The abandonment of Ariadne on Naxos in paintings
Following yesterday’s look at paintings of the tragedy of Lucretia, today I turn to another classical narrative, drawn this time not from history, but from the legends of Perseus: his abandonment of Ariadne on the island of Naxos, after he had promised to marry her. Thankfully that tragedy has a happy ending in the arrival of the god Dionysus/Bacchus, and his marriage to Ariadne.
The daughter of King Minos of Crete, Ariadne’s half-brother (from her mother’s extraordinary bestial relationship) was the Minotaur. Her father blamed the Greeks for the death of her full brother, so demanded that they provided the Minotaur’s annual diet of seven young men and seven young women. The Minotaur was kept concealed inside the Labyrinth, an ingenious maze designed and built by the master artificer, Daedalus.
Theseus was the son of King Aegeus of Athens, and decided to put an end to this attrition of young Greeks by killing the Minotaur. The only way that he could gain access to it was by including himself in that year’s batch of sacrificial victims. When Theseus arrived on Crete, Ariadne fell desperately in love with him.
Ariadne devised an ingenious plan to enable Theseus to make his way back out of the Labyrinth once he had killed the Minotaur: she provided him with a ball of thread, which he used to mark his route of entry. He could then retrace his steps along the line of thread and escape. In return for this assistance, Theseus agreed that, once he had killed the Minotaur and escaped, he would marry Ariadne.
When it was Theseus’ turn to enter the Labyrinth, Ariadne held the end of the thread, he went in, killed the Minotaur, and found his way back to her. They wasted no time, and sailed immediately from Crete for Athens. On the way back, they stopped off overnight on the island of Dia (Naxos), where they appear to have consummated their marriage. The following morning, Theseus and his crew set sail before Ariadne had awoken, abandoning her on the island, as she watched Theseus’ ship heading towards the horizon.
John William Waterhouse (1849–1917), Ariadne (1898), oil on canvas, 151 x 91 cm, Private collection. Wikimedia Commons.
John William Waterhouse paints the moment that Ariadne (1898) starts to wake, as Theseus’ ship has just sailed. As she hasn’t yet realised that she has been abandoned, she lies back at ease. On and under the couch are a couple of leopards, a clear reference to the imminent arrival of Bacchus, although his chariot is more usually drawn by lions or tigers.
Angelica Kauffman (1741–1807), Ariadne Abandoned by Theseus (1774), oil on canvas, 90.9 × 63.8 cm, Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, TX. Wikimedia Commons.
By the moment shown in Angelica Kauffman’s Ariadne Abandoned by Theseus (1774), she has seen Theseus’ ship heading back to Athens, and is now swooning in the realisation that she has been jilted.
Paulus Bor (circa 1601–1669), Ariadne (1630-35), oil on canvas, 149 x 106 cm, Muzeum Narodowe w Poznaniu, Poznań, Poland. Wikimedia Commons.
The painting that perhaps best captures Ariadne ready to write her letter to Theseus, is Paulus Bor’s Ariadne (1630-35). She looks desolate, is still undressed from bed, and clutches the thread with which she had saved his life, the thread which she thought held them together as a couple. Now there is no one at the other end.
Evelyn De Morgan (1855–1919), Ariadne in Naxos (1877), oil on canvas, 90.8 × 132.8 cm, The De Morgan Foundation, Compton, Guildford, England. Wikimedia Commons.
Evelyn De Morgan envisages her alone on the beach, in her painting of Ariadne in Naxos (1877). It’s possible that Ariadne had slept there, in the large brown blanket still wrapped around her legs, but there’s now no trace of her former husband, not even a sail on the horizon.
Herbert James Draper (1863–1920), Ariadne (c 1905), oil on canvas, 100 × 77 cm, Private collection. Wikimedia Commons.
In Herbert James Draper’s Ariadne from about 1905, she is still half-naked, kneeling on a rock by the sea, and beats her breast in her grief at Theseus’ betrayal.
In a remarkable turn of fortune, who should turn up on the island of Dia/Naxos but the god Bacchus, who promptly marries Ariadne, and carries her off to Olympus with him. Maybe Bacchus’ lifestyle didn’t make him an ideal husband, but this was a far better outcome than Ariadne would have expected.
Eugène Delacroix (1798–1863), Autumn – Bacchus and Ariadne (1856-63), oil on canvas, 196 × 165 cm, São Paulo Museum of Art, São Paulo, Brazil. Wikimedia Commons.
Eugène Delacroix’s Autumn – Bacchus and Ariadne (1856-63) shows the moment of his arrival, as he helps the despondent Ariadne back up from her gloom. Behind is his chariot, here drawn by lionesses.
Jean François de Troy (1679–1752), Ariadne on Naxos (1725), oil on canvas, 163.3 x 130.4 cm, Musée Fabre, Montpellier, France. Wikimedia Commons.
Jean François de Troy’s Ariadne on Naxos (1725) is the ideal romantic ending, the couple staring longingly at one another as putti cavort with fruit. But look carefully at what’s going on down at the beach, in the background.
Maurice Denis (1870–1943), Bacchus and Ariadne (1907), oil on canvas, 81 x 116 cm, The Hermitage, Saint Petersburg, Russia. Wikimedia Commons.
Maurice Denis’ Bacchus and Ariadne from 1907 is a radically modern treatment that could be mistaken for a recreational beach scene at a coastal resort. Buried in there, though, are some more traditional references. Just to the right of centre, Dionysus stands behind Ariadne, helping to hold a red and white striped cloak or sheet on her left shoulder. Ariadne’s three attendant nymphs appear to be resting on the rocks at the left. Various bacchantes and other figures are riding black horses down in the water at the right, one of them clutching a thyrsus.
Lovis Corinth (1858–1925), Ariadne on Naxos (1913), oil on canvas, 116 × 147 cm, Private collection. Wikimedia Commons.
My favourite painting of this scene has to be Lovis Corinth’s vivacious and complex Ariadne on Naxos (1913). He uses multiplex narrative to tell the whole story, from Theseus’ betrayal at the left, to the arrival of Bacchus at the right.
None, though, shows Ariadne’s revenge. Theseus had made an elaborate arrangement with his father, the king of Athens, to signal to him the outcome of his mission. When Theseus had sailed from Greece, his ship had black sails. The agreement was that he would change those sails to normal white (or, more likely, tan) ones in the event that he had successfully killed the Minotaur.
In his rush to abandon Ariadne, Theseus forgot to change the black sails. As the ship approached the Greek mainland, his father noticed this. Knowing that meant that they would have to continue sending young Greeks to their death on Crete, King Aegeus threw himself to his death from a cliff. Theseus was broken by grief when he realised that his carelessness had caused the suicide of his father.
