The legendary hero Perseus was the son of Danaë, conceived when Zeus/Jupiter impregnated her in a shower of gold. He had been sent by Polydectes on a mission to bring him the head of Medusa, and on his return with that secured in a kibisis, he stopped off in Ethiopia, where the princess Andromeda was awaiting sacrifice to the sea monster Cetus.

Titian’s Perseus and Andromeda (1553-59) shows the height of the action, remaining largely faithful to Ovid’s account of this story. All three actors are present, with Andromeda still shackled and Perseus attacking Cetus from the air using a sword with a curved blade.

Paolo Veronese’s Perseus Rescuing Andromeda followed soon afterwards, in 1576-78. His composition is similar to Titian’s, and equally faithful to the text, but his additional attention to the details of Perseus and Cetus brings this to life.

In the ninth painting in Edward Burne-Jones’ series, The Doom Fulfilled (1888), Perseus is swathed in Cetus’ coils with their almost calligraphic form, brandishing his sword and ready to slaughter the monster and bring its terror to an end.

In the early twentieth century, the former Nabi artist Félix Edouard Vallotton painted a series of narrative works, including his Perseus Killing the Dragon, from 1910, a thoroughly contemporary interpretation that is exceptionally free with Ovid’s account.

As with most classical myths, several variants of the story have developed over time. All painted accounts that I have seen follow the action-packed version in which Perseus slays Cetus with his sword, but some literary versions report that the sea monster was turned to stone by Medusa’s face, which would have made far duller paintings.

A more recent variant has the hero flying to Andromeda’s aid not with his winged sandals, but on the back of the winged horse Pegasus.

By the time that Rubens came to paint Perseus and Andromeda in about 1622, the newer revised version including Pegasus seems to have become popular. Andromeda is at the left, unchained from her rock where she had been placed as a delightful morsel for Cetus, which has just been killed by Perseus and now lies at the lower edge with its fearsome mouth wide open. Perseus is in the process of claiming Andromeda’s hand as his reward, for which he is being crowned with laurels. Although he clearly flew in on Pegasus, he is still wearing his winged sandals, and holds the polished shield reflecting Medusa’s face and snake hair.

Piero di Cosimo uses multiplex narrative to show most of the story in his large Andromeda Freed by Perseus (c 1510-15). Centred on the great bulk of Cetus, Perseus stands on its back and is about to hack at its neck with his curved sword. At the upper right, Perseus is shown a few moments earlier, as he was flying past in his winged sandals. To the left of Cetus, Andromeda is still secured to the rock by red fabric bindings, not chains, and is bare only to her waist.

In the foreground in front of Cetus are Andromeda’s parents stricken in grief. Near them is a group of courtiers with ornate head-dress. But in the right foreground the wedding party is already in full swing, complete with musicians and dancers.

Perseus’ reward for rescuing Andromeda and saving the kingdom of Ethiopia was naturally the hand of the princess in marriage. There was only one obstacle, that she had already been promised to Phineus, who was clearly no match when it came to killing sea monsters. Whether or not Phineus was invited, he and his friends turned up at the wedding of Andromeda and Perseus, and trouble soon broke out. The punch-up turned lethal when the weapons came out, and Perseus decided it was time to show Medusa’s face to the unwelcome guests.

Sebastiano Ricci’s Perseus Confronting Phineus with the Head of Medusa (c 1705-10) shows the final moments of the battle, as Phineus cowers next to two of his henchmen who have almost completed the process of changing into stone. Although not shown here, Athena herself turned up to make sure that no one got the better of Perseus.

Edward Burne-Jones worked on many sketches and preliminary designs for his series, among which were gouache and gold layouts to show how his paintings would fit into their carved surrounds in his patron’s Music Room.

This design shows an outline of the whole series, which had originally been intended to include Phineus and the wedding. The scenes shown are, from the left, Atlas Turned to Stone, The Rock of Doom and the Doom Fulfilled, The Court of Phineas, and The Baleful Head, shown below.

The tenth and final painting in Burne-Jones’ series, The Baleful Head (1885), shows Perseus and Andromeda, their right hands clenching one another’s wrists, looking at the image of Medusa’s face reflected in the surface of a well. This is set in a peaceful garden, with a fruit-laden apple tree behind, and flowers springing up from the grass beneath them.

Literary accounts take the couple on to live at Tiryns in Argos, from where Heracles/Hercules later undertook his Twelve Labours. They had seven sons and two daughters, and among their descendants were Heracles, Castor and Pollux, Clytemnestra, and the Achaemenid Persians.

When Perseus returned to Seriphos, he discovered Polydectes was still trying to seduce his mother Danaë. Perseus therefore used Medusa’s face to turn him to stone, and made Dictys king and his mother’s consort. His mission accomplished, Perseus returned the weapon and equipment loaned by the gods, and gave Athena the head of Medusa, which she then set in her shield as the Gorgoneion, more commonly referred to as the Aegis.

Distinguishing the three goddesses taking part in The Judgement of Paris, shown in Rubens’ late account from 1632-35, often relies in part on the aegis. The three goddesses are, from the left, Athena with her shield, Aphrodite, and Hera with her peacock.

There was still one loose end to be tied, though: the prediction that Perseus would kill his father Acrisius. Various accounts are given of this, but consensus is that Perseus threw a quoit or discus that unintentionally struck Acrisius and killed him. Thereafter, he ruled a kingdom until he and Andromeda died. They were both catasterised into their own constellations, where they can still be seen today.

Many of the heroes of the classical world were deeply flawed. Theseus, founder of Athens, treated women appallingly, and Jason of the Argonauts was no better. This new series looks at paintings of the legendary lives of those who could have been villains or hooligans rather than the heroes they were held to be.

Perseus, the greatest slayer of monsters among them, seems to have been faithful to Andromeda, the princess he rescued from the jaws of Cetus, the sea monster. He even killed Polydectes, who was chasing his mother. Like several other classical heroes, Perseus was the result of divine union with a mortal, in this case Zeus/Jupiter with Danaë. She had been imprisoned in a bronze chamber to prevent her from becoming pregnant, as her father Acrisius, King of Argos, had been warned by an oracle that he would be killed by his daughter’s son.

With a skylight as the chamber’s only source of light and air, Zeus descended on her in the form of golden rain. Danae (c 1900) is Carolus-Duran’s beautifully simple painting of this story, showing the shower of gold falling from its upper edge.

Gustav Klimt’s Danaë is curled into a foetal ball, and is usually interpreted as showing arousal. She became pregnant, later giving birth to Perseus. Her father then tried to kill them both by putting them in a wooden chest and casting it into the sea, but they were washed up alive on the island of Seriphos, where Dictys, a fisherman and brother of King Polydectes, raised the boy.

As a young man, Perseus suspected the intentions of Polydectes towards his mother Danaë, and tried to protect her from him. In a bid to get Perseus out of his way, Polydectes called a large banquet for which each guest was expected to bring a gift of a horse. As Perseus had no horse to give, he asked the king to name a substitute, which was the head of the Gorgon Medusa, and the cue for Perseus’ major adventure.

Although the myths of Perseus have long been popular subjects for painters, none has devoted as much attention to them as Edward Burne-Jones, whose uncompleted Perseus series is one of the greatest visual accounts of any classical myth.

This series starts with The Call of Perseus (1877), showing a double image of Perseus with Athena outside the city. At the left, Athena approaches the pensive Perseus, who is pondering how he can obtain the head of Medusa, staring into a stream. At the right, Athena has transformed herself into her regular and recognisable form, and is giving Perseus her advice, and providing him with the mirror with which he can view Medusa in safety. Although other artists have depicted this mirror as an impressive circular shield, throughout this series Burne-Jones shows it as a far smaller circular hand mirror.

The first call in Perseus’ mission were the sisters of the Gorgons, the Graiae (there are various spellings), who would in turn lead him to the Hesperides, who would provide him with a kibisis, a small bag into which he would put Medusa’s head.

Burne-Jones next shows Perseus with the three Graiae. He has just intercepted and seized their single, shared eye, which he is holding in his right hand, and only returns once they have led him to the Hesperides. The words in the inscription provide a potted summary, in translation:
Pallas Athena spurred Perseus to action with her urging, and equipped him with arms. The Graiae revealed to him the remote home of the nymphs. From here he went with wings on his feet and with his head shrouded in darkness, and with his sword he struck the one mortal Gorgon, the others being immortal. Her two sisters arose and pursued him. Next he turned Atlas to stone. The sea serpent was slain and Andromeda rescued, and the comrades of Phineas became lumps of rock. Then Andromeda looked in a mirror with wonder at the dreadful Medusa.
(Modified from Anderson & Cassin.)

Perseus needed four more items for his mission: Zeus gave him an adamantine sword and the helm of darkness from Hades, enabling him to hide invisibly. Hermes lent out his winged sandals so that Perseus could fly like a god, and Athena provided him with a polished shield, so he could avoid looking directly at Medusa’s face, which would have turned him to stone.

Perseus then flew to the cave in which the Gorgons were asleep, and beheaded Medusa. From her severed neck sprung the winged horse Pegasus, and Chrysaor, a sword of gold.

Eugène Romain Thirion’s Perseus Victorious Over Medusa from 1867 respects convention, with the hero triumphantly holding Medusa’s head aloft, facing away from him. He shows Pegasus behind, but not Chrysaor, which is generally omitted from these paintings, and indeed from some verbal accounts.

The two surviving Gorgons tried to pursue Perseus, but he donned the helm of Hades and became invisible to them. He flew over North Africa, and sought rest and accommodation from Atlas there. However, Atlas refused him hospitality, for which Perseus showed him the face of Medusa, turning him to stone.

The seventh painting in Burne-Jones’ Perseus Series, his Atlas Turned to Stone (1878), shows the aftermath of Atlas’ failure to offer hospitality: he has been turned to stone by the residual power of Medusa’s face, and now stands bearing the cosmos on his shoulders as Perseus flies off to Ethiopia to rescue Andromeda.

Perseus stopped in Ethiopia, which was ruled by King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia. She had boasted of the beauty of her daughter Andromeda, and so incurred the wrath of Poseidon, bringing floods and a voracious sea monster named Cetus. The local oracle told the king and queen that the only way to save their people from Cetus was to sacrifice their daughter to the monster. Accordingly, and with great grief, they were forced to comply. Andromeda was therefore fastened to a rock at the edge of the sea to await Cetus.

Frederic, Lord Leighton’s Perseus and Andromeda (1891) shows the ‘invisible’ Perseus astride Pegasus shooting arrows into Cetus, while the monster surrounds Andromeda. Cetus is here a conventional fire-breathing dragon, complete with stereotypical wings and a long tail. Andromeda is not naked, as her modesty is preserved by draping a white robe around her waist.

This Roman wall painting from the ruins of Pompeii, dated to about 50-75 CE, adopts the approach typical of many later artists, showing a close-up of the couple. Andromeda is still chained to the rock by her left wrist, and is partially clad, nakedness being reserved for the hero and half-god Perseus. He has Medusa’s head tucked behind him, its face shown for ease of recognition, wears his winged sandals, and carries a straight sword in his left hand. There is still no sign of any sea monster.

In its strict meaning, a tapestry is a decorated textile woven by hand on a loom, although some famous embroideries including the Bayeux Tapestry have become misleadingly termed. Fragments have attested to their ancient origins, and in Europe they were a popular medium of visual art between 1350-1800, and were revived in the late nineteenth century. Although many tapestries were apparently designed without the involvement of established painters, some of the great European painters of those periods were commissioned to paint studies or cartoons for prominent tapestries.

A few tapestries have proved influential on painting, among them the wonderful cycle of The Lady and the Unicorn from the end of the fifteenth century. In that cycle, The Sense of Touch shows the common figures of the lady and a unicorn, surrounded by animals and objects amid the mille-fleurs.

Among the most prominent painters who designed major tapestries is Raphael. Soon after Pope Leo X was elected, probably later that year or in 1514, he commissioned Raphael to supply a set of cartoons for a series of ten tapestries to be hung in the Sistine Chapel. Raphael is thought to have worked on these with his workshop during 1515, and possibly into the following year.

The cartoons were painted on paper using a glue tempera or gouache, and on completion were sent to Pieter van Aelst’s renowned tapestry workshop in Brussels, where they were woven. The completed tapestries arrived in Rome between 1517-19. By the end of 1519, seven of them hung on the walls of the Sistine Chapel, with the remaining three arriving probably during 1520.

The cartoons were painted by Raphael himself, together with his studio assistants Gianfrancesco Penni and Giulio Romano. When they were in Brussels, the cartoons were cut into strips to facilitate their weaving. Once the tapestries were complete, those strips were already heavily worn, and entered the art market until they were bought for the collection of Charles, Prince of Wales, in 1623. Rubens may have facilitated that transaction. They remain in the UK Royal Collection, and are now exhibited in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.

The tapestries had more of an adventurous life. By 1521, seven were in pawn. Shortly after the Sack of Rome they were looted and sold into private collections. By 1544 seven of them had been repurchased by the Vatican, and the series was complete again in 1553. They were stolen again in 1798, and only recovered in 1808.

The Brussels workshop subsequently wove at least four sets of copies, one for Federigo Gonzaga’s Palazzo Ducale in Mantua, another for the Royal Palace in Madrid, a third for King Henry VIII which were destroyed by fire when in Berlin during the Second World War, and a fourth for the French monarch, which have been lost. These sets all appear to have omitted the tapestry of Saint Paul in Prison. Later copies, woven in England after 1619, are more numerous.

Raphael’s cartoons form two cycles, which are arranged opposite one another, and intended to be read starting from the chapel’s altarpiece. They tell the lives of the two saints most involved in early Christian ministry: Saint Peter the Apostle, and Saint Paul.

Best known among the cartoons is The Miraculous Draft of Fishes, based on the Gospel of Luke Chapter 5, verses 1-10, which shows the calling of Saint Peter the Apostle. Peter, then known as Simon, was a fisherman who worked the Sea of Galilee with his brother Andrew and the two sons of Zebedee. Jesus called Simon and his brother to become “fishers of men”.

The final cartoon in the cycle is The Death of Ananias, based on the Acts of the Apostles Chapter 5, verses 3-5. Ananias had followed the example of the Cypriot Barnabas, and sold a plot of land to raise money for the early church. However, Ananias had secretly withheld some of the proceeds for himself. Peter drew attention to the lie that Ananias had made to God, whereupon the man fell dead where he was.

Raphael’s cartoon (above) is reversed on the tapestry (below), and the latter’s borders are enhanced with a frieze, the emblem of the Pope, and additional vignettes. When they were new, these tapestries must have been magnificent.

Paintings of Peter Paul Rubens and Jacob Jordaens were also used as designs for tapestries, but perhaps the most prolific well-known painter of cartoons is Francisco Goya. In early 1775, he was summoned to the royal court in Madrid, to work on his first commissions for nine cartoons of hunting scenes to be turned into tapestries by the Royal Factory in Santa Bárbara. They were delivered in two batches, in May and October 1775, and were to prove the first of many such cartoons he made for the accommodation of the Prince and Princess of Asturias, heir apparent to the Spanish throne. In this case, the tapestries were to decorate their dining room in El Escorial.

The chosen theme was ideal for Goya, who was a keen hunter, and already had his own hunting dogs. His technical knowledge and insight into the real world of hunting shine through in these paintings.

Dogs and Hunting Gear, delivered in May 1775, shows a fine pair of dogs, guns and the other equipment used by the hunter of the day. The dogs are lifelike, and Goya captures the glinting metal excellently. Throughout these paintings, the landscapes used as backdrops appear comparatively antiquated.

Hunting with a Decoy, another of the first batch delivered in May 1775, includes a fine portrait of a dog, together with five different birds. At the upper right, an owl and another bird are shown in flight, with a different owl and a small bird in cages below.

In July 1786, Goya was at last appointed Painter to the King, and held that position until the death of King Carlos III in December 1788. His first substantial commission was to provide a set of thirteen cartoons to be turned into tapestries for the dining room at El Pardo. The Royal Tapestry Factory was being reorganised, and was in need of work for the king.

Goya presented his sketches for these in the autumn of 1786, and the completed paintings were delivered the following year. They consist of a central series of the seasons, rightly recognised today as one of Goya’s finest series of paintings, together with some more social realist images.

His sketch for Autumn (1786) shows Majas and Majos receiving grapes being picked by the hard-working labourers behind them.

The finished cartoon, Autumn: The Grape Harvest (1786-87), uses the same composition but refines the bright sky.

Tapestry manufacture went into decline in Europe during the final years of the eighteenth century, and almost became extinct with Napoleon’s empire. It was revived by William Morris and the Arts and Crafts movement associated with the Pre-Raphaelites in Britain.

This exquisite tapestry of The Adoration of the Magi was designed in 1888 by Edward Burne-Jones, William Morris and the lesser-known John Henry Dearle. This version was woven six years later for the Corporation of Manchester, and is one of ten known examples. The composition was taken from a watercolour by Burne-Jones from 1887, photographically enlarged into cartoons, and coloured and decorated with flowers by Morris and Dearle.

In the 1890s, William Morris’s company created sets of six tapestry panels telling the story of the quest for the Holy Grail. Much of the artistic work was performed by Sir Edward Burne-Jones, with Morris mainly concerned with the design, and the younger John Henry Dearle responsible for floral and other details. The first set was made for Stanmore Hall in Shropshire. This image of The Arming and Departure of the Knights shows the panel made for the second set in 1895-96.

This section of the tapestry shows The Attainment: The Vision of the Holy Grail to Sir Galahad, Sir Bors, and Sir Perceval, and was made in 1895-96.

A few subsequent painters have created designs as well.

The Nabi painter Maurice Denis became more interested in decorative arts, and in 1898 made this design model for a tapestry showing a Cavalry Legend, or Three Young Princesses.

When reading a painting of classical myth, the feet and footwear can be very important. Although they’re by no means common, if you see a figure wearing what could be winged sandals, you can narrow them down to one of two: Hermes or Mercury as messenger of the gods, and the hero Theseus. However, their depictions aren’t always consistent, and the absence of winged sandals doesn’t mean you can exclude them, unfortunately.

I start with the god, whose talaria were fashioned from gold by Hephaestus/Vulcan to enable him to fly as fast as any bird.

One of the most famous depictions of Hermes, typically in a supporting role, is in Botticelli’s magnificent Primavera from around 1482.

Hermes’ mother Maia gave her name to the month of May, so is associated with Spring. Botticelli has chosen to give the serpents on his caduceus wings to make them resemble small dragons. The god is also more typically seen with his caduceus in his left hand, rather than his right as shown here, and his winged sandals clearly aren’t made of gold.

Hermes is a frequent figure in paintings of gatherings of deities, including Andrea Mantegna’s Mars and Venus, known better as Parnassus (1496-97), painted for Isabella d’Este. At the right of this complex gathering is Hermes with his winged sandals and caduceus, and Pegasus the winged horse. Apollo is at the far left, making music for the Muses on his lyre.

Francisco Bayeu y Subías was Goya’s brother-in-law. His Olympus: The Fall of the Giants from 1764 shows the war between the Titans and Olympian gods, and was presumably hung under a ceiling. Just to the upper left of its centre, holding his caduceus and wearing winged sandals, is Hermes.

Auguste Renoir’s account of The Judgment of Paris, from about 1908-10, demonstrates his skill as a narrative painter. After Paris has accepted Aphrodite’s bribe of Helen, he is shown awarding her the golden apple provided by the discordant Eris from the garden of the Hesperides. Watching on is Hermes, complete with his winged helmet and sandals, and caduceus.

Hermes seldom lent out his talaria, but there’s one occasion that has become well known. When Perseus was on his mission to obtain the head of Medusa, he was kitted out with Hermes’ sandals, the cap of Hades for invisibility, and a kibisis or sack in which to conceal the Gorgon’s severed head.

This Pompeian account of Perseus Freeing Andromeda from about 50-75 CE shows Andromeda still chained to the rock by her left wrist, and partially clad rather than naked as the myth related. Perseus has Medusa’s head tucked behind him, her face shown for ease of recognition. He is wearing his winged sandals, and carrying his sword in his left hand, although there’s no sign of Cetus the sea-monster yet.

Peter Paul Rubens’ Perseus and Andromeda from about 1622 contains most of the cues and clues to the original narrative. Andromeda is almost naked, although unchained at this stage, on the left. Perseus is clearly in the process of claiming her hand as his reward, for which he is being crowned with laurels, as the victor. He wears winged sandals, and holds the polished shield that still reflects Medusa’s face and snake hair. Much of the right of the painting is taken up by Pegasus, and at the lower edge is the dead Cetus, its fearsome mouth wide open.

In Edward Burne-Jones’ Perseus Series, the hero’s winged sandals are one of its less consistent features.

The third painting, Perseus and the Sea Nymphs (1877), shows the Hesperides equipping Perseus with the kibisis at the far right. Burne-Jones combines with that his donning the winged sandals (centre) and Hades’ helmet, as provided by Hermes and Zeus.

Further on in the series, in his finished oil version of The Doom Fulfilled (1888), the sandals are shown clearly as Perseus takes on Cetus.

In one of Frederic, Lord Leighton’s last paintings, of Perseus On Pegasus Hastening To the Rescue of Andromeda from about 1895-96, the wings on his sandals are tiny but distinctive.