Music Welcome to Snewscast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us on Snewscast.com and follow us on Instagram at Snewscast to find behind the scenes content. If you enjoy our show, you can support us by writing our review on the Apple Podcasts app, or sharing your favorite episode as an Instagram or Facebook story. And of course, you can share us with a friend. If you would like to get an email once a week with upcoming sleep stories and other news, subscribe to the snooze letter at snoozecast.com. This episode is brought to you by our Patreon supporters and by Sunbeams. Tonight, we'll read a short story called The Golden Touch from A Wonder Book and Tangle Wood Tales by Nathaniel Hawthorne, published in 1910. This episode is dedicated to our patron, Catherine, who is craving something from Greek mythology And our listener, Sue, who suggested this particular one. Let's get cozy. Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now take a few deep breaths. Once upon a time, there lived a very rich man and a king besides whose name was Midas, and he had a little daughter named 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 mightest 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 bequeath her the largest pile of yellow, glistening coin that had ever been heaped together since the world was made. Yet in his earlier, 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 most beautiful 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 mightest used to pass whole hours, engaging at them, and inhaling their perfume. 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. From the dungeon-like window fell a sunbeam that he valued 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 through the gold dust through his fingers, look at the funny image of his own face, 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. Mightest called himself a happy man, but felt that he was not yet quite so happy as he might be. The very tip-top of enjoyment would never be reached unless the whole world were to become his treasure room and be filled with the yellow metal which should be all his own. 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 up suddenly, what should he behold but the figure of a stranger standing in the bright and narrow sunbeam? It was a young man with the cheerful and ruddy face, whether it was the imagination of King Midas through a yellow tinge over everything, or whatever the cause might be, he could not help fancing 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. As might as 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 His visitor must be something more than mortal. It is no matter about telling you who he was. The stranger gazed about the room, and when his lustreous 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 contained 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? Might as 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. Might has paused and meditated. He felt at present with the stranger, who had such a golden luster in his good-heumoured 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. Raising his head, he looked the lustriest 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 wary of collecting my treasures with so much trouble and beholding the heap so diminutive. 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 del, where the yellow, atominal leaves, for so looked the lumps and particles of gold,

ly strewn in the glow of light. The golden touch exclaimed he, you certainly deserve credit, friend of 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? It could induce me, asthmitis.

I ask nothing else to render me perfectly happy. Be it as you wish, then. Reply the stranger, waving his hand in token of farewell, tomorrow, sunrise. You will find yourself gifted with the golden touch. The figure of the stranger then became exceedingly bright and might as involuntarily closed his eyes. When 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. Day had hardly peeped over the hills when King Midas was brought 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 this 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 lustrious stranger, or else that the latter had been making game of him, and what a miserable of fair 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 touch. this while, it was only the gray of the morning, with but a streak of brightness along the edge of the sky, where mightest could not see it. He lay in a very sad 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 might as 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 and transmuted to what seemed a woven texture of the purest and brightest gold.

The gold and t- 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. Might has 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 bedposts and it became immediately a fluted golden pillar. He drew out his hankerchief, 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. Somehow or other, this last transformation did not quite please King Midas. He would And 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 vex 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, 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. Its struck might as 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 Mary Gold 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 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, did these roses seem to be. But might as knew away 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 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. 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 mightest 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. Mary Gold slowly opened the door and showed herself with her apron at her eyes, still sobbing as if her heart would break. Hey, my little lady, cried by this. 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 might as had so recently transmuted. Beautiful! Exclaimed our father. And what is there in this magnificent golden rose to make you cry? No, 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 stressed, 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 me. But dear, dear me, what do you think has happened? Such a misfortune. the beautiful roses that smelled so sweetly and had so many lovely blushes are plated and spoiled. They are grown quite yellow as you see this one and have no longer any fragrance. What can happen to matter with them?

Oh. and have no longer any fragrance. What can have been the matter with them? Paul, my dear little girl, pray, don't cry about it," said Midas, who was ashamed to confess that he himself had wrought the charge 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 one, which will last hundreds of years for an ordinary one which would wither in a day. I don't care if her roses such as this, cried Mary Gold, tossing it away. It has no smell and the hard petals prick my nose. 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. 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. Ah, exclaimed Midas, rather a guest. What is the matter, Father? Asked little Mary Gold, gazing at him, with the tears still standing in her eyes. Nothing child, nothing, said Midas. Eat your milk before it gets cold. He took one of the smoking hot pancakes and had scarcely broken it, when, to his mortification, though a moment before, it had been of the whitest wheat. It assumed the yellow hue of Indian meal. Almost into spare, he helped himself to a boiled egg, which immediately underwent a change, similar to those of the cake. Well, this is a quandary, 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. 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 melee potato, but of solid metal. Father, dear father,

cried little Mary gold,

who was a very affectionate child.

Pray. Father, dear father, cried little Mary gold, who is a very affectionate child. Pray, what is the matter? Have you burnt your mouth? Ah, dear child, groaned minus, doldfully. I don't know what is to become of your father. 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 medal that he would still have refused to give up the golden touch for so paltry a consideration as breakfast. Just imagine what a price for one meals, visuals. It would be quite too dear, thought-minus. Nevertheless, so great was his hunger and the perplexity of his situation that he again grown, no loud, and very grievously, too, are pretty marrying old, couldn't her 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. with a sweet and sorrowful impulse to comfort him.

She started from her chair and running to Midas through 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, my the gold in 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 Mary Gold'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. Little Mary Gold 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 waltful sight that ever mortal saw. All the features and tokens of Mary Gold were there. 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. While he was in this tumult of despair, he suddenly beheld the smiling stranger standing near the door. Might have spent 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 faculty of the Golden Touch. 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 in need, 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 mightest. And I have lost all that my heart really cared for. Ah, so you have made discovery since yesterday. Observed the stranger, let us see then. Which of these two things do you think is really worth the most?

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