Once upon a time there was a king named Midas, who ruled Phrygia, a rich kingdom in Asia.

Midas had everything: a beautiful palace, enormous gardens, loyal servants, and a beloved daughter. But there was one thing he loved more than anything else: gold. He said gold was the most beautiful thing in the world, because it shone, it never spoiled, and it was worth more than everything. He spent hours admiring his treasure, the coins, the goblets, the jewels, and he would sigh softly:

"Ah, if only I could, I would have everything made of gold."

One day, Midas's servants found a little old man asleep in the palace gardens, still dizzy from a feast. It was Silenus, the old satyr who had been tutor and dear friend to the god Dionysus. He had wandered away from the god's procession and ended up sleeping there.

The servants wanted to throw him out, but Midas was kind.

"Let the old fellow be. Give him food and a good place to rest."

For ten days, Midas treated Silenus as a guest of honor. They held feasts, told stories, laughed together.

When Silenus had recovered, Midas brought him back to Dionysus, the god of wine, feasting, and joy. The god was overjoyed to see his friend again.

"Midas, you cared for my dear Silenus with kindness and generosity. For that, I will grant you a wish. Anything you want. Ask."

Midas did not even need to think. His eyes lit up at once.

"Great Dionysus, I wish that everything I touch would turn to gold!"

Dionysus frowned.

"Are you sure? That wish could..."

"I am sure," Midas said quickly. "It is all I have ever wanted."

Dionysus sighed deeply.

"Very well. Your wish is granted. From sunrise tomorrow, everything you touch will turn to gold."

And the god vanished. Midas could hardly sleep that night, he was so excited. Tomorrow, he thought, he would be the richest man in the world.

When the sun rose, Midas woke and, still lying down, touched the covers of his bed. They turned to pure gold.

"It works," whispered Midas, dazzled. "It really works."

He leapt out of bed and went about touching everything: the chair turned to gold, the table turned to gold, the pillows, the curtains, everything turned to gold beneath his fingers. Midas laughed to himself, delighted with his own riches.

Then he went down to the garden. He touched the flowers, and they became flowers of gold. He touched the trees, and they turned golden and stiff. He touched the stones along the path, the water of the fountain, the columns, the statues, the walls. Everything, everything turned to gold.

"My garden is the most valuable in the world," he said, pacing back and forth.

The servants watched from a distance, astonished, unable to understand what was happening to the king.

After hours of transforming things, Midas grew hungry. He sat at the table, and the servants brought a banquet.

He picked up a piece of bread — and the bread turned to solid gold. He found it strange, but picked up a grape. Gold. He picked up the cheese. Gold. He picked up the meat. Gold. He raised the cup of wine to his lips, and the liquid hardened into gold in his mouth. Midas spat it out, frightened.

"No... I cannot eat."

The panic grew slowly. How was he going to eat? How was he going to drink? He tried water, and it turned to gold. He tried fruit, and it turned to gold. Everything that came near his mouth hardened and gleamed.

"What have I done?" whispered Midas. "I am going to starve in the middle of all this gold."

Just then his little daughter, a girl of about eight, came running into the room. She knew nothing about any of it.

"Papa! Papa, why are you sad?"

"Darling, don't..." cried Midas.

But it was too late. The girl hugged her father.

The instant she touched him, she became a golden statue. She stood frozen in the middle of the hug, eyes open, without life. Only gold, cold and shining.

Midas fell to his knees. He tried to hold the statue, but it was only icy metal. He wept as he had never wept in his life.

"My daughter... my little girl... what have I done?"

Midas cried for a long time, kneeling before his golden daughter.

"I wanted gold more than anything," he said softly. "And now I have gold... but I have lost what really matters. What good is all the gold in the world, if I cannot hug my daughter?"

Then he raised his eyes to the sky and called out with all his heart:

"Dionysus! Please, come back. I have been a fool."

Dionysus appeared. He was serious, but not angry.

"Midas, I tried to warn you. You would not listen."

"I know," Midas wept. "I was greedy and blind. I have learned my lesson: gold is worth nothing next to love, next to my daughter, next to life itself. Please, take this power from me. Give me back my daughter. I will do anything."

Dionysus nodded slowly.

"You have learned, and that is good. Go to the river Pactolus and wash yourself in the waters of its spring. That will remove the power. Then carry water from the river and pour it over whatever you wish to undo."

Midas ran to the river Pactolus and plunged his head into the spring. He felt the power flow out of him, like a great weight lifted from his shoulders. He touched a stone, and it stayed a stone.

Then he filled jars with river water and hurried back to the palace. With trembling hands, he poured the water over the golden statue of his daughter.

The gold melted away. The girl blinked, breathed, came back to life.

"Papa?"

"My daughter!" Midas hugged her, crying with joy. "You are alive, you are alive."

Midas poured water on the flowers, and they became real flowers again. He poured it on the trees, and they grew green and alive once more. But he did not undo everything: he left one golden column in the palace, on purpose.

"This column stays," he said, "so that I never forget my madness."

Then he sat down at the table and ate real bread, warm and soft.

"This is the most delicious meal of my life," he said, smiling. "Because it is not made of gold."

And he hugged his daughter once more, tightly.

"You are worth more than all the gold in the world."

They say that from that day on, the river Pactolus always carried nuggets of gold in its waters, because it was there that Midas washed away his golden power.

And Midas lived for many more years. He was never greedy again: he shared his riches and was generous to everyone. And he liked to repeat that gold cannot buy happiness, cannot buy love, and cannot buy life — because the most precious things in the world are not made of gold.

And he was absolutely right.