Sandro Botticelli, 'Venus and Mars', about 1485

Venus, the goddess of love, is relaxed and regal as she props herself up on a cushion in a grassy glade. She gazes into the distance ignoring the semi-naked – and snoring – god of war, Mars. His muscular body is as limp as his drooping finger, his head tipped back in sleep; we can almost see up his nose. Botticelli’s message here is clear: love has conquered war. Venus is victorious in this sexual encounter, while Mars is utterly lost in sleep.

The myth was popular among Florentines who knew the story of the love affair well. Venus was in fact married to the god Vulcan, an unattractive blacksmith. When he heard that Venus had been unfaithful to him, he made a fine net of chains to catch her in the act. The net was so delicate that the two beautiful gods did not know that they had been captured until it was too late. Vulcan invited all the gods from Mount Olympus to come and laugh at the trapped lovers.

Botticelli has approached the story with a sense of humour, including lots of playful details intended to amuse his client. Mars is so deeply asleep that he is unaware that four childish satyrs are playing with his armour: one has stolen his lance and helmet, which covers his whole face; another has wriggled into the cuirass (body armour) under his elbow. He is not woken by the sound of the conch shell, which one of the mischievous creatures blows into his ear. The noise and commotion have disturbed a wasps‘ nest, and a swarm of the fat insects buzz around Mars’ head – he sleeps through it all. The shell was a symbol of Venus, who was born from the sea, which is just about visible in the distance.

Botticelli was well known for the mythological paintings he made for his most grand patrons, the Medici, the ruling family of Florence. Botticelli’s association with Lorenzo de‘ Medici, known as Lorenzo the Magnificent, meant that he was in touch with all the contemporary scholars and poets who came and went in the Medici court. Lorenzo de’ Medici was keen on classical culture and he surrounded himself with people who were well versed in these subjects.

It’s perhaps unsurprising, then, that an ancient account which matches the imagery of the playful satyrs in this picture exists. It is the Roman writer Lucian’s description of a painting showing the marriage of Alexander the Great to Roxana. In that picture little cupids (symbols of love) play with the warrior Alexander’s armour, two lifting his spear and another creeping into his breastplate. Botticelli has changed the cupids into satyrs, which might show his knowledge of a poem by the scholar and poet Angelo Poliziano, who was tutor to the Medici children. Poliziano’s poem, written at around the same time this painting was made, mentions ‘little goat-footed satyrs’. They were companions of a sleeping shepherd who inhabited a dream-like place of love and pleasure. Perhaps Botticelli was inspired by this poem, which he may well have known. This possible combination of sources of inspiration reflect the artist’s broad knowledge of contemporary and ancient culture.

Botticelli also shows off his knowledge of ancient sculpture, so fashionable in Florence at the time. He has painted Mars as a fit and muscular warrior, his body resembling a classical nude sculpture, just toppled. Mars‘ left foot is caught in the pink cloth. This unusual detail might be a deliberate reference to a well known and admired ancient sculpture, the Sleeping Hermaphroditus.

While Mars is nude, Venus is covered. The braids of her hair are attached to her dress, forming a border that is secured with a jewel – making her dress impossible to remove. Perhaps Botticelli intended to emphasise her chastity, despite her infidelity. Her blonde hair, pale skin and red lips are a nod to the contemporary ideal of female beauty as represented in poetry. Venus here is more like a contemporary Florentine beauty, or perhaps even an image of the Virgin Mary, than a classical sculpture – and quite different from the naked goddess that Botticelli painted in his picture The Birth of Venus (Uffizi, Florence).

This contradiction hints at the context of the painting. Panels of this shape are known as spalliere after the Italian word spalla (’shoulder’). Works like this hung at shoulder height or above and were often part of the furnishing of the rooms of a newlywed couple within the groom’s family home. Commissioned to celebrate a marriage, spalliere were some of many images – including religious works – that would have hung in the camera, the bedchamber. This was a semi-public space, not an intimate bedroom, where the couple might see visitors. The pictures that decorated it had to be impressive, interesting and sometimes – as in this case – entertaining. They also had to be appropriate for the space, which is why Venus is covered up. If she is supposed to refer to the new bride here, chastity was an essential virtue.

Mars' state of undress can be explained in this context too: the camera was where the couple would meet to sleep together in the hope of producing an heir. It was thought that looking at an image of a beautiful man would help a woman to conceive a boy – the most desirable heir, because a boy would continue the family line and carry the family name. The picture’s function is also hinted at by the myrtle bush behind Venus – it was a traditional symbol of marriage.

But whose marriage could this panel have commemorated? The wasps might provide a clue: vespe is the Italian for wasp, and Botticelli might have been making a pun on the name of the noble Florentine family, the Vespucci, who were patrons of his. The sixteenth-century writer and painter Giorgio Vasari notes that the Vespucci palace in Florence was decorated with paintings inset into the walls, but this was at a later date. It has even been suggested that the woman may be modelled upon Simonetta Vespucci, a renowned beauty whom Botticelli painted – but she died in 1476. Whoever the picture was painted for, they were certainly wealthy and keen to show off their taste and education. By the 1480s, Botticelli was at the peak of his maturity as an artist, particularly in demand for mythological subjects.