
Contact: rwetheri@smu.edu

The Massacre of the Innocents, by Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, modern day Belgium) 1612
Rubens’ Anatomy Lesson
His first version of The Massacre of the Innocents (1612) is an unapologetic display of Paul Rubens’ anatomic acumen. The composition is appropriately chaotic, the scene frenzied. But the frame is carefully posed to provide the artist an occasion to explore from different angles the subtle play of muscles beneath exposed skin.
The anatomist will astutely point out the elements: See, here in the figure just left of center, we note the flexed deltoid and elevated scapulae, the contracted rhomboids between the shoulder blades expressing the tension of the upper back.
And there, in the figure on the right, a fine study of the extension of the upper arms, lifting the child. Observe the well-positioned triceps, two of its three heads visible in each arm, and the extended pectoralis. Note how the artist contrasts these muscle positions with those in the more relaxed posture of the figure to his right.
The artist has some difficulty with the abdominals, you can see, and hence they are mostly obscured in the three male figures. The obliques for example are concealed in shadow and by a curiously contorted abdominal wall in the figure to our right.
But there is fluidity here; no hint of the static tension in over-contracted muscles. Rubens has done well also in contrasting the fleshier texture and lighter hues of the central female. He errs greatly, however, in the adult-like muscularity of the infants. It is exuberant self-indulgence.
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Rubens’ study is largely a success in anatomic position, proportion, and balance. We cannot be certain how serious he is about the massacre itself, though. The faces of the women are mostly passive, with fear creeping in on the right margin alone. Torment is reserved solely for the frozen expressions of the dead—but no blood, anywhere. There are no signs of trauma. The sword does not yet penetrate, the hand resisting it not yet slashed. Nor is any moment of death revealed—only its imminent proximity and its sullen aftermath. It is a scene frozen as if in cinematic preparation.
Violence is left to Rubens’ second effort in 1638. Here, blades breach and blood flows. Death is kinetic, validating the work’s proper title.
Ron Wetherington