All signs point to the center of Andrea Sacchi’s Crowned by Apollo painting

Crowned by Apollo hangs in a really prominent position at the Met and it’s pretty huge at nearly eight feet tall. Based on everything we’ve ever learned about art and drawing technique we know the artist is using the lines of the body to focus our attention towards the center of the painting where a really well-maintained shiny, golden harpsichord sits in the background. JUST KIDDING! This painting is not about the harpsichord. This painting is about balls. All about balls. 

There are three players in this scenario: In the center, we have Apollo, with the lovely, manscaped, intact genitalia worthy of a Greek god. Not everyone in this painting is so lucky. The BDSM bound up satyr in the corner is missing a few bits, though he does have a sack of bagpipes. And over at this Keanu Reeves look-alike, with his fur, red pantyhose, and crocs is the guy who Apollo is crowning.

First we’re going to focus on Apollo and the satyr because this tells the story of a popular old myth. It tells the story of Marseus, Marseus had the balls to challenge Apollo to a music duel. So it’s kind of like The Devil Went Down to Georgia, but it’s with a god instead of a devil. And so Marseus for whatever reason brings his bagpipes. They have a musical walk off and Apollo eventually wins because he can turn his instrument upside down and play it backwards, which Marseus wasn’t able to do. As punishment for challenging him in the first place, Apollo flays him alive, ties him to a tree, and although not in the actual mythology but according to this artist’s interpretation, takes off his balls in the process. So, the moral of the story is ‘Don’t mess with Apollo.’ 

But then there’s Marcantonio Pasqualini, the guy who Apollo is crowning. And he’s actually a real life person who was ballsy enough to commission this painting of himself, which is pretty nuts if you think about it. Pasqualini was one of the most famous male sopranos in Renaissance Italy. The Met’s label only says “male soprano,” which is a little rude since Pasqualini is actually a castrato. In Renaissance Italy, when women were not allowed to sing in the choir but soprano lines were being written, about 4,000 young boys a year, ages 8-10, would be taken to a special doctor or in some cases a barber, given some opium, some ether, a warm bath, and then snip-snip they would cut off their balls. Not the whole package, just the balls, which is what makes them different from some other castrated sects of people.  

It sounds horrific and it is really terrible, but on the flip side some of these guys went on to become superstar celebrities. So he has a one-word name first of all: Pasqualini. Like Beyoncé, Cher, and Prince. He traveled around Europe singing for royalty, getting showered with expensive gifts, and generally living the sweet life. There’s a common rumor that he was having affairs with several noblewomen, the cardinal who was his patron, and possibly the painter of this painting. 

Castration was outlawed in Italy in 1870 and the last Sistine castrato was able to make a recording of himself singing Ave Maria when he was 80 years old. 

Written with assistance from Lia Tambora of Museum Hack