KING MIDAS AND APOLLO

It would be nice to think, as many people do, that the troubles of King Midas came to an end with his
daughter’s return to life. But the truth is hard to hide. In a moment we shall see why.
Midas had learned his lesson only too well. For now he hated gold fully as much as he had once loved it.
They very sight of the yellow metal would make him cover his eyes and cry as if in pain. He had the stairway
leading to his vault filled with sand. He had all things made of gold thrown into the river. He had the yellow flowers
in his garden picked before they bloomed.
But still the king was unhappy .He wanted to be the poorest man alive, but he found it impossible to be a
poor king. Even though he dressed in rags and slept behind the stove in the palace kitchen, he was still the owner of
the stove, of the kitchen and of the whole palace. He could get rid of his gold but not of his palace or of his
kingdom. It would be years before Iris would be old enough to marry the next king, and she would not hear of the
palace being destroyed.
The only happy hours left to Midas were those he spent walking through woods and pastures far from his
home. As time passed, he began to leave the palace for days and weeks at a time. A few roots and berries were a
dainty meal to set before this king, and a bed of grass pleased him more than a bed of gold. He became a follower of
Pan, the God of the forests and fields. Pan was a small God with the legs and feet of a goat. It was he who played the
pipes that Midas loved to hear echoing across the valleys.
One afternoon, as Midas sat in the woods eating a handful of gooseberries, he heard the sound of voices
raised in argument.
“I am!” came one voice.
“No, I am!” came another.
Then the first voice said “But who is to decide?”
Midas stood up and made his way toward the voices. Soon he came upon Pan. The goat-footed god was
jumping up and down before a taller God dressed in a purple robe. The big god held stringed instruments called a
lyre in his right hand. Midas knew that this could only be Apollo [a POL O], the god of music. Standing beside the
excited Pan, Apollo looked as calm as a cloud.
Midas was joyous. “O Midas,” he told himself “What a happy man you are, what a happy man you are!”
“Ah!” Pan cried when he saw the King. “Here is a man who can be our judge. Be seated, friend, and tell us who
plays the better music.”Then, before Midas had a chance to sit down, Pan started to play merry music on his pipes.
Midas found his foot tapping to the gay country tune. His body began to rock from one side to the other .Soon the
old king was dancing a wild jig. He danced so hard that Pan finally took pity on him and stopped playing..
Now it was Apollo’s turn. Without a word, the God of music pulled up. The sleeves of his purple gown. At
the first heavenly note from his lyre the wind stopped to listen. For the five minutes that Apollo played , the only
other sound was the noise of the old king ‘s breathing.
Midas spoke up while Apollo‘s last note still hung in the air. “There is no question.” He said. “The better
music is played by Pan.”
Apollo was no longer quiet You dirty little goat-god! “he shouted. Then he turned to Midas.” and as for
you, sir, your ears are deaf to music. You have the ears of a donkey!” Midas heard a strange buzzing sound. He
cupped his hands over his ears. Why his ears were going longer! They became pointed. Soon they were covered with
hairs. He felt them move at the roots. He did have the ears of a donkey!
Alas, Midas had received another unwanted gift! Embarrassed and ashamed, he covered his head with
leaves and returned to his palace. For the rest of his days he wore a turban, a long piece of cloth wound around his
head.
This story, it is said, comes from his barber.
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