Art As Life: Caravaggio in Malta

KEITH SCIBERRAS

Art as life

CARAVAGGIO IN MALTA

Art as life CARAVAGGIO IN MALTA KEITH SCIBERRAS

Published by 3a Strait Street, Valletta, Malta www.midseabooks.com in collaboration with

and the

Author Keith Sciberras

Main Photographer & Image Editor Joe P. Borg

Other photography See credits on page xii

Literary Copyright © Keith Sciberras, 2023 Editorial Copyright © Midsea Books Ltd, 2023 No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the previous written permission of the authors and/or rightful owners.

Design & Layout Joseph Mizzi

Published in 2023 Printed at Gutenberg Press, Malta MIDSEA BOOKS – ACADEMIA

ISBN Hardback: 978-99932-7-955-6 ISBN Paperback: 978-99932-7-956-3

Contents

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Preface and Acknowledgments Photo Courtesies and Credits

1 Painting for his life 4 Art as experience 5 The corpus of his final years (1606–1610) 7 The secure corpus of works 17 Lost works, proposals, rejections and controversies 23 Moving south: from Naples to Malta 27 The Order’s Galley Squadron 32 The Colonna family, Caravaggio and the Knights of St John 37 The Squadron’s expedition of 1606/1607 38 Illustrious passengers: Costanza Colonna and Ippolito Malaspina 45 Caravaggio’s passage to Malta 51 Valletta: a calculated gamble 53 Toti Orienti Svasere Formidandum: Grand Master Alof de Wignacourt 57 Valletta: Art and Architecture 83 Michael Angelus Caravaggio Romanus 87 Protection and patronage networks 87 Corridors of power: Roman connections 91 The Embassy to the Papal Court 93 Cardinals, Priors and protectors

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105 The first Maltese paintings 105 Portrait of Grand Master Alof de Wignacourt and a Page 122 St Jerome Writing 133 Portrait of a Knight Grand Cross (Antonio Martelli) 141 Virtuosity honoured: Knight of Magistral Obedience 147 Giacomo Bosio: An advocate for Caravaggio’s cause 155 Triumph: The Papal Bull 158 The Receptio ceremony 165 The paintings of 1608 165 Sleeping Cupid 175 The Annunciation of the Virgin 185 Sangue Vivo: Caravaggio’s apex 198 The Oratory and the Confraternità della Misericordia 211 The Beheading of St John the Baptist 230 Blood joining blood 321 Indegno Mediante i Demeriti: Tumult and Disgrace 238 Escape and expulsion 248 ‘We remove you, crush you and throw you away’: Trial and Privatio 255 Sicily: A double fugitive 265

Reflections on Caravaggio’s technique

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Archiving Caravaggio

279 287 291 317 329

Documents Data sheets Endnotes Bibliography Index of names Opposite: 1. Entrance to the Oratory of the Decollato, St John’s Conventual Church, Valletta

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1.

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Preface and Acknowledgments

2. Caravaggio, Portrait of a Knight Grand Cross (Antonio Martelli) (Palazzo Pitti, Florence). Detail

2.

When I started research on Caravaggio’s Maltese period in the mid-1990s, only a rather faint outline was actually known, and this chapter of Caravaggio’s life, invariably, failed to attract wide international attention when compared to his iconic Roman and Neapolitan phases. Oddly, for an outstanding genius, an artist who challenged tradition, engaged in a profoundly spiritual and emotively realist art and singlehandedly changed the course of art history, there were gaps in the scholarly knowledge of his life and work.

This publication is the result of some thirty years of research trying to understand this Maltese phase. It brings together articles and papers that I have published elsewhere (primarily in international journals and exhibition catalogues), which have been reworked and brought up to date for this book.

Malta, impressively, played a role in giving Caravaggio’s art the platform that it deserved, celebrating him in a manner that no other patron or place did, and this work aims to show this.

In its method, this book, primarily, contextualises Caravaggio’s work and his life-story within the framework of Malta and within the mechanics of patronage and the peculiarity of its system of government. It engages with Caravaggio’s Maltese paintings and presents them not as objects of visual delight or seduction but as conveyors of meanings and experiences that engage with the self and the consciousness of reality. The Oratory of the Decollato in Valletta, for example, ceased to be a dormant architectural space once Caravaggio’s Beheading of St John the Baptist was installed. It became a space of experience, one that established a captivating exchange with its audience, penetrating into mental frameworks, thoughts and emotions. The profundity of this exchange blurs the boundaries between object and viewer, strengthening the view that the ultimate meaning of this work lies not solely within the confines of the sense of sight.

The sight-specific experience of the Beheading makes it stand apart from the altar paintings of his final years. None of the Sicilian altar paintings are today, for example, preserved in their original spatial context. The engagement with the

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Beheading therefore allows for insights into how Caravaggio related the work to the original space. Nowhere else can it be absorbed in this manner.

This book has been kept on hold for several years, precisely because it was clear that, had it been published earlier, its shelf life would have been rather short.

So much needed to be studied and new data and views had to be put forward internationally through articles and essays.

In the exchange of ideas with fellow academics, curators, archivists and collectors, I have many to thank. I must start by expressing my deep gratitude to Nicola Spinosa, then Superintendent of the Polo Museale Napoletano, for giving me the opportunity to work closely with him for the milestone exhibition Caravaggio L’Ultimo tempo / The Final Years (2004/2005), which was shown first at Museo di Capodimonte, Naples and then moved on to the National Gallery, London, and for pushing so forcefully for the reassessment of Caravaggio’s final years. That exhibition, and the interest that it generated, helped reshape Caravaggio scholarship and mapped the direction for research on the final years. My work, alone and in collaboration with David Stone, structured and repositioned the Maltese period.

I must also underline the intense scholarly activity that the University of Malta generated in 2007 and 2008 for the Caravaggio400 anniversary, activities that brought leading scholars to share and exchange ideas on connoisseurship, archival research, iconography and contextual studies, patronage patterns and technical art history. Note should be made of the contributions of David Stone, Keith Christiansen, Helen Langdon, John Gash, John Spike and Sergio Benedetti†, whose friendship and insights helped me with my thoughts and research direction. Over the past decade, the intensity of collaboration with colleagues in Naples has weaved a deeper understanding of patronage mechanics and technical data through shared expertise. For this I thank Antonio Ernesto Denunzio, Maria Cristina Terzaghi and Giuseppe Porzio.

The activity generated by the Faculty of Arts Platform for Caravaggio Studies, since its inception in 2007, engineered a fascinating exchange of research data and ideas by leading experts and post-graduate students. This platform was made possible through the support of Mario Buhagiar, Dominic Fenech, Dean of the Faculty of Arts, and Juanito Camilleri, Rector of the University of Malta (2006-2016).

Warm thanks are due to my colleagues at the University of Malta, past and present, especially those at the Department of Art and Art History and the members of the Faculty of Arts Platform for Caravaggio Studies. Much of the research undertaken was financed through the Academic Works Resources Fund of the University of Malta, but also through research undertaken for several exhibition and publication projects. Gratitude is due to the museums,

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foundations, institutions, churches and private collectors, who have made their paintings (and related data on them) available for study, and to the many librarians and archivists who assisted me during archival research and work in libraries. The continued support of the staff of the Archives of the Order of Malta at the National Library of Malta must be underlined.

The book is the result of the patience of Joseph Mizzi, Director of Midsea Books Ltd. Project photographer was Joe P. Borg, with whom I have been working since 2007. In the process of putting this book together, I wish to underline the research assistance of Frederica Agius, the administrative assistance of Marie Claire Finger during the period 2013-2017, the extensive copy-editing work undertaken by Rachel Deguara, together with the support of Nadette Xuereb.

My thanks are also due to Shawon Kinew for her insightful remarks and feedback on the final draft of this book. Together with the publisher, I acknowledge the proof-reading undertaken by Martin Bugelli.

Thanks are also especially due to Neville Agius, Chris Attard, John Azzopardi†, Naomi Bajada Young, Sylvain Bellenger, Giacomo Berra, Paul Borg Olivier, Camilla Bruschi, Maroma Camilleri, Francesca Cappelletti, Dawson Carr, Kenneth Cassar, Annamaria Ciarlò, John Critien†, Pietro di Loreto, Gabriele Finaldi, Gino Gauci, Mina Gregori, Mario Godfrey Grima, Jovan Mizzi, Matteo Peretti, Nando Peretti†, Francesco Petrucci, Patrizia Piscitello, Dario Porcini, Catherine Puglisi, Tiffany Racco, Gary Radke, Mark Sagona, Xavier Salomon, Arcangelo Sassolino, Johann Schembri, Neville Sciberras, Sam Sciberras, Zach Sciberras, Vittorio Sgarbi, Richard Spear, Claudio Strinati, Maria Cristina Terzaghi, Letizia Treves, Rossella Vodret, Lisa Xuereb and Marius Zerafa†.

I remember entering the Oratory of the Decollato in Valletta as a young boy, in awe of a name we knew was powerful but could not comprehend. For these visits, as for so many things, I am in immense debt to my late father. He shared a vast insight of art history, the sources of which I have still not understood. A warm sense of gratitude goes to my partner Anna Khakee, as the structure and politics of this book have profited from her insights and suggestions. I must also thank my family for their continuous support.

Keith Sciberras Department of Art and Art History Coordinator, Faculty of Arts Platform for Caravaggio Studies University of Malta

20 October 2023

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Photo Courtesies and Credits

The project photographer was Joe P. Borg, who photographed the majority of the sites and paintings for this book (Figs 1, 3, 4, 5, 16, 18, 19, 20, 22–30, 37, 38, 39, 47–57, 59–63, 65, 66, 68, 69, 71, 72, 74, 76, 78, 80, 81, 82, 84, 86, 87, 88, 90, 92, 93, 97, 98, 102, 107, 108, 110, 112, 114, 115, 117, 124, 125, 126, 128, 129, 136, 138–146, 149, 152, 153, 159, 160, 163, 165, 167, 170, 177–187).

The publisher also relied on photographs in its archives and others provided by institutions and collectors. The services of Pedicini Fotografi, Naples (Figs 6–13, 33, 34. 147, 148); St John’s Co-Cathedral Foundation (Figs 175, 134, 135); Daniel Cilia (Figs 58, 75, 77, 127, 155); Ellis Archives, Malta (Figs 43, 44, 45, 46); and National Library, Malta (Figs 166, 168, 169, 154, 151, 111, 103, 104), are also duly acknowledged.

The author and publisher thank the following for their help and for the courtesies forwarded in publishing photographs of their works of art: Archbishop’s Palace, Mdina; Camilla Bruschi; Ellis Archive, Malta; Foundation of St John’s Co-Cathedral, Valletta; National Library of Malta, Valletta; Galleria Nazionale di Arte Antica, Palazzo Barberini, Rome; Galleria Nazionale di Arte Antica, Palazzo Corsini, Rome; Gallerie d’Italia, Naples; Heritage Malta; MAEC, Cortona; Metropolitan Cathedral Archives, Mdina; Musée des Beaux-Arts, Rouen; Museo Civico, Cremona; Wadsworth Atheneum, Hartford, Connecticut; Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid; Wignacourt Collegiate Museum, Rabat; Museo Regionale, Messina; Museum of the Pio Monte della Misericordia, Naples; NAM Collection; Nelson-Atkins Museum of Arts, Kansas City; Palazzo Chigi, Ariccia; Musée des Beaux-Arts, Nancy; Parish Church of St Paul Shipwrecked, Valletta; Pinacoteca di Brera, Milano; Soprintendenza Speciale per il Patrimonio Storico, Artistico ed Etnoantropologico e per il Polo Museale della Città di Firenze; Soprintendenza Speciale per il Patrimonio Storico, Artistico ed Etnoantropologico e per il Polo Museale della Città di Napoli; Soprintendenza Speciale per il Patrimonio Storico, Artistico ed Etnoantropologico e per il Polo Museale della Città di Roma; Stella Maris Parish Church, Sliema; The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland; The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; Musée du Louvre, Paris; and The National Gallery, London.

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3. Opposite: Caravaggio, St Jerome Writing (St John’s Museum, Valletta). Detail

3.

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4. Anonymous seventeenth century, Portrait of Caravaggio (Archbishop’s Palace, Mdina). Detail

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4.

Painting for his life

When, in the summer of 1607, Caravaggio left the Spanish Viceregal city of

Naples for the island of Malta, little did he imagine that, exactly one year later, a Frenchman, Grand Master Alof de Wignacourt, would embrace him and bestow him with the habit of the Hospitaller Order of St John the Baptist as an honorific Knight of Magistral Obedience.1 This was even more extraordinary because it materialised in a Catholic frontier country renowned not for its artistic patronage, but for the military austerity of its leader and for its absolute obedience to the Pope. It is within this humanist context that, in Malta, the celebration of Caravaggio’s virtuosity overcame the dishonour of his turbulent lifestyle; he had, literally, succeeded to paint for his life.

By 1607, the new capital of Malta, Valletta, was solidly built, heavily fortified and nearing completion. It was the smallest and youngest capital city of Catholic Europe, and the one placed most dangerously at its southern frontier with the Islamic world. The Ottoman sultan and his berber allies were its enemy, and the galleys of the ‘infidels’, or the ‘cruel Turk’, as the Order’s propaganda put it, sailed dangerously close. Valletta’s fortifications should have impressed Caravaggio as much as they had impressed the French traveller and historiographer Jean Dumont later that century, who remarked: ‘I may venture to say, without hyperbole, that this is the strongest City in the world’.2 Indeed, despite its frontier status and the Ottoman threat, the fugitive artist should have felt safe and secure. Malta’s military context, so deeply anchored within the war against the ‘infidels’, was new to the artist and to his art. Within Mediterranean politics, Malta, and the knights, punched in a manner that was disproportionate to its size and their numbers.3 Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, or as he would be called, ‘Frater Michael Angelus’, knew this very well.

It was the city of Valletta and the celebrated history of the Hospitaller Order of St John the Baptist that attracted to it the sons of the great European nobility, whether Spanish, Italian, German or French. Conditioned and driven by the propaganda of Papal Rome, their chivalric goal was that of knighthood, of

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wearing the habit of the Order and of honouring religion and promoting their family name. Caravaggio’s own elevation to an honorific knighthood within this Order, obtained in unique circumstances, was in itself an incredible feat of distinguished and refined connoisseurship and artistic patronage. The story is so unparalleled that any discussion of Caravaggio’s Maltese phase must be done within the analytical framework of the Order’s statutes, its military codes, its Catholic cause and the historic crusading ideals of the knights.

Ironically, the Order of St John, under the leadership of its grand master, sought authority directly from the Pope, the same authority that Caravaggio was fleeing. Papal Rome was held in utmost respect, even though controversies and negotiations between it and the Order were commonplace. Pope Paul V was de facto the Knights’ supreme leader, and the artist was his fugitive.

Originally established within the context of the Crusades as a Hospitaller Order in Jerusalem in the early twelfth century, the Knights of St John soon took up the sword and became warriors, and their hospitaller intentions merged with their military status. Even though, between the thirteenth and early fifteenth centuries, the knights were gradually pushed further away from the Holy Land by their Muslim opponents, the Order of St John, as it became known, developed into a maritime power and its fleet became a force to be reckoned with in the Mediterranean. The fleet’s ultimate goal was that of fighting the ‘infidels’, hunting them down, seizing their possessions and capturing them. In 1522, after the fall of Rhodes (which the Knights had occupied in the early fourteenth century), and a period of wandering that lasted seven years, the Order was given the island of Malta by Emperor Charles V, and its headquarters, or Convento, was established there in 1530.4 By the mid-sixteenth century and the dramatic episodes of the Great Siege of Malta of 1565, when the Ottomans attacked Malta on an unprecedented scale and were humiliatingly turned away, the Knights emerged as bulwarks of the Catholic faith. Their role in the victorious episodes of the Christian Armada in the Battle of Lepanto in 1571 further strengthened this heroic and chivalric image. Rome, and the papacy, found in the Knights of Malta a natural extension of papal power. Malta became the Catholic faith’s southernmost outpost in the Mediterranean, and the Knights patrolled the seas in this great duel between religions.

The exciting context of Caravaggio’s life, from the moment of his turbulent escape from Rome in 1606, to his untimely death in 1610, witnessed perhaps the most significant artistic activities that were taking place outside Rome during those years. This short time span, during which Caravaggio moved through Naples, Malta, Sicily and once again Naples, has been called Caravaggio’s ‘final years’.5 Caravaggio’s final years were not those of an artist advanced in age, frail and seeking retirement, but those of an artist at the peak of his maturity and intellectual freedom, moving from place to place and impacting heavily on the art of all the cities where he stopped.

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The corpus of his final years (1606–1610)

Recent interest in Caravaggio’s ‘final years’, including exhibitions and conservation projects, provided a perfect context for assessing the role played

by Caravaggio’s Malta. This coincided with extensive research activity on the Maltese period; research which has moved into a phase of deeper and wider understanding. Malta’s readiness to be absorbed by Caravaggio’s pittura del vero is key to understanding the mechanics that led Caravaggio to paint his Beheading of St John the Baptist. However, despite the growing knowledge on the subject and documentary discoveries, there are still a number of questions that remain unanswered. In general, much is known, and the number of personages Caravaggio had contact with has been considerably enlarged, but at the same time, much also remains hypothetical. The precise reasons why the artist came to Malta, the personage who first directed him towards the island, the Knights’ support for full papal pardon and eventual return to Rome, the reason for the eventful brawl, the circumstances of his escape, the extent of the Knights’ vengeance and the full corpus of pictures, are still subject to some debate. The speed by which research moved is however fast, and the aim of this book is to bring readers up to date with the latest scholarship.

The Maltese works are deeply anchored within the oeuvre of Caravaggio’s final years and need to be considered within the wider context of the pictures that the artist painted in the eventful last four years of his life. Chronology, for an artist who painted with vigour and nerve, is difficult to securely pin down and any discussion of it is subject to some disagreement.7 There are obvious fixed dates for many of the works of his final oeuvre, but the chronology for a small number of paintings is still subject to controversy, and there is no universal agreement amongst Caravaggio scholars on the attribution and dating for some of the ‘undocumented’ works.

After 1606, Caravaggio’s art changed rapidly; he rethought his methods and approaches, and at times worked in different methods in parallel.8 There is, however, a clear and distinct development and change in his working method as he moved into his final years. On at least two occasions during this unsettled

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period, namely in the hasty flight from Rome and the dramatic escape from Malta, it is obvious that Caravaggio had left his preferred brushes, pigment pots, canvas rolls and palette behind. In Rome, moreover, he would have had to leave his friends and the models that he had been painting from life. In these circumstances, any artist would experience a sense of loss, even of direction, as well as a negative psychological feeling of having to start all over again.

In his post-Roman years, Caravaggio’s models and types were different from those he had depicted in the papal city; he painted reality but some of his figures were not real personages depicted directly from life, but pr0foundly realistic images that inhabited his mind. Consequently, these personages appear more than once in paintings he painted in different locations. The prison guard in the Malta Beheading, for example, has more or less the same physiognomy as

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6. Caravaggio, Crucifixion of St Andrew (The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland)

Moving south: from Naples to Malta

In July 1607, Caravaggio set foot in the new city of Valletta. This was a milestone in Caravaggio’s life. It was a period when Caravaggio, a fugitive yearning to return to Rome, produced outstanding masterpieces. Within this charged and dramatic setting, the stay in Malta provided the artist with his only long and real moment of tranquillity; an opportunity for him to reflect on both his life and his work.

Caravaggio’s passage from Naples to Malta was very well organised (even if in haste) and must have been done with the full support of the Knights of the Order of St John in that city. Once on the island, Caravaggio believed that powerful patrons and good fortune would bring him politically closer to Rome and, eventually, to the papal pardon that he ardently desired. He should also have known that travelling to Malta was somewhat of a gamble and that it could have gone horribly wrong.

Caravaggio’s motives for his unexpected departure from Naples are still not entirely clear, but it seems almost obvious that, at its onset, his stay on the island was meant to be a relatively short one, following which he would have returned to any pending work in Naples. A long-term move to Malta was most probably not on his agenda and Caravaggio seems to have had no intention of concluding his Neapolitan sojourn.

Documentary evidence suggests that, on 25 June 1607 (or thereabouts), Caravaggio boarded a vessel in the harbour of Naples which was heading to Malta. In the days leading up to this, he should have informed his powerful Neapolitan patrons that they were to expect him back in the city shortly, possibly within weeks or a couple of months. He must have explained to them that he was not bidding farewell to them and that this move to the southern frontier of the Catholic faith within the Central Mediterranean basin was being made in order to garner further political support. It is most probable that the artist left stored and pending work in the city, possibly within the studio of Louis Finson or Abraham Vinck, who had clearly established a relationship with him.49 The large Virgin of the Rosary (Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna), a Judith and Holofernes

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19.

(present whereabouts unknown),50 a Magdalen in Ecstasy (present whereabouts unknown), the St John the Baptist and the David (both Galleria Borghese, Rome) may have been amongst these.

Circumstances indicate that this voyage was not primarily motivated by artistic inspiration, even though it may be possible that he was further attracted to the island because the ruling Grand Master, Alof de Wignacourt, was desirous for a painter to serve his court. It seems clear that, through the Maltese experience, the artist hoped to reorganise himself in terms of protection and security. It is not sure whether the eventual quest for knighthood was already on his mind.

There are many reasons to believe that Caravaggio’s Malta story was meant to be a short one. He had settled well in Naples and, most important of all, he was comfortable and protected. Within these circumstances, it is hard to imagine who in that city convinced him to travel south. In Naples, he was painting for the nobility, for the Church and, especially, for the Viceroy. His most celebrated picture was the Seven Acts of Mercy, painted for the Confraternità della Misericordia’s new Oratory just adjacent to the Duomo of Naples, for which Caravaggio received

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19. Vallettae Civitas Monte Repleta, Statuta Hospitalis Hierusalem, Rome 1588

Valletta: a calculated gamble

The naval encounter with the enemy vessels did not, however, materialise and the galleys of the Order arrived safely in Malta around 12 July 1607.171 Wignacourt himself was probably scouting the horizon from the Palace tower, and their emergence from the distance must have been greeted with relief and enthusiasm. Nine months after leaving the island on this expedition, Sforza Colonna’s galleys re-entered the Grand Harbour with all the fanfare possible for such an occasion. They had been long-awaited and were laden with provisions. Small boats and tens of other vessels probably met them outside the harbour and entered with them as symbolic escorts. The Maltese, and the knights resident in Convent, would have lined the fortifications waving and cheering them in.

They had every reason to do so, primarily because the galleys were a source of succour that was to alleviate the food shortage that had started to take hold of the island.172 Wignacourt had, throughout those months, complained about the meagre harvest season, and it was evidently becoming absolutely necessary for the galleys to return with provisions.173 In sum, Malta seemed to be in a state just short of running out of supplies. For a small island like Malta, famine was always a concern. Its arid climate impacted heavily on supplies and agricultural land could not keep up with the pressures for produce.

All on board should have been impressed by this warm reception, by the scene that the harbour offered, and by the magnificent fortifications, which were almost complete. The galleys sailed past the narrow entrance of the Grand Harbour, with the new city of Valletta gallantly rising on the right. The Palace tower was easily visible, as were also the bell towers of the Conventual Church.

Amidst this spectacle of glowing limestone, Caravaggio would also have noted the macabre sight of the gallows, so prominently exposed to greet visitors on the first promontory on the left; this was a gruesome reminder of the Order’s rule of law. Deeper within the harbour, on the third promontory on the left, was Fort St Angelo, where many glorious episodes of the Great Siege of 1565 had unfolded. It was then, amongst other things, a prison for unruly knights.

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Protection and patronage networks

Corridors of power: Roman connections A couple of weeks after Caravaggio’s arrival in Malta, Fabio Masetti, the erstwhile agent of the Duke of Modena, who had been chasing Caravaggio for a picture promised to the Duke (or for the return of a down payment that he had disbursed), wrote to the Este court and noted that, more or less, it was impossible for him to obtain anything from Caravaggio.231 Masetti always seemed to be particularly well informed about the artist, and it is indeed possible that Caravaggio’s departure further south of Naples led him to give up on getting the picture for his Duke. Masetti did not explicitly mention where the artist was, but the tone of his letter implies that he knew Caravaggio was in Malta.

Importantly, Masetti affirmed that negotiations were in place for Caravaggio’s pardon and that, once concluded, the artist was bound to return to Rome: ‘they are now negotiating peace for the artist and, once concluded, he will return’.232 It is not clear who the ‘they’ mentioned by Masetti are, but this was most probably a reference to his Roman patrons. It is obvious that Caravaggio knew what his friends in Rome were planning, and this period in Malta should have also been characterised by a sense of anticipation for news coming from Rome.

The weeks that followed Caravaggio’s arrival in Malta are biographically difficult to assemble, and almost nothing is known of his precise whereabouts and activities. He could have spent his first days in Valletta residing with Malaspina or possibly placed elsewhere through his connections. In reality, renting a room or property was an easily available option, especially for visitors who, like Caravaggio, had probably arrived on the island for a short-term stay.

Snippets of information throw light on at least one of Caravaggio’s rented residences, namely a house in Valletta associated with a rather notorious Maltese lawyer called Giovanni Domenico Vella, assessor to the Inquisitor’s Office and a member of Inquisitor Leonetto Corbiaro’s inner circle.233 A witness submitting testimony to Inquisitor Evangelista Carbonese on 2 November 1609, a year

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The first Maltese paintings

Portrait of Grand Master Alof de Wignacourt and a Page DATA SHEET 1 FIG. 74

Caravaggio’s Portrait of Alof de Wignacourt and a Page (Musée du Louvre, Paris) is a fitting tribute to the man who eased Caravaggio’s rehabilitation and who became his foremost patron in Malta. Standing in a full suit of armour, Wignacourt is the subject of Caravaggio's only known full-length protrait produced after his escape from Rome. This was a new format for Caravaggio, even though it was one that had been tried and tested by other artists in Italy.

It was also Caravaggio’s first depiction of a military leader, of a man who propagated a martial image of himself. His epitaph describes him as the ‘terror of the barbarians’ who had, as the Knights held, ‘convinced the entire Orient that he was formidable’.275 Caravaggio’s portrait relates to this context, one conditioned by circumstances of the Order’s galley squadron. It is here being suggested that Wignacourt’s desire to have himself represented as ‘formidable’ was a reaction to the disastrous encounters of the same squadron at Cimbalo (modern-day Zembra) and Maometta (Hammamet) barely a year before its depiction. An engagement with this context, in order to place the portrait within the historical scenario of the military events that must have impacted it, is necessary.

The portrait is well studied and widely published.276 Even though its early history and precise patronage mechanics are undocumented, there is much consensus that it belongs to the early phase of Caravaggio’s Maltese period, possibly painted during his first months on the island. Judging by the absence of copies of the picture in Malta, the indications are that the portrait, surprisingly, did not become the official one of the Grand Master. Moreover, it probably left Malta at a relatively early stage. It is well known that it was in Paris by 1644, where it was seen by the English traveller John Evelyn,277 who noted it in the Rue de Seine palace of Roger de Plessis, Duc de la Rocheguyon et de Liancourt (1598– 1674). By 1670, the picture was already in the collection of Louis XIV.278 Thereafter, it remained in the Louvre.

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The typology of Caravaggio’s portrait is essentially that of a propagandistic military portrait, but it is also one that is depicted frankly and without theatrical paraphernalia and elaborate settings. Accompanied by one of his pages, the grand master is represented both as a warrior and as a leader. In an austere context, standing with his legs slightly apart in a firm stride, he wears a heavy suit of armour, whilst holding a baton firmly in both hands. He turns his head towards the right, avoiding direct eye contact with the spectator.279 The grand master has a determined air of stoicism and of martial prowess. Surprisingly, the painting makes few explicit references of a religious nature; the knights’ Militia per Christo is however implied in the surcoat held by the page, which bears the Standard of the Order. This Standard was meant to be defended at any cost in their battles against the ‘infidels’.

It should be made clear at the onset that, despite here proposing a context relating to the successes and failures of the galley squadron, Caravaggio’s portrait is manifestly ‘land-based’ and anchored in Wignacourt’s headquarters in Valletta, from where he directed all military expeditions. The armour is depicted with a lance rest attached to the breastplate, thus manifestly showing that it was worn for cavalry use. He, just like all the subsequent Grand Masters of Malta, never personally engaged at sea during Magistral tenure and the de facto role of leading the squadron was fulfilled by the General of the Galleys, subordinate to the Admiral (also Pilier of the Langue of Italy). Galley generals and admirals would often portray themselves distinctively wearing breastplate and pants rather than in a full suit, because this gave them manoeuvrability at sea. In this respect, Wignacourt’s portrait does not have iconographic references to the sea.

Caravaggio’s portrait has three intriguing aspects that have not been fully deciphered. The first is that the Louvre painting, as just noted, does not appear to have been the ‘official’ state portrait of the Grand Master, and it is even doubtful whether it was actually displayed long-term in the Magistral Palace in Valletta.

The lack of contemporary copies after this image suggests that it was not the portrait that was meant to be copied for display in the numerous buildings and governing offices of the Order. It is clear that Wignacourt’s ‘official’ imagery was that of the Portrait of Wignacourt in Armour (MUŻA, Valletta), a painting of anonymous production, which portrays the Grand Master wearing a different suit of armour, discussed below. This is most probably the picture that Bellori mistakenly ascribed to Caravaggio, when describing his work in Malta (as mentioned below).

The second aspect is that the suit of armour that the Grand Master is depicted in was clearly not his, despite the fact that Wignacourt had his own beautiful tailor-made piece commissioned at great expense from Milan at the onset of his magistry (both suits fortunately still exist and are on display at the Palace Armoury in Valletta). The suit of armour shown in Caravaggio’s portrait is of North Italian (probably Milanese) manufacture and dates to the period

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FIG. 76

FIG. 75

Virtuosity honoured: Knight of Magistral Obedience

When Caravaggio started painting his first pictures in Valletta, the Knights of Malta did not remain passive observers. The artist’s career had been compromised by his private life, but they came to believe that the man who was in Malta could certainly be rehabilitated. The grand master and his close collaborators gradually recognised the benefits that the Order could reap from the artist’s presence, and started thinking of how to keep him on the island, or, in any case, permanently connected to the Order. This was an opportunity that could not be wasted, and action was urgent. It was clear to all that Caravaggio’s virtuosity had to be honoured.

In September 1607, two of Caravaggio’s pictures were up for sale in Naples.

This was somewhat unexpected, because it happened in Caravaggio’s absence. The pictures were the large altar painting of the Virgin of the Rosary (Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna) and a Judith and Holofernes, which is still lost unfortunately.335 Both paintings were at the time in the possession of the painter Louis Finson, who clearly must have befriended Caravaggio during his first stay in that city.

It is not known why they were being sold at that time, nor whether these two paintings were owned by Caravaggio himself and whether he had authorised the sale from Malta. It is also surprising that a large altar painting such as the Virgin of the Rosary was put up for sale when it must have been commissioned for a specific church. In any case, the decision to move on with the sale could indeed signify that a return to Naples was not on the artist’s immediate agenda. Malta was possibly already promising well, and what had probably started off as a short stay aimed at gathering political support, was turning into an auspicious and fulfilling adventure.

In his quest to honour Caravaggio’s virtuosity, the grand master had a number of alternatives. The simplest of these was to elect the artist as a member of the Palace household and to give him all the privileges that it carried. Some twelve years earlier, Grand Master Verdalle had done the same with the Florentine painter Filippo Paladini who, as noted above, was a convicted criminal. Paladini’s artistic worth, and the pictures he painted for the grand master, had changed his

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destiny. It has been briefly mentioned above that he was pardoned by Verdalle in recognition of the work that he had produced. Paladini’s story shows that artistic virtuosity was a vehicle through which both artist and the Order could reap considerable benefits. Wignacourt knew Paladini well and was, during the early years of the seventeenth century, still in correspondence with him.336 Wignacourt knew that Caravaggio would not be impressed by such an ‘election’ to the household. Despite being distinguished, the grand master’s court was small and, when it came to artistic aspects, could not compare with the courts of the Italian princes. In addition, the artist had, just over a year earlier, refused the rewards promised to be showered on him by Prince Marcantonio Doria in Genoa. Ippolito Malaspina probably knew this story well enough. It was obvious that neither money, nor the privileges of being a court painter far away from mainland Italy, could attract Caravaggio.

The Knights had another card, which few others could play, and Wignacourt opted to use it. He wanted an even more intimate connection and decided on a bold move, a move that was a ‘first-ever’ for the Knights of St John: making Caravaggio a knight. This was an honour that was to the advantage of both artist and patron. In this case, Wignacourt would come to embrace the artist as a ‘brother’, knowledgeable of all the implications that his move, controversial as it may have been, would have. The artist, obviously, could not have which for anything better. This was an offer that he certainly could not refuse.

Caravaggio’s Maltese period is largely taken up by his knighthood, that is, his ambition for it, his investiture and his eventual disrobing. Before arriving in Malta, Caravaggio certainly knew about honorific knighthoods and probably had them at the back of his mind. However, he would also have known that the Statutes of the Order of St John prohibited reception within it to anyone who had committed murder, and would certainly have realised that this was a great obstacle for any such ambition. Statute 12 of De Receptione Fratrum specifically excluded ‘anybody that hath committed murder, or led a wicked and debauched life in the world’.337 Caravaggio’s murder of Ranuccio Tomassoni in May 1606 was an immediate disqualifier.

The fact that Caravaggio had committed murder was not, however, the only hurdle the artist needed to overcome. The other obstacle specifically referred to the class of knighthood for which he could have been entitled. Within the structure of the Order of St John, there were a number of levels of knighthood organised according to a class hierarchy, and the honorific knighthood, which he aspired to, no longer existed.

As a person of ‘common birth’, Caravaggio stood no chance for a Knighthood of Justice, which was reserved for the ‘true knight’ who possessed all the requirements of nobility according to the Statutes; this was where the great family names resounded. Yet, the Order had also grown to permit some knighthoods at a lower level, some of which were honorific titles, such as that of Magistral Obedience. Reserved for valorous men who did not possess noble

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The paintings 0f 1608

Sleeping Cupid DATA SHEET 4 FIG. 113

The Sleeping Cupid (Palazzo Pitti, Florence) is the only mythological picture that Caravaggio is known to have painted in Malta, and the smallest of the works he executed there.379 It was painted for Wignacourt’s right-hand man and Italian secretary, Fra Francesco dell’Antella who, as already discussed, coordinated the diplomatic campaign for Caravaggio’s knighthood. Considering the context of its production, it seems obvious that the Sleeping Cupid was painted by the artist to be gifted to dell’Antella in recognition of his efforts and support.

The provenance of the painting is well known. An inscription on its reverse records it as painted in Malta in 1608: ‘OPERA DEL SR MICHEL ANGELO MARESI DA CARAVAGGIO IN MALTA 1608’. The picture is documented to have been sent from Malta by dell’Antella to his family in Florence in 1609, from where it passed into the Collection of Cardinal Leopoldo de’ Medici before March 1667. It then passed into the Grand Ducal Collection, certainly before 1675.380 The Sleeping Cupid thereafter remained at Palazzo Pitti.

The reason for the early transfer of the painting from Malta to Florence emerges as a clear manifestation of the cultured humanist context found in cosmopolitan Valletta. Correspondence between Malta and Florence, discussed below, shows that the work was sent by dell’Antella to serve as a catalyst for poetry and to be the subject of a pictura-poesis paragone that was so popular in the intellectual circles of both Rome and Florence. This example of refined connoisseurship clearly bridges the geographical distance separating Valletta from the major centres and shows how Caravaggio’s Malta, in many ways, responded to the erudite sophistication of men born and bred within the great families of art collectors, art lovers and patrons.

Caravaggio’s Sleeping Cupid, of a small horizontal format, is a private picture intended for a connoisseur’s collection. The protagonist is a sleeping child who draws the spectator into the work. Typical of the artist, he is painted with extraordinary realism, clearly dal naturale, and without a trace of the idealisation

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113.

that usually defined mythological figures. The god is at peace and represents the innocence of dormant love, even though the presence of the quiver, bow and arrow is a reminder that the god has the ability to wound. Cupid is painted starkly as a nude young boy sleeping on the ground; his figure spans the entire width of the canvas. His head rests on the quiver, legs crossed, wings apart, with the right arm and hands touching the bow and arrow, whilst the left hand is placed to rest on his torso.

The god is represented as a chubby boy with a bloated belly and short curly hair. His eyes are closed, lost in deep sleep, and his mouth is slightly open, revealing the front upper teeth. It seems as if, at the moment of depiction, the boy had just fallen asleep and dropped the bow from his hand just as he was about to use it. The boy emerges from the dark in a strong chiaroscuro that also illuminates the attributes of the mythological god of love, depicted realistically as in a still life. There is no drapery to soften the ground on which the boy sleeps, as was often the case in antiquity. The feathers of the left wing extend to partially cover the boy’s fingers, and thus enhance the spatial field.

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113. Caravaggio, Sleeping Cupid (Palazzo Pitti, Florence)

Sangue vivo: Caravaggio’s apex

When Caravaggio entered the Conventual Church in Valletta for the first time in July 1607, he would have noticed, beyond the first bay on the right, a large portal leading into a long hall that was just about to be completed. Built between 1602 and 1607, this was the Oratory of the Decollato, where the Knights held occasional ceremonies and where the Confraternità della Misericordia (also known as the Compagnia or Società della Misericordia), so powerful and influential at the dawn of the seventeenth century, congregated. High, bare and austere, it was unadorned, having its blank walls defining the box-like geometry of the hall. This space was to become the setting for his masterpiece, the Beheading of St John the Baptist, an enormous site-specific work of overwhelming gravity. The Beheading engages with its audience through manifestly calculated lines of vision. It expands the internal space of the Oratory itself and communicates something that goes beyond the visual language that it captures. It immerses the viewer.

In its dedication to San Giovanni Decollato, the Oratory was a space where St John the Baptist was venerated in the final moment of his life and Caravaggio’s paiting was then a devotional climax in the Conventual Church, which honoured the knights’ patron, St John. The main altar of the church was adorned by a large Late Mannerist painting of the Baptism of Christ painted by Matteo Perez d’Aleccio, as already discussed earlier. The side chapels carried devotions to the Virgin and to other saints, but the saint’s martyrdom, whose feast fell on 29 August, had no proper devotion before the construction of the Oratory. Devotion to the martyrdom of St John the Baptist was associated with the new Oratory from its onset; documents, dating to as early as October 1602, record the building as being dedicated to San Giovanni Decollato.438 Despite having some of its treasures moved elsewhere within the complex of St John’s Church, the Oratory of the Decollato remains one of the most beautiful Baroque spaces in Malta. Its present decorative ensemble is no longer the one Caravaggio saw. It was given a Baroque sensibility under the direction of Mattia Preti (1613–1699) during a major decorative intervention undertaken between 1679 and 1690.439 It was furnished with paintings by Mattia Preti, gilt carvings, marble

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cladding (further marble cladding took place in the mid-eighteenth century), and inlaid marble slabs. The Oratory’s original appearance was far removed from this ostentatious display of decorative spectacle. The space was the same but its walls were originally cold, austere and largely unadorned. The Oratory that Caravaggio worked in during 1608 was little more than a bleak and desolate hall.

Built some thirty years after the Conventual Church, possibly on the designs of Wignacourt’s Maltese architect Vittorio Cassar, the Oratory consists of a large longitudinal box-like hall with a smaller barrel-vaulted compartment at its altar end, where the Beheading is located. Caravaggio’s painting is set within an ornately carved gilt frame that carries the coat of arms of Grand Master Alof de Wignacourt, most probably completed in the years following the execution of the picture.440 Two large laterals on the side walls, representing St John the Baptist with the Blessed Gerard and Raymond before the Lamb of God and Agnes the first Abbess and Nun of the Order, date to the 1680s, and are the work of Mattia Preti. Additionally, the vault carries paintings of the Agony in the Garden and Christ at the Pillar, also by Mattia Preti. In the lunette above Caravaggio’s painting is a carved relief of the Virgin of Sorrows, which also dates to the late seventeenth-century redecoration project.

The Oratory is accessed through a large entrance portal attached directly to the south side of the main church; it is located at the first chapel bay on the right. This bay was originally designated as a chapel, but its function changed when its altar reredos and termination wall were removed to provide access to the Oratory. Consequently, the bay’s designation changed, becoming a sort of atrium for the Oratory, which was constructed with its axis perpendicular to that of the main church. With its main door open, the Oratory’s altar and Caravaggio’s painting were directly visible from the church proper, powerfully engaging with the audience in the nave itself. The dynamics of the work’s relationship with its audience therefore goes beyond the confines of the Oratory. Its door, when closed, had a small opening from where they could be viewed. It should be here underlined that the original articulation and moulding of the main doorway of the Oratory, and the door itself, were changed in the mid-eighteenth-century with the marble ensemble that still survives today.

The Oratory’s site occupied a large portion of the old outdoor cemetery that was attached to the entire south flank of the church. The building was erected slightly recessed from the alignment of the church façade. It remained so until the Grand Prior’s residence was built in this long and shallow recessed space, hiding the Oratory from external view. This most probably happened at an early stage.

The Oratory’s interior was originally covered by a flat roof of stone slabs resting on wooden beams, and probably concealed by a flat soffit that was later substituted with a richly carved wooden one incorporating paintings of the Passion of Christ by Mattia Preti. This soffit is set low, in such a way as to allow space for a service passageway between it and the wooden beams.

At the altar end of the hall is a barrel-vaulted choir set off by a triumphal arch. This bay is narrower than the hall, and has a central lantern that provides a

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FIG. 125

Opposite: 124. Entrance to the Oratory of the Decollato, St John’s Conventual Church, Valletta Following pages: 125. Oratory of the Decollato, St John’s Conventual Church, Valletta 126. Oratory of the Decollato, St John’s Conventual Church, Valletta. Detail of the coat of arms on the frame of the Beheading 127. Oratory of the Decollato, St John’s Conventual Church, Valletta. Photo with the clerestory windows open, c.2005 128. Cemetery and Oratory of the Decollato, St John’s Conventual Church, Valletta. Aerial photo c.2005 129. Cemetery and Oratory of the Decollato, St John’s Conventual Church, Valletta, c.2005

124.

Indegno mediante i demeriti: Tumult and disgrace

In the eventful summer weeks of 1608 Caravaggio seemed to have finally settled down, and achieved a much-needed mental stability. At the height of his career, in the most unexpected and dramatic of fashions, the artist suddenly lost favour with the grand master and the entire Venerable Council. Barely four weeks into his knighthood, in mid-August of that year, Caravaggio was involved in a violent brawl during which a shot exploded, badly wounding a knight. He fled from the scene but was arrested a couple of days later. This episode led to his eventual disgrace.

The events that eventually led to the artist’s unexpected detainment in the prisons of Fort St Angelo have until recently been the subject of wide-ranging speculation. Theories have included: the grand master being notified of the Tomassoni murder, street violence, homicide, sodomy and others ‘too appalling to be recorded’.518 Nobody, not even the early biographers, seemed to be able to provide much detail even though, in retrospect, it now appears that some writers got very close to what had actually happened. Caravaggio’s biographers, Baglione, Bellori and, later, Susinno, were correct in noting that Caravaggio was involved in a altercation between knights.519 The personalities involved in this brawl have been identified, and the ‘Cavaliere di Giustitia’ mentioned by Baglione and the ‘Cavaliere nobilissimo’ mentioned by Bellori, was the Italian knight Fra Giovanni Rodomonte Roero dei Conti della Vezza di Asti.520 Details about what happened emerge from the schematic preliminary results of an inquiry ordered by the Grand Master and the Venerable Council on 19 August 1608.521 The inquiry concerned a nocturnal tumult between several knights, which happened on the night of the 18th, during which the front door of the residence of a certain Fra Prospero Coppini, organist of the Conventual Church, was smashed and broken open. It is not clear where Coppini’s house was located, but in all probability it was in Valletta. It is difficult to ascertain what led to such a violent tumult, but it was certainly no small affair and at least seven knights, all Italians, were involved. It seems that Fra Prospero Coppini himself did not take part. Not much detail is given about the events, but it later emerged that, in the uproar, the

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Italian knight Fra Giovanni Rodomonte Roero was wounded. The identity of the knights involved was not, as yet, known, but the events were serious and the grand master had to act immediately. Blood had been spilt between ‘brothers’, and the matter had to be seen to with urgency. A Criminal Commission, composed of Fra Philiberto de Matha, Fra Giovanni Gomes de Azevedo, and Antonio Turrensi J.U.D., was thus set up to investigate the case.

The investigations should not have been difficult to conclude and, on 27 August 1608, the ‘Turrensi Commission’ submitted its first report to the Venerable Council.522 Members of this Council had amongst them some of Caravaggio’s greatest protectors in Malta. Apart from Wignacourt, there should have been Fabrizio Sforza Colonna, Antonio Martelli and Ippolito Malaspina. Moreover, also present, but without a right to vote, therewhould have been Wignacourt’s secretary, Francesco dell’Antella. The Palace was hit by scandal. These patrons, men who only months earlier had masterminded the artist’s rehabilitation and glory, were faced with this humiliating new development. As events unfolded they could do very little. When knights committed violence on one another, they broke a major code of honour within the Order’s Statutes.

The Turrensi Commission had made progress in its investigation and, on that day, it noted that there was enough evidence to proceed against two knights, namely Fra Giovanni Pietro de Ponte, a deacon of the Conventual Church, and Caravaggio, who was simply identified by his famous name, Fra Michelangelo.523 At that stage, no other details were provided, except that it was clear that other knights, by that time not securely identified, were involved. The Commission had not, however, in any way concluded its inquiry, and was clearly after the other knights involved in the brawl. At the insistence of the Fiscal Procurator, the Venerable Council urged the Commission to gather further information, to draw up the case against de Ponte and Caravaggio, and then refer back to the same Council.

The use of a wheel-lock pistol in the incident aggravated the matter; possession of wheel-lock pistols was illegal, and all such pistols had to be deposited at the Armoury upon arrival in Malta. The only exception made was for the grand master’s guards, who had licence to carry them. These pistols were small and could be easily hidden, thus facilitating surprise attacks. When its trigger was pulled, the pistol’s rotating mechanism produced a spark which directly exploded the shot. It was thus fired without a burning flame, making the older flint pistols obsolete.

The other knights were identified some time later, as more details emerged.

It became clear that Rodomonte Roero had been wounded by a wheel-lock pistol shot probably fired by de Ponte, or less likely, by Caravaggio himself. The other knights apprehended were identified as Fra Giulio Accarigi and Fra Giovanni Battista Scaravello, together with two novices, Giovanni Pecci and Francesco Benzo. It is, however, not precisely clear who did what.

Caravaggio’s unruly companion, Giovanni Pietro de Ponte, had arrived in Malta from Naples on 13 July 1607. He most probably travelled on the very same

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FIG. 151

Opposite: 151. AOM, 103, Liber Conciliorum 1608-10, f. 9r

151.

Reflections on Caravaggio’s technique

Caravaggio’s travels and the undeniable necessity to work with materials that were readily available in specific locations in terms of pigment and supports impinged significantly on how he produced his paintings. Despite these movements, strong technical parallels between the Maltese works and those executed in Naples and Sicily are visible. This is not surprising since pigment and other art material in Malta was largely derived through trade with Naples and with the Sicilian ports. Little is, however, known about the mechanics and details of this trade. Similarly nothing is specifically documented about the immediate availability of pigments in Malta in 1607. There is so much that needs to be studied in this field.612 Close-up viewing of works of art remains at the heart of understanding artistic techniques and methods, and much can be derived from this.

Ground

FIG. 178

Opposite: 176. Caravaggio, Beheading of St John the Baptist (Oratory of the Decollato, St John’s Conventual Church, Valletta). Detail

176.

Caravaggio utilised a sober and restricted palette combined with a quick technique that exploited the colour of the ground layers, usually rendered as a dark reddish-brown. This set the stage for the powerful tonal vibrancy of his mature paintings. Caravaggio’s technique, as can be very clearly seen in the Beheading of St John the Baptist, became significantly more economical in his post-Roman works and typically the artist let the colour of the ground layer emerge in certain areas as a middle tone and to show through in the final layer.

Thus, the dark ground layers allowed greater speed of execution. It allowed the application of layered glazes for the shadowed areas, which he contrasted with solid impasto when lead white was used. The unfortunately-abraded state of the upper pigment surface of some works has made this technique more visible, especially in areas where the paint layers were applied thinly. It can be especially noted in paintings such as the Nancy Annunciation of the Virgin, as also in Sicilian works such as the Burial of St Lucy and the Raising of Lazarus. The passage of time

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has increased these tonal contrasts, especially in areas where the glazes have been compromised or absorbed.

Scientific analyses undertaken by different institutions have shown that the ground in Caravaggio’s post-Roman paintings is often spread in at least two layers, the lower one being coarser. There are two reddish-brown layers, for example, in the Maltese Beheading, St Jerome and Annunciation, and in Sicilian works such as the Adoration of the Shepherds. The Beheading’s ground is of a reddish/ orange-brown, and is composed of a lower layer of red ochre, earth, hematite, lead white and carbon black, whilst the upper layer is darker. The lower layer of the Annunciation is composed of different brown earths and umber, whilst traces of cinnabar were found in the upper layer. Three layers were applied for the Pitti Portrait of a Knight, the upper one being of a dark reddish-brown.

Significantly, globigerina (of Sicilian origin) has been identified in the lower ground layer of both the Sicilian Burial of St Lucy and the Raising of Lazarus. It does not, however, transpire in data for the Beheading, but more analyses are required.

Preliminary sketch The fact that there are no significant corrective alterations (pentimenti) of the forms and narratives within Caravaggio’s late works reveals much about his thought processes for the final imagery. It also sheds light on the working method and on how he developed his images. Caravaggio built his figures with sure and direct strokes, clearly applied without much hesitation. The absence of significant pentimenti also shows that at the onset of work he adopted a welldefined approach towards the laying and execution of the final composition. There are, for example, no significant pentimenti in the Beheading, which is admirable for a work of its monumental size, site specificity and obvious mathematical disposition. Likewise, no significant pentimenti can be found in the Annunciation or in the St Jerome. Similarly, pentimenti in the Portrait of a Knight are minimal and only relate to a slight change in the position of the hilt of the sword. The Sleeping Cupid, on the other hand, has some slight changes and corrections.

There is ongoing debate on how Caravaggio laid out his large compositions in order to have such little work-in-progress change. The fact that there are few compositional changes obviously conditions any discussion of his approach and the calculated knowledge of what the final image was meant to look like. Despite this, the sheer absence of drawings on paper or bozzetti shows that the artist rejected the typical academic or ‘Renaissance’ practice of studying and developing the composition in several stages of drawing executed in smaller scale on paper, before moving to the onset of work on canvas. Furthermore, it is not possible to gauge any technical elements that would indicate any transposition of the final image onto the canvas from a full-scale drawing or a preparatory carton. Knowing Caravaggio’s temperament, the latter is not an option to consider. A close-up

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FIG. 176

FIG. 177

FIG. 180

viewing of the Beheading allows for a reading of Caravaggio’s preliminary sketchwork even with the naked eye.

Caravaggio clearly approached the canvas with a directness that few of his contemporaries possessed. The first strokes of pigment are often difficult to gauge, but there are instances throughout Caravaggio’s oeuvre where some initial strokes or markers were painted or incised in order to define forms within the composition. Brushstrokes in the character of an abbozzo can sometimes be found in his early Roman works, and the practice endures in the final years.

Some of these markers might have been painted strokes of brown pigment, and it is possible that such strokes are no longer visible because they have merged into the ground pigment itself. The artist’s rapid technique and the closeness to the colour of the ground makes any presence of such brushstrokes difficult to identify. The most likely interpretation that one could draw is that such markers were executed essentially free hand in order to permit the artist to define the volumes. Those markers that can be identified are spontaneous and not particularly elaborate and probably only served to fix essential forms in the composition. It must be emphasised that these brushstrokes do not resemble drawings that can be usually found on a clear preparation, and should definitely not be seen as complex and well-developed compositional drawings in the ‘Renaissance’ tradition of working.

In the Beheading, for example, the use of such dark lines is visibly manifest to the naked eye in areas that have been somewhat abraded or are thinly laid; moreover, some of these barely visible strokes also appear to be white, a practice found in earlier works by the artist. Note can be made, for example, of the area on the right where the rope is attached to an iron ring. In a similar manner, analyses of the Borghese St John the Baptist has revealed traces of dark brushwork underdrawing coupled with traces of lead white sketching. It is tempting to suggest that Caravaggio sketched out elements of composition in this manner and then built over it in rapidly-laid layers. In general, however, forms do not overlap, which also suggests that the composition was well defined at the onset of execution. Two areas of the Beheading are of special interest in this regard. The executioner’s loin cloth seems to have had its folds schematically modelled in dark brown strokes that seep through. These are not to be confused with dark lines that outline contours to emphasise form, such as the brushwork in the same area of the loin cloth and the hand that holds the knife. Furthermore, of particular interest is the drapery of the pointing hand of the jailer, where thin layers of pigment in the sleeve have been abraded to reveal its painterly constitution. The dialogue between the short decisive linear highlight strokes and the longer dark strokes, built over darker lines that seep through the thin layers of pigment, provides fascinating insight into Caravaggio’s method. The use of dark outlining lines is also palpable in this area. The same method can be noted in the definition of the maiden, the jailer and the salver, as also elsewhere in the monumental painting.

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Archiving Caravaggio

Opposite: 182. MCM, AIM, Processi, Vol. 28, f. 295r.

182.

The story of archival research on Caravaggio starts at the end of the nineteenth century, when research in the records of the Archivio di Stato in Rome started to reveal rather random biographical data on the lives of the numerous artists working in the city. Caravaggio was one of them.

In 1881 Antonino Bertolotti published the first of a considerable number of documents on the artist.613 These were not mainly concerned with his art but, above all, with trouble with the sbirri (or police) and thus with his misdemeanours, further adding to the image of Caravaggio as a turbulent man. Documents will throw light on the way people lived, who they lived with, and where.

Bertolotti’s documents were published at the very onset of modern Caravaggio scholarship. Not much, however, could be expected in research at a time when the artist’s popularity was definitely not what it is today. His oeuvre, as defined at the time, included many works by followers or imitators and his biography was far from being properly deciphered. Scholarship on the subject, and here I use the words of Walter Friedlander, was in ‘a state of confusion.’

By the early twentieth century, scholarly and academic interest grew significantly, primarily through the efforts of pioneering art historians, such as Gabriel Rouches, Herman Voss, Nikolaus Pevsner, Ernst Benkard, Leopold Zahn, Ludwig Schudt, Matteo Marangoni, Lionello Venturi and the younger Roberto Longhi.

In reality, this also shows how young scholarship on Caravaggio is. That specific to the final years of his life, and thus also the Malta period, is even younger. Reference is here made to an extract from the pioneering book entitled Le Caravage published in Paris in 1920 and written by Gabriel Rouches:614 In April 1914 I presented myself at the Maltese Archives. With perfect courtesy the Director let me know that it was impossible to consult the papers of the Order of St John of Jerusalem because they had not been classified. There was no use insisting. I am hereby signalling a regrettable state of affairs, hoping that the British Government will put an end to it if

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the local authorities do not do so. This is even more surprising because in Italy the archival deposits are in the hands of competent and extremely helpful civil servants.

Rouches was clearly annoyed. He wanted to find something but was not allowed. He was however the first one to attempt modern scholarship on the Maltese phase: On the life of Caravaggio in Malta and on the adventures of which he was the hero we are obliged to follow tradition and to rely on the biographers.

Maybe one day, when the archives of Malta will be accessible, one may find references that will allow us to shed light on certain obscure points on the artist’s life on the island.

He was correct. In reality, in 1914 the Archives of the Order were still dispersed between two sites, one in the premises of the National Library, the other at the Public Registry in Merchants Street in Valletta. It could be possible that Rouches went to the latter, or was directed there. In any case, history has clearly evolved since then and systemisation of the Archives of the Order eventually provided much data.

What is pertinent is that, in 1914, Caravaggio scholarship showed interest in the Maltese archives. In the same years, Virgilio Saccà, for example, had looked for Caravaggio documents in the Archive of the Order of St John at Via dei Condotti in Rome and could not find any mention of the artist. But only Rouches, out of all the pioneering scholars, had engaged directly with the Maltese context and attempted to research at the Valletta archives. As Rouches states, in the absence of documents, the only material known to scholars about Caravaggio’s Malta were the very short snippets told by the biographers, namely Baglione and Bellori.

Archival findings The first important date for such findings is 1935. In that year, Faith Ashford managed to do what the others had not.615 Her research efforts undertaken at the National Library and Archives of Malta (she records the kind assistance of the Librarian, Hannibal Scicluna, and Keeper of the Archives, Dr Giuseppe Gatt) bore the first of the documented mentions of Caravaggio’s stay in Malta. Ashford’s milestone, short article, published in The Burlington Magazine and aptly entitled ‘Caravaggio’s Stay in Malta’, was the first to emerge from archival research on the artist in Malta and to establish benchmarks for events and dates.

Whilst connoisseurs were seeking new paintings, Ashford, as a historian, was the first to seek new documents for the Maltese context. She published three translations of Caravaggio documents, all related to the final phase of his Maltese story. These concern:

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338