Changing Paintings: 58 A wedding ruined by centaurs

Borne on the fair winds brought by the near-sacrifice of Agamemnon’s daughter Iphigenia, the thousand Greek ships sail for the shores of Troy. The Trojans had already become aware that they were on their way, and were ready guarding its shores. Protesilaus, the first of the Greek forces to land, is quickly killed by Hector.

Achilles then flies off in his chariot, in pursuit of Hector or Cycnus to redress the balance for the invading force. Finding Cycnus, Achilles drives his chariot at him and implants his spear in Cycnus’ shield, but that makes little impression. Cycnus responds by throwing his lance at Achilles, but he too fails to make any impact. After a second attempt, Achilles is still thwarted, and becomes angry with his enemy.

To test his weapon, Achilles throws his spear at Menoetes, pierces his armour, and kills him instantly. He tries the same combination of spear and throwing arm against Cycnus’ shoulder, but the projectile just bounces off. For a moment, Achilles thinks he may have drawn blood, but realises it’s that of Menoetes, not Cycnus.

Achilles grows even angrier, so draws his sword and attacks Cycnus at close quarters, but that only blunts the sword. As Cycnus is forced to step back from Achilles’ assaults, he backs up against a large rock. Achilles throws his opponent to the ground and strangles him with the thongs of his own helmet. As Cycnus dies, he’s transformed into a white swan. Following that, there’s a pause in the fighting while Achilles sacrifices to Pallas Athene, and the Greeks feast his victory over Cycnus. During that, Nestor tells the story of Caeneus of Thessaly, who survived a thousand wounds in battle, but had been born a woman.

Caenis, as she was previously, had been the prettiest girl in Thessaly, although she remained unmarried. When walking on the beach one day, Neptune raped her, but offered to fulfil her request. She asked to be turned into a man, and Neptune not only granted that wish, but made Caeneus the warrior proof against all wounds inflicted by spear or sword.

Johann Ulrich Krauss (1626-c 1683), Caenis and Neptune (before 1690), engraving for Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book XII, further details not known. Wikimedia Commons.

Johann Ulrich Krauss tells a fragment of the story of Caenis and Neptune (before 1690), although he doesn’t make any allusion to the transformation to Caeneus. As is usual, the flying Cupid indicates entirely inappropriately the rape of Caenis, and Neptune’s horses are held ready for his return.

Virgil Solis (1514–1562) Caenis and Neptune (c 1560), engraving for Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book XII, further details not known. Wikimedia Commons.

Virgil Solis’ Caenis and Neptune from about 1560, moves the story on to the rape itself. Neptune puts his arms around Caenis, who doesn’t reciprocate. The god’s trident has been dropped to the ground, and his horses are prancing in the waves. In the distance is a walled city, possibly a reference to Troy, although this rape took place in Thessaly, Greece, on the opposite shore of the Aegean Sea.

After that story, Nestor tells of the battle between the Lapiths and Centaurs, at which he claims to have been present. This is one of a pair of primaeval battles said to have established world order: that between the Titans and the Gods ended the heavenly Titanomachy, and that between the Lapiths and Centaurs ended the earthly Centauromachy.

When Pirithous married Hippodame, the couple invited centaurs to the feast. Unfortunately, passions of the centaur Eurytus became inflamed by drink and lust for the bride, and he carried Hippodame off by her hair. The other centaurs followed suit by each seizing a woman of their choice, turning the wedding feast into utter chaos, like a city being sacked.

Theseus castigated Eurytus and rescued the bride, so the centaur attacked him. Theseus responded by throwing a huge wine krater at Eurytus, killing him. The centaurs then started throwing goblets and crockery, and the battle escalated from there.

Nestor details a succession of grisly accounts of Lapiths and Centaurs killed. Gryneus the centaur ripped up the altar and crushed two Lapiths with its weight, only to have his eyballs gouged out by a Lapith using the prongs of some antlers. Not content with using the objects around them as weapons, they started using their own lances and swords.

When the centaur Petraeus was trying to uproot a whole oak tree, Pirithous, the groom, pinned the centaur to the tree-trunk with his lance. Nestor also tells of the success of Caeneus, formerly Caenis, in killing five centaurs. The centaur Latreus taunted Caeneus, so the latter wounded the centaur with his spear. Latreus thrust his lance in Caeneus’ face, but was unable to hurt him, so he tried with his sword, which broke against the invulnerable Caeneus, leaving him to finish the centaur off with thrusts of his own sword.

The centaurs then united to try to overwhelm Caeneus by crushing him under their combined weight. Just as they thought they had succeeded, Caeneus was transformed into a bird and flew out from underneath them. With that the survivors dispersed, the Lapiths having won the day.

Piero di Cosimo (1462–1522), The Fight between Lapiths and Centaurs (1500-15), oil on wood, 71 x 260 cm, The National Gallery, London. Wikimedia Commons.

Piero di Cosimo’s The Fight between Lapiths and Centaurs (1500-15) is my favourite among the earlier paintings, and remains one of its best-structured and complete accounts. In the centre foreground, Hylonome embraces and kisses the dying Cyllarus, a huge arrow-like spear resting underneath them. Immediately behind them, on large carpets laid out for the wedding feast, centaurs are still abducting women. All around are scenes of pitched and bloody battles, with eyes being gouged out, Lapiths and Centaurs wielding clubs and other weapons at one another.

Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640), The Rape of Hippodame (sketch) (c 1637-38), oil on panel, 26 × 40 cm, Koninklijke Musea voor Schone Kunsten van België / Musées Royaux des Beaux Arts de Belgique, Brussels, Belgium. Wikimedia Commons.

Towards the end of his life, Peter Paul Rubens painted this brilliant oil sketch of The Rape of Hippodame (c 1637-38). At the right, Eurytus is trying to carry off the bride, with Theseus just about to rescue her from the centaur’s back. At the left, Lapiths are attacking with their weapons, and behind them another centaur is trying to abduct a woman.

Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640), The Rape of Hippodame (Lapiths and Centaurs) (1636-38), oil on canvas, 182 × 290 cm, Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid, Spain. Wikimedia Commons.

That became the finished painting, The Rape of Hippodame (Lapiths and Centaurs) (1636-38), which remains faithful to Rubens’ sketch and its composition. Facial expressions, particularly that of the Lapith at the left bearing a sword, are particularly powerful.

Luca Giordano (1632–1705), Battle of Lapiths and Centaurs (1688), oil on canvas, 255 x 390 cm, State Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg, Russia. Image by Wayne77, via Wikimedia Commons.

Luca Giordano’s later painting of the Battle of Lapiths and Centaurs from 1688 lacks the narrative structure of Piero di Cosimo’s, and covers later action than Rubens’. As a result, its story has become a little lost in the mêlée of battle.

Sebastiano Ricci (1659–1734), The Battle of the Lapiths and Centaurs (c 1705), oil on canvas, 138.4 × 176.8 cm, The High Museum of Art, Atlanta, GA. Wikimedia Commons.

Sebastiano Ricci’s The Battle of the Lapiths and Centaurs from about 1705 has similar problems, although it does use multiplex narrative to help. In the left background, Hippodame is seen being carried away by Eurytus, and to the right there are scenes of abduction at the wedding feast.

Francesco Solimena (1657–1747), Battle between Lapiths and Centaurs (1735-40), oil on canvas, 104 x 130 cm, Private collection. Wikimedia Commons.

Francesco Solimena’s Battle between Lapiths and Centaurs (1735-40) puts multiple abductions in the foreground, with pitched battles taking place behind.

There’s a moral, of course: never invite centaurs to your wedding feast, as they’ll go way beyond smashing the crockery.