The stories and figures that enlivened the walls of Pompeian villas were drawn primarily from the world of classical literature and myth. Major epics like the Iliad and its related cycles as well as tales of the gods’ foibles and triumphs provided ample fodder for artists and homeowners as they considered narratives for décor. Some figures appear frequently across domestic spaces in Pompeii, while others seem more idiosyncratic and perhaps reflected a particular patron’s taste. But even more striking than the popularity of certain subjects are the compositional similarities seen across paintings in different houses, indicating that they were likely modeled on established visual prototypes.
A prophecy foretold that a Greek victory in the Trojan War was possible only if Achilles fought, but that he would inevitably die in the process. Hoping to save her son, the nymph Thetis sent Achilles to live on the island of Skyros disguised as one of Lycomedes’s daughters.
In these paintings, Odysseus and Diomedes have arrived on Skyros to look for Achilles. They arranged for a trumpet blast to signal an impending battle, knowing that the warrior would grab a weapon and reveal himself. The artists here depict the moment of Achilles’s discovery as Odysseus grabs Achilles’s arm and Diomedes seizes him from behind. Lycomedes stands above the pandemonium while others scatter in fear.
Although these two works depict the same moment in the story of Achilles and share many compositional features, they almost certainly were created by two different artists. In the hands of distinct painters—each with a slightly different palette and take on the characters’ facial expressions and modeling—the overall impact of the scene changes dramatically.
Deidamia, a daughter of King Lycomedes and pregnant with Achilles’s child, flees at right with an upraised arm. Yet in the other painting of this same scene, she is far less prominent and much less expressive.
Polyphemus appears as a man-eating cyclops in Homer’s Odyssey, yet later Greek writers transformed him into a lovesick character who longs for the sea nymph Galatea. In Ovid’s retelling, Polyphemus pines for Galatea but has a rival in the handsome Acis. The cyclops’s efforts to make himself attractive reduce him to a farce. The tale of jealousy ends when Polyphemus kills Acis after seeing him with Galatea, who turns her lover’s blood into the river that bears his name.
Polyphemus is not always painted as a single-eyed cyclops, yet in both of these works his staff suggests a bucolic nature as described by Ovid and identifies the figure as Polyphemus; although his appearance is coarse, he is less monstrous than in Homer’s account. Both of these scenes have been interpreted as a significant encounter between Polyphemus and Galatea.
Scenes of Polyphemus and Galatea are among the most popular themes for paintings in Pompeii and Herculaneum, with over twenty such representations discovered at those sites. Many of these works depict the figures almost dwarfed by their environment and thus blur the distinction between landscape and mythological painting. The references to rural life in these frescoes invite viewers to imagine that their own world could be the site of divine idylls.
Roman artists were inspired by Greek sculpture and painting. Although it is harder to track the visual lineage of these frescoes, since Greek painting did not survive the way that sculpture did, scholars have been able to match images in Roman works with literary descriptions of now-lost Greek paintings. Compositional similarities across Roman paintings suggest that painters were aware of the same Greek original, or of copies rooted in an established visual tradition based on a specific older masterpiece. As the popularity of such compositions increased, a repertoire of Greek images gradually became part of Roman visual culture. In the past, some historians regarded Roman wall paintings as pale shadows of long-vanished Greek originals, but today we understand these frescoes as valuable creations in their own right, produced in a creative dialogue with a long artistic tradition.
The earliest literary reference to the Three Graces—the daughters of Zeus and Eurynome—can be traced back to Hesiod in the eighth century BCE, but the first visual representation of these three women with interlocking bodies has not been assigned to an identifiable sculptor or painter. The specific iconography seen in this fresco from Pompeii appears to have been introduced in the first century BCE, when this work was made, because earlier artists depicted the sisters as draped figures. While the image’s origins remain unclear, there is no doubt that it quickly became a popular motif: approximately 140 examples of this design have survived in different media, including painting (two frescoes in Pompeii), sculpture, relief, mosaic, on gems, and even terracotta lamps. The Three Graces remained an appealing composition for centuries, especially during the Renaissance, and continues to inspire artists to this day.