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| Edgar Degas Dancer Stretching ca. 1882-85 pastel Kimbell Art Museum, Fort Worth, Texas |
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| Edgar Degas Dancers ca. 1884-85 pastel Musée d'Orsay, Paris |
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| Edgar Degas Examen de Danse 1880 pastel Denver Art Museum |
DIDO'S CURSE ON AENEAS
Nor Goddesse was thy Mother, nor the source
Of thy high blood renowned Dardanus,
But some Hyrcanian Tigresse was thy Nource,
Out of the stony Loynes of Caucasus
Descended, cruell and perfidious.
For with what hopes should I thy hopes yet cover,
Did my teares make thee sigh? Or bend, but thus,
Thine Eyes? Or sadness for my griefe discover?
Or if thou couldst not Love, to pity yet a Lover?
Whom first accuse I since these Loves began?
Jove is unjust, Juno her charge gives o'er,
Whom may a Woman trust? I tooke this man
Homelesse, a desp'rate wrack upon my shoare,
And fondly gave him half the Crowne I wore:
His Ships rebuilt, t'his men new lives I lent.
And now the Fates, the Oracles, what more?
(It makes me mad) Jove's sonne on purpose sent
Brings him forsooth a menace through the Firmament.
As if the Gods their blissefull rest did breake
With thinking on thy Voyages. But I
Nor stop you, nor confute the words you spake.
Goe, chase on rowling billowes Realmes that fly,
With ficle windes uncertaine Italy.
Some courteous Rock (if Heav'n just curses heare)
Will be Revenger of my injury:
When thou perceiving the sad Fate drew neere,
Shalt Dido, Dido, call; who surely will be there.
For when cold death shall part with dreary swoone
My Soule and Flesh; my ghost, where ere thou bee,
Shall haunt thee with dim Torch, and light thee downe
To thy dark conscience: I'll be Hell to thee,
And this glad newes will make Hell Heav'n to mee.
– from Book 4 of The Aeneid, translated by Richard Fanshawe (1647)
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| Edgar Degas L'étoile 1876-78 pastel over monotype Philadelphia Museum of Art |
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| Edgar Degas Dancers in a Group 1890 oil on paper, mounted on canvas National Gallery of Scotland, Edinburgh |
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| Edgar Degas Before the Performance 1896 oil on paper, mounted on canvas National Gallery of Scotland, Edinburgh |
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| Edgar Degas Dancers ca. 1894-1904 pastel Princeton University Art Museum |
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| Edgar Degas Ballet at the Paris Opéra 1877 pastel over monotype Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Edgar Degas Two Dancers ca. 1905 pastel Albertina, Vienna |
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| Edgar Degas Three Dancers in Blue Tutus and Red Bodices 1903 pastel Fondation Beyeler, Switzerland |
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| Edgar Degas Dancers at the Barre ca. 1900 oil on canvas Phillips Collection, Washington DC |
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| Edgar Degas Dancers ca. 1899 pastel Toledo Museum of Art |
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| Edgar Degas Two Dancers ca. 1898 pastel Galerie Neue Meister, Dresden |
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| Edgar Degas Dancer in her dressing room ca. 1874-84 pastel Cincinnati Art Museum |
THE PHOENIX
O happy bird! sole heir to thy own dust!
Death, to whose force all other creatures must
Submit, saves thee. Thy ashes make thee rise;
'Tis not thy nature, but thy age that dies.
Thou hast seen all! and to the times that run
Thou art as great a witness, as the sun.
Thou saw'st the deluge, when the sea outvied
The land, and drown'd the mountains with the tide.
What year the straggling Phaeton did fire
The world thou know'st. And no plagues can conspire
Against thy life; alone thou do'st arise
Above mortality; the destinies
Spin not thy days out with their fatal clue;
They have no law, to which thy life is due.
– from The Phoenix by the Roman poet Claudian, translated by Henry Vaughan (1622-95)