This is a chapter of Evergreen Stories by W. M. L. Hutchinson. It includes the following stories: King Midas and His Strange Adventures — Alcestis, the Noble Wife — The Real Helen — Cupid and Psyche — The Vision of Er
The huntsmen and beaters of King Midas had gone questing through every covert, every nook, of the Valley of Roses, until the long, golden afternoon had faded into twilight. But he whom the shepherds had yesterday surprised among the rose thickets was nowhere to be found. It could not be hither, as the king fancied, that his strange guest had retreated to sleep off last night’s carouse.
Midas seldom visited his rose garden, and cared nothing for its beauty; once a year he had the flowers harvested and made money out of the fragrant oil they yielded; as for the divinity which hedged the place in the eyes of the hill folk, it was nothing to him but an effective check to trespassers and pilferers. It might be true, of course, that these peerless roses had been planted by Cybele, the great goddess of the land; it was certainly well that the folk should believe so, and still better that they should believe him to be her child by some unknown mortal. And that might be true, too, for aught he knew.
Do you love classics? Are you interested in Latin? Would you like to receive cool emails about that stuff? I’m quite sure you would: join the newsletter! 📧
For Midas had not inherited his throne, but made his own way to it from a humble rank — by intrigue and bribery, as his enemies said; and like many another successful upstart, his parentage was involved in mystery.
But now, for the first time, he felt a charm in the lovely, lonely place that made him loth to depart. At sunset, he ordered his supper to be made ready and his tent pitched in the Valley, that he might pass the night there. Secure in the sanctity of that ground, he dismissed all his train except two or three slaves, to bivouac outside the rock gateway. Night came, clad in the beauty of a thousand stars; and the king lay long awake, gazing through the open doorway of the tent into the dewy, rose-scented dusk beyond. On the hillside opposite, the pines showed ebony-black under the starlight; not a breath of wind was stirring, yet presently he seemed to hear a rustling among their branches. And then a faint sound of laughter, and of tinkling cymbals… And then lights as of torches went flitting through the wood…
Were there people after all, then, who dared in spite of everything to come frolicking here of a night? Or could it be Silenus, who had been hiding in some cave or covert overlooked by the searchers? At this thought, the king was out of the tent with one bound, and running over the lawns for the hillside. He would not wake the slaves; the least noise might scare away the shy and wary game he was after. No, this time he would stalk it himself — he would steal unawares upon that wondrous old man, desire for whose company drew him like a magnet. And then — well, if persuasion would not serve, he must use force, but Silenus should not give him the slip again, either way.
As the king neared the edge of the pinewood, a soft, clear voice called from within it, “Halt, friend Midas, for he whom you seek is not here” — and the next instant a figure glided out of its dense blackness and stood before him, barring his way. And stock-still stood the king, in his surprise, gazing open-mouthed at the apparition. It was light enough, in the open meadow, under a clear heaven of stars, to make out the form of a quite young man, tall, and of a rounded slenderness almost girlish. There were vine leaves in his dark, curling hair. He wore a leopard skin for cloak, like a hunter; but no hunter ever had so white a skin as now gleamed pearly in the starlight; moreover, instead of a hunting spear, he carried a long, light wand tipped with a fir cone. His face Midas saw not clearly, except the flashing eyes, and full, curving lips that seemed to smile.
“Who are you? What brings you here?” said the king, when he found voice to speak.
“Men call me by many names,” answered the young man in his soft tones, “but to you of Phrygia I am known as Bacchus. As for what brings me here, I am come to thank you, Midas, for your hospitality to a servant of mine — one Silenus.”
“Silenus your servant — and you that speak to me, Bacchus himself!” exclaimed the king. “What mystery is all this…? I am bewildered… Give me a sign, I pray you, that you are indeed a god, else I may not believe it.”
“There needs neither sign nor wonder,” said the young man; “look me in the face.”
Classicsness 🎙️ the podcast about Classics
Subscribe gratis on your favorite platform and get the new episodes pushed right to your device as soon as they’re published!
Right now, we’re telling myths for all audiences!
Midas looked, and as he looked, such awe came over him that his heart quaked and his knees were loosened, and he fell down at the young man’s feet like one dead.
When he came to himself, Bacchus was sitting beside him on the margin of a bubbling spring that sent an ever-flowing rivulet through the valley. It was still night, but the stars were paling, and a greyness at the eastern edge of the purple sky foretold the coming dawn. The young god of the vine was regarding him with so kindly and gracious a countenance that he took courage, and began to speak with him as a man speaks with his friend. And, first, he begged to know who Silenus was, and what had become of him. “For, I think,” said he, “the old man must have put medicines in my cup to make me love him. He chanted me a long tale about I know not what — but at the time it seemed to reveal to me the secret of the universe. He was half drunk when he came in — yet he drank me and my courtiers dead asleep and then went quietly on his way. I came hither with my train in hope to catch him, for the truth is, I shall have no more pleasure in drinking without his company.”
“Silenus is indeed the best of boon companions,” said the young god. “For the rest — he is a servant of mine, as I told you; but know, Midas, that my service is perfect liberty. Were it not so, he would not endure it for a day. And I myself should have no more power to keep him, against his will, than you had, my friend.”
“Why, he is a god, then,” exclaimed Midas, on whom sudden light broke. “Fool that I was not to guess it! Yet who could think a god would put on so strange and gross a shape?”
“Nay, that is his own,” answered Bacchus, laughing; “nonetheless he is divine, though not one of us, the Olympians. He is a child of Earth, and filled with her ancient wisdom; from her, too, comes his power of prophecy. Yes, very, very wise is old Silenus — so wise, that I was given into his keeping as an infant to be brought up. Kindest of foster fathers, sagest of teachers, he proved to me. Therefore, Midas, I am fain to reward you for showing him hospitality.”
“It was little… it was nothing,” stammered the king, remembering with uneasiness that he had received Silenus in anything but a hospitable manner.
“Say not so,” replied Bacchus graciously. “Your wine, it seems, was beyond praise, and dispensed right royally. Name now whatever reward you choose, and I will grant it you.”
Do you love classics? Are you interested in Latin? Would you like to receive cool emails about that stuff? I’m quite sure you would: join the newsletter! 📧
At these words, a dazzling thought flashed through the king’s mind. His eyes sparkled with greed, and his sallow cheeks flushed darkly. Why, now he might be rich beyond his dreams! His hoard of gold —the one passion and preoccupation of his soul— should overflow the treasure chamber, fill the whole palace. Gold, yellow, shining gold… he would have mountains of it, to gloat over and worship.
Like a man intoxicated, he cried out, “Give me gold, oh, Bacchus! Let everything I touch turn into gold.”
There was a moment’s silence. Midas looked eagerly at the young god and saw, uncomprehending, a grave pity in his eyes.
“Be it so,” then slowly answered Bacchus. “As soon as you return home, you shall have your wish. And now farewell, for see, the sunrise comes, and I am tarried for in the woods yonder.”
So saying, he rose up, dipped the fir cone head of his long wand into the spring, and waved it in the face of Midas. A rainbow flickered for an instant before the king’s eyes; when it vanished, he was alone.