“I feel alive when I’m doing something at this level,” Ridley Scott said of finishing “Gladiator II” while working on preproduction of his next film. “I don’t call it stress, I call it adrenaline.”
A Nissan plant in Kaminokawa, Japan. The automaker is making deep cuts after it reported a 90 percent drop in operating profit for the first half of its fiscal year.
Having just told us of the events leading to the death and apotheosis of Hercules, Ovid continues book 9 of his Metamorphoses by telling the story of his birth. He leads into this by telling us that Alcmena, Hercules’ mother, had found Iole, Hercules’ lover, a good confidante. Since Hercules’ apotheosis, and at the hero’s instruction, Hyllus had married Iole, and she was now pregnant with his child.
This reminds Alcmena of her own pregnancy with Hercules, that had been cursed by Juno to be a difficult one. She was in labour for seven days and nights, in agony, and called on Lucina and the multiple Roman deities of childbirth to deliver her child. But Lucina had received instructions from Juno, and would not let the labour progress.
Lucina sat on an altar by the door, her legs crossed and her hands linked, preventing delivery. One of Alcmena’s most loyal maids, Galanthis, took matters into her own hands, and announced to Lucina that Hercules had been born. The goddess was so shocked that she jumped up, parting her hands, so allowing Alcmena’s labour to conclude at last. But Galanthis ridiculed Lucina for this. The goddess seized Galanthis by her hair and dragged her along the ground. As the maid struggled to rise she was transformed into a weasel, and Hercules entered the world.
I’ve been unable to find any paintings of this story, but there are several engravings.
Virgil Solis (1514-1562), Alcmena’s Labour (date not known), engraving for Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book IX, 285-323. Francfurt, 1581, fol. 118 v., image 5. Wikimedia Commons.
Virgil Solis engraved Alcmena’s Labour at some time around 1550. Alcmena is in the left foreground, in the throes of her protracted labour, with four women attending to her. In the background, two women are talking, and at the far right, Lucina is dragging Galanthis to the ground by her hair. There’s also a weasel walking past.
Subsequent engravings have drawn on this. Some show Lucina and Galanthis fighting in the background, but most omit the weasel. One other comes close to showing the story as told by Ovid.
Artist not known, Alcmena Giving Birth to Hercules: Juno, Jealous of the Child, Attempts to Delay the Childbirth (c 1606), line engraving in Nicolas Renouard, Les Métamorphoses d’Ovide, traduites en prose françoise, 11.5 x 14.1 cm, 1606, Wellcome Library (no. 16885i), London. Courtesy of The Wellcome Library, via Wikimedia Commons.
The unknown engraver who made Alcmena Giving Birth to Hercules: Juno, Jealous of the Child, Attempts to Delay the Childbirth, in about 1606, has an almost identical group around Alcmena. The same two women are talking in the background, but the weasel is prominent.
Other stories about Hercules as a baby and young child, which Ovid doesn’t tell here, have been much better represented in paintings. According to older Greek myths, the sons of Jupiter could only become divine if they were suckled at Juno’s breast. Shortly after the birth of Hercules, Mercury took the infant to Juno, who put him to her breast. When she realised who the baby was, she pulled him away, and the excess milk released as a result sprayed over the heavens, forming the Milky Way.
There are two outstanding paintings showing this unusual scene.
Jacopo Tintoretto’s The Origin of the Milky Way from about 1575 shows the infant Hercules being pulled away by an anonymous assistant, with fine streams of milk gushing upwards to generate individual stars. In the background, Jupiter’s eagle appears to have a crablike object in its talons, perhaps representing the constellation of the Crab (Cancer), and Juno’s peacocks are at the right.
Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640), The Birth of the Milky Way (1636-37), oil on canvas, 181 × 244 cm, Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid, Spain. Wikimedia Commons.
Just a few years before his death, Rubens painted an even more wonderful version, The Birth of the Milky Way (1636-37). Jupiter sits in the background on the left, seemingly bored. Juno’s milk arcs out from her left breast over the heavens, and her peacocks look distressed.
Other myths tell that Juno was still furious that Hercules had been born, so she placed two serpents in his cradle, in an attempt to kill the child. Hercules’ mortal twin Iphicles (not mentioned by Ovid) screamed at the snakes, bringing their father Amphitryon running. He found Hercules strangling the serpents with his bare hands: proof that he was indeed the son of Jupiter.
Several fine paintings seize this unique opportunity to show an infant strangling serpents.
Bernardino Mei (1612–1676) (attr), Scene from the Infancy of Hercules (date not known), oil on canvas, 135 x 96 cm, location not known. Wikimedia Commons.
This painting from the mid seventeenth century, attributed to Bernardino Mei, has been neutrally titled Scene from the Infancy of Hercules. Rather than let his father discover the baby’s strange abilities, it’s Alcmena who has come running into his nursery.
Pompeo Batoni (1708–1787), The Infant Hercules Strangling Serpents in his Cradle (1743), oil on canvas, dimensions not known, Palazzo Pitti, Florence. Wikimedia Commons.
Pompeo Batoni’s account, The Infant Hercules Strangling Serpents in his Cradle from 1743, succeeds because it shows so well Hercules’ parents, disturbed from their bed, discovering their baby despatching the snakes, all by the light of an oil lamp.
The third version of this story comes from Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was commissioned by Catherine the Great of Russia in 1785 to paint her a history subject of his choice. Reynolds thought that he could flatter the Empress of Russia, perhaps, and produced this preparatory study for the heart of his final work.
Joshua Reynolds (1723–1792), The Infant Hercules (c 1785-89), oil on millboard, 25.5 x 21 cm, Princeton University Art Museum, Princeton, NJ. Wikimedia Commons.
The Infant Hercules was painted between about 1785-88, then exhibited at the Royal Academy before being sent to Russia. Reynolds is reputed to have used a real baby as his model, and later reused this for a painting of Puck as a baby.
Joshua Reynolds (1723–1792), The Infant Hercules Strangling Serpents in his Cradle (1788), oil on canvas, 307 × 297 cm, Hermitage Museum Государственный Эрмитаж, Saint Petersburg, Russia. Wikimedia Commons.
Reynolds’ finished painting of The Infant Hercules Strangling Serpents in his Cradle (1788) loses the baby among its elaborate supporting cast. It has also suffered problems with deterioration in its paint layer, a common issue with many of Reynold’s paintings.
The first twenty or so chapters of Miguel de Cervantes’ groundbreaking modern novel Don Quixote consist of a series of largely self-contained comic misadventures. After the knight and his long-suffering squire Sancho Panza release a group of convicts, they fear for their safety, so head for the mountains. Once there, events become more interrelated and complex, presenting even greater challenges to those who tried to paint them in standalone works, rather than illustrations accompanying the text.
The pair find a hoard of gold coins apparently abandoned with a notebook in a travel bag. Then Don Quixote catches a glimpse of a man leaping around the bushes half-naked, and suspects that he’s the owner of the bag and its coins. A little way around the hillside, they find a dead mule whose owner they think had carried that bag.
This scene must have fascinated the French artist Honoré Daumier, who painted a series of oil sketches of it in about 1867.
Honoré Daumier (1808–1879), Don Quixote and the Dead Mule (after 1864), oil on panel, 24.8 x 46 cm, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY. Wikimedia Commons.
In the first, the knight leads his squire towards the dead mule.
Honoré Daumier (1808–1879), Don Quixote and the Dead Mule (1867), oil on canvas, 132.5 × 54.5 cm, Musée d’Orsay, Paris. Photograph by Rama, Wikimedia Commons, Cc-by-sa-2.0-fr.
This rough oil sketch shows them drawing even closer.
Honoré Daumier (1808–1879), Sancho Panza and Don Quixote in the Sierra (1866/68), oil on canvas, 29.5 x 45 cm, Private collection. Wikimedia Commons.
Sancho Panza and Don Quixote in the Sierra is more generic, and omits the dead mule altogether.
A little later, Sancho Panza’s donkey is stolen, so the knight dispatches him on his own horse Rocinante to obtain three replacement donkeys, and deliver a letter to the Lady Dulcinea, Quixote’s semi-imaginary ‘lady’ of his chivalric quests. Meanwhile, the knight laments and feigns madness for the lady. Panza meets their village priest and barber, and they agree to deceive Quixote in a bid to persuade him to return to the village for his madness to be treated.
As the three head back towards Don Quixote, they meet Dorotea, who had previously been tricked and seduced. She agrees to dress up as a fine lady and pose as Princess Micomicona, who purports to have come all the way from Guinea to ask a boon of the knight.
Pedro González Bolívar (dates not known), The Introduction of Dorotea to Don Quixote (1881), oil on canvas, 100 x 88 cm, Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid, Spain. Wikimedia Commons.
Pedro González Bolívar’s painting of The Introduction of Dorotea to Don Quixote from 1881 shows their meeting. Without that background information, this would prove impossible to read.
Don Quixote is persuaded to leave the mountains and return home with them, but that’s the start of another series of misadventures. During these, Dorotea’s true identity is revealed, and at dinner Don Quixote gives a long and impassioned speech in which he argues surprisingly rationally in favour of the pre-eminence of arms over learning.
Manuel García Hispaleto (1836–1898), Don Quixote’s Speech of Arms and Letters (1884), oil on canvas, 152 x 197 cm, Palacio del Senado de España, Madrid, Spain. Wikimedia Commons.
This is recorded in Manuel García Hispaleto’s painting of Don Quixote’s Speech of Arms and Letters from 1884. Sancho Panza stands immediately behind the knight, at the head of the table, on the right. Seated along the table’s length are a man who has just arrived from Algiers with a Moorish woman, the village priest, and others.
Don Quixote’s madness only continues, and eventually he has to be bundled into an oxcart and taken home.
Hippolyte Lecomte (1781–1857), Don Quixote’s Homecoming (date not known), oil on canvas, 27.5 x 38.5 cm, location not known. Wikimedia Commons.
On a Sunday when all the locals are out in the square, the oxcart bearing Don Quixote enters his village at noon, as shown in Hippolyte Lecomte’s undated Don Quixote’s Homecoming. At the left, Don Quixote’s niece or housekeeper holds her hands up in horror at his condition. To the left of the cart are the priest and barber, still mounted. Sancho Panza is riding his donkey, and has been greeted by his wife and their children, who are more interested in how many fine skirts he brought back for her, and how many pairs of shoes for their children.
Miguel Jadraque y Sánchez (1840–1919), Visit of the Priest and Barber to Don Quixote (1880), oil on canvas, 53 x 64.5 cm, Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid, Spain. Wikimedia Commons.
The priest and barber leave Don Quixote alone to recover for a month after their return, then reassess him, as shown by Miguel Jadraque in this Visit of the Priest and Barber to Don Quixote from 1880. Don Quixote is becoming animated with them as he sits up in bed. In the left background are the knight’s niece and housekeeper, praying in vain for his recovery.
Don Quixote and Sancho Panza then leave on their third sally, which first takes them on a futile mission to El Toboso in quest of the Lady Dulcinea. After that, they head towards the city of Saragossa, and meet a cart full of players in costume, who create mayhem.
Carlos Vásquez Úbeda (1869-1944), Don Quixote (date not known), oil on canvas, 160 x 278 cm, Musée Goya, Castres, France. Image by Tylwyth Eldar, via Wikimedia Commons.
Carlos Vásquez Úbeda shows this encounter in his undated painting of Don Quixote. At this stage, the pair are still on their mounts, but shortly afterwards a clown causes Rocinante to bolt and throw Don Quixote, and one of the other players rides off on the squire’s donkey. For once, Sancho manages to persuade his master not to retaliate, and they continue on their way without coming to grief.
Later, they meet a group from a village, and are invited to attend a wedding there the following day.
The wedding brings an elaborate deception in which the bride’s first suitor appears to impale himself on his own sword so that he can marry the bride as his dying wish, but then miraculously comes back to life, to cheat the groom from marrying the bride as had been expected. Manuel García Hispaleto’s painting of The Marriage of Basilio and Quiteria from 1881 shows the priest officiating in the centre, as the bride to the right is married to the dying suitor, who is supported by Don Quixote with his lance. The groom stands at the front of the tent at the right, staring in disbelief at what’s going on.
Gustave Doré (1832–1883), Don Quixote and Sancho Panza Entertained by Basil and Quiteria (c 1863), oil on canvas, 92.1 x 73 cm, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY. Wikimedia Commons.
The newlyweds entertain Don Quixote and Sancho Panza for three days, enabling them to visit the Cave of Montesinos and the Lakes of Ruidera nearby. Gustave Doré, whose illustrations for the whole book have been used by others as the basis for further illustrated editions, painted this non-narrative scene of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza Entertained by Basil and Quiteria in about 1863.
In the middle of Cervantes’ second book of Don Quixote, the knight and his squire Sancho Panza become guests of a Duke and Duchess who had already read Cervantes’ first book, and set out to trick the pair into further comical misadventures. Soon after their arrival, the Duke’s chaplain asserts that Don Quixote isn’t a knight errant at all, causing the knight to deliver a searing riposte.
Columbano Bordalo Pinheiro (1857–1929), Don Quijote in the Duke’s House (1878), media not known, 87.4 x 133.1 cm, Pena Palace, Sintra, Portugal. Wikimedia Commons.
Out of the blue, maids arrive to wash and lather the knight’s beard, and that of the Duke, in a procedure that defuses a tense situation by transforming it into the absurd. Columbano Bordalo Pinheiro’s painting of Don Quijote in the Duke’s House from 1878 shows this bizarre moment, with the rotund figure of Sancho Panza at the left, the gaunt Don Quixote in the centre, and the Duke and Duchess seated at the right, in obvious amusement.
Although Cervantes had completed Don Quixote in 1615, and it quickly became popular across Europe, it appears to have been painted infrequently before the nineteenth century. Only Valero Iriarte seems to have painted its comical adventure stories in the previous century. Although Eugène Delacroix painted the non-narrative Don Quixote in his Library in 1824, Cervantes’ novel was generally ignored by the major narrative artists of the nineteenth century, who continued depicting mostly classical myth.
These paintings demonstrate how modern fiction can form the basis for successful narrative painting, even though that has remained unusual.
As a visual art, painting is all about looking and seeing, and one of its more discomforting themes is that of the voyeur, the eyes that shouldn’t be there, looking at something they really shouldn’t. In these two articles, I first show examples of paintings that explore this in classical myths and Biblical stories, then tomorrow will take that on to more modern subjects.
When Acis, son of the river nymph Symaethis, was only sixteen, Galatea fell in love with him, but the Cyclops Polyphemus fell in love with her. The latter did his best to smarten his appearance for her, but remained deeply and murderously jealous of Acis. Telemus, a seer, visited Sicily and warned Polyphemus that Ulysses would blind his single eye. This upset the Cyclops, who climbed a coastal hill and sat there, playing his reed pipes.
Meanwhile, Galatea was lying in the arms of her lover Acis, hidden behind a rock on the beach. Polyphemus then launched into a long soliloquy imploring Galatea to come to him and spurn Acis. When he saw the two lovers together, Polyphemus grew angry, and shouted loudly at them that would be their last embrace. Galatea dived into the sea, but her lover was crushed to death by the boulder that Polyphemus lobbed at him.
Gustave Moreau (1826–1898), Galatea (c 1880), oil on panel, 85.5 × 66 cm, Musée d’Orsay, Paris. Wikimedia Commons.
Gustave Moreau’s Galatea from about 1880 shows her resting naked in the countryside with her eyes closed, and the cyclops playing sinister voyeur. Surrounding them is a magical countryside, filled with strange plants recalling anemones, as would be appropriate to a sea-nymph. Polyphemus is shown with two ‘normal’ eyesockets and lids, his single seeing eye staring out disconcertingly from the middle of his forehead.
Odilon Redon (1840–1916), The Cyclops (c 1914), oil on cardboard mounted on panel, 65.8 × 52.7 cm, Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo, The Netherlands. Wikimedia Commons.
Odilon Redon’s The Cyclops (c 1914) is one of the masterpieces of Symbolism, and follows Redon’s personal theme of the eye and sight, and further develops that of the voyeurism of Polyphemus. Polyphemus’ face is now dominated by his single eye looking down over Galatea’s naked beauty, with Acis nowhere to be seen.
Adriaen van der Werff (1659–1722), Amorous Couple in a Park Spied upon by Children, or Paris and Oenone (1694), oil on panel, 37 x 30 cm, Rijksmuseum Amsterdam, Amsterdam. Wikimedia Commons.
Van der Werff’s modern reputation includes painting the erotic, and his Amorous Couple in a Park Spied upon by Children, or Paris and Oenone, from 1694, is one of his earlier works exploring the intense relationship of this legendary couple. When he was still a shepherd, Paris of Troy married the nymph Oenone, whom he later abandoned to marry Helen.
The Biblical story of King David and Bathsheba is all about voyeurism and sinister power.
Jean Bourdichon (1457-1521), Bathsheba Bathing (1498-99), tempera and gold on parchment, 24.3 × 17 cm, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, CA. Wikimedia Commons.
Miniatures, such as Jean Bourdichon’s Bathsheba Bathing from 1498-99, led more private lives and could be considerably more explicit. Here is the most frequently painted moment of the story, with a nude Bathsheba bathing in the foreground, and David in his crown and regal robes watching her from a window in the distance.
Adriaen van der Werff (1659–1722), Bathsheba (1714), oil on panel, 45 x 33 cm, location not known. Wikimedia Commons.
In 1714, Adriaen van der Werff painted his traditional version of Bathsheba, who is combing her hair under the distant gaze of King David.
David Wilkie (1785-1841), Bathsheba (1815), oil on panel, 38.3 x 30.4 cm, California Palace of the Legion of Honor, Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, San Francisco, CA. The Athenaeum.
The Scottish artist David Wilkie’s Bathsheba from 1815 is set in the countryside. She is now beside a small stream where she has been bathing, and is just donning a stocking. King David is again shown as a sinister voyeur.
Jean-Léon Gérôme (1824–1904), Bathsheba (1889), oil on canvas, 60.5 x 100 cm, Private collection. Wikimedia Commons.
As you might expect, Jean-Léon Gérôme’s Bathsheba (1889) is a literal interpretation of the story. Watching Bathsheba washing in her small roof-garden is the figure of David, leaning forward to get as close a look as he can.
The other related Biblical narrative is that of Susanna and the elders, which opens with the two men watching her bathing in the privacy of her own garden.
Jacopo Tintoretto (c 1518-1594), Susannah and the Elders (c 1555) (E&I 64), oil on canvas, 146 x 193.6 cm, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, Austria. Wikimedia Commons.
In Jacopo Tintoretto’s groundbreaking masterpiece, Susanna is blissfully unaware of being watched by the evil elders. This puts the viewer in the uncomfortable predicament of knowing what’s going on, but also knowing what she doesn’t know.
Susanna herself is caught as she is drying her leg after bathing in the small pool beside her, looking at herself in a rectangular mirror propped up against a rosy trellis in a secluded part of her garden. Scattered in front of her are the tools of grooming, her personal jewellery, and a fine gold-encrusted girdle, behind which appear to be her outer garments.
Peering round each end of the trellis are the two old elders dressed in orange robes, who have entered the garden and crept right up to get a better view of Susanna’s body. To the right are trees, against whose foot Susanna’s back rests. Immediately above her head is a magpie, a bird associated in fables with mischief and theft. In the centre distance, the secluded area opens out to another pond, on which there are ducks and their ducklings, then there is a covered walk beside which is a Herm. In the left distance is a larger pond, at which a stag and a hind are drinking. On the far side are some trees and another Herm.
Unlike other paintings of nudes, where mirrors are often used to extend the view of the figure on display, neither the image seen in the mirror nor the reflection on the water show anything more of Susanna.
Lovis Corinth (1858–1925), Susanna Bathing (Susanna and the Elders) (1890), oil on canvas, 159 x 111.8 cm, Private collection. Wikimedia Commons.
Lovis Corinth started painting this story in 1890, when he made two slightly different versions of what was fundamentally the same work. Their only reference to the garden is now a single rose, the flower chosen by Tintoretto for the trellis in front of Susanna, on the floor. The two elders have followed Susanna back inside after her bathing, and are now spying on her from behind a curtain, where only one of them is prominent. In common with Tintoretto, Corinth chooses a moment before Susanna is aware that she is being watched, and long before the elders force themselves on her. Both paintings emphasise her nakedness by including her clothes, and add the jewellery of more traditional depictions.
In yesterday’s article, I showed examples of apotheoses. Following a couple of even more liberal interpretations, this article moves on to the second and third items in this list:
Apotheosis, when a pre-christian hero is elevated to the status of god or goddess;
Catasterisation, when a mortal is changed into a celestial body such as a star or constellation;
Assumption, when the Virgin Mary was taken up into Heaven;
Ascension, when Jesus Christ ascended into Heaven, and sometimes available to saints on their martyrdom.
Anne-Louis Girodet de Roussy-Trioson (1767–1824) (attr), Apotheosis of the French Heroes Who Died for the Fatherland during the War of Liberation, Ossian receiving the Ghosts of the French Heroes (c 1801), oil on canvas, 192 x 182 cm, Musée national des châteaux de Malmaison et de Bois-Préau, Paris. Wikimedia Commons.
Girodet’s painting of the Apotheosis of the French Heroes Who Died for the Fatherland during the War of Liberation, Ossian receiving the Ghosts of the French Heroes was probably completed in 1802, and is perhaps the most elaborate and complex painting inspired by the bogus Scottish poet Ossian. It’s unclear how those French war heroes became involved with Ossian, but an extraordinary mixture of myths and legends from contrasting cultures.
Vasily Vereshchagin (1842–1904), The Apotheosis of War (1871), oil on canvas, 127 x 197 cm, Tretyakov Gallery Государственная Третьяковская галерея, Moscow, Russia. Wikimedia Commons.
In Vasily Vereshchagin’s bleak Apotheosis of War (1871), ravens/crows perch on a huge pile of human skulls in a barren landscape outside the ruins of a town.
A few Christian religious paintings came close to being apotheoses.
Alexandre Cabanel (1823–1889), The Death of Moses (1850), oil on canvas, 140 x 204 cm, Musée Fabre, Montpellier, France. Wikimedia Commons.
Alexandre Cabanel’s The Death of Moses (1850) tackles one of the vaguer episodes in the life of this Old Testament prophet. When he was 120 years old, according to the book of Numbers, Moses assembled the tribes of Israel on the banks of the River Jordan, reminded them of the laws under which they must live, sang a song of praise, blessed the people, and passed his authority to Joshua. He then ascended Mount Nebo, looked over the Promised Land, and died. Cabanel shows this as an apotheosis, with God the Father (upper left) welcoming Moses (centre right) with open arms.
Being transformed into a celestial body in catasterisation was an honour accorded those mortals who couldn’t aspire to deity, among them the giant Orion. He arrived at Chios, where he became drunk, and raped Merope, the daughter of Oenopion. As punishment for that, Oenopion blinded Orion and cast him from his land. Orion then went to Lemnos, where Hephaistos took pity on him, and lent him his servant Kedalion to sit astride his shoulders and act as his guide. An oracle advised Orion to proceed east into the rays of the rising sun, so that those rays would restore his sight. So cured, Orion then went to Crete to hunt.
There are differing accounts of Orion’s death. Some involve his love affair with Eos, which was opposed (possibly out of jealousy) by Artemis. In these, Artemis ended up killing Orion with her arrows. Other versions claim he was killed by a giant scorpion. In death, Artemis asked that Zeus catasterised him, together with the scorpion, to form the constellation Scorpio. Once there, Orion pursues the daughters known as the Pleiades, which form a prominent open star cluster nearby.
Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665), Landscape with Orion, Blind Orion Searching for the Rising Sun (1658), oil on canvas, 119.1 × 182.9 cm, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY. Wikimedia Commons.
Poussin’s Landscape with Orion, or Blind Orion Searching for the Rising Sun was painted late in his career, in 1658, at a time when the artist’s hands were suffering a tremor that was starting to disrupt his ability to paint. It is among his finest allegorical landscapes, and one of the most intensely studied works of his career.
Set in one of Poussin’s wonderful idealised landscapes, near the coast, the giant Orion is striding purposefully towards the rising sun. He carries a huge hunting bow, and a quiver taller than a man. Standing on his shoulders is Kedalion, servant to Hephaistos, who is acting as his guide. Above and beyond Orion is a strange formation of backlit cloud, generally interpreted as being storm-cloud. Atop that is the standing figure of Artemis, with her distinctive crescent moon coronet, and an owl perched on her left shoulder. She leans nonchalantly against the cloud, her head propped against her right hand. In the far distance is the sea, with a prominent lighthouse.
Daniel Seiter ( –1705), Diana by the Corpse of Orion (1685), 116 × 152 cm, Musée du Louvre, Paris. Image by Musée du Louvre/A. Dequier – M. Bard, via Wikimedia Commons.
There have been few other attempts to tell any part of the story of Orion on canvas. In 1685, Daniel Seiter ( –1705) painted this view of Diana by the Corpse of Orion, following in the brushstrokes of his teacher Johann Carl Loth. This shows Diana (Artemis), with her distinctive crescent moon, looking regretfully at the dead Orion, after she had killed him with her arrows.
Sidney Hall (1788–1831), Orion (1825), etching, hand-coloured, plate 29 in Urania’s Mirror, set of celestial cards, location not known. Restoration by Adam Cuerden, via Wikimedia Commons.
Sidney Hall’s etching of Orion, a hand-coloured plate in a set of celestial cards from 1825, is an ingenious lesson in observational astronomy.
The Pleiades were originally the seven daughters of the titan Atlas and the sea-nymph Pleione. When Atlas was made to carry the heavens on his shoulders, Orion started to pursue the Pleiades, so Zeus transformed them first into doves, then into stars. Their name is given to a star cluster, which appears to be chased across the night sky by the constellation of Orion.
Elihu Vedder (1836–1923), The Pleiades (1885), oil on canvas, 61.3 × 95.6 cm, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY. Wikimedia Commons.
Elihu Vedder’s painting of The Pleiades (1885) was made in association with his first illustration for the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, representing Khayyam’s horoscope. Each of the sisters is connected by a thread to their corresponding star, perhaps representing the process of catasterisation.
There are a great many paintings of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, of which I show here just a tiny sample.
Francesco Botticini (1446–1498), Assumption of the Virgin (c 1475-76), tempera on wood, 228.6 x 377.2 cm, The National Gallery, London. Wikimedia Commons.
Francesco Botticini’s spectacular example painted in about 1475-76 places unusual emphasis on Paradise, with its triple tiers of figures rising to those of the Virgin Mary kneeling in front of Christ at its summit.
Jacopo Tintoretto (c 1518-1594), The Assumption of The Virgin (E&I 91) (c 1563), oil on canvas, 440 x 260 cm, Cappella di Santa Maria Assunta, Gesuiti, Venice, Italy. Image by Didier Descouens, via Wikimedia Commons.
Tintoretto painted several versions of The Assumption of The Virgin, this one for the Cappella di Santa Maria Assunta, in the Gesuiti, Venice. It’s thought that Tintoretto had promised to paint this in the style of Veronese.
Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665), The Assumption of the Virgin (c 1650), oil on canvas, 57 x 40 cm, Musée du Louvre, Paris. Wikimedia Commons.
Poussin’s Assumption of the Virgin from about 1650 is plainer and more orthodox.
Gaetano Previati (1852–1920), Assumption (c 1901-03), oil on canvas, 105 x 87 cm, Museo dell’Ottocento, Ferrara, Italy. Image by Nicola Quirico, via Wikimedia Commons.
Gaetano Previati’s Divisionist rendering of the Assumption from about 1901-03 shows a group of winged angels raising Mary’s body to Heaven.
OpenWrt文档所提到的：An untagged port can have only 1 VLAN ID 反映在：OpenWrt中的Switch设置VLAN时单个untagged Port无法再再其他VLAN上为Untagged，否则回提示：LAN 1 is untagged in multiple VLANs!
Tagged on “CPU (eth0)” means that the two VLAN ID tags used in this example (1, 2) are sent to the router CPU “as tagged data”. Remember: you can only send Tagged data to VLAN-aware devices configured to deal with it properly.
Untagged means that on these ports the switch will accept only the incoming traffic without any VLAN IDs (i.e. normal ethernet traffic). The switch will remove VLAN IDs on outgoing data in such ports. Each port can only be assigned as “untagged” to exactly one VLAN ID.
Off: no traffic to or from the tagged ports of this VLAN ID will reach these ports.
Ports can be tagged or untagged:
The tagged port (t is appended to the port number) is the one that forces usage of VLAN tags, i.e. when the packet is outgoing, the VLAN ID tag with vlan value is added to the packet, and when the packet is incoming, the VLAN ID tag has to be present and match the configured vlan value(s).
The untagged port is removing the VLAN ID tag when leaving the port – this is used for communication with ordinary devices that does not have any clue about VLANs. When the untagged packet arrives to the port, the default port VLAN ID (called pvid) is assigned to the packet automatically. The pvid value can be selected by the switch_port section.
If the incoming packet arrives to the interface with software VLANs (incoming packet to eth1) and has a VLAN ID tag set, it appears on the respective software-VLAN-interface instead (VLAN ID 2 tag arrives on eth1.2) – if it exists in the configuration! Otherwise the packet is dropped. Non-tagged packets are deliveded to non-VLAN interface (eth1) as usual.
Add Configuration的时候选C++(GDB/LLDB)，之后再选gcc.exe build and debug active file设置完成后会在工作目录下生成一个.vscode/launch.json的文件，文件定义了gdb作为exe的调试器，需要注意的是这里的preLaunchTask，定义了在执行调试在前需要使用gcc对代码进行编译，也就是下一步
回到C的源文件，点击Debug一栏的左上角绿色三角形开始调试，会提示Could not find the task ‘gcc.exe build active file’ ，点击Configure Task，再选gcc.exe debug active file，软件就会创建并打开.vscode/task.json，其中定义了gcc.exe编译的过程，也就是上一步的preLaunchTask
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