat. "A feast!" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I must have a feast to celebrate the greatest day in the history of the world."
[ 19:23] He turned and walked back toward the palace, his heavy golden robe swishing against his legs with a dry, metallic rattle. He felt like a king who had conquered the stars. He did not see the tiny brown sparrow that had been sitting on the twig he touched, now lying in the grass, a small, heavy statue of solid gold, its wings frozen mid-flutter.
[ 19:53] In the great banqueting hall, the servants had prepared a breakfast fit for a sovereign. Midas sat at the long wooden table, which had already turned to solid gold where his elbows rested. Before him lay platters of roasted meats, bowls of fresh figs and plums, loaves of warm barley bread, and pitchers of cool water and rich red wine. The smell of the hot bread filled the room, making the king's mouth water.
[ 20:30] "Leave us," Midas ordered his servants. "I wish to dine alone today." He wanted no one to see his triumph until he had savored it himself. When the heavy doors closed behind the last servant, Midas reached out his hand. He was starving, and his throat was dry from his shouting in the garden.
[ 20:54] He reached for a ripe, purple fig, its skin soft and dusty with yeast. The moment his thumb and forefinger pinched the fruit, the soft skin hardened. The deep purple color faded into a dull yellow. He held in his hand a perfect, solid gold fig.
[ 21:19] Midas frowned. He set the golden fig down on the table. It made a sharp clink against the golden platter. "Well," he muttered to himself, "that is only natural. I must be more careful." He reached for a loaf of barley bread. He tried to tear off a piece, but his fingers could not sink into the crust. The loaf had become as hard as an anvil. He took up his bronze knife and tried to cut it, but the knife struck the bread with a shower of sparks and a high-pitched ping. The bread was solid gold.
[ 21:58] A small, cold knot of worry began to form in Midas's stomach. He pushed the bread aside and reached for a bowl of roasted meat. He managed to scoop up a piece with a spoon, but the moment the meat touched his lips, it turned to a cold, hard lump of metal. He nearly broke his teeth trying to bite it. He spit it out onto the floor, where it rolled like a lead bullet.
[ 22:29] "Water!" he gasped, his throat suddenly feeling as dry as the desert sands. "I only need a drink of water!" He took up the silver pitcher, which turned to gold in his grasp. He poured the cool, clear water into a cup, and then raised the cup to his mouth. He tilted his head back, letting the water flow toward his parched lips.
[ 22:56] But the water did not wet his tongue. The moment the liquid touched his lips, it froze. It did not turn to ice, but to a solid yellow bar of gold that slid out of the cup and struck him in the teeth, nearly choking him. He dropped the cup, and it clattered across the floor, spilling a stream of solid, frozen golden water that lay on the stones like a yellow snake.
[ 23:24] Midas sank back into his throne. The heavy golden robe felt like a suit of lead armor, pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He looked at the table. It was loaded with enough food to feed a dozen men, but to him, it was a display of weapons. The grapes were like marbles of brass. The bread was like yellow granite. The wine was a solid block of metal inside the pitcher.
[ 23:54] "No," Midas whispered, his voice cracking with dry thirst. "No, this cannot be."
[ 24:01] He reached out and touched his own cheek. His skin felt warm and soft, but he knew that if he put his fingers in his mouth, his tongue would turn to metal. He was the richest man in the world, and he was going to die of hunger. He was the sovereign of Frigia, and he could not buy a single drop of water to wet his throat.
[ 24:29] The wealth that had seemed so beautiful only an hour ago, now looked like a cage. The yellow light reflecting off the walls seemed to mock him. Every gold coin in his treasury, every golden leaf in his garden, was a link in a chain that was slowly tightening around his neck.
[ 24:52] He fell to his knees on the cold floor, his heavy robes clashing around him. He looked at his hands, the hands that had brought him this terrible power. They looked so ordinary, yet they carried a curse that could destroy everything they touch.
[ 25:11] "Dionysus!" he cried out, his voice hoarse and desperate. "Hear me, oh god of the vine! I was a fool! I did not understand! Take back your gift! Take my kingdom, take my palace, take every coin I have ever counted! Only let me eat! Only let me drink!"
[ 25:35] But the hall was silent. The only answer was the dull, yellow glare of the golden table, reflecting his own terrified face back at him.
[ 25:47] As Midas lay on the floor, weeping with dry, parched eyes, the heavy wooden doors of the hall swung open. Through the doorway came his daughter. She was holding one of the golden roses from the garden, but her face was not filled with wonder. Her eyes were red from crying, and her lips were trembling.
[ 26:15] "Father," she sobbed, holding up the heavy metal flower. "Look what has happened to the garden! Someone has ruined the roses! They are all hard and yellow, and they have no smell. Even the earth is like brass. What monster has done this?"
[ 26:37] Midas looked up at her, his heart breaking. He saw the tears on her soft cheeks, and he saw the genuine sorrow in her eyes. To her, the loss of the roses was the loss of something beautiful and alive. She did not care about the value of the gold. She only cared about the life that had been stolen from the garden.
[ 27:04] "It was I, my child," Midas said, his voice a low, dry rattle. "I did it."
[ 27:14] The princess stopped, her eyes wide with confusion. "You, Father? But why? You loved the roses. You know how much they mean to me."
[ 27:27] "I thought... I thought I was making them perfect," Midas whispered, his head hanging down. "I thought I was making something that would last forever. But I was blind. I have brought a curse upon myself. I cannot eat. I cannot drink. Everything I touch turns to this cold, dead metal."
[ 27:52] Seeing her father, the great king of Frigia, kneeling on the floor, weeping and covered in dust, the princess forgot all her anger about the roses. She saw only her father, whom she loved, in deep and terrible pain.
[ 28:10] "Oh, Father!" she cried, her voice full of tenderness. "Do not weep!" She ran toward him, her arms outstretched. "No!" Midas screamed, waving his hands in the air, trying to push her back. "Stay back! Do not touch me!"
[ 28:31] But she was too fast, and her love was too strong to be stopped by his warning. Before he could pull himself away, she threw herself onto her knees beside him and wrapped her warm arms tight around his neck. For a fraction of a second, Midas felt the wonderful, life-giving warmth of her body. He felt her soft hair against his cheek, and he smelled the sweet scent of the mountain wind and the pine forests that still clung to her clothes. It was the sweetest thing he had ever felt, a thousand times more beautiful than all the gold in the universe.
[ 29:14] And then, it was gone. Under his arms, the soft warmth of her body began to stiffen. The gentle pressure of her hug turned to a hard, unyielding weight. Midas gasped, his heart stopping in his chest. He pulled back to look at her face. Her soft, dark curls had turned to thick, heavy wires of spun gold, frozen mid-fall. Her pale skin had lost its warmth, turning into a polished yellow surface that reflected the cold light of the hall.
[ 29:51] Her beautiful eyes, which had been filled with tears of sympathy only a moment before, were now two hard, glittering gems of yellow gold, staring blankly into the distance. Her lips, which had been parted in a word of comfort, were frozen into a silent, metallic curve. She was no longer his daughter. She was a statue.
[ 30:16] Midas let out a cry that was not like the voice of a man, but the howl of a wounded animal. He threw his arms around the golden figure of his child, but there was no comfort in the embrace. She was cold. She was heavy. She did not hug him back. Her golden arms remained frozen in the shape of a hug that would never finish.
[ 30:47] "What have I done?" he screamed into the empty hall, his tears finally flowing, wetting the cold gold of her shoulder and sliding off like rain on a sheet. "What have I done?"
[ 31:03] He looked at his hands, and for the first time in his life, he hated them. He hated the gold. He hated the shine of it, the weight of it, the eternal, dead perfection of it. He would have given his crown, his palace, his kingdom, and his own life to hear her laugh just once more, or to see her eyes blink, or to feel the warmth of her hand in his. He was the richest man in the world, and he was completely, utterly alone.
[ 31:42] Midas did not know how long he lay there, holding the cold metal statue of his daughter. The sun climbed high into the sky, casting bright, mocking beams through the windows, and then began its long descent toward the western hills. The king did not move. He did not call his servants. He did not try to eat or drink. He simply wept, his tears the only soft, living thing in a room made of metal.
[ 32:18] At last, when the shadows had grown long and blue across the floor, Midas raised his head. His throat was so dry it felt as if it were coated in sand, and his eyes were swollen and red. He fell to his knees before the golden statue of his child, and raised his hands to the ceiling.
[ 32:40] "Dionysus!" he cried, his voice a broken whisper. "I beg of you, have mercy! I have learned my lesson. I know now that the poorest beggar in Frigia, who can hold his child in his arms and share a crust of dry bread, is richer than I. Take this curse from me! Let me be poor! Let me be a servant! Let me be nothing! Only give me back my daughter!"
[ 33:11] For a long moment, there was no sound but the sighing of the wind through the golden garden outside. Then, a soft, warm breeze blew through the high windows of the hall. It smelled of crushed grapes, damp earth, and the sweet, wild scent of the forest after a summer rain. The yellow glare of the room seemed to soften, and a voice spoke, not from the air, but from inside Midas's own mind. It was the voice of Dionysus, and it was no longer sad, but gentle, like a father speaking to a child who had learned a hard lesson.
[ 33:52] "Your eyes are open at last, King Midas," the voice said. "The gold that you loved so well is only a shadow. True wealth is that which can grow and change and die and be born again. Do you truly wish to be rid of the golden touch?"
[ 34:14] "With all my soul!" Midas wept. "I would give every ounce of gold in the world to be free of it!"
[ 34:23] "Then go," the god said. "Leave your palace. Do not look back at your treasures. Walk toward the mountains until you find the source of the great river Pactolus. Follow the river up to its headwaters, where the water bubbles up from the deep earth in a pool of white foam. Plunge your head and your hands into the water, and let the gold flow out of you. Wash away your greed, and you shall wash away your curse."
[ 34:55] Midas did not wait. He did not even pause to put on his shoes. He leapt to his feet, his heavy golden robes clashing, and ran out of the palace. He ran through the streets of his city. The citizens of Frigia stared in wonder as their king fled past them, barefoot, his hair wild, his clothes stiff with gold, weeping as he ran. He did not look at them. He did not look at the great temples or the rich markets. He looked only toward the dark, purple peaks of the mountains in the distance.
[ 35:32] He ran for miles, his feet cut by the sharp stones of the path, his chest burning for want of breath. His throat was so parched, he felt as if he were breathing fire, but he did not stop. He followed the winding path of the river Pactolus, watching the water rush over the gray stones, longing to drink, but knowing that one touch of his lips would turn the river to a highway of yellow metal.
[ 36:04] At last, high up in the mountain passes, where the pine trees grew thick and the air was cold and sweet, he found it. The river emerged from a deep, dark cleft in the rock, bubbling up into a wide, quiet pool of white foam, before rushing down into the valley below.
[ 36:25] Midas threw himself down on the wet grass. He did not hesitate. He plunged his hands deep into the icy water, and then thrust his entire face into the foaming pool. A strange, wonderful sensation washed over him. It felt as if a heavy, cold skin were being peeled away from his body.
[ 36:48] Deep in the pool, he saw a marvelous thing. From his fingertips and his hair, a thick, yellow stream began to flow. It looked like liquid fire, but it was gold, pure, heavy gold, washing out of his veins and settling onto the sandy bottom of the riverbed. The water around him shined with a brilliant, metallic light. And then, as the current swept it away, the water became clear and bright once more.
[ 37:20] Midas pulled his head out of the water. He looked at his hands. They were wet. They were red from the cold. He reached out and touched a rough, gray stone on the bank of the river. He held his breath.
[ 37:35] The stone remained gray. It remained rough. It was wet with river water, but it did not turn to gold. Midas let out a sob of pure joy. He scooped up a handful of the cold river water in his palms and brought it to his mouth. He drank. The water was sweet and cold and wet. It did not freeze. It flowed down his parched throat like life itself, filling him with a warmth that no gold could ever give.
[ 38:12] "Thank you," he whispered to the water. "Thank you."
[ 38:18] But his joy was not complete. He stood up, his wet clothes clinging to his shivering body, and looked back down the mountain path toward the palace. He had washed away the curse from his own body. But what of his daughter? He turned and ran back down the mountain, his feet flying over the stones, his heart filled with a desperate hope.
[ 38:42] When King Midas reached the palace, he did not go to his treasury. He did not look at the golden walls of his courtyard. He ran straight into the great banqueting hall. The room was just as he had left it, cold and silent, filled with the yellow glare of his foolishness.
[ 39:05] In the center of the room, stood the golden statue of his daughter, her arms still frozen in that final, loving embrace. Midas carried in his hands a simple earthen jar, filled to the brim with the cold water of the river Pactolus. He had carried it all the way down the mountain, careful not to spill a single drop.
[ 39:32] He approached the statue of his child. His hand shook as he raised the jar. "Let the water bring life," he whispered. He tipped the jar, pouring the cold river water over her golden head. For a second, the water simply ran off her metallic hair, dripping onto the floor with a hollow sound.
[ 39:58] Midas's heart sank. Had he been too late? Was the curse too strong to be undone? Then, a tiny miracle began to unfold. Where the water touched the gold, the yellow shine began to fade. It was like watching the sun go behind a cloud. The cold, hard metal softened, turning back into the dark, rich brown of her curls.
[ 40:27] The yellow color of her skin vanished, replaced by the warm, pink flush of life. Her chest gave a sudden, sharp heave. She let out a soft gasp, and her eyes, no longer hard yellow gems, but deep and brown, blinked in the light of the setting sun. Her arms, which had been frozen in metal, softened and dropped to her sides. She looked around the room, her face filled with confusion, as if she had just woken from a long, deep sleep.
[ 41:05] "Father?" she said, her voice like water dancing over stones. "What happened? I had the strangest dream. I dreamed that the world had turned cold, and that you were lost in the dark."
[ 41:23] Midas did not answer with words. He threw his arms around her, holding her so tight, he could feel the steady, beautiful beat of her heart against his chest. He cried, but these were tears of pure joy, wetting her soft hair and her warm shoulders. "You are safe," he whispered, his voice cracking. "You are here."
[ 41:52] "Of course I am here, Father," she said, smiling and wrapping her arms around him. "But why are you crying? And why are you so wet?"
[ 42:03] Midas laughed, a sound that was full of a new, clean lightness. "It is nothing, my child. Only that I have found my treasure, and it is warmer than I ever imagined."
[ 42:18] From that day forward, King Midas was a changed man. He ordered his servants to take all the gold from his treasuries and use it to build schools, hospitals, and parks for his people. He had the golden walls of his palace covered in plaster, and he threw open the doors to the wind and the rain. He spent his days not in the dark vaults beneath the earth, but in the gardens, helping his daughter tend to her roses, which grew back sweeter and more beautiful than ever before.
[ 42:51] He never counted his coins again. He found his wealth in the taste of a ripe plum, the coldness of a drink of water, the smell of the mountain air, and most of all, in the sound of his daughter's laughter. To this day, travelers who visit the river Pactolus in Turkey can see the sands at the bottom of the riverbed shining with a strange, golden light. The people of that land say it is the gold of King Midas, still washing away in the current, a reminder of the king who had to lose everything to find what was truly worth having.
[ 43:34] And so, we leave Midas in his garden, holding a simple red rose that will wither by tomorrow, and being perfectly content that it should be so. But before you close your eyes and let the quiet of the night take you, there is a small thought to carry with you into your dreams. It is the question that Midas had to answer for himself, and it is one that every traveler must face sooner or later.
[ 44:04] When you finally get exactly what you wished for, how do you know if it was worth wishing?