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| Anonymous follower of Caravaggio (Rome) Martyrdom of St Peter ca. 1620 oil on canvas Hermitage, Saint Petersburg |
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| Cavaliere d'Arpino (Rome) Archangel Michael ca. 1629 drawing Hermitage, Saint Petersburg |
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| Angelo Caroselli (Rome) Virgin and Child with St Elizabeth and St John the Baptist 17th century oil on canvas private collection |
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| Morazzone (Milan) Pontius Pilate with Christ and Barabbas 1608-09 wash drawing Hermitage, Saint Petersburg |
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| Simone Cantarini (Bologna) Apollo before 1648 canvas Hermitage, Saint Petersburg |
My father Apollo admired Hyacinthus above all others.
Forsaking his shrine at Delphi, the navel of earth, he haunted
the unwalled city of Sparta, close to the river Eurotas.
His arrows and lyre were abandoned; his normal pursuits were forgotten.
He'd willingly carry his favorite's nets, hold on to his hounds,
or follow him over the rugged ridges of dangerous mountains.
His passion was fueled by all the hours that they spent together.
One day, when the sun was about at its zenith, halfway between
the twilight of dawn and dusk, the two of them stripped off their clothes
and anointed their bodies with gleaming oil, to compete with each other
in throwing the discus. Apollo went first; he poised the plate
and launched it into the sky, where it severed the clouds in its path.
A long time later the disc descended to solid earth,
revealing the skill no less than the physical strength of the thrower.
At once, unthinkingly, carried away by his sporting zeal,
the Laconian boy dashed forward to pick the plate up, but it landed
hard on the soil with tremendous force and then rebounded
straight to his beautiful face. The god went as deathly pale
as the lad himself and caught his arms as he fell to the ground.
To save the life of his friend, he desperately rubbed the body,
dabbed the wound and applied his herbs; but all his medical
arts were in vain. His lover's injury couldn't be healed.
In a watered garden, if somebody breaks the stem of a violet,
poppy or lily with yellow stamens thick in its cup,
the flower will droop and suddenly lower its shriveling head:
it can't stand up any more; it is gazing down on the earth:
so with the dying youth. His disabled neck
too weak to bear the weight it was carrying, sank to his shoulder.
– from Orpheus' Song: Hyacinthus in Book Ten of Ovid's Metamorphoses, translated by David Raeburn (2004)
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| Giovanni Francesco Romanelli (Rome) Hercules and Omphale ca. 1655-60 canvas Hermitage, Saint Petersburg |
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| Domenico Fetti (Rome) Parable of the Sower ca. 1622 wash drawing Hermitage, Saint Petersburg |
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| Bernardo Cavallino (Naples) Meeting of St Anne and St Joachim before 1656 oil on canvas Hermitage, Saint Petersburg |
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| Carlo Maratti (Rome) Portrait of Pope Clement IX ca. 1669 oil on canvas Hermitage, Saint Petersburg |
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| Andrea Celesti (Venice) Madonna and Child with St Anthony of Padua 1660s oil on canvas Hermitage, Saint Petersburg |
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| Domenico Piola (Genoa) Stoning of Stephen ca. 1650 wash drawing Hermitage, Saint Petersburg |
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| attributed to Jacopo Vignali (Florence) Abraham and the three Angels before 1664 oil on canvas Hermitage, Saint Petersburg |
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| Giovanni Battista Gaulli (Rome) Queen of Sheba before Solomon 1670s wash drawing Hermitage, Saint Petersburg |
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| Luca Giordano (Naples) Abduction of Europa ca. 1675-77 oil on canvas Hermitage, Saint Petersburg |
The princess Europa
gazed in wonder upon this gentle and beautiful creature.
At first, despite his unthreatening looks, she was frightened to touch him;
but soon she approached with a garland of flowers for his gleaming head.
Her lover was blissful and licked her hands as a prelude to other
and sweeter pleasures, pleasures he barely, barely could wait for.
Now he would gambol beside her, prancing around on the green grass;
now he would rest his snow-white flank in the golden sand.
As little by little her fears were allayed, he would offer his front
to be stroked by her maidenly hand or his horns to be decked with fresh garlands.
The princess even ventured to sit with her legs astride
on the back of the bull, unaware whose sides she was resting her thighs on;
when Jupiter, gradually edging away from the land and away
from the dry shore, place his imposter's hooves in the shallowest waves,
then advanced out further, and soon he was bearing the spoils of his victory
out in mid-ocean.
– from Book Two of Ovid's Metamorphoses, translated by David Raeburn (2004)