APOLLO AND MARSYAS
If the greek myths agreed about one thing,
Its the foolish recklessness of challenging the gods.
Arachne though she was a better weaver than
The goddess athena and was turned to a spider for impudence
Few were punished as severely as the satyr Marsyas whose
Story would be a warning to us all.
Mortal humans were not the only beings
Capable of exhibiting excessive pride.
The goddess Athena's injured self-regard led,
Indirectly, to the downfall of a conceited creature called MARSYAS.
It all began when Athena proudly invented
A new musical instrument which she named the aulos.
There was one problem with this splendid instrument,
Whenever Athena played it, gorgeous as the music
That emerged undoubtedly was, it elicited from her fellow
Olympians nothing but roars of laughter.
There was no way for Athena to get a good sound from it
Without blowing so hard that her cheeks bulged.
To see this goddess, the very personification of dignity,
Going all pink and swelling up like a bullfrog
Was more than her disrespectful family could take
Without howling out loud.
Wise as Athena was, and free (for the most part)
Of affectation and conceit, she was not entirely without
Vanity and could not bear to be mocked.
After three attempts to win the gods over with
The mellifluous sounds of her new instrument,
She cursed it and cast it down from Olympus.
The aulos fell to earth in Asia Minor, in the kingdom of Phrygia,
Near the source of the Maeander river
(Whose winding course lends its name to all mazy,
Wandering streams), where it was picked up by a satyr called Marsyas.
As a follower of Dionysus, Marsyas was gifted
With curiosity as well as many more disreputable traits.
He dusted the aulos off and blew into it.
A small peep was the only result.
He laughed and scratched at the tickling buzz in his lips.
He puffed and blew hard again until a
Long, loud musical note was produced.
This was fun.
He went on his way, blowing and blowing until he could,
After a surprisingly short time, play a real tune.
Within a month or two his fame had
Spread around all of Asia Minor and Greece.
He became celebrated as "Marsyas the Musical,"
Whose skill on the aulos could make trees dance and stones sing.
He reveled in the fame and adulation that his musicianship brought.
Like all satyrs he required little more than wine,
Women, and song to make him happy,
And his mastery of the third ensured a ready supply of the other two.
One evening, the fire crackling,
Maenads at his feet gazing up adoringly at him,
He called drunkenly to the heavens.
"Hey there, Apollo! You, god of the lyre! You think you're so musical,
I bet if there was a compishon . . .
A compention . . . a condition . . .
What's the word?" "Competition?" suggested a drowsy Maenad.
"One of them, yes. If there was . . . what she said . . . I'd win.
Easy. Hands down. Anyone can strum a lyre.
Boring. But my pipes. My pipes beat your strings any day. So there."
The next day Marsyas set off with
His many followers to Lake Aulocrene.
They had arranged to meet other satyrs there for a great feast
At which Marsyas would play wild,
Corybantic dances of his own composition.
Piping and dancing he led his followers in a merry trail of music
Until he turned a corner to find his way blocked by a dazzling
And disturbing spectacle.
In the meadow a stage had been erected
On which sat the nine Muses in a broad semicircle.
At the center of the stage, lyre in hand, stood Apollo,
A grim smile playing on his beautiful lips.
"Well, Marsyas," said Apollo.
"Are you ready to put your brave words to the test?"
"Words? What words?" Marsyas had forgotten his drunken
Boast of the night before.
"'If there was a competition between me and Apollo,' you said,
'I would beat him hands down.
' Now is your chance to find out if that is true.
The Muses themselves have traveled
From Parnassus to hear us and judge.
Their word is final." "B-b-but . . . I . .
." Marsyas's mouth was suddenly very dry
And his legs suddenly very wobbly.
"Are you or are you not a finer musician than I?"
Marsyas heard behind him a murmur of doubt from his followers
And the flames of his pride flared up again.
"In a fair contest," he declared with a burst of bravado,
"I can certainly outplay you." Apollo's smile widened.
"Excellent. Join me up on the stage here. I shall start.
Here is a little air. See if you can reply to it."
The most beautiful melody emerged—subtle, sweet, and seductive.
It came in four phrases, and as the last one sounded,
Marsyas's followers broke into appreciative applause.
Immediately Marsyas put the aulos to his mouth
And repeated the phrases.
But he gave each a little tweak and modulation.
A gasp of admiration from his
Followers encouraged him to end with a flourish.
Apollo replied at once with a variation on the phrases.
The complexity of his picking and strumming was marvelous to the ear,
But Marsyas responded with even greater speed,
The melody bubbling and singing from his pipes with a magical splendor
That provoked yet more applause from the audience.
Now Apollo did something extraordinary.
He turned his lyre upside down and played the phrases backward
They still held up as a tune, but now they were imbued with a mystery
And a strangeness that enthralled all who heard.
When he finished Apollo nodded to Marsyas.
Infuriated, Marsyas played for all he was worth.
His face purple with the effort and his cheeks swollen so that
It looked as if they must rupture, filling the air with a
Music that the world had never heard before.
But Apollo's divine voice,
The chords and arpeggios that flew from the golden strings
Of his lyre how could Marsyas's pipes compete with such a sound?
Panting with exhaustion, sobbing with frustration,
Marsyas cried aloud, "Not fair! My voice and breath sing into my aulos
Just as much as your voice sings out into the air.
Of course I cannot turn the instrument upside down,
But any unbiased judge can tell that my skill is the greater."
Apollo turned to the jury of Muses.
"Sweet sisters,
It is not for me to say, it is of course for you to decide.
To whom do you award the palm of victory?"
Marsyas was out of control now.
Humiliation and a burning sense of injustice
Drove him to turn on the judges.
"They can't be impartial,
They are your aunts or your
Stepsisters or some such incestuous thing.
They are family. They will never dare to . . ."
"Hush, Marsyas!" pleaded a Maenad.
"Don't listen to him, great god Apollo!" urged another.
"He's hysterical." "He's good and honorable." "He means well."
It did not take the Muses long to confer and to announce the results.
"We unanimously declare," said Euterpe, "that Apollo is the winner."
Apollo bowed and smiled sweetly.
But what he did next might make you forever think less
Of this golden and beautiful god,
The melodious Apollo of reason, charm, and harmony.
He took Marsyas and flayed the skin off him.
There is no nice way of saying this.
To punish him for his hubris in daring to challenge an Olympian,
He peeled the skin from the living body of the screaming satyr
And hung it on a pine tree as a lesson and warning to all.