When Midas transformant en or le rameau d'une yeuse, dit autrefois Numa Pompilius et la nymphe Égérie first entered the collection of Cardinal Mazarin in the mid-17th century, it was misidentified for decades as a scene of the Roman king Numa and his divine consort. This confusion speaks to the painting’s enigmatic subject, which even today draws the eye and the mind into debate. The true story, however, is rooted in the myth of King Midas, whose fateful wish for the golden touch became a cautionary tale across Europe.

The painting’s early misattribution is a testament to both the complexity of Nicolas Poussin’s storytelling and the shifting priorities of collectors and scholars through the centuries. At the heart of the scene, Poussin captures the instant when Midas, newly granted his wish by Dionysus, discovers his power by touching the branch of a holm oak, which blossoms into gold before his eyes. The king’s gesture—hesitant, almost fearful—contrasts with the lush, yet suddenly unnatural, gleam of the transformed branch. Around him, attendants and nymphs recoil or gaze in astonishment, their poses echoing ancient reliefs.

The composition’s clarity and order recall Poussin’s Roman contemporaries, but his treatment of myth is more psychological: the golden branch is both miracle and curse, its unnatural glow isolating Midas from the living world. Unlike Peter Paul Rubens’ more exuberant renditions of myth, Poussin’s approach is measured, inviting the viewer to reflect on the consequences of human desire. The painting’s early history remains partly veiled, but it is known to have been in France by the 1640s, prized by collectors who admired Poussin’s learned approach to antiquity. Its misidentification as a scene from the life of Numa Pompilius persisted into the 19th century, only corrected when scholars traced its iconography back to Ovid’s Metamorphoses.

Today, the work stands as a key example of Poussin’s early maturity, painted during his first Roman period, when he was forging his own path between French classicism and Italian innovation. Its journey from private collection to public gallery mirrors the shifting fortunes of myth itself—forever open to new readings, yet anchored in the artist’s careful hand.