https:\/\/www.museodelprado.es\/coleccion\/obras-de-arte?search=metamorfosis&ordenarPor=pm:relevance<\/a><\/p>\n\n\tNote<\/em>: the word "pinacotheca<\/em>" has come to us through the Latin <\/em>"pinacotheca<\/em>, but in fact it is from Greek origin: πινακοθ\u03aeκη, pinakotheke<\/em>, word itself composed of πινακος, pinakos<\/em>, genitive of π\u03afναξ, pinax<\/em>, meaning " picture" and θ\u03aeκη, theke," box, wardrobe, shel<\/em>f, and by extension collection of things and objects deposited therein.<\/p>\n\n\tThe consultation to this link at the time of the publication of this article offers the immediate reference of 158 works, some of them of the most famous of which the Museum <\/em>houses. It is true that not all of them are indebted exclusively to Ovid<\/em>, but the vast majority.<\/p>\n\n\tI will confine myself to presenting only three of the corresponding Ovid texts and to cite some of the others to encourage the reader to search for the correspondences of himself, an experience that can be extended to any other museum, such as the Louvre Museum or the National Gallery of London) or the Alte Pinakothek of Munich or the Hermitage of St. Petersburg, etc. etc.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\tThe reader can find ample information in numerous books and published articles on this, of general form in the work of Amalia Fernández: Diosesy mitos. Una aproximación literaria a la pintura mitológica del Museo del Prado, Madrid, 1998) (Gods and myths. A literary approach to the mythological painting of the Museo del Prado<\/strong>); Or Rosa López Torrijos: Mitología e Historia en las obras maestras del Prado, Madrid, 1998 (Mythology and History in the masterpieces of the Prado,<\/em>) or more concretely in Mª. Cruz García Fuentes: Mitos de las Metamorfosis de Ovidio en la Iconografía del Museo del Prado, Madrid, Edit. C. E. R. S. A., 2013. ( Myths of the Metamorphoses of Ovid in the Iconography of the Prado Museum).<\/em><\/p>\n\n\tI will limit myself to relate, as I said, by way of example, three or four great works of the Museum, of the hundred and fifty exposed, with the corresponding text of the Metamorphoses <\/em>of Ovid. I hope that this is enough incentive for the reader to locate and atmosphere the visit to the Museum with the reading of Ovid.<\/p>\n\n\tThe painter Peter Paul Rubens<\/em> (1577-1640) is widely represented in the Museo del Prado <\/em>with paintings of mythological subject, whose commission received from King Felipe IV to decorate the "Torre de la parada<\/em>” (Tower of the Parada<\/em>). Most of the mythological scenes of the passions of the gods were inspired by Ovid's description in the Metamorphoses<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\tFor example:<\/p>\n
\n\tDeucalión and Pyrrha. (1636-1637. Oil on wood, 26.4 x 41.7 cm.)<\/em><\/p>\n\n\t![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.antiquitatem.com\/imgs\/arts\/deucalion.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\n\tIn Greco-Roman<\/em> mythology there is also a deluge with which Jupiter punishes the evil of the human race, which must perish. Only Deucalion<\/em>, son of Prometheus<\/em>, and his wife Pyrrha <\/em>are saved from punishment in their ark, which was stranded on Mount Parnassus<\/em> in the Greek Peloponnese<\/em>. This pair will give rise to a new race of men.<\/p>\n\n\tAlthough Rubens<\/em>'s picture refers only to the creation of the new men, I will return to the story since the appearance of Deucalion <\/em>in the poem of Ovid.<\/p>\n\n\tOvid tells us the episode of the deluge and the survival of Deucalion and Pyrrh<\/em> a in Metamorphosis, I, 309-430:<\/em><\/p>\n\tNow hills, and vales no more distinction know;
\n\tAnd levell'd Nature lies oppress'd below.
\n\tThe most of mortals perish in the flood:
\n\tThe small remainder dies for want of food.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tA mountain of stupendous height there stands
\n\tBetwixt th' Athenian and Boeotian lands,
\n\tThe bound of fruitful fields, while fields they were,
\n\tBut then a field of waters did appear:
\n\tParnassus is its name; whose forky rise
\n\tMounts thro' the clouds, and mates the lofty skies.
\n\tHigh on the summit of this dubious cliff,
\n\tDeucalion wafting, moor'd his little skiff.
\n\tHe with his wife were only left behind
\n\tOf perish'd Man; they two were human kind.
\n\tThe mountain nymphs, and Themis they adore,
\n\tAnd from her oracles relief implore.
\n\tThe most upright of mortal men was he;
\n\tThe most sincere, and holy woman, she.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tWhen Jupiter, surveying Earth from high,
\n\tBeheld it in a lake of water lie,
\n\tThat where so many millions lately liv'd,
\n\tBut two, the best of either sex, surviv'd;
\n\tHe loos'd the northern wind; fierce Boreas flies
\n\tTo puff away the clouds, and purge the skies:
\n\tSerenely, while he blows, the vapours driv'n,
\n\tDiscover Heav'n to Earth, and Earth to Heav'n.
\n\tThe billows fall, while Neptune lays his mace
\n\tOn the rough sea, and smooths its furrow'd face.
\n\tAlready Triton, at his call, appears
\n\tAbove the waves; a Tyrian robe he wears;
\n\tAnd in his hand a crooked trumpet bears.
\n\tThe soveraign bids him peaceful sounds inspire,
\n\tAnd give the waves the signal to retire.
\n\tHis writhen shell he takes; whose narrow vent
\n\tGrows by degrees into a large extent,
\n\tThen gives it breath; the blast with doubling sound,
\n\tRuns the wide circuit of the world around:
\n\tThe sun first heard it, in his early east,
\n\tAnd met the rattling ecchos in the west.
\n\tThe waters, listning to the trumpet's roar,
\n\tObey the summons, and forsake the shore.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tA thin circumference of land appears;
\n\tAnd Earth, but not at once, her visage rears,
\n\tAnd peeps upon the seas from upper grounds;
\n\tThe streams, but just contain'd within their bounds,
\n\tBy slow degrees into their channels crawl;
\n\tAnd Earth increases, as the waters fall.
\n\tIn longer time the tops of trees appear,
\n\tWhich mud on their dishonour'd branches bear.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tAt length the world was all restor'd to view;
\n\tBut desolate, and of a sickly hue:
\n\tNature beheld her self, and stood aghast,
\n\tA dismal desart, and a silent waste.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tWhich when Deucalion, with a piteous look
\n\tBeheld, he wept, and thus to Pyrrha spoke:
\n\tOh wife, oh sister, oh of all thy kind
\n\tThe best, and only creature left behind,
\n\tBy kindred, love, and now by dangers joyn'd;
\n\tOf multitudes, who breath'd the common air,
\n\tWe two remain; a species in a pair:
\n\tThe rest the seas have swallow'd; nor have we
\n\tEv'n of this wretched life a certainty.
\n\tThe clouds are still above; and, while I speak,
\n\tA second deluge o'er our heads may break.
\n\tShou'd I be snatcht from hence, and thou remain,
\n\tWithout relief, or partner of thy pain,
\n\tHow cou'dst thou such a wretched life sustain?
\n\tShou'd I be left, and thou be lost, the sea
\n\tThat bury'd her I lov'd, shou'd bury me.
\n\tOh cou'd our father his old arts inspire,
\n\tAnd make me heir of his informing fire,
\n\tThat so I might abolisht Man retrieve,
\n\tAnd perisht people in new souls might live.
\n\tBut Heav'n is pleas'd, nor ought we to complain,
\n\tThat we, th' examples of mankind, remain.
\n\tHe said; the careful couple joyn their tears:
\n\tAnd then invoke the Gods, with pious prayers.
\n\tThus, in devotion having eas'd their grief,
\n\tFrom sacred oracles they seek relief;
\n\tAnd to Cephysus' brook their way pursue:
\n\tThe stream was troubled, but the ford they knew;
\n\tWith living waters, in the fountain bred,
\n\tThey sprinkle first their garments, and their head,
\n\tThen took the way, which to the temple led.
\n\tThe roofs were all defil'd with moss, and mire,
\n\tThe desart altars void of solemn fire.
\n\tBefore the gradual, prostrate they ador'd;
\n\tThe pavement kiss'd; and thus the saint implor'd.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tO righteous Themis, if the Pow'rs above
\n\tBy pray'rs are bent to pity, and to love;
\n\tIf humane miseries can move their mind;
\n\tIf yet they can forgive, and yet be kind;
\n\tTell how we may restore, by second birth,
\n\tMankind, and people desolated Earth.
\n\tThen thus the gracious Goddess, nodding, said;
\n\tDepart, and with your vestments veil your head:
\n\tAnd stooping lowly down, with losen'd zones,
\n\tThrow each behind your backs, your mighty mother's bones.
\n\tAmaz'd the pair, and mute with wonder stand,
\n\t'Till Pyrrha first refus'd the dire command.
\n\tForbid it Heav'n, said she, that I shou'd tear
\n\tThose holy reliques from the sepulcher.
\n\tThey ponder'd the mysterious words again,
\n\tFor some new sense; and long they sought in vain:
\n\tAt length Deucalion clear'd his cloudy brow,
\n\tAnd said, the dark Aenigma will allow
\n\tA meaning, which, if well I understand,
\n\tFrom sacrilege will free the God's command:
\n\tThis Earth our mighty mother is, the stones
\n\tIn her capacious body, are her bones:
\n\tThese we must cast behind. With hope, and fear,
\n\tThe woman did the new solution hear:
\n\tThe man diffides in his own augury,
\n\tAnd doubts the Gods; yet both resolve to try.
\n\tDescending from the mount, they first unbind
\n\tTheir vests, and veil'd, they cast the stones behind:
\n\tThe stones (a miracle to mortal view,
\n\tBut long tradition makes it pass for true)
\n\tDid first the rigour of their kind expel,
\n\tAnd suppled into softness, as they fell;
\n\tThen swell'd, and swelling, by degrees grew warm;
\n\tAnd took the rudiments of human form.
\n\tImperfect shapes: in marble such are seen,
\n\tWhen the rude chizzel does the man begin;
\n\tWhile yet the roughness of the stone remains,
\n\tWithout the rising muscles, and the veins.
\n\tThe sappy parts, and next resembling juice,
\n\tWere turn'd to moisture, for the body's use:
\n\tSupplying humours, blood, and nourishment;
\n\tThe rest, too solid to receive a bent,
\n\tConverts to bones; and what was once a vein,
\n\tIts former name and Nature did retain.
\n\tBy help of pow'r divine, in little space,
\n\tWhat the man threw, assum'd a manly face;
\n\tAnd what the wife, renew'd the female race.
\n\tHence we derive our nature; born to bear
\n\tLaborious life; and harden'd into care.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tThe rest of animals, from teeming Earth
\n\tProduc'd, in various forms receiv'd their birth.
\n\tThe native moisture, in its close retreat,
\n\tDigested by the sun's aetherial heat,
\n\tAs in a kindly womb, began to breed:
\n\tThen swell'd, and quicken'd by the vital seed.
\n\tAnd some in less, and some in longer space,
\n\tWere ripen'd into form, and took a sev'ral face.
\n\tThus when the Nile from Pharian fields is fled,
\n\tAnd seeks, with ebbing tides, his ancient bed,
\n\tThe fat manure with heav'nly fire is warm'd;
\n\tAnd crusted creatures, as in wombs, are form'd;
\n\tThese, when they turn the glebe, the peasants find;
\n\tSome rude, and yet unfinish'd in their kind:
\n\tShort of their limbs, a lame imperfect birth:
\n\tOne half alive; and one of lifeless earth.<\/strong><\/em>
\n\t(Translated by Sir Samuel Garth, John Dryden, et al (1717))<\/p>\n\n\tNote<\/em>: because some texts are somewhat extensive, I will reproduce the Latin texts at the end of the article.<\/p>\n\n\tThe Rape of Europa<\/em><\/p>\n\n\tAccording to the mythical account, Europa <\/em>was daughter of Agenor<\/em>, the king of Tiro<\/em>; The god Zeus <\/em>fell in love with her, who ordered Hermes <\/em>to bring the king's cows to the river; Zeus <\/em>was transformed into a white bull to gain the confidence of Europa<\/em>, that was mounted in its loins; At that moment the bull started speeding, entered the Mediterranean <\/em>Sea and reached Crete<\/em>. There the god appeared in his divinity and seduced the young woman.<\/p>\n\n\tThis is one of the myths most represented since ancient times; we have representations since the 6th century BC. Tiziano <\/em>painted between 1559 and 1562 an oil on this myth that is exposed in the Museum of the Prado.<\/em> Peter Paul Rubens<\/em> copied this painting in 1628-1629. Then the same Rubens <\/em>repeated the theme again for the “Torre de la Parada<\/em>”,Tower of the Parade<\/em>, but in a very different way (the sketch is preserved in the same museum) and in turn shortly afterwards Jan Erasmus Quelinus<\/em> painted on this sketch the painting which is also preserved in the Prado Museum.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\t![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.antiquitatem.com\/imgs\/arts\/europa.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\n\tPeter Paul Rubens. (Copy of Tiziano, Vecellio di Gregorio)<\/em><\/p>\n\n\t![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.antiquitatem.com\/imgs\/arts\/europa2..jpg\")
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.antiquitatem.com\/imgs\/arts\/europa3.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\n\tThe Rape of Europa. Sketch by Peter Paul Rubens 1636 – 1637. Oil painting, 18.9 x 13.7 cm. And Jan Erasmus Quelinus oil.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\tOvid tells us in Metamorphoses II, 833-875:<\/em><\/p>\n\n\tEuropa's Rape<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tWhen now the God his fury had allay'd,
\n\tAnd taken vengeance of the stubborn maid,
\n\tFrom where the bright Athenian turrets rise
\n\tHe mounts aloft, and re-ascends the skies.
\n\tJove saw him enter the sublime abodes,
\n\tAnd, as he mix'd among the crowd of Gods,
\n\tBeckon'd him out, and drew him from the rest,
\n\tAnd in soft whispers thus his will exprest.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\t"My trusty Hermes, by whose ready aid
\n\tThy sire's commands are through the world convey'd.
\n\tResume thy wings, exert their utmost force,
\n\tAnd to the walls of Sidon speed thy course;
\n\tThere find a herd of heifers wand'ring o'er
\n\tThe neighb'ring hill, and drive 'em to the shore."<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tThus spoke the God, concealing his intent.
\n\tThe trusty Hermes, on his message went,
\n\tAnd found the herd of heifers wand'ring o'er
\n\tA neighb'ring hill, and drove 'em to the shore;
\n\tWhere the king's daughter, with a lovely train
\n\tOf fellow-nymphs, was sporting on the plain.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tThe dignity of empire laid aside,
\n\t(For love but ill agrees with kingly pride)
\n\tThe ruler of the skies, the thund'ring God,
\n\tWho shakes the world's foundations with a nod,
\n\tAmong a herd of lowing heifers ran,
\n\tFrisk'd in a bull, and bellow'd o'er the plain.
\n\tLarge rowles of fat about his shoulders clung,
\n\tAnd from his neck the double dewlap hung.
\n\tHis skin was whiter than the snow that lies
\n\tUnsully'd by the breath of southern skies;
\n\tSmall shining horns on his curl'd forehead stand,
\n\tAs turn'd and polish'd by the work-man's hand;
\n\tHis eye-balls rowl'd, not formidably bright,
\n\tBut gaz'd and languish'd with a gentle light.
\n\tHis ev'ry look was peaceful, and exprest
\n\tThe softness of the lover in the beast.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tAgenor's royal daughter, as she plaid
\n\tAmong the fields, the milk-white bull survey'd,
\n\tAnd view'd his spotless body with delight,
\n\tAnd at a distance kept him in her sight.
\n\tAt length she pluck'd the rising flow'rs, and fed
\n\tThe gentle beast, and fondly stroak'd his head.
\n\tHe stood well-pleas'd to touch the charming fair,
\n\tBut hardly could confine his pleasure there.
\n\tAnd now he wantons o'er the neighb'ring strand,
\n\tNow rowls his body on the yellow sand;
\n\tAnd, now perceiving all her fears decay'd,
\n\tComes tossing forward to the royal maid;
\n\tGives her his breast to stroke, and downward turns
\n\tHis grizly brow, and gently stoops his horns.
\n\tIn flow'ry wreaths the royal virgin drest
\n\tHis bending horns, and kindly clapt his breast.
\n\t'Till now grown wanton and devoid of fear,
\n\tNot knowing that she prest the Thunderer,
\n\tShe plac'd her self upon his back, and rode
\n\tO'er fields and meadows, seated on the God.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tHe gently march'd along, and by degrees
\n\tLeft the dry meadow, and approach'd the seas;
\n\tWhere now he dips his hoofs and wets his thighs,
\n\tNow plunges in, and carries off the prize.
\n\tThe frighted nymph looks backward on the shoar,
\n\tAnd hears the tumbling billows round her roar;
\n\tBut still she holds him fast: one hand is born
\n\tUpon his back; the other grasps a horn:
\n\tHer train of ruffling garments flies behind,
\n\tSwells in the air, and hovers in the wind.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tThrough storms and tempests he the virgin bore,
\n\tAnd lands her safe on the Dictean shore;
\n\tWhere now, in his divinest form array'd,
\n\tIn his true shape he captivates the maid;
\n\tWho gazes on him, and with wond'ring eyes
\n\tBeholds the new majestick figure rise,
\n\tHis glowing features, and celestial light,
\n\tAnd all the God discover'd to her sight.<\/strong><\/em>
\n\tTranslated by Sir Samuel Garth, John Dryden, et al (1717)<\/p>\n\n\tOrpheus and Eurydice<\/em><\/p>\n\n\tThe theme of the mythical pair Orpheus <\/em>and Eurydice <\/em>is that of the descent into the lower world, to hell, to the world of the dead, to the world where Pluto <\/em>and Proserpine <\/em>reign; In Greek this descent is called καταβ\u1fb4σεις, katabaseis<\/em>, or κ\u03acθοδοι, kathodoi<\/em>, and are adjudged to Hercules, Ulysses, Aeneas, Theseus, Pyrithus<\/em> and especially to Orpheus<\/em>, who goes in search of his wife, deceased by the venom of a snake, and whose end I do not anticipate for not to diminish the interest in the reading of Ovid<\/em>'s text, which undoubtedly inspired the many pictorial representations of the myth. I present it in a painting also by Peter Paul Rubens.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\tOrpheus and Eurydice. 1636 – 1638. Oil on canvas, 196.5 x 247.5 cm.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\t![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.antiquitatem.com\/imgs\/arts\/orfeo.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\n\tVirgil tells us also the myth in his little Culex <\/em>and then in his famous Georgics<\/em>. Ovid <\/em>had to know this Virgilian version and it is Ovid's account that we find at the beginning of Book X of his Metamorphoses, verses 1 to 77. which I now transcribe:<\/p>\n\n\tThe Story of Orpheus and Eurydice<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\tThence, in his saffron robe, for distant Thrace,
\n\tHymen departs, thro' air's unmeasur'd space;
\n\tBy Orpheus call'd, the nuptial Pow'r attends,
\n\tBut with ill-omen'd augury descends;
\n\tNor chearful look'd the God, nor prosp'rous spoke,
\n\tNor blaz'd his torch, but wept in hissing smoke.
\n\tIn vain they whirl it round, in vain they shake,
\n\tNo rapid motion can its flames awake.
\n\tWith dread these inauspicious signs were view'd,
\n\tAnd soon a more disastrous end ensu'd;
\n\tFor as the bride, amid the Naiad train,
\n\tRan joyful, sporting o'er the flow'ry plain,
\n\tA venom'd viper bit her as she pass'd;
\n\tInstant she fell, and sudden breath'd her last.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\tWhen long his loss the Thracian had deplor'd,
\n\tNot by superior Pow'rs to be restor'd;
\n\tInflam'd by love, and urg'd by deep despair,
\n\tHe leaves the realms of light, and upper air;
\n\tDaring to tread the dark Tenarian road,
\n\tAnd tempt the shades in their obscure abode;
\n\tThro' gliding spectres of th' interr'd to go,
\n\tAnd phantom people of the world below:
\n\tPersephone he seeks, and him who reigns
\n\tO'er ghosts, and Hell's uncomfortable plains.
\n\tArriv'd, he, tuning to his voice his strings,
\n\tThus to the king and queen of shadows sings.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\tYe Pow'rs, who under Earth your realms extend,
\n\tTo whom all mortals must one day descend;
\n\tIf here 'tis granted sacred truth to tell:
\n\tI come not curious to explore your Hell;
\n\tNor come to boast (by vain ambition fir'd)
\n\tHow Cerberus at my approach retir'd.
\n\tMy wife alone I seek; for her lov'd sake
\n\tThese terrors I support, this journey take.
\n\tShe, luckless wandring, or by fate mis-led,
\n\tChanc'd on a lurking viper's crest to tread;
\n\tThe vengeful beast, enflam'd with fury, starts,
\n\tAnd thro' her heel his deathful venom darts.
\n\tThus was she snatch'd untimely to her tomb;
\n\tHer growing years cut short, and springing bloom.
\n\tLong I my loss endeavour'd to sustain,
\n\tAnd strongly strove, but strove, alas, in vain:
\n\tAt length I yielded, won by mighty love;
\n\tWell known is that omnipotence above!
\n\tBut here, I doubt, his unfelt influence fails;
\n\tAnd yet a hope within my heart prevails.
\n\tThat here, ev'n here, he has been known of old;
\n\tAt least if truth be by tradition told;
\n\tIf fame of former rapes belief may find,
\n\tYou both by love, and love alone, were join'd.
\n\tNow, by the horrors which these realms surround;
\n\tBy the vast chaos of these depths profound;
\n\tBy the sad silence which eternal reigns
\n\tO'er all the waste of these wide-stretching plains;
\n\tLet me again Eurydice receive,
\n\tLet Fate her quick-spun thread of life re-weave.
\n\tAll our possessions are but loans from you,
\n\tAnd soon, or late, you must be paid your due;
\n\tHither we haste to human-kind's last seat,
\n\tYour endless empire, and our sure retreat.
\n\tShe too, when ripen'd years she shall attain,
\n\tMust, of avoidless right, be yours again:
\n\tI but the transient use of that require,
\n\tWhich soon, too soon, I must resign entire.
\n\tBut if the destinies refuse my vow,
\n\tAnd no remission of her doom allow;
\n\tKnow, I'm determin'd to return no more;
\n\tSo both retain, or both to life restore.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\tThus, while the bard melodiously complains,
\n\tAnd to his lyre accords his vocal strains,
\n\tThe very bloodless shades attention keep,
\n\tAnd silent, seem compassionate to weep;
\n\tEv'n Tantalus his flood unthirsty views,
\n\tNor flies the stream, nor he the stream pursues;
\n\tIxion's wond'ring wheel its whirl suspends,
\n\tAnd the voracious vulture, charm'd, attends;
\n\tNo more the Belides their toil bemoan,
\n\tAnd Sisiphus reclin'd, sits list'ning on his stone.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\tThen first ('tis said) by sacred verse subdu'd,
\n\tThe Furies felt their cheeks with tears bedew'd:
\n\tNor could the rigid king, or queen of Hell,
\n\tTh' impulse of pity in their hearts repell.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\tNow, from a troop of shades that last arriv'd,
\n\tEurydice was call'd, and stood reviv'd:
\n\tSlow she advanc'd, and halting seem to feel
\n\tThe fatal wound, yet painful in her heel.
\n\tThus he obtains the suit so much desir'd,
\n\tOn strict observance of the terms requir'd:
\n\tFor if, before he reach the realms of air,
\n\tHe backward cast his eyes to view the fair,
\n\tThe forfeit grant, that instant, void is made,
\n\tAnd she for ever left a lifeless shade.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\tNow thro' the noiseless throng their way they bend,
\n\tAnd both with pain the rugged road ascend;
\n\tDark was the path, and difficult, and steep,
\n\tAnd thick with vapours from the smoaky deep.
\n\tThey well-nigh now had pass'd the bounds of night,
\n\tAnd just approach'd the margin of the light,
\n\tWhen he, mistrusting lest her steps might stray,
\n\tAnd gladsome of the glympse of dawning day,
\n\tHis longing eyes, impatient, backward cast
\n\tTo catch a lover's look, but look'd his last;
\n\tFor, instant dying, she again descends,
\n\tWhile he to empty air his arms extends.
\n\tAgain she dy'd, nor yet her lord reprov'd;
\n\tWhat could she say, but that too well he lov'd?
\n\tOne last farewell she spoke, which scarce he heard;
\n\tSo soon she drop'd, so sudden disappear'd.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\tAll stunn'd he stood, when thus his wife he view'd
\n\tBy second Fate, and double death subdu'd:
\n\tNot more amazement by that wretch was shown,
\n\tWhom Cerberus beholding, turn'd to stone;
\n\tNor Olenus cou'd more astonish'd look,
\n\tWhen on himself Lethaea's fault he took,
\n\tHis beauteous wife, who too secure had dar'd
\n\tHer face to vye with Goddesses compar'd:
\n\tOnce join'd by love, they stand united still,
\n\tTurn'd to contiguous rocks on Ida's hill.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\tNow to repass the Styx in vain he tries,
\n\tCharon averse, his pressing suit denies.
\n\tSev'n days entire, along th' infernal shores,
\n\tDisconsolate, the bard Eurydice deplores;
\n\tDefil'd with filth his robe, with tears his cheeks,
\n\tNo sustenance but grief, and cares, he seeks:
\n\tOf rigid Fate incessant he complains,
\n\tAnd Hell's inexorable Gods arraigns.
\n\tThis ended, to high Rhodope he hastes,
\n\tAnd Haemus' mountain, bleak with northern blasts.<\/em><\/strong>
\n\t(Translated by Sir Samuel Garth, John Dryden, et al (1717))<\/p>\n\n\tAtalanta and Hippomenes<\/em><\/p>\n\n\tHippomenes and Atalanta 1618 – 1619. Oil on canvas, 206 x 297 cm. Reni, Guido, baroque Bolognese painter<\/em><\/p>\n\n\t![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.antiquitatem.com\/imgs\/arts\/sin_t\u00edtulo.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\n\tSome time ago I wrote the story of the famous race of Atalanta <\/em>and Hippomenes <\/em>in this same blog adapting directly the text of Ovid<\/em>. The myth tells the story of Atalanta<\/em>, the daughter of the king of Arcadia<\/em>, who offered to marry anyone who could beat her in the race; Those who were defeated would be punished with death. The handsome Hippomenes <\/em>won the race by using the help of the goddess Venus<\/em>, who suggested a stratagem.<\/p>\n\n\tI refer to https:\/\/www.antiquitatem.com\/en\/atalanta-mythologie-palace-of-the-infant<\/a><\/p>\n\n\tto get a wider commentary on the story, but I nonetheless offer the text, now in view of one of the pictures of the Prado , The one corresponding to Guido Reni<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\tWhoever wants a full reading of Ovid's text must go to Metamorphoses, VIII, 281 et se<\/em>q. for the episode of Meleager <\/em>and the boar hunt of Calidon <\/em>and to Metamorphosis X, 560-704<\/em> for the race with Hippomenes<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\tWhen Atalanta was born, her father, the king of Arcadia, enraged because he only wanted a son, abandoned her all godliness lacking at the top of a mountain so that she could die of hunger or devoured by the ferocious beasts. The goddess Artemis, who casually hunted in those places, took pity on the helpless child and sent her a huge bear that, docilely, suckled her with her milk.
\n\tSometime later, and adopted as a daughter by the goddess, she became an accurate huntress and the fastest woman in the world and emulating her patroness she promised that she would never marry either.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tWhen being a famous huntress she received as a trophy the skin of the wild boar ravaging the kingdom of Calydon, whose hunting she had participated in, she reconciled with her father, who again and again insisted her on the need to get married and provide him a future heir for his throne.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tThe elusive Atalanta consulted the oracle of the gods on her husband and heard these confusing words:<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\t– For anything you need a husband, Atalanta; avoid having a husband. And yet you will not escape from marriage and still alive you will see yourself private of yourself.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tFrightened by these words, hard to be understood, she tries to remain single living in the woods, away from her many suitors, who she wants to scare and avoid with a strange proposal:<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\t– Only will possess me the one of you who beats me in a quick race, that one will be my husband. Instead the loser will have to die in punishment for his pretensions. This is my final proposal.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tSuch is the beauty of the fast Atalanta that many were the unsuspecting youth who dared to compete with the fastest woman in the world, so they lost the race moaning and crying and, with it, they lost the priceless life.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tSo the young Hippomenes, who had only heard to talk about the beautiful Atalanta, considered excessive the risk he would have to face in order to get her as his wife. But as soon as he saw the splendid body of the young girl who had removed the veil from her face, he fell in love and was immediately seduced.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\t– I’ll also try my luck; the prize is worth risking death. Gods always help those who are brave- he says inflamed. And madly in love, he continues:<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\t– Beautiful Atalanta, you have beaten easily and effortlessly those poor boys, but now measure yourself with me, that I'm the son of Megareus. If I beat you, it won´t be a dishonorable defeat for you and if you win the race, you would have beaten Hippomenes, the great-grandson of Neptune, god of the waters.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tAtalanta raising her beautiful bright eyes up looks at him tenderly.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\t– Why do you, foolish boy, want to risk your precious life, you who are still a child? You are beautiful and brave, because death does not scare you. So much you love and want me that you are willing to die…? Run away while you can, young handsome boy; many other pretty girls will be pleased and happy to marry you.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\tAnd perhaps touched by the sweet feeling of love for the very first time, the inexperienced and unfriendly Atalanta softens her relentless decision and thinks in the inner part of her heart:<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\t– Why has this unhappy boy to die undeservedly as a reward for his love? I wish you, unhappy boy, had not ever seen me. If virginity was not my eternal destiny, you'd be the only one with whom I would share my wedding bed. I wish you, fool, were faster than me.
\n\tBut Hippomenes already urges the race, but not before entrusting himself to the goddess of love and asking for her divine help:<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\t– You, goddess, who has inspired my blind passion, help my fearlessness.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\t