The Story Of Apollo & Marsyas

If the Greek myths agree about one thing, it is the foolish

Recklessness of challenging the gods. Arachne thought she was

A better weaver than the goddess Athene, and was turned into

A spider for her impudence. Few were punished as severely as

The satyr Marsyas, whose story should 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 satyr 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 revelled 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 were a compition

. A compention... a condition... what's the word?"

"Competition?" suggested a drowsy Maenad

"One of them, yes! If there was a... what she said... I'd

Win! Easy! Hands down! Anyone can strum a lute. 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

Aulocrine. 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 centre of the stage, lute 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 travelled from Parnassus

To hear us and judge. Their word is final

B-b-but I...!

Are you, or are you not a finer musician than I?

B-but... but I...

Marcius heard behind him a murmur of doubt from his

Followers, and the flames of his pride flared up again

In a fair contest, I can certainly outplay you!

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

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?

They can't be impartial! They're 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 it

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