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Rubens, when he painted in later life the abduction of a nymph by the north wind Boreas, borrowed the composition of his apotheosis of Truth … It is noteworthy that … someone like Rubens, who painted so many magnificent pleas in the cause of peace and mutual tenderness, should treat rape and the discovery of truth as interchangeable.
— Marina Warner, Monuments and Maidens
Viewed through Rubens' eyes, Callisto's unveiling
is a non-event: Artemis and her nymphs gaze sternly,
but from such unmitigated plumpness that Callisto,
dwindling in shame, seems the trimmest of them all.
If only he had used his skill to help Oreithyia,
making her just too heavy for Boreas to carry off:
he has "grey locks, wings, and serpent tails for feet',
so something — anything — should have been done
to save her. Couldn't a few of the chains and bolts
pinning Andromeda to that rock have been deployed?
Rather, the painter re-creates "The Triumph of Truth' —
someone is confused, though not Boreas… More
commonly, the rape is depicted festively: "Amoretti
may be present, perhaps playing with snowballs'.
At least they were better occupied than this cherub
urinating on two other cherubs, setting the tone
for Tiepolo's "Europa'. Possibly, he intended
the picture for a water closet, where it belongs.
His painting of Callisto is, however, for the boudoir,
with nymphs "surprised' in attitudes of "innocence'
while the culprit sits swollen and undignified,
a grave warning against motherhood — that interrupter
of both sex and sexlessness. Here they are overlaid:
an enclave of virgins in a seedy frolic …
Even Titian descends. His Danaë sprawls on her bed
while a gypsy gathers the falling coins in her apron.
Has she just told a fortune and made a fortune,
hitting the jackpot with, "Very soon you will meet
a powerful, though unconventional, stranger …'?
Or is Zeus simply making an advance on his advances?
Or, ahead of his time, offering compensation first?
So much more, and less, than beauty is in the eye
of the beholder. Victims are demeaned or, worse,
turned into the blessed recipients of ecstasy.
Only Tintoretto's Leda seems in command: her hands
grip Zeus's long white neck, calling his bluff,
while her maid stoops over a swan-sized cage —
surely the right place to put the godly prerogative
of rape, then shut it up and ship it out, seeing
it clearly for what it is, and what it is not.