{41}
The taste and feelings of Apollo responded to those of these noble sisters:
they received him in their palace, and assembled together with him to
converse on the arts and sciences.
Among their possessions, the Muses and Apollo had a winged horse, named
Pegasus. This courser, born of the blood of Medusa, fixed his residence on
Mount Helicon, and, by striking the earth with his foot, caused the spring
of Hippocrene to gush from the ground. While the courser was thus occupied,
Apollo mounted his back, placed the Muses with him, and Pegasus, lifting
his wings, carried them to the court of Bacchus.
[Illustration]
Envious of the fame of Apollo at this court, Marsyas, the Phrygian,
declared that, with his flute, he could surpass the melody of the God's
divine lyre, and challenged Apollo to a trial of his skill as a musician;
the God accepted the challenge, and it was mutually agreed, that he who was
defeated should be flayed alive. The Muses were appointed umpires. Each
exerted his utmost skill, and the victory was adjudged to Apollo. The God,
upon this, tied his opponent to a tree, and punished him as had been
agreed. The {42} death of Marsyas was universally lamented; the fauns,
satyrs and dryads, wept at his fate, and from their abundant tears flowed a
river of Phrygia, well known by the name of Marsyas.
[Illustration]
Undeterred by this example, Pan, favourite of Midas, King of Lydia, wished
also to compete with Apollo in the art of which the latter was master. Pan
began the struggle, and Midas repeated his songs with enthusiasm, without
paying the least attention to his celestial rival. Pan again sang, and
Midas repeated; when, to his surprise, the latter felt, pressing through
his hair, a pair of ears, long and shaggy. Alarmed at this phenomenon, Pan
took to flight, and the prince, desolate at the loss of his favourite, made
one of his attendants, some say his wife, the confidant of his misfortune,
begging her not to betray his trust. The secret was too great for the bosom
of its holder; she longed to tell it, but dared not, for fear of
punishment; and as the only way of consoling herself, sought a retired and
lonely spot, where she threw herself on the earth, whispering "King Midas
has the ears of an ass, King Midas has the ears of an ass." Not long after
her visit, some reeds arose in this place; and as the wind passed through
them, they repeated, "King Midas has the ears of an ass." Enraged, no less
than terrified, at this extraordinary occurrence, Midas sacrificed to
Bacchus, who, to console, granted him the special favour of turning all
that he touched into fine gold.
"Midas the king, as in the book appears,
By Phoebus was endowed with ass's ears,
Which under his long locks he well concealed;
As monarch's vices must not be revealed:
For fear the people have them in the wind.
Who long ago were neither dumb nor blind:
{43}
Nor apt to think from heaven their title springs,
Since Jove and Mars left off begetting kings.
This Midas knew, and durst communicate,
To none but to his wife his ears of state:
One must be trusted, and he thought her fit,
As passing prudent, and a parlous wit.
To this sagacious confessor he went,
And told her what a gift the Gods had sent:
But told it under matrimonial seal,
With strict injunction never to reveal.
The secret heard, she plighted him her troth,
(And secret sure is every woman's oath,)
The royal malady should rest unknown,
Both for her husband's honour and her own.
But ne'ertheless she pined with discontent,
The counsel rumbled till it found a vent.
The thing she knew she was obliged to hide:
By interest and by oath the wife was tied:
But if she told it not the woman died.
Loth to betray her husband and a prince,
But she must burst or blab, and no pretence
Of honour tied her tongue in self defence.
The marshy ground commodiously was near,
Thither she ran, and held her breath for fear
Lest, if a word she spoke of any thing,
That word might be the secret of the king.
Thus full of council to the fen she went,
Full all the way, and longing for a vent.
Arrived, by pure necessity compelled,
On her majestic marrow-bones she kneeled,
Then to the water's brink she laid her head,
And, as a bittern sounds within a reed,
'To thee alone, oh! lake,' she said, 'I tell,
And as thy queen, command thee to conceal,
Beneath his locks, the king my husband wears
A goodly, royal pair of ass's ears.
Now I have eased my bosom of the pain,
Till the next longing fit returns again!'"