ARAVAG G I if THE BAROSIUE IMAGE Edited by J^ranco iiM^ormando O SAINTS & SINNERS C ARAVAGG I O & THE BAROQUE IMAGE SAINTS&SINNERS C ARAVAGG I O if THE BAROSU/E IMAGE Edited by J^ranco ({Mbrmando McMullen museum of art, boston college Distributed by the University of Chicago Press This publication is issued in conjunction with the exhibition Saints and Sinners: Caravaggio and the Baroque Image, at the Charles S. and Isabella V. McMullen Museum of Art, Bofton College February i to May 24, 1999 The exhibition is organized by the McMullen Museum of Art PRINCIPAL CURATOR: Franco Mormando, Bofton College CO-CURATORS: Gauvin Alexander Bailey, Clark University Pamela Jones, University of Massachusetts, Bofton John W. O’Malley, Wefton Jesuit School of Theology Thomas W. Worcefter, College of the Holy Cross This exhibition and catalogue are underwritten by Bofton College with an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and Humanities and additional support from the following: SPONSORS National Endowment for the Arts, a Federal Agency Joan Vercollone Barry and Henry F. Barry, ‘64 Linda Carifto Crescenzi, ‘64 and Adam Crescenzi BENEFACTORS The Jesuit Inftitute at Bofton College Nancy McElaney Joyce and John E. Joyce ‘61, ‘70 PATRONS Jesuit Community, Boston College Homeland Foundation, New York, New York Donna Hoffman and Chriflian M. Hoffman, ‘66 Hutchins, Wheeler & Dittmar William J. McLaughlin, ‘58 Meagan Carroll Shea, ‘89, L‘92 and Timothy J. Shea II, L‘92 Charles W. Sullivan, ‘64 SUPPORTERS Jesuit Community, College of the Holy Cross Downer and Company Paul A. Fugazzotto, ‘76 Paul J. McAdams, ‘57 Gerard and Brigitte Moufflet National Italian American Foundation Alexander H. Petro, ‘85 Copyright © 1999 by the Charles S. and Isabella V. McMullen Museum of Art, Bofton College, Cheftnut Hill, MA 02467 Library of Congress Catalogue Card number 98-68410 ISBN 1-892850-00-1 Diftributed by the University of Chicago Press Printed by Acme Printing Designed by Office of Publications and Print Marketing at Bofton College JoAnn Yandle, Designer Typeset in the HoeflerText family Paper ftock is Potlach McCoy and Monadnock Dulcet Copyedited by Naomi Rosenberg Photographs have been provided courtesy of the following: Alinari-Art Resource, figs.i, 3-6, 12, 15, 20-22 Bofton College Audio Visual Department, fig. 10 JohnJ. Burns Library, Boston College, figs, ii, 13 The Cleveland Museum of Art, fig. 23 Courtauld Inftitute, London, fig. 31 The Jesuit Community, Loyola University, Chicago, plate 22 Detroit Infinite of Arts, plate 6 Mary Jane Harris, New York, plates 3, 5 Richard L. Feigen, New York, plates 9, ii, 18 Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, fig. 7 Fondazione Longhi, Florence, figs. 33, 36 Gabinetto Nazionale Fotografica, Rome, fig. 17 Iftituto Centrale per il Reftauro, Archivio Fotografico, Rome, figs. 24-37 Bob Jones University Museum and Gallery, plate 27 Los Angeles County Museum, fig. 9 Metropolitan Museum of Art, plate 2, fig. 16 Mount Holyoke College Museum of Art, plate 17 Musei Vaticani, Archivio Fotografico, fig. 30 Museo di Roma, Archivio Fotografico, fig. 25 Museum of Fine Arts, Bofton, plate 28 Museum der Bildenden Kiinil, Leipzig, fig. 19 National Gallery of Art, Washington, plate 26 National Gallery, London, fig. 28 Joan Nissman and Morton Abromson, plate 13 North Carolina Museum of Art, plate 21 The Art Museum, Princeton University, plate 29 The Putnam Foundation, Timken Museum of Art, San Diego, fig. 8 John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art, The State Art Museum of Florida, plates 15, 16, 20 Sao Roque Museum/Misericordia de Lisboa, Lisbon, figs. 14, 18 The Saint Louis Art Museum, plate 19 FRONT COVER: The Taking of Qhrill, 1602 MICHELANGELO MERISI DA CARAVAGGIO oil on canvas 53 X 67 in. Society of Jesus, Ireland, on loan to the National Gallery of Ireland TABLE OF CONTENTS STATEMENTS FROM THE HONORARY PATRONS OF THE EXHIBITION 6 HIS EXCELLENCY FERDiNANDO SALLEO Ambdssador of Italy to the United States HIS EMINENCE CARDINAL CARLO MARIA MARTI N I Archbishop of Milan PRINCESS STEFANIA AN GELO- COMN EN O DI TESSAGLIA President, Accademia Angelica-CoHantiniana di lettere, arti e scienze, Rome THE VERT REVEREND PETER-HANS KOLVENBACH, S.J. Superior General of the Society of Jesus, Rome DIRECTOR’S FOREWORD 9 £S(ancy (SNftzer PREFACE: THE MURDER BEHIND THE DISCOVERY II £l\[hel ‘-Barber EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION {sNith. ^ynopsis of the Exhibition) 14 J-ranco cCMhrmando A HISTORIOGRAPHICAL FRAME FOR THE PAINTINGS: RECENT INTERPRETATIONS OF EARLY MODERN CATHOLICISM I9 John W. O'aMalley THE POWER OF IMAGES: PAINTINGS AND VIEWERS IN CARAVAGGIO’S ITALY 28 ‘Bam e la in Judas Iscariot and The Taking of Chrill (Pis. 28-30), in the ulti- mate juxtaposition of Good and Evil, as embodied in the figures of Jesus and Judas Iscariot. Baroque artifts emphasized this duality by depicting the innocent Jesus as more pleasing and refined in appearance than the wicked Judas, who is represented as unattractive and uncouth. Alongside Caravaggio’s The Taking of Chrill (PI. 30), two revealingly different renditions of the same episode are displayed. Ludovico Carracci’s painting (PI. 28), the earlieft of the three, is a diftinctly non Caravaggesque treatment of the subject. By contra^, the work by the anonymous Flemish artift (PI. 29) shows the profound influence of Caravaggio’s ftyle and treatment of the theme on European art. 1 Quoted by Carl A. Pescosolido and Pamela Gleason, The Proud Italians: Our Great Civilizers (Washington, DC, 1995). 2 - 2 Having, by now, lost much of its meaning and usefulness as a critical category, the adjective. Baroque, is used in the exhibition and catalogue as a convenient chronological term to designate the period extending from the late sixteenth through the end of the seventeenth century; no stylistic description or aesthetic judgment is intended about the body of paintings to which the adjective is applied. 3 In Rudolph Wittkower and Irma B. Jaffe, eds.. Baroque Art: The Jesuit Contribution (New York, 1972), 29-50. 18 A HISTORIOGRAPHICAL FRAME FOR THE PAINTINGS: RECENT INTERPRETATIONS OF EARLY MODERN CATHOLICISM John W. (9’q^allet S ERIOUS HISTORIANS of Chriftianity of the early modern peri- od had until relatively recently little intere^ in Catholicism as a subject of research. The Renaissance, they believed, was theologically vacuous, only superficially Chri^ian, and the so-called Counter Reformation was a reftora- tion of the wor^ aspects of the Middle Ages, intere^ing only insofar as it threw light on the Prote^ant Reformation. The Reformation was modern, the Catholic Church remained medieval. To such hi^orians even religious art of that lat- ter period reflected the monolithic uniformity of Catholicism at large. It adhered slavishly to the dictates of ecclesia^ical authority, which acted on the well known lines on sacred art from the Council of Trent, and it was programmed as a reaction to Prote^antism. Modern hi^orical methodologies had their origins in Proteftant milieus, beginning with Leopold von Ranke, and were often used in ways or led to conclusions that made them offensive to Catholic sensibilities and suspect to Catholic authorities. Moreover, in Germany and especially in England— countries where hi^orical schol- arship flourished — Catholics were a minority that labored under civil disabilities of various kinds. ^ Catholic scholars were therefore fewer in number, often engaged in games of catch-up or refutation, and often lacked training in the beft canons of hiftorical method.^ Since at lea^ the nineteenth century, therefore, books and articles of the higheft academic ^andards dealing with the Reformation rolled off the presses, whereas those dealing with the Catholic side of things were few, predictably apolo- getic if they came from Catholic authors or predictably unsympathetic if they came from others. From religious and cultural viewpoints Catholicism appeared the back- ward and lacklu^er ^epsi^er to the Reformation, dull and repressive. Why bother Undying it? 19 In Italy, moreover, the internationally respected scholars came from the “lay” or anticlerical ranks, who nursed bitter and longftanding grievances againft the Catholic Church, especially againft the papacy’s resiftance to the Risorgimento and to the unification of Italy .3 It was characteriftic of these scholars to claim the Italian Renaissance as harbinger of the Enlightenment, of which they were the heirs , 4 and, for the period after the out- break of the Reformation, to direct their attention to Italian heretics rather than to the overwhelmingly Catholic heritage of their country. When they occasionally deigned to discuss that heritage, they disparaged it. Francesco De Sanctis and others in the late nine- teenth century interpreted the Controriforma to signify not so much the opposition of the Church to Proteft antism, which never gained substantial ground in Italy, as its opposition to the freedom of the human spirit . 5 According to them, the Controriforma in the sixteenth cen- tury caused Italy to fall into decadence from the cultural preeminence it had attained during the Renaissance. In the firSt half of the twentieth century Benedetto Croce, a figure of almoSI incomparable intellectual preStige in Italy, defined the Counter Reformation as nothing more than the efforts of a besieged institution, destitute of all cre- ative energy, to secure its own survival.^ For him the “Age of the Counter Reformation” and the “Age of the Baroque” were synonyms — baroque meant Strange, bizarre, tigly .7 The situation has changed remarkably in the paSt ten or fifteen years, with a surge of intereSt in almoSt every aspect of early modern Catholicism, 1400-1700. All at once, it seems, the StepsiSter, while not yet Cinderella, has gained considerable allure. The phenomenon has occurred almoSt simultaneously in North America and several European countries, with much of the impetus for the change and the newer categories of interpretation coming from Germany and France. In North America this scholarship has been undertaken especially by younger scholars, who often do not come from a Catholic back- ground. Emerging from this ferment has been a much richer and more complex picture of the Catholic phenomenon, displacing the older and more monolithic ones that were often promoted by what had become the ftandard cate- gories of interpretation: “Catholic Reformation,” the category favored by Catholics, which tended to take an unremittingly bright view of the subject, and “Counter Reformation,” the category favored by moft others, which tended to take a correspondingly unremittingly dark view.^ The richness and complexity that this new intereft has uncovered are reflected in the contributions that fol- low in this catalogue, although it muft be admitted that art hiftorians were sometimes pioneers in this field, recog- nizing the richness and complexity long before other hiftorians caught on. Generations ago the great Edgar Wind called for a ftudy of Renaissance theology, challeng- ing the received wisdom that there was no such thing , 9 and other art hiftorians had even earlier qualified the dogma that “baroque” signified nothing but diftortion of classical norms and dramatization of overwrought sentiment. In any case, we have reached a significant hiftoriographical moment that has special import for the culture that finds expression in the exhibition Saints and Sinners. In this introductory essay, I shall describe that moment, so as to provide a hiftoriographical frame for the other contributions in this catalogue and for the paintings of which the contributions speak. How do we account for this remarkable burft of scholarly intereft even among hiftorians who are not art hiftorians? We may never adequately account for such a shift in intereft and appreciation, but we can suggeft a few clues to its origins, some of which take us back many decades. In the 1960s, for inftance, Vatican Council II made it clear to everybody that the Catholic Church, “the church that did not change,” was undergoing extensive changes. This made it easier for historians to imagine that the Church of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was not quite so monolithic as had been commonly believed and that it therefore might be interesting to Study. But there were other, less grandiose, factors at work. In Italy, for inStance, in the years juSt before the Council, a professional friendship developed between two unlikely scholars. Hubert Jedin was a German Catholic prieSt, hard at work in Rome on his great maSterpiece, the Standard history of the Council of Trent, finally completed in four volumes in 1975.^^ Delio Cantimori was an Italian “lay” historian, at one time a CommuniSt, and the leading spe- cialist on Italian heretics during the sixteenth century.^^ These two great scholars formed a cordial relationship, a bridge across an almoSt impassible cultural divide, which especially sparked younger scholars to investigate with new eyes what happened to the Catholic Church in the sixteenth century. Among them were men like Giuseppe Alberigo, Paolo Prodi, and Adriano Prosperi, who today enjoy brilliant international reputations for their books and articles on the Catholic Church in Italy in the early modern period. 20 In Germany a somewhat different situation pre- vailed. Mainline German hiftoriography, of course, focused on the Reformation and tended to see the Catholic side as secondary and reactionary, in every respect different from the Proteftant. Beginning in the 1950s with Ernft Walter Zeeden and then more notably with Wolfgang Reinhard, who wanted to integrate the hiftory of Catholicism into the broader ftream of German hiftory, several German Catholic hiftorians asserted that what was moft ftriking at a diftance of four hundred years was not how the Lutheran, Calvinift, and Catholic churches differed from one another after about 1550 but how much they resembled each other in their basic structures and assumptions, in their basic religious and moral Styles, in their efforts to discipline their own members and repel threats from outside, and in their formulating of their own creeds, sometimes called “con- fessions” (as in “the Confession of Augsburg”). ^3 Reinhard saw in this process, which he called “confessionalization,” Strikingly “modern” characteristics that marked the Catholic Church as well as the Reformed churches. Bit by bit, some Lutheran historians were persuaded that the “confessionalization thesis” had validity even for them. ^4 Although the confessionalization thesis originated in Germany and has special application there, in the paSt decade scholars Studying Italy have appropriated some of the categories Reinhard developed, and they have thus become even further persuaded that sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century Catholicism is worth investigating. Among those categories, they have given special pro- minence to “social disciplining” as an almoSt defining characteristic of the Confessional Age. ^3 By social disci- plining they mean the imposition by officialdom of Standards of behavior on the laity and lower clergy that make them conform to abstract norms. This disciplining, as found in the decrees of Trent de reformatione , meant restriction and restraint, almoSt puri- tanical observances, which, of course, affected art and artiSts. It is now often interpreted as practically synony- mous with the older term, reform, and as assuming that the underlying motivation behind any disciplining was the will to power. Characteristic of this approach, more- over, is the focus on the institutions that have traditionally occupied historians of the religious upheavals of the early modern period — the Church and the State — and by “Church” I mean the official and public institutions of the Church, for example, bishops, paStors, elders, synods, and tribunals. If social disciplining means the imposition from above of Standards of behavior, “negotiation” is being proposed almoSt as a counter-category to indicate the resistance such efforts met and the compromises that resulted from it. ^7 Negotiation took place, it seems, on all levels: between bishops and Rome, between paStors and bishops on the one hand and their flocks on the other, and between accused and inquisitors. Even illiter- ate villagers became effective negotiators when their interests were at Stake, as did artiSts with their patrons, and patrons with religious authorities. In this regard, as well as in others, the boundaries between official religion and popular religion, once deemed almoSt airtight, are now seen as permeable. French historians early showed signs of following an independent path, to some extent out of political resentment of Germany, the source where so many of the assumptions and categories concerning religious hiStory in the early modern period originated. More fundamen- tal, however, was their appreciation of the hiStory of France in the seventeenth century. The hiStory of Germany was bleak at that time due to the devastation wrought by the Thirty Years War. Italy was spared such a cataclysm, but large territories loSt their political independence to Spain and, with the expansion of Atlantic trade, Italy loSt its preeminent commercial Status. The French Wars of Religion from 1562 until 1598, true, threw France into chaos, but they were followed by le grand siecle when France attained its political and cultur- al apogee and produced its moSt luminous religious and ecclesiastical figures — Francois de Sales, Jeanne Fran^oise de Chantal, Cardinal Berulle, to name only a few, and, moSt important, Vincent de Paul. Whereas in Italy Carlo Borromeo, “the saint of the Counter Reformation,” won harsh assessments from “lay” historians for the rigid disci- pline he imposed on the archdiocese of Milan, in France “Monsieur Vincent,” the servant of the poor, held a Status analogous to Francis of Assisi in Italy— everybody’s saint. The beSt-known approach to hiStory in France, and even today the moSt dominant, is surely the so-called Annales school. The “AnnaliStes” came into being at the University of Strasbourg in the 1920s and created an approach to the paSt that differed in almoSt every respect from what, until then, was practically unquestioned, namely, that the proper subject of hiStory was great men, important events, and politics (including ecclesiaStical politics). The new approach would be multi-disciplinary- economics, sociology, geography, psychology would all 21 be brought into play. As we see clearly in retrospect, it set out to dethrone politics-centered, event-centered, great- men-centered hiftory. In 1929 Lucien Febvre, a founder of the Annales, published one of the moft famous articles ever written about hiftorical approaches to the Reformation and its Catholic counterpart, whose full title rendered into English is “A Badly Put Queftion: The Origins of the French Reformation and the Problem of the Causes of the Reformation. This passionate article dismissed as ridiculous the ftandard thesis that revulsion at eccle- siaftical abuses caused the Reformation. For Febvre, a non-believer profoundly influenced by Abbe Henri Bremond’s Histoire litteraire du sentiment religieux en France, the Reformation was spiritually too powerful to have been caused simply by a reaction to a bad ftate of affairs. “Abuses” do not explain what hap- pened. To understand the sixteenth century we muSt, according to him, put aside our preoccupation with such institutional factors and turn to the thoughts, aspirations, and desires of the men and women of the times. We muSt therefore Study religion, not churches. Febvre, his disciples, the French Catholic hiStorian- sociologiSt Gabriel Le Bras,^^ and others helped nudge scholarship away from the hiStory of high churchmen to the history of more ordinary ChriStians and from the history of dogmas to the hiStory of religious experience, from a political model (the church is Studied in its offi- cial institutions, as if it were a State) to a social model (the church is Studied in its complex network of social relationships). Jean Delumeau of the College de France is currently the beSt known and most prolific practitioner in this tradition in France who deals with our subject. A Catholic, he writes sweeping interpretations, among which is the thesis that weStern Christianity from the thirteenth to the eighteenth century preached such an angry and vengeful God that society was obsessed with feelings of guilt and sin.^^ With some dependence on inspiration irom Annales, the social hiStory of Catholicism in Italy for the early modern period took off in the early 1970s. Brian Pullan, an English historian, showed in a pioneering Study in 1971 how Catholic patterns of poor relief and other forms of social assistance in Venice were remarkably in tandem with those in the supposedly more progressive ProteStant nations.^3 Gabriele De Rosa’s Vescovi, popolo e magia nelSud, also published in 1971, was the firSt book by an Italian historian to approach PoSt-Tridentine Catholicism through the lenses of social hiStory.^4 The next year De Rosa founded a new journal, Ricerche di storia sociale e religiosa, and two years later another group of scholars began a sim- ilar journal, Ricerche per la storia sociale e religiosa di Roma. The social hiStory of religion in Italy thus burSt upon the scene, with a certain focus on the sixteenth to the eigh- teenth centuries. It has continued vigorously ever since. In the middle of the century in Italy, Febvre helped inspire a different approach in Don Giuseppe De Luca.^^ De Luca, who had been an early mentor to De Rosa, was a Catholic prieSt and founder of the important publishing house Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura. A friend of both Jedin and Cantimori, as well as one of the few persons of learning truSled by both Catholic and “lay” scholars in Italy, De Luca tried to promote Study of what he called the hiSfory of pietd. To that end he founded a serial entitled Archivio italiano per la storia della pietd, the firSl volume of which was published in 1951. By pietd De Luca meant “the loved presence of God in human life.”^7 The sources for De Luca’s hiStory of pietd would be, for inStance, hagiography, liturgical texts, poetry, painting and archi- tecture, popular sanctuaries, as well as superStitions and folkloriStic practices. The Archivio, which embodies the highest Standards of scholarship, languished for several decades but has recently taken on new life, in tandem with renewed intereSt in De Luca and the kind of scholar- ship he advocated. In 1930 H. Outram Evennett published the firSt orig- inal work on continental Catholicism ever to appear in England, ^9 and it Stood in solitary splendor until his The Spirit of the Counter Reformation was published poSt-humous- ly in 1968.3® The latter book, originally a series of lectures delivered at Cambridge University in 1951, deserves men- tion for several reasons. FirSt, it has been in print almoSt continuously since its publication and hence has had a broad influence in English-speaking countries. Second, in the very year De Luca proposed his hiStory of pietd, Evennett postulated that part of the task ahead was the incorporation into Church hiStory of the hiStory of spiri- tuality or piety. To show the way, Evennett described at length the profound spiritual implications for the age of Loyola’s Spiritual Exercises. Third, he enunciated with a boldness Striking for the times a thesis that both Reformation and “Counter Reformation” were two dif- ferent outcomes of the same general aspiration toward “religious regeneration.” According to Evennett, the two 22 movements were more significant for ways of thinking, feeling, anti behaving that they shared than for what divided them. Finally, anticipating Reinhart! by several decades, he saw in certain aspects of the “Counter Reformation” manifeftations of “mt)dernity.” In North America, scholarship on early modern Catholicism in Italy was influenced by almoft all the traditions mentioned above and further advanced some of them, but it also made diftinctive contributions. The firft such contribution focused on the Renaissance and rescued it from the old slander that it was inherently irreligious and theologically insignificant. Paul Oskar Krifteller, the great German expatriate who arrived in the United States in 1939, paved the way for this breakthrough with his many publications on Renaissance Humanism, which dispelled the myths and myfteries that had obscured its real nature. 3 ^ Krifteller’s friend and contemporary Charles Trinkaus tackled the religious issue directly with his two ground- breaking volumes on “the rhetorical theology” found in “Italian Humanift thought.” These volumes, published in 1970 and entitled In Our Image and Likeness, were a revela- tion. In them, Trinkaus described a ftyle of theology original but reminiscent of that of the Fathers of the Church that was quite unlike both late medieval Schola- ^Hcism and early Proteftant theology, which historians had assumed were the only theologies in circulation at the time. 3 ^ Two years later Trinkaus organized at the University of Michigan a conference on late-medieval and Renaissance religion that Stimulated further intereSt in that subject among the largely younger scholars the con- ference brought together and that, more immediately, resulted in another influential volume entitled The Pursuit of Holiness, published in 1974.33 Other scholars confirmed and elaborated upon what Trinkaus had pointed out, often using different sources and methods. Meanwhile Erasmus was gradually being rehabilitated as a religious and theological thinker, a development that owes a great deal to the translation of his works into English with extensive scholarly apparatus and important introductions, which since 1974 have been published by the University of Toronto Press. The project will eventually result in some eighty volumes of higheft scholarly merit . 34 If these developments do not automatically invali- date the old Italian “lay” thesis that the Renaissance led directly to the Deism or atheism of the Enlightenment, they at leaft show that Chriftian concerns were Wrongly operative in I lumani^I circles. "Fhey further ftrongly suggest that these concerns persifted, in some verifiably I lumani- ^lic form, into the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century. I say “suggeft,” for the later hiftory of I lumanism, especially in its religious dimensions, has yet to be addressed by scholars in a comprehensive and syftematic way. Humanifts conftituted, of course, only a minuscule percentage of the population of Renaissance Italy, influ- ential though they were. What about the reft of the population? In North America and elsewhere, consider- able intereft in the religious mentality and practices of the broad spectrum of Italians developed in the 1970s and 1980s and was pursued under rubrics like “popular reli- gion,” “civic religion,” “folk religion,” and “lay piety .”35 In this regard the moft spectacular development in scholarship in the paft decade has been the flood of books and articles on confraternities. 3 ^ Confraternities were known by various names — for example, sodalities, brotherhoods (Briiderschaften), schools (scuo/e), companies {compagnie). They were voluntary and largely self-deter- mining associations of men and/or women, priefts and/or laity, youths and/or adults, rich and/or poor. In some regards they can be considered a religious equivalent of the medieval guild that persifted in full force in Catholic lands until the Erench Revolution. We knew practically nothing about them until the recent explosion of scholar- ship on them. There were some 120 confraternities in Venice by 1500, and the number was comparably large in moft other cities that have been ftudied. It is now clear that in Italy at leaft well into the seventeenth century moft Catholics found their devotion, learned the basic truths and prac- tices of their religion, and through their plays and sermons to one another came to know well the ftories of the Bible and basic Chriftian beliefs not so much in their parishes as in their confraternities. By the sixteenth century many confraternities undertook as a corporation the manage- ment of hospitals, orphanages, and other inftitutions of social assiftance. The wealthier ones, moreover, were sometimes diftinguished by their patronage of painters, sculptors, and architects, whom they employed for their altars, chapels, oratories, and meeting rooms. Confraternities sometimes developed into religious orders. This was nowhere truer than in seventeenth- century Erance, where many women’s orders retained compagnie in their official names . 37 Eeminift hiftory. 23 which originated and continues to find its ftrongeft expression in North America, is largely responsible for calling attention to the active orders of nuns, like the Daughters of Charity, that transformed care of the sick and for the firft time in hiftory began the widespread provision of formal schooling for girls from every social class. This happened, it muft be noted, despite the letter of the law of the Council of Trent, which decreed that nuns be ftrictly cloiftered. Where has this scholarship led us? Where do we ^land today? Firft, the basic queftion is different from those that dominated scholarship for generations. Even thirty years ago hiftorians of all persuasions were asking, “What caused the Reformation?” For our subject this translated into, “What in the Catholic Church caused (allowed or occasioned) the Reformation?” The next quest- ion was, “What impact did the Reformation have on the Catholic Church?” The very formulations made the Reformation the lens through which Catholicism was viewed. They directed attention to “abuses.” The new question that recent scholarship suggests is, quite simply, “What was Catholicism like?” This new question allows that older categories of interpretation like “Catholic Reformation” and “Counter Reformation” captured crucially important aspects of Catholicism but also allows that they perhaps slighted others. Such a question, which, of course, does not deny the impact of the Reformation, thus opens the door to wider inquiry. It suggests something like “Early Modern Catholicism” as an appropriately comprehensive, umbrella designation, that is, a designation that opens the door to influences other than the Reformation on the notable transforma- tions that occurred and that intimates the interactive nature of the encounter between religion and culture. It broadens the scope beyond “Church” — popes, bishops, paSIors, and the Council of Trent— to other social net- works and kinships, to religious sentiment and mentality, to a rich variety of expressions of belief and disbelief What was Catholicism like, not simply in its laws and dogmas, not simply in the discipline it imposed or tried to impose, but in its feftivals, in its myftics, in its atti- tudes to life and death, in its ordinary folk— in its art, in its saints, and in its sinners? The paintings in this exhibition, some of which come from churches or other religious or ecclesiaftical con- texts, reveal a wide variety of ftyles and of approaches to the treatment of traditional religious subjects, offering visual evidence that early modern Catholicism was not a monolith. The “age of Caravaggio,” moreover, was about to yield to the “age of Rubens” and then to the “age of Bernini.” Eurther, as my survey of scholarship implies, we find ourselves at a juncture of multi-perspectives, at which simple conclusions and assessments perforce elude us. A half-century ago Hubert Jedin, perhaps the moft difl- inguished Catholic Church hiftorian of the twentieth century, described the po^-Tridentine Catholic Church as a moral miracle of reform— Wunder. Such an unquali- fied evaluation cannot ftand today. The “reform of morals” orcheftrated in Europe by princes and prelates we now see as having been prompted as much by the desire for control as by concern for others’ salvation. The evangeliza- tion of the Americas we now see as tarnished, or corroded, by crimes committed againft the indigenous peoples. The pendulum may be in danger of swinging too far in such a revisionift direction, however. Giuseppe De Luca’s call for a history of the “love of God” may have been naive and methodologically unrealizable, but it should alert us to the serious limitations of trying to ftudy religion without believing possible a self-transcending love of God, as if only the tone-deaf were competent to be musicologifts. The category of “social disciplining,” for inftance, useful though it is, incurs the risk of reducing all motivation to the will to power. It flattens the picture. While making ample room for sinners, it leaves none for saints. It leaves none for the profoundly religious senti- ment that seems so manifeft in many of the paintings in this exhibition. In any case, by approaching the situation from a vari- ety of perspectives and with a variety of methods, we see more clearly the inadequacy of any single one of our cate- gories for capturing the complexities of that bygone age, we see the ambivalence of every solution the age applied to every problem, we see the manifold and even conflicted motivations that animated it. We come to a richer under- ftanding of how the many representations of saint and sinner, of virtue and vice that the age produced can be a glass through which we see, sometimes darkly, the great religious and cultural drama played out in “the age of Caravaggio.” 24 1 For a brief survey, see ('.onway. 2 See, e.g.,Jedin, 1931; O’Malley, 1999. 3 Mangoni. 4 Croce, 1939. 3 De Sanctis, 1:792-804. For the heft survey of opinions, see Camaiani. 6 Croce, 1929, lo-ii, 13-17. 7 Croce, 1929, 3-31. See also Cantimori. 8 Camaiani;Jedin, 1946; O’Malley, 1991. 9 Wind, 211. 10 Kurz. 11 Jedin, 1984; Repgen. 12 Craveri; Simoncelli. 13 Zeeden, 1938, 1963; Reinhard, 1977, 1983, 1989, 1993; Bireley, 1988. 14 Schilling, 1988, 1993. 13 Prodi, 1993, 1994. 16 Schultze. 17 Burke, 1988; Flarline. 18 Burke, 1990; Bourde and Martin; Russo. 19 Febvre. 20 Bremond. 21 Le Bras, 1933-36, 1936; Lemarignier; Prosdocimi. 22 Bireley, 1991; Delumeau; Despland. 23 Pullan. 24 De Rosa, 1971. 23 Gentilcore. 26 De Rosa, 1990; Guarnieri; Mangoni; Picchi. 27 De Luca. 28 Delcorno; Prosper!; Ricerche di Sloria sociale e religiosa, n.s. 28 (1983) contains papers from a conference entitled “Don Giuseppe De Luca e la Gloria della spiritualita.” 29 Evennett, 1930. 30 Evennett, 1968. 31 Krifteller; Gouwens. 32 Trinkaus, 1970. 33 Trinkaus, 1974. 34 O’Malley, 1988. 33 Harline. 36 The basic and landmark publication was Meersseman. In North America Weissman was a pioneer. For current work consult the serial Confraternitas, published in Toronto since 1990. 37 Rapley. BIBLIOGRAPHY ‘'UlRELET, d(QBERT. "Early Modern Germany.” In Catholicism in Early Modern Hiflory: A Guide to Research, cA. John W. O’Malley, 11-30. St. Louis, 1988. . “Two Works by Jean Delumeau.” The Catholic Historical Review 77 (1991): 78-88. ''HoURDE, Qvr AND JTerve (lMartis. Les ecoles hiSloriques. Paris, 1989. ‘'Bremond, !}fENRi. HiSloire Htte'raire du sentiment religieux en France depuis la fin des guerres de religion jusqu’d nos jours, ii vols. Paris, 1916-33. Three volumes translated into English by K. L. Montgomery, A Literary History of Religious Thought in France from the Wars of Religion down to Our Own Times. London, 1928-36. ‘'Burke, '■Peter. “Popular Piety.” In Catholicism in Early Modern History: A Guide to Research, ed. John W. O’Malley, 113-31. St. Louis, 1988. . The French Historical Revolution: The Annales School 1929-89. Stanford, 1990. Qamaiani, '•Pier Qiorgio. “Interpretazioni della Riforma cattolica e della Controriforma.” In Grande Antologia Filosofica, ed. Michele Eederico Sciacca, 6:329-499. Milan, 1964. Qantimori, 'Delio. “II dibattito sul YsdsoecoT RiviSla Storica italiana J2 (i960): 489-300. (fONWAT, (lMartin. Catholic Politics in Europe, 1918-194^. London, 1997. Qraveri, ‘■P. “Cantimori, Delio.” InDizionario biografico degli italiani, 18: 283-90. (fjROCE, Fenedetto. Storia dell'etd barocca in Italia: Pensiero, poesia e letteratura, vita morale. Bari, 1929. . “La crisi italiana del Cinquecento e il legame del Rinascimento col Risorgimento.” yj (1939): 401-11. Delcorno, (j,ARLO. “Don Giuseppe De Luca e gli ftudi recent! sulla letteratura religiosa medievAe. ” Archivio italiano per la Storia della pietd 9 (1996): 323-37- 25 ‘'De Xjc^CA, Qwseppe. “Inuoduzionc. " Archivio italiano per la Sloria della pietd I (1951). ‘DelumeaU, Jean. Sin and Fear: The Emergence of a WeSlem Guilt Culture, i}th-i8th Centuries. 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Prolegomena zu einerTheorie des konfessionellen Zeitalters.” Archiv fiir Reformationsgeschichte 68 (1977): 226-52. . “Zwang zur Konfessionalisierung? Prolegomena zu einer I'heorie des Konfessionellen Zeitalters.” Zdtschrift fiir hiSlorische Porschung 10 (1983): 257-77. . “Reformation, Counter-Reformation, and the Early Modern State: A Reassessment.” The Catholic Historical Review 75 (1989): 383-404. PfINHARD, “Wolfgang AndOTEiNZ^CHiLLiNG, ed. Die katholische Konfessionalisierung: Akten eines von Corpus Catholicorum und Verein fiir Reformationsgeschichte veranSlalteten Symposions, Augsburg 1993. Giitersloh and Miinfter, 1995. pUSSO, Qarla. “Studi recenti di ftoria sociale e religiosa in Francia: Problemi e metodi.” RiviSta Slorica italiana 84 (1972): 625-82. ^CHILLING, JTeinz, ed. Kirchenzucht und Sozialdisziplinierung in interkonfessionell vergleichender Perspektive. Berlin, 1993. 26 . “(Confessional Europe.” \n HjncJbook of European Iliflory, 1400-1600, ed, Thomas A. Brady et al., 2 vols., 2:641-81. Leiden, 1995. fyCIlULZE, WiSFRiED. “Gerhard Oeftreichs Begriff ‘Sozialdisziplinierung in der triihen Neuzeit.’” 7 .eitschrift fiir hiSlorische Forschung 14 (i<)li-j):26s-302. f^lMONCELLl, '■Paolo. Cant/mori, Gentile e la Normale di Pisa: Profili e documenti. Milan, 1994. 'TrinkaUS, f II ARLES. In Our Image and Likeness: Humanity and Divinity in Italian Humanift Thought, 2 vols. Chicago, 1970. . AndOfEiKOtiA. Oberman, ed. The Pursuit of Holiness. Leiden, 1974. f£)EISSMAN, '■PpNALr>y\ S. Ritual Brotherhood in Renaissance Florence. New York, 1982. f£)lND, Edgar. “Sante Pagnini and Michelangelo: A Study of the Succession of Savonarola.” Gazette des Beaux-Arts (Melanges Henri Focillon), 6th ser. 26 (1944, publ.1947): 211-46. ^EDEN, Ernst Walter. “Grundlagen und Wege der Konfessionsbildung in Deutschland im Zeitalter der Glauhcnskampfe.” Hillorische Zeitschrift 185 (1958): 249-99. . Die Entflehung der Konfessionen. Grundlagen und Formen der Konfessionsbildung im Z.eitalter der Glaubenskdmpfe. Munich, 1965. 27 THE POWER OF IMAGES: PAINTINGS AND VIEWERS IN CARAVAGGIO’S ITALY* Pamela clTT. Jones I N EARLY modern Italy there was consider- able diversity of opinion about artiftic ftyle, subject matter, and the appropriate audiences for art, but virtually everyone agreed on one point: images are powerful. More specifically, painting, the focus of our exhibition, was the figurative art that received the moft extensive theoretical and critical attention; indeed, it was considered a means of communication so powerful that it could change lives. ^ If at firft this seems surprising, note that in our own era digitally produced imagery available on the Internet has become the subject of heated debate concerning the potential harm images may cause. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, paintings occupied a central place in cultural politics and the issues were no less highly charged. At a time when Roman Catholicism perme- ated Italian society, many ecclesiaftics and laypersons, believing that images remained indelibly imprinted in viewers’ minds, were underftandably worried that paint- ings could present mixed messages, teach doctrinal errors, and titillate beholders. My essay focuses on the power of images by exploring sixteenth- and seventeenth-century attitudes toward images of saints and sinners on display in the exhibition. It begins with a brief overview of Catholic defenses of the efficacy of religious art and the problem of abuses. Continuing with a detailed discussion of the reception of six paintings of saints, it highlights artiftic and religious developments and analyzes the viewing expectations of various popular and elite audiences from about 1600 to 1680.^ THE FUNCTIONS OF PAINTING IN CHRISTIAN SOCIETY F rom patriftic times onward. Catholic thinkers de- fended the use of religious art, insifting on its power to delight, inftruct, and move beholders. 3 Throughout centuries of widespread illiteracy, the Church Fathers’ insiftence that pictures spoke silently and were the books of the unlettered masses juftified the use of didactic art. 4 Of course, such paintings were considered beneficial to learned viewers as well. Portraits of saints and other worthies provided examples to emulate; those of sinners, ones to avoid. For centuries, too. Catholic thinkers encour- aged the use of paintings at the initial ftages of devotional prayer as a way to focus one’s attention on spiritual mat- ters. In addition, certain images were believed to have thaumaturgic or apotropaic powers, the powers to heal or ward off evil. Many images of this kind were reputedly made miraculously, not by mortals — such as the Mandylion of Edessa, an imprint of Chrift’s holy face, and numerous paintings of the Virgin and Child attributed to Saint Luke assifted by divine grace. It was also argued that God had chosen to communi- cate with human beings by means of images. Beginning in the eighth century, the image-prototype idea entered apologetics; John of Damascus emphasized that God had created Chrift as an icon of himself for the benefit of humankind. 5 During the thirteenth century, scholaftics, including St. Thomas Aquinas, expanded upon this, assert- ing that God had assumed human form precisely because human beings’ underftanding was based on sensibles.^ The Church’s use of images was therefore regarded as following God’s own example. During the Catholic Reform period of the late six- teenth and seventeenth centuries, when much attention was paid to the power of images, traditional apologetics received further elaboration. 7 In 1563 the Council of Trent’s rather terse decree on images reaffirmed the Church’s age-old teachings on the nature and functions of sacred art. In response to Proteftant attacks on the wor- ship of images, Trent officially reftated the inveterate Catholic belief that the veneration shown to images pass- es to their prototypes, that is, to the persons depicted in them. Trent shows much concern with the power of images, asserting that: 28 [l]t any abuses have crept in amt)ngft these holy and salutary observances [in the use ot images], the holy Synod ardently desires that they be utterly abolished; in such wise that no images [suggei^ivc] ot’bilse doctrine, and furnishing occasion of dangerous error to the uneducated, be set up, . . . [Fjinally, all lasciviousness [should] be avoided; in such wise that figures shall not be painted or adorned with a beauty exciting to luft.^ Trent also touches briefly on subjects to be treated, without, however, discussing individual iconographical details. Because Trent’s decree on images was so brief, it fell to ecclesiaftical authors, including bishops, the secular clergy, and other members of various religious orders, to elaborate on artiftic subject matter, abuses, and ^le. It is crucial to note that neither ecclesiaftical writers nor their secular counterparts presented a uniform position on art, whether sacred or profane. Inftead, they disagreed to varying degrees according to personal character, tafte, regional bias, and attitudes toward major religious and artiftic developments that occurred in Italy over the roughly hundred years during which they wrote. As a result of this complexity, I can do no more here than offer a general overview of certain central themes treated by the writers in queftion. Ecclesiaftical writers on art, such as Giovan Andrea Gilio, Gabriele Paleotti, and Gregorio Comanini in the late sixteenth century, and Federico Borromeo and Giovanni Domenico Ottonelli in the seventeenth century, consiftently supported Trent’s articulation of the power and usefulness of images. 9 They also followed Trent in requiring that sacred art on public view be rid of hiftorical and doctrinal errors and lascivious figures. But these ecclesiaftical writers were not consiftent on matters of artiftic license relating to abuses, particularly regarding works for private consumption among educated elites (like themselves!). Although secular writers gave short shrift to the enu- meration of abuses in religious art, they were interested in many of the same issues that engaged ecclesiastical writers. For example, both the artiSts Giovanni Baglione, whose St. Sebastian Healed by an Angel (PI. 2) is in the pre- sent exhibition, and Romano Alberti paid homage to miraculous images in their art tracts. Of all the lay authors, however, Giulio Mancini, personal physician to Pope Urban VIII, discussed these religious matters at greatest length. In his Considerazioni sulla pittura (Observations on Painting), completed around 1621, Mancini analyzed StyliStic problems and the intricacies of the art market— of great import to connoisseurs — but also discussed individual miraculous images on view in Italian churches. Mancini was juSt as concerned with the display of art as the clerics at Trent and Bishop Gabriele Paleotti before him, so much so that Mancini provided the moSt suStained discussion of where to hang paintings of various subjects so as to keep those with potentially deleterious effects off limits to viewers who might be led aftray.*^ Everyone recognized, of course, that artistic ftyle was part and parcel of effective images. Yet it cannot be overemphasized how vague Trent’s decree was on ^tyliftic issues, perhaps in part because no artifts or connoisseurs were involved in writing the decree. Trent ftated, for example, that in religious art “there should be nothing seen that is disorderly, or that is unbecomingly or con- fusedly arranged,” a characteriftic comment that offers little guidance on the desired physical appearance of art. ^3 Consequently, it was left to writers of art treatises to address the considerable problems of artiftic ftyle, and some ecclesiastical authors were understandably ill-prepared for such a task, whereas, conversely, many secular writers were equally out of their depth in treating theological matters. For our purposes, the moSt impor- tant point of conflict about artiStic Style addressed the degree to which religious art should delight, especially to what extent sensuality had a role in sacred art. I shall dis- cuss attitudes toward sensuality, beauty, and delight in the reception section of this essay. Because I am juSt as concerned with the ways popular audiences responded to sacred art as were early modern Italian clerics, I should note here that uneducated mem- bers of society would have had a basic familiarity with many of the ideas about art discussed above, although finer theoretical points would have been beyond their ken. After all, images of all kinds were on view in public churches, were carried in processions, and were discus- sed in sermons and chapbooks. And miraculous images readily exercized their powers among the common people. Later in this essay we will see how deeply popular cul- ture affected the subject matter and expressive means of sacred paintings, even those displayed in ariftocrats’ private palaces. Let us now examine briefly a few characteriftic works in our exhibition to clarify how sacred art fulfilled its designated roles. In the firft section, which introduces the power of images, we see Scipione Pulzone’s famous Lamentation (PI. i) of 1593, commissioned as an altarpiece 29 for the Chapel of the Passion in the mother church of the Jesuit Order in Rome, il Gesu J4 As analyzed in detail by Gauvin Bailey in an essay in this catalogue, Pulzone’s altarpiece served as part of a painting cycle coordinated with Ignatius of Loyola’s Spiritual Exercises, one of the moft influential devotional books of the eraJ5 Painted on a monumental scale with solid forms and large areas of unbroken primary and secondary colors, Pulzone’s Lamentation was intended to be visible from a diftance. Yet the altarpiece was also designed for intimate viewing, incorporating large figures pushed close up to viewers, encouraging us to join them in mourning the Savior. Devotional paintings made for private use, such as Giovanni Baglione’s St. Sebastian Healed by an Angel (PI. 2) of around 1603, were normally much smaller than pub- lic works. The patronage, iconography, and reception of Baglione’s picture will be explored at length later in this essay. It is noteworthy here, however, that Baglione’s close-up positioning of the figures and ftrong chiaroscuro effects, which bespeak Caravaggio’s influence, help draw beholders into the tender scene, heightening its affective role. As we will see, although Baglione’s theme has baffled modern scholars, it would have been familiar to his con- temporaries because it derived from a popular legend about divine intervention and love. The final painting in the firft section is Francesco Solimena’s A Miracle of St.John of God (PI. 3). *7 Painted at the end of our period, this dramatic late Baroque image is a preparatory ftudy for an altarpiece of 1691 for the church of the Ospedale della Pace in Naples. Solimena’s painting is a votive offering, entreating the saint— one of whose miracles had been the freeing of Naples of the plague — to intervene again on the city’s behalf At the bot- tom of the composition, neareft beholders, are ftrewn the dead bodies of plague victims. Solimena accentuates the pathos we feel by showing a dog licking the corpse of a chubby baby boy. The horror of death is mitigated, howev- er, by the hopeful scene above, in which the heavens open up and Saint John of God soars into the mundane world in a blaze of light. The saint presents an image of himself to the personification of the city of Naples, a bare-breafted woman lying on her sick bed with a large crucifix on a table beside her. As Zirka Filipczak noted. Saint John of God’s use of an image in his miracle-working pointedly expresses the belief in the power of sacred art. 18 Finally, a discussion of two narrative paintings else- where in the exhibition — Criftofano Roncalli’s Death of Ananias and Sapphira (PI. 12) in section 2 and Guercino’s Joseph and Potiphar’s Wife (PI. 25) in section 4— will help us underhand how biblical Tories taught Chriftian morals. Early modern Italians were used to thinking in terms of Good versus Evil. Adapted from ancient epideictic orato- ry, the rhetoric of praise and blame, early modern sermons often relied on the delineation of moral opposites. ^9 This pattern of thought emerges in coeval literature of various genres, for example, in Tommaso Garzoni’s 1636 book, Le vite delle donne illu^ri della Scrittura Sacra . . . Con I’aggionta delle vite delle donne oscure, e laide dell’uno, e I’altro Teftamento . . . (Lives of the Illuftrious Women of Holy Scripture . . . With the Addition of the Lives of Dark and Obscene Women from Both Teftaments . . .). Because he was writing to persuade women of his day to choose the path of virtue, Garzoni, a canon regular at St.John in Lateran, regarded the subjects of the death of Ananias and Sapphira and of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife as tales of womanly vice. The death of Ananias and Sapphira, from the Acts of the Apoftles, concerns Peter’s apoftolate in Jerusalem, where the saint and the other Apoftles had persuaded landowners to sell their property and diftribute the pro- ceeds to the poor. Ananias and his wife Sapphira, however, secretly kept half their money. When Peter admonished Ananias, he dropped dead. The painting on the same theme (PI. 12) by Criftofano Roncalli, called il Pomarancio, is a preparatory sketch en grisaille, circa 1599-1604, for an altarpiece in St. Peter’s. Pomarancio shows Ananias’s bier being carried away in the background, but focuses on the next episode: Saint Peter raises his right arm to admonish Sapphira, who had lied to him about her sin, and she too expires on the spot. Garzoni concluded his account of the ftory by commenting that, “having lived with this interior duplicity, she [Sapphira] was manifeftly rebuked by God, and left to the world as an example of perfidious life, dreadful death, and horrible punishment by the avenging hand of God.”^* Although Garzoni emphasizes a moral message aimed at women — and there would have been many female beholders of Pomarancio’s public altarpiece, this theme offers moral edification suit- ed to males as well. Indeed, Pomarancio Pressed the frightening wrath of Saint Peter, intended to infill the fear of God and the papacy into every beholder.^^ Two discussions of the theme of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife underscore further the flexibility of paintings’ mes- sages before various viewers. Garzoni begins his account of “dark and obscene women” with this ftory from Genesis, in which the wife of Joseph’s ma:n:er attempts to seduce him. ^3 For Garzoni, the lasciviousness of Potiphar’s wife — the behavior that contemporary women muft avoid — is the point of the ftory. By contraft, Gregorio Comanini, likewise a canon regular at St.John in Lateran, had taken the male viewpoint in his 1591 book, II Figino, overo il fine della pittura (Figino, or Indeed the Purpose of Painting). ^4 Commenting on the positive effects vari- ous subjects can have on certain beholders, Comanini ftipulated that: [F]or him who finds himself caught in the snares of prost- itutes and mired in carnal uglinesses, paint the chaSle Joseph, who, leaving his mantle between the adulterous hands of the Egyptian woman [Potiphar’s wife], flees from her as from a frightful and enraged fire. 25 Perhaps the Franciscan Aurelio Zaneletti of Reggio Emilia, the patron of Guercino’s and Potiphar’s Wife (PI. 25) of 1649, interpreted his painting’s message similarly.^^ In any case, by paying equal attention to the female and male figures in this painting, Guercino renders its mor- alizing theme compelling from both a negative and a positive perspective. THE RECEPTION OF SACRED PAINTING A S WE have seen, the functionalism of images was at the heart of Roman Catholic apologetics, which were overwhelmingly concerned with the responses that sacred art evoked in Chriftian society at large. Reception is therefore the subject of the reft of my essay, which will center on three pairs of paintings, all but one on exhibit: two of Saint Sebaftian, tw'o of Saint Mary Magdalene, and two of the Virgin of Loreto. Eor several of the six paintings to be examined in de- tail we have concrete documentation — such as Seicento art criticism and names of patrons — on which to ground our discussion of reception. But the lack of such data for the others should not be seen as a ftumbling block. My goal is to go beyond what nameable individuals are docu- mented as having thought about a given painting; it is necessary to consider the broad significances such an image would have had in early modern Italy, particularly to now-unidentifiable viewers — including the numerous beholders of art in public churches, the smaller numbers of elites and servants who saw works in private palaces. and countless persons who viewed works similar to those in our exhibition. In other words, juft as ecclesiaftical art theorifts rec- ognized that paintings elicited multiple responses, so, too, muft we aim to articulate not a single fixed meaning for a given painting, but how diverse viewing perspectives elicited and even concretized multiple meanings. In this essay, the ftudy of reception is therefore based on the poftulation of two basic groups of beholders: informed and uninformed viewers. ^7 Informed viewers I define as persons thoroughly conversant with artiftic practice and theory— such as artifts, connoisseurs, and critics, whereas uninformed viewers lack familiarity with artiftic tradition. The varying genders, social classes, and relative educa- tional levels within these groups will be defined as needed. Two fiAINTfiEBASTIANS: (jIOVANNI ‘•BaGLIONE AND ‘DaNIEL fiEITER The two devotional images of Saint Sebaftian in our exhi- bition, Baglione’s St. SebaUian Healed by an Angel (PI. 2) of circa 1603 and Daniel Seiter’s St. Sebaliian Healed by St. Irene (PI. 18) of circa 1680, differ considerably in ftyle and iconography. Let us consider responses these works could have elicited during the seventeenth century. Giovanni Baglione, Caravaggio’s rival and biographer, painted his St. Seballian Healed by an Angel (PI. 2) around 1603. It is unknown who owned the painting before 1724, when it was lifted in the death inventory of Anna Maria Sannesio; clearly she was too young to have commissioned the work.^^ As John Spike has suggefted, Anna Maria’s anceftor Cardinal Giacomo Sannesio probably commis- sioned the painting; the work fits what we know to be his tafte in art. ^9 Cardinal Giacomo had commissioned ftyliftically related works by Caravaggio and the Cavaliere d’Arpino around 1600 in Rome. 3 ° Whatever the facts may be, Giacomo Sannesio is the kind of informed viewer who would have seen Baglione’s St. Sebaliian Healed by an Angel at its completion in Rome ca. 1603. An informed beholder such as Sannesio would have valued St. Sebaliian Healed by an Angel as Baglione’s moft Caravaggesque work, utilizing Caravaggio’s hallmark dra- matic chiaroscuro and confrontational figures. Sannesio would also have known that Baglione’s appropriation of his ftyle had enraged Caravaggio. When verses insulting Baglione’s art began to circulate in Rome, Baglione blamed Caravaggio and sued him for libel in 1603.3^ Thus, 31 Baglione’s St. SebaH:ian Healed by an Angel would have been a richly entertaining topic of conversation among connoisseurs in Rome. In addition, an informed viewer like Sannesio would have appreciated Baglione’s creation of an iconographi- cally novel painting. It is impossible to know whether or not Baglione’s patron had a part in this innovation, but Sannesio would have recognized the theme because it was based on a popular legend treated in chapbooks. Chapbooks were cheap, popular booklets sold by peripate- tic vendors called Horiari, who also often sold cut-rate sacred images on Greets and in piazzas. 3 ^ Chapbook themes derived from oral tradition, especially from ballads, and were usually composed in the ottava rime verse form per- fected among the common people. 33 Sannesio could have known chapbooks such as the anonymous Legenda vita martirio, et morte de Santo Seballiano (Legend, Life, Martyrdom, and Death of Saint Sebaftian) published in Venice in 1607, but extant in earlier versions, such as a Roman one of ca. 1475.34 The 1607 chapbook, composed in ottava rime, is also characteriftic in its octavo format with four folios. In its brevity, it hurries the reader (or liftener) through the episodes of Sebaftian’s life, while pointing out his many virtues. Toward the end, Sannesio could have read that Sebastian was shot many times and left for dead. At that point, Jesus sent to Sebaftian an angel who untied him from the tree and cured him. The angel took away the palm Sebastian had received as a pre- sumed martyr, and told him that his prayer had been heard. Although the chapbook explains that the angel is a heavenly messenger, it does not explicitly identify him as the guardian angel. Nevertheless, there are good reasons to posit that Sannesio and other informed beholders (as well as uninformed viewers) would have identified him as such. The cult of the guardian angel, which had been gain- ing momentum in Italy since the fifteenth century, was quite ftrong in early Seicento Rome. Indeed in 1614 Pope Paul V approved the foundation of the Confraternita dei SS. Angeli Cuftodi (Confraternity of the Moft Holy Guardian Angels) at S. Stefano del Cacco in Rome. 33 Two years earlier, also in Rome, the Jesuit Francesco Albertini published his Trattato dell’angelo cuftode (Treatise on the Guardian Angel). The Jesuits had long promoted the cult of the guardian angel, therefore many ideas that Albertini expressed in his tract muft already have been common knowledge in Rome. Thus, even if he had not read Albertini’s tract, Sannesio probably knew that, as Albertini noted, when angels do not appear in the place of others they “take the form of a youth. ” 3 ^ He probably also knew that everyone is assigned a guardian angel, but that guardian angels favor certain kinds of persons, including “those who suffer for love of God. ”37 Albertini briefly elaborated that martyrs are especially beloved by guard- ian angels, noting that “Saint Agatha, believing in her [guardian] angel, did not fear the torment of fire. ” 3 ^ Thus, had Sannesio been familiar with the cult of the guardian angel — and he could hardly have been oblivious to it— he would have connected it with St. Sebastian Healed by an Angel, in which Baglione touchingly renders the inti- mate relationship of saint and angel. Baglione’s youthful angel has untied the saint’s left arm, and is removing the arrows, while Sebaftian, his lips parted, gazes at him from under heavy eyelids. Illiterate Roman Catholic viewers could not have read Albertini’s book, but nonetheless would have known about the angel in the legend of St. Sebaftian, for legends were part of oral tradition; even the chapbook’s partic- ular version of the tale may have reached them, since those simple texts were read aloud to the unlettered. 39 In addition, the guardian angel’s cult was popular in Rome, so that illiterates would have been able to respond to Baglione’s imagery in its context. To some extent, there- fore, informed and uninformed viewers may have concretized Baglione’s painting similarly. But there would have been an important difference: uninformed viewers would not have realized that Baglione’s iconography was unique in painting, nor that in its creation he was engag- ing in a visual dialogue with his great rival, Caravaggio. By 1603, other artifts had represented Saint Sebaftian in the company of angels. Indeed, in the sixteenth century, the northerners Hans Baldung Grien and Aegidius Sadeler had depicted him cured by a group of angels, portrayed variously as youths or putti. 4 ° But they were probably not sources for Baglione’s painting because they do not close- ly resemble it compositionally or iconographically. Inftead, Roman art circa 1600 would have provided a Simulating visual context for Sannesio and other informed viewers of Baglione’s painting. In 1601 Baglione painted his firS Caravaggesque work, the Ecstasy of St. Francis (fig. i), which was based on Caravaggio’s Hartford EcStasy of St. Francis (fig. 2) of around 1595, then owned by Ottavio CoSa in Rome. 41 Baglione’s St. Francis is miniSered by two youthful angels, one of whom holds inSruments of the Passion in order to compare Francis with ChriS. 32 fig- 1 ECSTASY OF ST. FRANCIS, l6oi Qiovanni Haglione Davidson Collection, .Santa Barbara, CA (Photo: Alinari-Art Resource, NY) 33 fig-2 THE ECSTASY OF ST. FRANCIS, Ca. I595 ( \aravaggio (Photo: Wadsworth Atheneum, Hartford, The Ella Gallup Sumner and Mary Gatlin Sumner Collection Fund, 1943.222) 34 Caravaggio’s Francis, by contra^, is lovingly held by a sin- gle youthful angel. Bert Treffers has argued convincingly that the angel in Caravaggio’s I lartford Ecstasy of St. Francis is the guardian angel. 4 ^ To return to Baglione’s St. Sebastian Healed by an Angel, the artift’s moft Caravaggesque work, it is easy to imagine that an informed viewer like Sannesio would have derived “aefthetic pleasure” from the activity of processing the ^yliftic and iconographic links among Baglione’s and Caravaggio’s early devotional paintings . 43 And Sannesio would have regarded Baglione’s transferral of Caravaggio’s guardian angel iconography from Francis to Seba^ian as perfectly logical: not only did legend explicitly link Sebaftian with one angel, but Francis and Sebaftian alike were commonly compared to Chrift. Sannesio might even have known Horatio Silveftri’s 1604 play entitled ConUanza. Trionfo del martirio di S. Seba^liano (Conftance: Triumph of the Martyrdom of St. Sebaftian), published in Rome and dedicated to Cardinal Ascanio Colonna, in which Sebaftian’s arrows were compared to Chrift’s nails . 44 Let us now consider a painting of Sebaftian utiliz- ing more typical Seicento iconography: Daniel Seiter’s St. Sebastian Healed by St. Irene (PI. 18) of around 1680 . 45 Auftrian by birth, Seiter spent his career in various Italian centers, but it is unknown where in Italy or for whom he executed this painting. We consequently also lack infor- mation about its original place of display. However, we do know from images that are thematically similar to Seiter’s that many uninformed viewers would have seen them in churches and private places. Thus we can speculate safely that the audience of Seiter’s painting comprised unin- formed viewers who were ilUterate and semi-literate Roman Catholics familiar with church teachings and what is nor- mally called “popular” religious culture. Our uninformed viewers would have learned from sermons, for example, that charity and good works, such as Irene’s cure of Sebaftian, were a means of salvation achievable with the assiftance of divine grace. Presumably women would have been particularly receptive to the example set here in Seiter’s painting by Saint Irene, who looks solicitously at the wounded young man while posi- tioning her hand on an arrow, preparing to extricate it from his breast. When viewing paintings like Seiter’s, many uninformed beholders would have brought with them a knowledge of Sebaftian’s life gained through watching sacre rappresen- tazioni, religious dramas performed in churches, piazzas. and other public places. 4^ The themes of these sacred plays were moralizing, with virtue rewarded and vice pun- ished. Although sacre rappresentazioni flourished in 'Fuscany during the Renaissance, they were current, if old-fash- ioned, in the seventeenth century. Sacre rappresentazioni, like many chapbooks, were composed in ottava rime; as descendants of minftrels’ songs and of fables, they were partly sung and partly declaimed. 47 S. BaStiano sacra rappresentazione, published in 1608 by the Servite brother Giovanni Agnolo Lottini, a prolific writer in this genre, is the kind of play our uninformed viewers are likely to have seen. 4^ It presents Sebastian as a moral example: he helps Christians keep the faith during Diocletian’s persecutions and withstands archers’ torture without fear or complaints. His own virtue inspires virtue in others. Likewise a moral exemplum, Irene reveres and loves SebaStian like a son, due to her pure feeling (“affetto puro”).49 At the end of the play, having juSt learned that the wounded SebaSfian is Still alive, Irene determines to cure him. In short, although Lottini’s play does not include the healing scene, his sacra rappresentazione presents a Standard moralizing interpretation of SebaStian’s life, in light of which uninformed beholders could have con- cretized Seiter’s painting. More remarkably, spectators of Lottini’s play would have brought to Seiter’s painting expectations of a more aesthetic sort, which outstrip in sophistication what is generally considered the province of popular culture. Centering on beauty, this critical component merits detailed analysis. Throughout the sacra rappresentazione, Lottini Stresses SebaStian’s physical beauty. NicoStratus, a pagan whom SebaStian had converted to Christianity, makes the moSt sustained Statement on it. Having witnessed SebaStian’s apparent martyrdom by arrows, NicoStratus describes it to Irene, saying: [I] perceived him tied to that wood; and the strained bows were shot, I perceived (ahi, wretched me). In his flanks, in his neck, in his beautiful breaff, A cloud of wounding arrows takes flight. And here his blood hints at falling. At firft it appears, and then it flows. Over his flesh, like a beautiful coral. On transparent and white crystal. It appears that he exhales with grace and charm {grazia e leggiadria]. That ftill living breaft: and yet the horror in this charm [leggiadria] was greater. The almoff horrible may be more so Where beauty is offended. It was a new miracle to see there. To spill from his blood living rubies. And embroider the glaze. With infirm, mortal, funereal purple. Without his making any movement 35 of the lips or eyes, Without any lament, without terror. But already the many and fresh wounds are made. It appears that the ivory of his beautiful flesh. Is tinted with reddened and beautiful glazes.^® In his painting, Seiter aligns Sebaftian’s semi-clad figure with the picture plane, thereby making a display of his torso. Here too Sebaftian’s flesh is cryftalline, his blood ruby red; he is beautiful, ftill, vulnerable, unla- menting. He is sensual. In underscoring these parallels, I assume no causal relationship between Lottini’s play and Seiter’s much later painting. Rather, my point is that Seiter’s treatment of the theme would have dovetailed nicely with the horizons of expectation of uninformed beholders familiar with popular religious drama. Although we have juft examined a sacra rappresentazione that rendered accessible to persons of all walks of life the theoretical notion that horror is intensified in the pres- ence of beauty, this idea has previously been discussed by art hiftorians exclusively in the context of elite culture. Indeed, it has a long literary pedigree, from antiquity to Petrarch, Ariofto, and Rinaldi. It is often discussed by art hiftorians in connection with a 1619 madrigal by the renowned poet Giambattifta Marino on Guido Reni’s Massacre of the Innocents (fig. 3) of 1611. Marino admired the paradox of the painting, concluding his poem, “often hor- ror goes with delight. ” 5 ^ According to Charles Dempsey, Marino saw that the effect of Reni’s Massacre of the Innocents “depends upon the presentation of a horrible subject as itself an inexpressably beautiful object. . . .”53 Stephen Pepper ftressed Marino’s recognition that the exquisite beauty of Reni’s figures heightened the painting’s moral efficacy; Reni had rendered his figures beautiful to bring them to life only to kill them once more, juft as viewers muft do to experience fully the innocents’ horrible deaths. 54 A similar dynamic is at play in Ludovico Carracci’s Kiss of Judas [PI. 28], in which a youthful, innocent, but nonethe- less sensual Chrift is contrafted with an older, brutish Judas Iscariot, his betrayer. Informed beholders who were highly educated con- noisseurs may well have responded to Seiter’s St. Seballian Healed by St. Irene in the contexts of Reni’s visual prece- dent and Marino’s poetic tribute to it. If so, they would have appreciated more fully than uninformed viewers how the beauty of Seiter’s male saint and the refined surface of his skin enhanced the image’s devotional power.55 Lottini’s mention of Sebaftian’sgraz/iZ (grace) would like- wise have had theoretical resonance for them. I will have more to say about grazia below in connection with Reni’s Penitent Magdalene (PI. 8). Aefthetic theory notwithftanding, there remains the tantalizing queftion of whether or not our informed and uninformed viewers were led aftray by the lovely white flesh of Seiter’s Sebaftian — or by that of Lottini’s Sebaftian. Although Lottini’s play was published with the church’s approval, we have seen that not all clerics thought alike. 5 ^ Both Paleotti and Ottonelli, for example, were deeply troubled by the possibility that art might lead to sexual arousal. 57 Ecclesiaftical and secular critics alike spilled much ink on the premise that the undiscerning masses were moft likely to be beguiled by images of vari- ous kinds, but elites may well have been troubled by their own responses as well! Two^Jaint ({Marit clMagdalenes: fARAVAGGIO AND (jUIDO ‘P^NI In an essay in this catalogue. Franco Mormando discusses at length late-sixteenth and seventeenth-century paint- ings of Saint Mary Magdalene, one of the era’s moft frequently depicted saints. Here I will explore responses to two ftriking images in our exhibition: Caravaggio’s Conversion of the Magdalene (PI. 4) of ca. 1598 and Guido Peru's Penitent Magdalene (PI. 8) of ca. 1635. I should ftress that because the Magdalene figured so extensively in both popular and elite cultural contexts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, this ftudy is necessarily quite selective. Caravaggio’s innovative Conversion of the Magdalene of circa 1598 was commissioned by Ottavio Cofta, a Ligurian patrician, and was displayed in his Roman palace. 5 ^ Uninformed viewers, such as illiterate servants who cleaned Cofta’s palace, would not have recognized Caravaggio’s introduction of iconographic novelties. The women in his painting would have been familiar to them from legend and Scriptural exegesis presented in sermons. To illiterate Roman Catholic beholders the Magdalene was an exceedingly popular subject of oral tradition that had made its way into seventeenth-century chapbooks. Individual chapbooks were dedicated to such topics as the Magdalene’s conversion, confession, and tears. Marco Rossiglio’s Della conversione di Santa Maria Maddalena (On the Conversion of St. Mary Magdalene) of 1611, typifies chapbooks dedicated to this subject. Published in Treviso, 36 37 its title page indicates that it had appeared earlier in Foligno; an undated version printed in Viterbo is also extant. 59 The i 6 ii octavo has twelve folios and is written in ottava rime. Rossiglio’s chapbook indicates that the Magdalene was a member of a royal family from Jerusalem. When her parents died, she and her siblings, Martha and Lazarus, inherited a fortune. Rossiglio emphatically contracts the lascivious and proud Magdalene — the “wretched woman of the devil,” so richly decorated in expensive clothes and jewels that she caused men to luft after her— with the vir- tuous Martha, who often wore a “vile dress” and never missed one of Chrift’s sermons.^® Martha scolded Mary Magdalene for being blind to the intellect and mind, and for valuing beauty above all else. She begged Chrift to remove the veil from her sifter’s eyes by allowing her to liften to one of his sermons. The Magdalene’s conversion took place when the two sifters heard Chrift preach. At this moment, an arrow pierced the Magdalene’s breaft. After preaching, Chrift spoke to the Magdalene, telling her that he had created her in his image, that she had offended him, and that she should not offend him again. Then Chrift told the Magdalene that he forgave her, saying, “I look for nothing from you but your love of me.”^^ The narrator next relates that the Magdalene dared not look at Chrift; she cried and sighed about her bad life, and hid her face in shame. She already felt the sweet wound in her heart. She feared she would go mad, and did not know what to do; every ornament now seemed to her a great folly. Upon returning home, the Magdalene went to her room, ftripped off her finery, and flagellated her- self until she was soaked in blood. Martha had to have the door kicked in to ftop her sifter’s mortifications. Then Martha spoke to her sifter, telling her that God did not want a sinner to die, but only to repent. God wanted neither too much nor too little. Martha told the Magdalene to act in moderation. She should turn a bad life into a good one, which is enough, she said, because God always forgives. At that point, the Magdalene changed into modeft clothes, took her unguent jar, and set out for the house of the Pharisee. Following the scene at the Pharisee’s house (PI. 5 ), where the Magdalene annointed Chrift’s feet, Rossiglio’s narrator explicitly ftates that, through Martha and Mary Magdalene, Scripture shows the two approved ways of life, because Martha embodied active life, and the Magdalene, the “more secure contemplative life.” Only the Holy Virgin combined both, “as the Church teaches us.”^^ Illiterate beholders of Caravaggio’s Conversion of the Magdalene were not faced with a literal-minded illuftra- tion of an episode from the legend of the Magdalene’s conversion, as circulated in chapbooks. They did not see the Magdalene undergoing conversion while liftening to Chrift preach. ^3 Nor did they see Martha inftructing the bloody Magdalene in the virtues of moderation and forgiveness. What would they have made of this image? Firft, illiterate viewers would certainly have recog- nized the two women as Martha and Mary Magdalene by their pointedly contrafted clothing: coarse, earth-colored cloth versus shimmering red satin and green velvet. In addition, the vanity items surrounding the elaborately dressed woman— a cosmetic bowl and sponge, a comb — identify her as the Magdalene. ^4 Moreover, uninformed beholders would have underftood Martha’s gefture of ticking off points on her fingers, for it was a common rhetorical gefture used by Seicento preachers; illiter- ate beholders would have concretized this inftructional gefture in light of Martha’s legendary counseling of her wayward sifter.^5 Other features of Caravaggio’s painting would also have met the expectations of uninformed viewers, who knew the legend through oral culture and chapbooks. Rossiglio’s chapbook ftressed that when Martha tried to reason with her proud, wanton sifter, she found the Magdalene’s senses dulled: she was like a deaf woman, and needed a veil removed from her eyes.^^ Thus, unin- formed beholders would have underftood Caravaggio’s Magdalene as already having been converted. The turn of her body toward Martha confirms that she hears her sifter. She also sees. As the Magdalene looks at Martha, ftrong light illuminates her face, heightening her eyes. It also shines brightly on her breaft, the seat of the heart accented in the chapbook. Uninformed beholders saw some elements in Caravaggio’s painting that they would not have associated with the legend. Caravaggio’s Magdalene holds an orange blossom over her heart. Orange blossoms, symbols of purity, were associated with the Virgin. ^7 In addition, rather than rendering the Magdalene’s many jewels, emphasized in the legend, Caravaggio shows her wearing only a simple gold band, the kind that nuns wore as brides of Chrift. Presumably, then, uninformed viewers would have underftood that at her conversion the Magdalene 38 was newly chafte, and— like vSt. Catherine in her myftical marriage — took on a new role as the bride of Chrift. d'he horizons of expectation of uninformed behold- ers would also have been formed on the basis of other aspects of Seicento religious culture. In their essays in this catalogue, Thomas Worcefter and Franco Mormando (“Teaching the Faithful to Fly”) discuss the sacrament of penance, which was strongly promoted following the Council of Trent as an efficacious means of obtaining for- giveness and conversion. In Caravaggio’s Conversion of the Magdalene, female beholders saw a gender-specific role model, an emulatable example of repentance. In addition, viewers of both genders could have responded to the painting in light of social programs urging the conversion of sinners; as John Varriano notes in an essay in this cata- logue, considerable effort was made in Seicento Rome to convert proftitutes, who were offered shelter and job skills as well as spiritual nourishment.^^ In short, realizing that the two women were Mary Magdalene and Martha, uninformed viewers would have been able to recall, by means of Caravaggio’s poses, geft- ures, and accoutrements, the former’s sins and the latter’s multiple admonitions, while remembering too the Church’s teachings on repentance and the contemplative and active lives that the sifters embodied. Now let us turn to an informed viewer of Caravaggio’s painting. Ottavio Cofta, the patron of The Conversion of the Magdalene, was a Ligurian patrician and a prominent banker in Rome. Cofta avidly collected ancient sculp- tures and patronized Seicento painters. His tafte ran to works by the Cavaliere d’Arpino and Guido Reni, but doc- uments show that he particularly prized his paintings by Caravaggio. ^9 R is generally accepted that Cofta owned at leaft six paintings by Caravaggio including the Hartford Ecstasy of St. Francis (fig. 2) and The Conversion of the Magdalene (PI. 4). As a result, Cofta was very familiar with Caravaggio’s Roman works, those produced from the early 1590s to 1605.7® As an informed viewer circa 1598, Cofta would have appreciated his Conversion of the Magdalene by Caravaggio as the work of an up-and-coming young artift who was making a name for himself among the Roman cognoscenti but was ftill unknown to the general public. In acquiring this painting, Cofta thus demonftrated his own discern- ment. He would have been ftruck by tbe immediacy of Caravaggio’s confrontational figures, shown half-length againft a relatively dark ground, and thruft up close to the picture plane. Like other early admirers of Caravaggio’s ftyle, Cofta was presumably impressed by the intense physicality of the ftill-life objects and figures, which in The Conversion of the Magdalene are rendered more solid- ly than in his previous works. 7^ In this painting, Cofta would also have noted the introduction of a greater con- traft between lights and darks than Caravaggio had previously used. 7 ^ Cafting his connoisseur’s eyes on The Conversion of the Magdalene, Ottavio Cofta would have appreciated that, as well as representing a new plateau in Caravaggio’s ftyliftic development, it also contained iconographic innovations. Of course, Mary Magdalene and Martha had been depicted together by earlier artifts, for example by Caravaggio’s sixteenth-century Lombard predecessor Bernardino Luini, whose painting was in the Roman collection of Caravaggio’s patron Cardinal Francesco Maria Del Monte. 73 But Luini’s rather ftilted compo- sition lacks the dynamism of Caravaggio’s painting, in which we see depicted for the firft time on canvas the dramatic moment of the Magdalene’s conversion. Whether or not Cofta knew Luini’s painting, he would have real- ized that Caravaggio had conflated several moments in the ftory of the Magdalene’s conversion into one pithy scene. 74 R would not have escaped Cofta that Caravaggio had carefully selected coftumes and props to encapsulate the multiple episodes simultaneously, but no single mo- ment alone, in effect creating an atemporal scene to elicit viewers’ recollections of a series of temporal moments. Among the specific details, Cofta would have known that Caravaggio’s introduction of the orange blossoms, single ring, mirror, and dramatic lighting were as new as his deletion of the Magdalene’s unguent jar (her tradition- al attribute) and jewelry other than the wedding band. Cofta presumably responded to these features in ways similar to his unlettered counterparts. And he was surely aware of the mirror’s dual role as a symbol of the vanity that the converted Magdalene rejected as well as the virtue of prudence deriving from divine wisdom, which put her on the path to right living.75 Although Cofta doubtlessly valued Caravaggio’s newly dramatic lighting on a purely ftyliftic level, he also would have recognized immediately the way it enhanced the devotional efficacy of the scene. Nor could it have been loft on him, any more than it would have been loft on illiterate viewers, that Caravaggio’s lighting drew attention to the Magdalene’s eyes and heart emphasized 39 in the legend of her conversion. Furthermore, Roberto Bellarmino’s hymn Pater superni luminis, inserted into the Roman Breviary as part of the office for the commem- oration of the Magdalene, would have been familiar to Cofta. Firft connected with Caravaggio’s Conversion of the Magdalene by Frederick Cummings, the Latin hymn con- tains a ftanza on the very moment when divine light melted the Magdalene’s icy soul, filling it with holy love. 7 ^ To turn to Guido Reni, the Walters Penitent Magdalene (PI. 8) of ca. 1635 is on a theme he often treated. 77 The original patron or buyer of this painting is unknown, but Cardinal Antonio Barberini, who seems to have owned it in 1671, will serve as our informed viewer. Firft, however, we will consider uninformed beholders of this painting. Many illiterate and semi-literate Roman Catholics would have seen images similar to Reni’s Penitent Magdalene, which treats a theme very popular in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Italy. 7 ^ Uninformed viewers of this particular painting were moft likely to have been servants. The basic moral point of Reni’s Penitent Magdalene would have been clear to them. The modeftly clad saint looks upward into the heavenly light, tears welling up in her eyes, lips slightly parted, as if about to speak. Her right hand is on her heart. Her left hand refts on a skull and holds a cross. Obviously, she is a penitent seeking the salvation made possible by Chrift’s sacrifice. Uninformed viewers would have recognized this de- piction of the Magdalene because she was among the moft popular saints of the era. Indeed, as mentioned previously, the Magdalene was singled out as a female exemplar of penance, a theme known to all Roman Catholics. Scholars knew that in his Annales ecclesiaHici Caesar Baronius treated the Magdalene’s penitential life in Ste. Baume near Marseilles as historical fact. 79 Illiterates and educated persons alike would have known about the saint’s penance in the desert through oral tradition, chap- books, wre and sermons. Reni’s Penitent Magdalene muSt have Stimulated un- informed beholders to recall — and even to repeat— the very prayer she reputedly made in the desert of Ste. Baume, for she seems to be praying, perhaps saying the words aloud. The Magdalene’s prayer was the subject of chapbooks such as the anonymous La confessione di Santa Maria Maddalena (The Confession of Saint Mary Magdalene), firSt published in Venice, and then in Treviso in 1621.^® The Magdalene’s own prayer is followed in the 1621 chapbook by the Statement, “The Magdalene will be our advocate before the good Jesus for whomever will say or make this confession of every sin with true contrition for thirty days either alone or in a group. The confes- sional prayer itself consiSls of a series of “mea culpas” in the vernacular. The Magdalene— and any Roman Catholic making the confession with her— atoned for sins com- mitted through ignorance, malice, and so forth, including the seven deadly sins. The saint also confessed that she was culpable, “should I have gone aftray in any of the five senses of my body. . . , failed in the commandments. . . , or failed in the seven sacraments and not obeyed the Holy Church. . . Thus, although the Magdalene was an especially suitable example for women, by presenting her repentance in the contexts both of typical human foibles and of transgressions againft official Church rites and practices, the chapbook rendered her confession applicable to both genders and all ages. ^3 All the paintings in our exhibition have had after- lives — that is to say, over the years their significances have continued to be concretized differently by various audiences. In discussing Antonio Barberini as a possible informed beholder, we will consider the afterlife of Reni’s Penitent Magdalene around 1670. Eric Zafran firft connected Reni’s Penitent Magdalene now in the Walters Art Gallery with an entry in the in- ventory of the Palazzo ai Giubbonari in Rome, drawn up at Cardinal Antonio Barberini’s death in 1671.^4 Although unprovable, it is highly likely that Cardinal Antonio owned the Walters painting; in any case, because he owned a re- lated version by Reni, the Cardinal is precisely the kind of informed viewer who would have seen the work in our exhibition. The Barberini were a rich merchant family, whose heyday in Rome was the pontificate of Urban VII I (Maffeo Barberini; reigned 1623-44). Urban and his three nephews. Cardinals Francesco and Antonio, and the secu- lar head of the family. Prince Taddeo, were great patrons of the figurative arts, theater, music, and literature. ^7 It is well known that Cardinal Antonio favored classicizing artifts, above all Andrea Sacchi and his pupil Carlo Maratti, and that Sacchi did extensive work for him at the Palazzo Barberini alle Quattro Fontane in Rome. Although at Urban’s death the Barberini were exiled from Rome, Cardinal Antonio returned in the 1650s and moved into the Palazzo ai Giubbonari. As one of Rome’s keeneft connoisseurs. Cardinal Antonio consiftently sought out works of the higheft artiftic quality. For our purposes, then, he is an informed 40 beholder par excellence. Although, according to Karin Wolfe, Reni was not among Cardinal Antonio’s favorite artists, he knew Reni and was aware that he was famous for depicting the Magdalene. ^7 Cardinal Antonio even owned Reni’s moft famous version of the theme: in 1641 he received as a gift the full-length Penitent Magdalene (fig. 4) of ca. 1633, now displayed in the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Antica, Rome.^^ Therefore, around 1670, nearly forty years after the paintings were executed and thirty years after Reni’s death. Cardinal Antonio would have been able to caft an aftute critical eye on his two Magdalenes by Reni. Cardinal Antonio would have appreciated the fact that by this time Reni’s treatment of the theme of the penitent Magdalene had become influential on Seicento artifts .^9 He also would have been able to compare tbe somewhat different iconographies, coloring, and paint-handling of his two versions. Antonio Barberini would have noticed that in Reni’s full-length painting (fig. 4) the sensuality of the Magda- lene’s ivory skin, golden locks, and mauve cloak are accentuated by the greyish umbers of the rocky Ste. Baume cave. By contraft, the Walters painting (PI. 8) is a half- length composition with no setting. Here the Magdalene’s skin is equally pearly. Inftead of being heightened by a darker, earthier setting, however, the figure and the golden heavenly light around her work in concert as a nearly monochromatic ftudy in the silver, umber, blush, and apricot characteriftic of Reni’s highly refined, subtle palette of the mid-i630s. Different too is Reni’s applica- tion of paint. In the Walters painting the Magdalene’s soft face and shining hair are rendered with the same smooth, flowing, delicate ftrokes as in the Galleria Nazionale painting. But a greater variety of brushwork is apparent in the Walters painting, ranging from the thin, cursory strokes defining the skull under the Magdalene’s hand, to the smooth, evenly applied passages of her face, to the fluid, loaded paSlosita of the drapery covering her arms and breaft. As to iconographical details. Cardinal Antonio cer- tainly shared uniformed beholders’ recognition of the ftandard iconographical elements in his two Magdalenes by Reni. Among these features yet to be discussed are the Magdalene’s tears, to which the Cardinal would have had a multifaceted response. Firft, like any Roman Catholic, he would have regarded them as ftraightfoward signs of repentance. Perhaps the Magdalene’s reputed prayer might even have entered his mind had he known it from chap- books. We can be sure, however, that this highly cultured man would have concretized Reni’s Magdalenes in light of his conversance with the literary and visual arts, d'he pearly flesh and teary eyes of the Walters saint would have recalled to Antonio Barberini Seicento poems in which the pearls of the Magdalene’s sinful life metamorphosed into the tears of her penitential life. And Reni’s use of an antique sculpture of Niobe — the moft famous ancient exemplar of female contrition for having offended the gods— would have enhanced his appreciation of the Walters Penitent Magdalene. Cardinal Antonio would have delight- ed in Reni’s use of this artiftic reference to underscore the Magdalene’s suffering. 9 ° Furthermore, as a champion of classicizing ftyle in painting. Cardinal Antonio would also have valued Reni as part of the Raphael tradition. The cardinal would have known that art critics regarded Raphael as an exemplar of Renaissance (grace), and Reni as a main Seicento exponent. Grazia was considered a charm that appealed more to the heart than to the intellect. In Richard Spear’s words, “Unbound by rules, it [grazia] is charming, delicate and elegant, expressive of a ‘feminine’ ftyle. It is facile (unlabored) and innate, an unsolicited gift to the artift.” 9 ^ Perhaps Cardinal Antonio was moft interefted in the visible beauty of Reni’s artistic grazia — z quality that earned Reni the sobriquet il divino (the divine). Yet the cardinal mu^t have been familiar with the theory that grazia enhanced an image’s inner, spiritual truth. 9 ^ By means oi grazia Reni was presumably able to delight all kinds of beholders. Indeed, the caressing brushwork and luscious color of his Walters Penitent Magdalene created a highly sensual image without a hint of the “lasciviousness” that so troubled writers on sacred art . 93 Two ({Madonnas of J^oreto: TdOMENlCHlNO AND (JaRAVAGGIO Having discussed in detail four relatively small works for display in private settings, it is time to consider two large paintings for public churches. Domenichino’s The Virgin of Loreto Appearing to Saints John the Baptill, Eligius, and Anthony Abbot (PI. 17) of circa 1618-19, now in the North Carolina Museum of Art, originally hung in the sacrifty of S. Francesco in Fano. Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto (fig. 5) of circa 1604-05, not in the exhibition, remains in situ in the Cavalletti Chapel of S. Agoftino in Rome. To ftart with Domenichino’s painting, because it was displayed in the sacristy of S. Francesco, there would have 41 fig- 4 PENITENT MAGDALENE, 1633 Quido Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Antica, Palazzo Barberini (formerly Corsini) (Photo: Alinari-Art Resource, NY) 42 fig- 5 MADONNA OF LORETO, 1604-O5 Qaravaggio Cavaletti Chapel, S. Agoftino, Rome (Photo: Alinari-Art Resource, NY) 43 been few if any uninformed viewers. 94 Nevertheless, it is noteworthy that the subject of Domenichino’s painting would have been obvious to Roman Catholics in Fano regardless of their gender, social class, educational level, or age; by contraft, as will emerge shortly, Caravaggio’s treatment of the theme was unusual. Domenichino’s use of ftandard attributes enabled anyone to identify Saint John the Baptift at the lower left and probably Saint Anthony Abbot at the lower right, although some may not have recognized the lesser-known central saint, Eligius. Moreover, there would have been no queftion in any viewers’ minds that the heavenly figures appearing in the clouds above the male saints were the Madonna and Child atop the Holy House of Loreto. After all, Fano is a coaftal town near Loreto, where the Virgin’s house was said to have been transported miraculously from Nazareth in 1294.95 Even beholders who had not made the pilgrimage to Loreto and seen the similar iconog- raphy of the shrine’s reliefs would have been familiar with popular prints sold to pilgrims and with the crude wood- cuts in chapbooks, which normally showed the seated Madonna of Loreto holding the Chrift Child atop a little, box-like house or church with angels or worshippers hovering nearby. 9 ^ Any Roman Catholic beholder of Domenichino’s conventional painting, having identified its subject, could have recalled praises of the Virgin of Loreto known through such chapbooks as Bartolameo Gaetti’s 1616 Rime spirituali in lode della Gloriosissima Vergine da Loreto. Nuovamente po§la in luce (Spiritual Verses in Praise of the Very Glorious Virgin of Loreto. Newly Brought to Light), which was published in Ferrara and Treviso. 97 In his poem, Gaetti lauds Mary calling her, for example, a “per- fect gem, precious virgin,” “elect spouse of the Omnipotent [God],” and “devout, obedient, humble, handmaid to God. ” 9 ^ He predictably emphasizes the importance of the Holy House of Loreto, the place of Mary’s birth and of the Incarnation. In light of this, Roman Catholic view- ers may well have regarded Domenichino’s painted saints as worthy of emulation in their devotion to the Madonna of Loreto, mother of Chrift and mediatrix. Domenichino painted the altarpiece around 1618-19 for Antonio Salvatore, an otherwise unknown Roman goldsmith who had moved to Fano in 1605. His choice of John the Bapti^ and Eligius for inclusion in Domeni- chino’s painting is clarified by his later will of 1635, in which he left money to the Franciscans for the celebra- tion of weekly masses in perpetuity at the altar of his bur- ial place, which is dedicated to Saints John the Baptift and Eligius. 99 The relatively obscure Eligius, who looks at the celestial appearance while pointing to a putto pulling a gold chain from a plate of jewelry, was given pride of place as the patron saint of goldsmiths. It is unclear why Anthony Abbot was selected for inclusion in the painting; he may have been Antonio Salvatore’s personal patron saint. Since we know nothing about the goldsmith Salvatore beyond his trade, there is no reason to identify him as an informed beholder. His choice of Domenichino, a famous artift, for the commission does not necessarily indicate that Salvatore was a connoisseur, for Domenichino was then in the small town of Fano working in the Cathedral’s Nolfi Chapel. The Virgin of Loreto Appearing to Saints John the Baptist, Eligius, and Anthony Abbot is impressive by virtue of its large scale and monumental figures, yet seen within Domenichino’s oeuvre as a whole, it— like all of his Fano paintings — appears rather unsophifticated. Indeed, Domenichino’s rather pedeftrian treatment of the theme suggefts that Salvatore’s viewing expectations were conditioned mainly by popular imagery surround- ing the Loreto cult. Salvatore and other viewers in Fano seemed to be particularly receptive to the sort of archaiz- ing ftyle that Domenichino used in all the works he executed there between 1617 and 1621.^°° Perhaps the moft extraordinary image of the theme ever painted, Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto (fig. 5) of circa 1604-05, remains in S. Agoftino in Rome. Despite its novelty and our ability to view it in the chapel for which it was made, the painting has received far less scholarly attention than other major Roman religious paintings by Caravaggio. Whereas all Roman Catholic viewers of Domeni- chino’s Loreto painting would easily have recognized its theme, many viewers of Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto probably failed to connect the painting with that partic- ular cult. The painting’s location in the Cavalletti Chapel of S. Agoftino would not have clarified its subject, since the chapel was dedicated not to the Madonna of Loreto, but to Saint Mary Magdalene. Nor would the content of Caravaggio’s painting have necessarily prompted be- holders to identify its theme as the Madonna of Loreto. Caravaggio’s Madonna does not resemble the Loreto icon, a dark wooden ftatue, either physiognomically or in pose, nor does his painting show the Madonna and 44 ('hild atop the Holy House, as seen in Domenichino’s painting and many popular prints. Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto more closely resembles Antonio La- freri’s late sixteenth-century engraving, published by Howard Hibbard. In Lafreri’s engraving the Madonna and Child ^l:and in a niche flanked by twined columns, that are in turn surrounded by a border of fruit swags with a tiny figure of a pilgrim set in a cartouche on either side. Captions in Latin and the vernacular explain the sub- ject of Lafreri’s engraving, whereas Caravaggio’s painting lacks inscriptions. Although some literate viewers of Caravaggio’s painting may have made the connection with Loreto via knowledge of Lafreri’s engraving, illiterates could not have, for the print’s inscriptions would have conveyed nothing to them. In Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto the holy figures appear in a doorway, a reference, perhaps, as Walter Friedlaender suggefted, to that of the Loreto shrine. If so, the reference is not specific. Indeed, it is sufficiently generic to be taken for a Roman doorway, as, for example, in the analyses of more recent scholars including Hibbard and Mina Gregori.*°^ This lack of specificity muft have engendered various responses in the seventeenth century as well. Let us now consider in detail uninformed viewers’ responses to Caravaggio’s painting. Illiterate beholders would have seen the Madonna and Child appearing in a doorway before two kneeling figures, whose ftaffs identified them as pilgrims. When viewing Caravaggio’s painting, unlettered beholders who had made the pilgrim- age to Loreto certainly would have recalled that cult, but the altarpiece could have been concretized in light of other shrines to the Madonna juft as readily. It should also be ftressed that to see Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto, our illiterate viewers had to enter an area of Rome filled to overflowing with real pilgrims. S. Agoftino is near the Ponte Sant’Angelo, one of only two bridges in Seicento Rome over which pilgrims could cross the Tiber on the way to St. Peter’s . ^^7 Thus, it is safe to assume that some of our illiterate beholders were actually undertaking a Roman pilgrimage when they saw Caravaggio’s painting. In any case, unlettered women and men would have expe- rienced vicariously the painted pilgrims’ experience of divine intervention. Taking note of the ample, shroud-like white cloth under the Chrift Child’s body, they would have recognized the promise of salvation made possible initially by the Incarnation through the Virgin Mary, and ultimately by Chrift’s sacrifice. The reception of'Lhe Madonna of Loreto among the common people {popolani) was addressed pointedly by Giovanni Baglione in his 1642 Le vite de’ pittori, scultori, et architetti . . . (The Lives of the Painters, Sculptors, and Architects . . .).^°^ In fact, Baglione commented on re- sponses to his rival’s paintings several times with the consiftent aim of deprecating them. For example, Baglione noted that, whereas the renowned painter Federico Zuccaro depreciated Caravaggio’s Contarelli Chapel paint- ings, they were “excessively praised by evil people. Of The Madonna of Loreto, Baglione wrote: [I]n the firft chapel on the left in the church of Sant’Agoftino, he [Caravaggio] painted the Madonna of Loreto from life with two pilgrims; one of them has muddy feet and the other wears a soiled and torn cap; and because of this pettiness in the details of a grand painting the public {popolani] made a great fuss over it.”° Thus, according to Baglione, Caravaggio’s indeco- rous emphasis on “petty” details in The Madonna of Loreto not only attracted attention, but it attracted the atten- tion of unworthy viewers — the mere popolani —who were unable to judge paintings according to the correct criteria that Baglione discussed throughout his tract. Baglione’s comment arguably tells us more about himself and his attitudes toward Seicento culture than about the actual reception of Caravaggio’s art, an issue to which I will eventually return. Yet Baglione’s annoyance has the ring of truth, indicating, as Hibbard noted, that it is likely that the lower classes really did make a fuss over Caravaggio’s Madonna of LoretoM^ But who were these common people, and would their only reason for making a fuss over the painting have been because they were drawn to petty naturaliftic details like bees to honey? Recent scholars have assumed that the popolani men- tioned by Baglione appreciated Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto because they identified with the humble pilgrims depicted in it. Gregori identified Caravaggio’s pilgrims as members of the “popolo (unskilled commoners). This would have fit social reality, as will be discussed presently, for moft pilgrims housed by confraternities in Rome were from the popolo minutoM^ The clothes of Caravaggio’s pilgrims, which closely resemble those de- picted in Annibale Carracci’s series the Arti di Bologna (Trades of Bologna) drawn in the 1580s or 1590s, do indeed identify them as popolaniM^ 45 Therefore, one large group of popolani who doubtlessly saw Caravaggio’s painting— poor, illiterate, and semi-literate pilgrims making their way across Rome to St. Peter’s — probably did identify with the humble pilgrims in The Madonna of Loreto. Yet, as previously noted, not all popolani were pilgrims. Furthermore, those popolani who were not poor would not necessarily have related to Caravaggio’s pilgrims in their dirty, torn, coarse clothing. In Rome there were relatively prosperous, semi- literate popolani (the popolo grasso, including artisans) with a special interest in the Loreto cult, who consequently may well have ascertained the specific theme of Caravaggio’s painting at the time it was inftalled: members of the Confraternita di S. Maria di Loreto dei fornari al foro Traiano (the Confraternity of Saint Mary of Loreto of the Bakers at Trajan’s Forum). ^^5 Members of this confrater- nity, founded in connection with the Jubilee of 1500, were bakers and their families, including women. Prosperous enough to devote time and money to aid needy workers of their trade, they muft have been far less shabbily dressed than Caravaggio’s pilgrims. Inftead of identifiying them- selves with the pilgrims, these prosperous bakers were more likely to have regarded Caravaggio’s pilgrims as similar to the humble people their organization served. Above all, the confraternity assifted needy and sick bakers and their families, providing them with bread, shelter, and sickbeds. But the bakers of Rome also had the responsibility of feeding the city’s legions of poor persons, including pilgrims; during famines the bakers were required to provide bread to the poor at low, fixed prices. ^^7 Thus, men and women of the Confraternita di S. Maria di Loreto would have had multilayered responses to Caravaggio’s painting. It certainly would have inspired them enough to make a fuss. And, pace Baglione, far from being petty or diftracting, Caravaggio’s realiftic details actually would have enhanced the edifying value of his Madonna of Loreto for these popolani. To begin discussion of informed viewers, a brief overview of Caravaggio’s commission is warranted. Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto graces the Cavalletti Chapel, named for Ermete Cavalletti of Bologna, who died in 1602, leaving money to acquire and decorate a chapel in S. Agoftino. The Auguftianians gave the chapel, dedicated to Saint Mary Magdalene, to the Cavalletti family in 1603; the painting was inftalled there before March 1606. Cavalletti himself had ftipulated that the chapel be decorated with a painting of the Madonna of Loreto. Pre- sumably, he had a special devotion to her, but he never saw the altarpiece, and nothing is known about his family’s reaction to it. Our ftudy of informed beholders of Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto will therefore focus not on the Cavalletti family, but on three art critics, whose particu- larly revealing written responses allow us to explore the afterlife of the painting from 1642 to 1672. The critics in queftion, Giovanni Baglione, Francesco Scannelli, and Giovanni Pietro Bellori, were all conversant with Seicento artiftic developments, including art theory .^^9 Baglione disparaged the work of his archrival, a function not only of his personal antipathy, but also of his adherence to traditional art theory, which advocated decorum and idealization in art. Baglione’s 1642 comment on The Madonna of Loreto, already quoted, is entirely pejora- tive of the work and the audience it attracted. Unlike Baglione, Francesco Scannelli was neither a contemporary of Caravaggio nor an artift. Scannelli, a physician from Forli in Romagna, was also a connoisseur who served Duke Francesco d’Efte of Modena as an art consultant. In his II microcosmo della pittura (The Microcosm of Painting), published in Cesena in 1657, Scannelli lauded Caravaggio as “a unique exponent of naturalism,” yet faulted his paintings for lacking suffi- cient idealization, decorum, and grazia}^^ Thus, Scannelli’s overall assessment of Caravaggio’s ^le was similar to that articulated by Baglione fifteen years earlier. Scannelli’s important discussion, the longeft Seicento critical assess- ment known of Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto, has not received the analysis it deserves. Scannelli wrote: {I]n the church of Sant’Agoftino, near the entrance, in the fir^l chapel at the left, there is a painting that represents on its right side [sic] the ^landing Virgin holding the Holy Child to her neck; at the left side [sic] a pilgrim is kneeling with an old woman in the act of devotion; and whoever comes to view this cannot but admit that their spirit is well disposed, strengthened by the figures’ faith with the pure simplicity of the heart when worshipping the image. However, inSfead of showing a suitable decorum with grace and devotion, we find everywhere their lack. In fact, the major maSlers would have expressed their aSfonishment at all of it.*^^ Scannelli disapproved of Caravaggio’s lack of deco- rum, indicating that major artifts would expect to see it. Nevertheless, he praised the painting’s devotional efficacy. Moreover, unlike Baglione before him, Scannelli did not limit admiration of Caravaggio’s painting to an unlettered 46 audience seduced by trivial naturalistic details. Quite the contrary, Scannelli indicated that Caravaggio’s painting moved all viewers to piety, presumably himself included. I will soon return to this point. The third art critic to be discussed is the Roman Giovanni Pietro Bellori.^^3 Bellori was a writer, antiquarian, art collector, and art consultant in Rome to Queen ChriStina of Sweden. A proponent of classiciSf-idealiSt art theory, he adamantly opposed the unidealized, indecorous art of Caravaggio, whom he regarded as the deSfroyer of paint- ing .^^4 Bellori wrote of Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto: {Caravaggio] then painted the picture of the Cavalletti Chapel in the church of Sant’Agoftino, with the landing Madonna holding the Child in her arms in the act of giving benediction: two pilgrims with clasped hands are kneeling before her, the firSf one a poor man with feet and legs bare, with a leather cape and a ilaff renting on his shoulder. He is accompanied by an old woman with a cap on ber head.’^^ Later in the treatise, when providing an overview of Caravaggio’s breaches of decorum, Bellori added, “In Sant’Agoftino we are presented with the filthy feet of the pilgrim . . . Curiously, like Scannelli, Bellori failed to identify Caravaggio’s painting as a depiction of the Madonna of Loreto, although he certainly knew that Baglione had done so. Although our three critics responded somewhat dif- ferently to Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto, they all drew considerable attention to the humble appearance of the worshipping figures. As John Varriano notes in his essay in this catalogue, scholars have long identified humility as an important aspect of Caravaggio’s art. However, they have approached the problem as one of intentionality, try- ing to answer the important queftion of why the artift depicted so many humble figures. ^^7 Our exploration of reception affords us the opportunity to look at this com- plex problem from a different angle. Shifting the focus away from the artift’s intention, I will consider the social contexts in which our informed viewers concretized Caravaggio’s humble pilgrims in The Madonna of Loreto. Having analyzed the critics’ horizons of expectation in the context of Seicento art theory, I will now consider them in the context of Roman attitudes toward the poor. Poverty was a pressing issue throughout Europe from the late sixteenth to the late seventeenth century. Luigi Fiorani, who has ftudied the theory and practice of poverty as it affected Rome, noted that it was simulta- neously regarded as a perfect myftical condition and an inevitable social evil. This led to much concern in Rome with diftinguishing between the “true” and “false” poor, that is, the deserving and undeserving poor. Roman censuses show that poverty was very widespread and that the poor were variously classified as induftrious, needy, undeserving, and so forth. ^^9 The views of Roberto Bellarmino (1542-1621), the Jesuit theologian, are characteriftic for early Seicento Rome. ^30 Bellarmino’s sermons and various tracts on other topics reveal that he believed that God had willed the two opposite ftates of rich and poor, and that people muft accept this hierarchical order. He resented the impi- ous poor, whom he rebuked for not finding work and for being discontent with their social ftation. Despite his rebukes, however, Bellarmino uncompromisingly insifted that the rich muft share their superfluous wealth with the poor or work to assift them. Bellarmino’s remarks bespeak the widespread tendency in Rome to treat pauper- ism as a problem of public order that required benevolent charitable intervention. Indeed, the era witnessed a growth of confraternities and other charitable inftitu- tions.^31 Assiftance of the poor was based on the concept that true faith is translated into good works, through which Roman Catholics obtained mercy for themselves.^32 In the mid-seventeenth century Rome’s population increased alarmingly to about 150,000. Confraternity ftatutes and various tracts on charitable inftitutions from about 1650 on reveal a growing antipathy toward the “false” poor, including beggars and those deemed lazy, dishoneft, dissatisfied with their Nation in life, and per- verse (the latter including, for example, females over the age of ten who worked in public places!). ^33 Begging was abolished, and its practitioners were placed in rigidly ad- miniftered hospices; invalids were cloiftered, and rioters were expelled from Rome. At the same time, an intense effort was made to re- educate beggars and other undeserving poor with the aim of transforming them into good servants and workers. The rich would thereby gain materially and spiritually, and, it was argued, so would the poor. In short, during the seventeenth century, there was an increasingly more syftematic and authoritarian approach toward combat- ting poverty and controlling the poor of Rome. These developing attitudes toward the poor seem to have conditioned the responses of Baglione, Scannelli, and Bellori when they beheld the humble pilgrims in 47 Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto. Caravaggio’s humble figures are pilgrims, and the critics certainly saw many such poor persons in the churches of Rome, even in S. Ago^tino. But the critics are also likely to have expe- rienced difturbances created by other poor people — that is, non-pilgrims— in Roman churches. For example, Leonardo Geruso, who eftablished a refuge for ftreet boys near S. Maria del Popolo, described disruptions that occurred at the church during the Jubilee year of 1625: “[ 0 ]ur church [S. Maria del Popolo] is always full of poor persons, who exercise all their deceptions in church, and shout so loud- ly that they difturb [the people]. ”^34 Thus Caravaggio’s pious pilgrims may have stimulat- ed our critics (and viewers of all kinds) to think about the teeming hordes of needy persons, deserving and un- deserving alike, who were a growing presence in Rome. We should now revisit briefly the three critics’ respons- es to Caravaggio’s pilgrims. FirSf, Baglione’s contempt for the pilgrims in their torn and dirty clothing is paralleled in his condescending attitude toward the undiscerning popolani who made a fuss over it. To Baglione, then, the humble painted pilgrims and the popolani who appreciated them were indecorous, unworthy mirror images. Baglione’s negative criticism of Caravaggio’s art thus seems ground- ed in both art theoretical and social attitudes, which reached a crescendo in Bellori’s later art tract. Only Scannelli, our second critic, conveyed disap- proval of Caravaggio’s lack of decorum without, however, casing aspersions on either the humble figures in any of the artift’s paintings or on the types of viewers who appreciated them. For example, even though Scannelli noted that in Caravaggio’s Toothpuller a dentift was shown pulling the tooth of a “contadino” {Tpcasunt), he had nothing but praise for this genre painting. ^35 And, as we have seen, Scannelli responded favorably to the pilgrims in The Madonna of Loreto. He alone among the critics did not bother to describe their ragged clothing, focusing injdead on their affective piety. The fact that Baglione and Bellori lived in Rome whereas Scannelli lived in various north Italian towns may account for the latter’s diftinc- tive reception of Caravaggio’s humble figures. Our third critic, Bellori, accented the pilgrims’ humble attire and dirty feet. He pointed out similar details in other paintings by Caravaggio, including the London Supper at Emmaus in which, “in addition to the vulgar conception of the two Apoftles and of the Lord who is shown young and without a beard, the innkeeper wears a cap. . . .”136 The latter’s cap identified him as a popolano. Writing in 1672 of painters’ positive reception of such fea- tures in Caravaggio’s works, Bellori remarked: Now began the imitation of common and vulgar things, seek- ing out filth and deformity, as some popular artiffs do assiduously. . . . The coffumes they paint consiff of stockings, breeches, and big caps, and in their figures they pay attention only to wrinkles, defects of the skin and exterior, depicting only knotted fingers and limbs disfigured by disease. *37 Thus, more even than Baglione, Bellori emphasized Caravaggio’s use of models taken from the ftreets, his depiction of lower-class clothing and figures bearing physical defects brought on by hard labor. Although dis- approval of these features, which characterized Caravaggio’s despised naturalism, bespoke Bellori’s position as a classicift- idealift critic, Roman attitudes toward the poor and poverty around 1670 are also detectable. Unlike Baglione, Bellori had no personal grudge againft Caravaggio. Inftead, writing thirty years after Baglione, when Romans were more rigidly intolerant of the poor, Bellori seems to have caft his art criticism in light of topical social condi- tions. Bellori may well have wished that Rome’s artiftic problem, Caravaggio and his legacy, could be combatted in the same authoritarian manner as another great Roman problem, poverty. (Conclusion: The Tower of Images In ftudying the reception of paintings in the exhibi- tion, we have experienced as seventeenth-century viewers might have some of the ways in which sacred art functioned in early modern Italian society. As we have seen, viewers’ horizons of expectation were conditioned by such person- al factors as gender, social class, and educational level, as well as their familiarity with religious, artiftic, and social developments. If connoisseurs and other informed viewers could appreciate paintings on levels not open to unin- formed viewers, thereby experiencing aefthetic pleasure, we have nevertheless found that the boundary between so-called “elite” and “popular” culture was quite perme- able. All of these complex factors made the effects of art— both sacred and profane — difficult to gauge and channel. However, that so many ecclesia^ical and lay thinkers, artifts, patrons, and viewers found the effort worthwhile attefts to the power of images. 48 PLATES OF PAINTINGS IN THE EXHIBITION THE LAMENTATION, Cd. 1^91 ^^CIPIONE ‘-PuLZONE (II QaETANO), Italian, ca. 1550-1598 oil on canvas 114x68 in. rhc Metropolitan Museum of Art, I’urchase, Anonymous (jilt, in Memory ofl’erence (Cardinal (iooke, k;S 4 (1984.74). Photograph © 1984 The Metropolitan Museum of Art PI. I 1 SAINT SEBASTIAN HEALED BY AN ANGEL, ca. 1603 QiOVANNI ^AGLIONE, Italian, ca. 1573-1644 Oil on canvas 36 1/2 x 29 1/2 in. Collection of Mary Jane Harris, New York PI. 2 A MIRACLE OF ST. JOHN OF GOD, Cd. i6c)0 J^RANCESCO ^OLIMENA, Italian, 1657-1747 oil on canvas 36 3/4 x 29 3/4 in. Williams (-ollcge Museum of Art, Museum purchase, John B. 'turner ’24 Memorial Fund, Karl F^. Wcfton Memorial Fund, ace, no. 93.6 PI. 3 CONVERSION OF THE MAGDALENE, ca. 1^98 (lM'iCHELANGELO QlM^ERISI da QaRAVAGGIO, Italian, 1571-1610 tempera and oil on canvas 39 x ^3 in. The Detroit Institute of Arts, Gift ot the Kresge Foundation and Mrs. Edsel B. Ford, acc. no. 73.268. Photograph © 1998 The Detroit In^l:itute of Arts PI. 4 CHRIST IN THE HOUSE OF SIMON THE PHARISEE, ca. 1600 J'RANCESCO VaNNI, Italian, 1563 or 65-1610 oil on canvas 4^ x 3^ in. I he Snitc Museum, University ot Notre Dame, Ciih ot Robert H. Mayer, acc. no. 62.7 PI. 5 NOLI ME TANGERE, 1575 jQeLIO 0RSI, Italian, 1511-1587 oil on canvas 36x29 1/2 in. Wadsworth Athencum, I lartford, The Ella Gallup Sumner and Mary Gatlin Sumner Collection Fund, acc. no. 1936.500 PI. 6 THE PENITENT MAGDALENE, 1620s (^ISTO ^BadalOCCHIO, is8s-after 1620 oil on canvas 11x15 in. Courtesy of the Palmer Museum ot Art, Penn State University from the C.oliection of Mary Jane I larris PI. 7 THE PENITENT MAGDALENE, ca. 1630 GUIDO RENI, Italian, 1571-1642 oil on canvas 36x30 in. rhe Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore, acc. no. wag 37.2631 PI. 8 THE AGONY IN THE GARDEN, OR CHRIST ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES WITH PETER, JAMES, AND JOHN, ca. 1^8^ J^RANCESCo ^Bassano, Italian, 1549-1592 oil on canvas 25x201/16111. Williams College Museum of Art, Museum [lurchasc, Karl E. Wefton Memorial Fund, acc. no. 74.34 PL 9 THE PENITENT ST. PETER, 1640s ^^IMONE QaNTARINI, Italian, 1612-48 oil on canvas 35 5/8 x 32 1/2 in. Smith College Museum ot Art, Northampton, Massachusetts, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Anthony L. Michel (Sarah Prescott, class of 1930), 1985, acc. no. 1955:30 LIBERATION OF ST. PETER, ca. 1614-1$ QiOVANNI J^NFRANCO, Italian, 1582-1647 oil on canvas 6o 5/8 x 48 i/i6 in. Richard L. Feigcn, New York DEATH OF ANANIAS AND SAPPHIRA, 1^99-1603 QriSTOFANO "^E^NCALLI (II ^PomaRANCIO), Italian, 1552-1626 oil on canvas 49 x 33 1/2 in. Richard L. Feigen, New York PI. 12 CALLING OF ST. MATTHEW, ca. l6l$~30 Bernardo ^TROzzi, Italian, 1581-1644 oil on canvas 54 3/4 x 73 1/2 in, Worcertcr Art Museum, Worcester, Massachusetts, Museum purchase, acc. no. 1941. i PI. 13 ST. MATTHEW AND THE ANGEL, ca. 162^ <£N^C0LAS ^I^GNIER, Flemish, 1591-1667 oil on canvas 42 1/2 x 48 7/8 in. BcqucSl of John Ringling, Collection of John and Mablc Ringling Museum of Art, the State Art Museum of Florida, ace. no, SN109 ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST PREACHING IN THE WILDERNESS, ca. 1660 (^ALVATOR "^J(oSA, Italian, 1610-1673 oil on canvas 79 x 48 in. The Saint Louis Art Museum, Friends Fund, acc. no. 72.1970 PI. IS ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST IN THE WILDERNESS, ca. 16^2-16^^ QiOVANNI J^RANCESCO ^ARBIERI (II QuERCINO), Italian, 1^91-1666 oil on canvas 70 3/16 x 91 1/4 in. Richard L. Feigcn, New York PI. 16 THE MADONNA OF LORETO APPEARING TO ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST, ST. ELIGIUS, AND ST. ANTHONY ABBOT, ca. 1618-1619 ‘Domenico ^mpieri (Domenichino), Italian, 1581-1641 oil on canvas 109 1/2 x 77 1/4 in. North ('arolina Museum ot Art, Raleigh, (iitt of the Samuel 1 1 . Kress Foundation, acc. no. gl.6o. 17.51 ST. SEBASTIAN HEALED BY ST. IRENE, ca. l68o ^T)aN I EL Reiter, Au^trian/Italian, 1640-1705 oil on canvas 53 1/4 x 39 1/2 in. Mount I lolyoke College Art Museum, .South Hadley, Massachusetts, Warbekc Museum Fund and the Art Museum General Use Fund, iq8i, acc. no. 1981:4 PI. 18 THE VIRGIN RECEIVING ST. ALOYSIUS GONZAGA, ca. 1690 J^RANCESCO ^OLIMENA, ATTRIBUTED TO, Italian, 1657-1747 oil on canvas 6o 3/4 x 40 i/zin. BcqucS^ of John Ringling, (Collection of John and Mahle Ringling Museum of Art, the State Art Museum of Florida, acc. no. SN165 PI. 19 ST. CECILIA, q^ASSIMO ^TANZIONE, ATTRIBUTED TO, Italian, ca. 1585-ca. 1656 oil on canvas 49 1/4 x 40 3/8 in. Bc(|ueSl: of John Ringling, Collection of John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art, the State Art Museum of Florida, acc. no. SN134 PI. 20 DEATH OF SAINT FRANCIS XAVIER, i 6 yos QiRO J^ERRI, ATTRIBUTED TO, Italian, 1634-1689 oil on canvas 50 1/2x 31 in. The Jesuit (community, Loyola University, Chicago, Ciik of Mr. and Mrs. Stuart Kaplan, acc. no. 2-60 PI. 21 THE ENTOMBMENT, ca. i6i^ Qiuseppe Qesari (the CAVALIERE D’ARPINO), Italian, 1568-1640 oil on canvas 30 x 21 1/2 in. Collection ofjoan Nissman and Morton Abromson PI. 22 MADONNA OF THE CHERUBS, ca. i6<^o-i68o Qiovanni ‘Battista ^^alvi (^assoferrato) , Italian, 1609-1685 oil on canvas 2^ x 30 in, McMullen Museum ot Art, Boston College, acc. no. 88. 72 PI. 23 JOSEPH SOLD INTO SLAVERY BY HIS BROTHERS, ca. 16^0-1670 Qiovanni Battista Qarlone, Italian, 1592-1677 oil on canvas 75 x 96 in. Bob Jones University Museum and Gallery, acc. no. P.52.24 cl#i66 PI. 24 JOSEPH AND POTIPHAR’S WIFE, 1649 QiOVANNI J^RANCESCO ^ARBIERI (II QuERCINO), Italian, 1591-1666 oil on canvas 49 x 62 1/2 in. Patrons’ Permanent Fund, © 1998 Board ofTruftees, National Gallery of Art, Washington, acc. no. 1986.17.2 i I PI. 25 CHRIST AND THE WOMAN TAKEN IN ADULTERY, ca. 1622-1624 ^Pietro 'Perettini da (Jortona (II (Jortona), Italian, 1596-1669 oil on canvas 58 x 89 in. Mr. and Mrs. A. Alfred Taubman CHRIST AND THE WOMAN TAKEN IN ADULTERY, late i6sos OrAZIO DE J^ERRARl, Italian, 1606-1657 oil on canvas 46 x 55 1/2 in. McMullen Musuem of Art, Boston College, acc. no. bc. 8S.168 PI. 27 1 i THE KISS OF JUDAS, ca. 1^89-1^90 ^UDOVICO QaRRACCI, Italian, 1555-1619 oil on canvas 31 1/2 x 38 1/4 in. The Art Museum, Princeton University. Museum purchase, Fowler McCormick, Class of 1921, Fund, acc. no. yigSy-hy PI. 28 THE TAKING OF CHRIST, 161OS-162OS qAnONTMOUS J^LEMISH QaRAVAGGESCO, active i6iOs - 1620s oil on canvas 58 x 77 in Museum of Fine Arts, Boilon, Juliana (ihcney Edwards Collection, ace. no. 1979. 154 PI. 29 THE TAKING OF CHRIST, i6o2 qlM'iCHELANGELO (lA/CeRISI da QaRAVAGGIO, Italian, 1571-1610 oil on canvas 53 x 67 in. Society ot Jesus, Ireland, on loan to the National Gallery of Ireland PI. 30 * 1 am grateful to the University of Massachusetts-Bofton for a Faculty Research (irant which helped support my research in Rome upon which this essay is based. 1 Titles of art tracts of the period confirm that painting received the greateil attention. Schlosser Magnino provides a ready reference. 2 This essay is part of a proposed book on genre and audience in Italian Baro(]ue painting on which I am currently working. 3 These, of course, are the ancient rhetorical means. St. Auguftine, who adapted them to sacred oratory, citing Cicero’s De oratore as his source, mentioned them in this order: inftruction, delight, and moving. Clerics of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries often used St. Auguiifine’s dictum in connection with the aims of sacred art. See, for example, Paleotti, 217-18. Paleotti changed the order of Cicero’s rhetorical means, as discussed by Augufline, so as to indicate his own interpretation of their relative importance: “To delight is a sweetness, to instruct is a necessity, to move is a victory.” For further information, see Jones, 1995, esp. n. 19 on 321. The synopsis of apologetics given here is neither comprehensive nor fVrictly chronological. See n. 4 below, and also Jones, 1993, 117-18, for more detail. 4 For further information on traditional apologetics and miraculous images, see Kitzinger and Ladner. 5 John of Damascus’s Orations on the Holy Icons as discussed by Pelikan, 137-39- 6 On scholaftic contributions, see Scavizzi, 172-73. 7 Scavizzi; Jones, 1993, csp. 117-18; and extensive bibliography cited in both. 8 Canons and Decrees of the Sacred Oecumenical Council of Trent, 233-36. 9 The relevant tracts are: Gilio’s Dialogo degli errori del pittori (Dialogue on the Errors of Painters) of 1364; Paleotti’s Discorso intorno alle imagini sacre e profane (Discourse on Sacred and Profane Images) of 1582; Comanini’s II Figino, overo del fine della pittura (Figino, or Indeed the Purpose of Painting) of 1591; Borromeo’s De pictura sacra (On Sacred Painting) of 1624; Ottonelli’s Trattato della pittura e scultura. Uso ed abuso loro (Treatise on Painting and Sculpture. Their Use and Abuse) of 1652. See Gauvin Bailey’s essay in this catalogue for fuller discussion of Ottonelli’s book, written with the assistance of the artiSl Pietro da Cortona. 10 Baglione, 353-34; Alberti, 231-32, 234. Following Cicero, Alberti (on 212) also applied the three rhetorical means to art: inSlruction, delight, and moving. 11 Mancini, 44-43, 33-36. 12 Ibid., 141-44. Mancini discusses male and female viewers of various ages, social classes, and characters. Paleotti’s Bk. V of the Discorso, never written, was intended to treat the proper display of sacred and profane paintings. See Barocchi’s discussion in Paleotti, 304-09 (which includes an index of the proposed Bk. V). On Paleotti’s concern with viewers, also see Jones 1993. 13 Canons and Decrees, 2}^- j6. 14 The classic ftudy of Pulzone is Zeri, 90-93; also sec Zuccari’s cat. no. 30 in The Age of Caravaggio, 172-73. 13 See Bailey’s essay in this catalogue for bibliography on the Gesii’s program and on Ignatius’s Spiritual Exercises. Further discussion of Pulzone’s painting is found in Mormando’s “Teaching the Faithful to Fly.” 16 For bibliography on Baglione, see n. 29 below. 17 On Solimena’s painting, see Filipezak, cat. no. 38; Bologna, 96, 270. The Iberian St. John of God lived in the sixteenth century. 18 Filipezak, cat. no. 38. 19 On sacred oratory, see O’Malley; McGinness. 20 Chappell and Kirwin; additional bibliography is cited by Mormando in “Teaching the Faithful to Fly” in this catalogue. 21 Garzoni, 161. 22 Kirwin, ii. Also see Mormando’s essay “Teaching the Faithful to Fly” in this catalogue. 23 Garzoni, 130-35. 24 Comanini’s use of “Figino” in the title refers to one of his interlocutors, the sixteenth-century Lombard artift Ambrogio Figino. 23 Comanini, 313-14. 26 Mahon, 284-88, cat. no. 47; Salerno, 332-33, cat. no. 261. 27 I follow Alison McNeil Kettering in using the term “informed viewer.” Kettering, 113-14. Of course, there would have been a range of responses among the groups of both informed and uninformed beholders. In this essay I am moft concerned with the kind of reception hiftory formulated by Hans Robert Jauss. I place more emphasis on viewers’ competencies than on the artifts’ horizons of expectation, because for this period viewers’ horizons of expecta- tion have received little suftained attention. Above all, the viewing expectations olpopolani have been neglected. For an explanation and critique of various approaches to the ftudy of reception, see Kemp. I have benefitted greatly from discussions with Joanna Ziegler about reception. I also thank John Varriano for his suggestions on this part of my essay. My ideas about reception will be formulated fully in my book on genre and audience. 28 Spezzaferro 1975a, 518, n. 26, identified Baglione’s painting with the one in Anna Maria Sannesio’s inventory. See Josephine von Henneberg’s essay in the present catalogue for further discussion of Baglione’s painting. 29 See Spike, 22-24, cat. no. 4, for dating, provenance, and bibliography. 30 On Giacomo Sannesio, see Wazbinski, 1994, 142, 193-94, 269, 273, 278, 300, 328, 631; Wazbinski, 1987. Spike, 24, cat. no. 4, on the stylistic affinities of Baglione’s St. SehaSlian Healed by an Angel to works by Caravaggio and Arpino. 31 The trial documents are reproduced in Friedlaender, 270-79. All monographic Studies of Caravaggio contain some discussion of the trial; Hibbard, 160-63, provides a useful introduction to the salient issues. 81 32 Barberi, 1985, 16; Barbed, 1963, 19. For a critically informed introduction to Italian devotional chapbooks, see Baldacchini, 1980, 7-26; the reft of his book is a lift of cbapbooks in the Vatican and Alexandrine Libraries in Rome and in the Efte Library in Modena, The term “chapbook,” which was firft used in the early nineteenth century, is the ftandard term in English. Although in Erance such works were normally printed on cheap blue paper— bence tbe term “Bibliotheque bleue” used by the Annales school — there is no equivalent term in Italian. Baldacchini refers to Italian devotional chapbooks as “ftampe popolari religiose.” Because Italian devotional cbapbooks are mainly uncatalogued, comprehensive ftaidies are yet to be done. Baldacchini, 1976, a discussion of the ftate of the field, is ftill largely valid for Rome. 33 Baldacchini, 1980, 14-15. Itinerant ballad singers were often the sellers of chapbooks. 34 Ibid., 74, no. 189. The publisher of the Venetian chapbook of 1607 was Giovanni Battifta Bonfadino. He is lifted in Baldacchini’s catalogue of devotional chapbooks in the Vatican, Alexandrine, and Efte Libraries as having published eighteen other devotional chapbooks, mainly in ottava rime, between 1601 and 1616. 35 Arciconfraternita dei SS. Angeli Cuftodi, 3-6. It was raised to tbe ftatus of archconfraternity in 1622. 36 Albertini, 7. 37 Ibid., 46. 38 Ibid., 69. 39 Baldacchini, 1980, 14. Semi-literates could normally read chapbooks and could, in turn, read them to illiterates. One chapbook cited by Baldacchini begins, “And thus I beg you worthy lifteners . . .” 40 Vlieghe, 147-48, cat. no. 144, and Muller Hofftede, 142, cat. no. 6, each discuss these sixteenth-century works as precedents for Rubens’s St. SebaStian Healed by Angels of ca. 1608 in tbe Galleria Corsini in Rome. These authors do not identify a source for the iconography of a group of miniftering angels. 41 See Spike, 22-24, cat. no. 4; and Hibbard, 58-59, on Baglione’s Davidson painting; on Caravaggio’s Edlasy of St. Francis see Hibbard, 55-61 and 286-87. 42 Treffers, esp. 158-61; I find Treffers’s iconographical analysis more convincing than that of Askew, 1969. 43 Here I tentatively call this particular informed viewing experience “aefthetic pleasure,” It will be developed further in my book on genre and audience. I am grateful to Joanna Ziegler for her insights on this issue. 44 Silveftri, 51. Silveftri was a canon ofS. Maria in Cosmedin. 45 John Varriano firft attributed the painting to Seiter. Varriano, 1984; and Varriano, 1988, 38. See Henneberg’s essay in the present catalogue for another discussion of Seiter’s painting. 46 On sacre rappresentazioni, see Toschi, 691-704; Kennard, 21-63. 47 Toschi, 691; Kennard, 21-63. 48 Lottini, whose life dates are unknown, also wrote sacre rappresentazioni on Saints Agnes (1591), Lawrence (1592), Judith (1605), John the Baptift (1605), the seven blessed founders of the Servites (1605), and the Innocents (1609); all are available at the Vatican Library. 49 Lottini, 25. 50 Ibid., 86, my emphasis. 51 See Dempsey, esp. 110-14. 52 The poem was included in Marino’s famous La Galleria, as quoted in full by Pepper, 40-41, and Dempsey, iii. Also see Pepper’s catalogue entry in The Age of Correggio and the Carracci, 507; Spear, 1997, 33-34. 174 . 262. 53 Dempsey, iii. 54 Pepper, 40-41. 55 Indeed, Seiter himself seems to have been such an informed viewer. 56 The title page of Lottini’s tract contains the ftandard phrase, “Con Licenzia dei SS. Superiori.” 57 The entire Book III (never written) of Paleotti’s Discorso was intended to center on nudity and lasciviousness; see Book Ill’s table of contents in Barocchi’s edition, 504-06. Ottonelli discussed “obscene” images at length; for example, see 290-308. 58 On Caravaggio’s painting, see esp. Cummings; Mina Gregori’s entry in The Age of Caravaggio, 250-55, cat. no. 73; Hibbard, 61-63, 288. On Cofta, see n. 69 below. 59 Baldacchini, 1980, 109, no. 345. It was published “con licenza de’ Superiori” (with approval of the ecclesiaftical authorities). The “very beautiful” illuftrations mentioned in the title are in fact very crude. Nos. 343 and 344 are the other versions. Chapbooks on tbe same theme not by Rossiglio are also lifted therein. 60 Rossiglio, 6-8. 61 Ibid., 12. 62 Ibid., 21. 63 On Martha’s role in the Magdalene’s conversion, see discussion in Mormando’s “Teaching the Eaithful to Fly” in this catalogue. 64 Cummings, 572-78. 65 Mosco, 155; also see Mormando’s n. 15 in his essay “Teaching the Faithful to Fly” 66 Rossiglio, 9. 67 Cummings, 578. 68 Cohen provides an overview. 69 On Cofta, see Spezzaferro, 1975b, and Spezzaferro, 1974. 70 Cofta’s later wdl of 1606, offering his friend Tritonio a choice of either the Hartford Edlasy of St. Francis or the Detroit Conversion of the Magdalene, may be attributable to a preference for Caravaggio’s later ftyle. Spezzaferro, who discussed the will at length, proposed this change in Cofta’s tafte. See Spezzaferro, 1974, 586; and 82 Spczzaferro, 1975b, 117 . 1 Icre I cannot cover this aspect of Cofta’s reception of the paintings. 71 The bibliography is extensive. See, for example, the remarks of Card van Mander (1604), and Vincenzo Giuiliniani (written ca. 1620), reproduced in Hibbard, 343-46; also that of Federico Borromeo in Musaeum Bibliothecae Ambrosianae (1625), as discussed by Jones, 1993, 82, Both Giuftiniani and Borromeo owned early works by Caravaggio. 72 On the Style of Caravaggio’s Conversion of the Magdalene, see n. 58 above. 73 Luini’s painting is Fig. 29 in Cummings; also see Gregori’s discussion in The Age of Caravaggio, 250; Mosco, 155-57. 74 Wazbinski 1994 documented no connection between Del Monte and CoSla. 75 On the mirror, see Cummings, 576-77. 76 Ibid., 577. Also see the discussion by Varriano in the present catalogue. 77 See Angelo Mazza’s entry in Guido Reni, 294-95, cat. no. 52. The painting is also mentioned in Spear, 1997, 164; and Pepper, 267, cat. no. 137. 78 For an overview of Italian paintings of the Magdalene ca. 1500-1700, see Mosco, passim. 79 Baronius, vol. I, year 35, chap. 5, 208; Male, 68-69, noted Baronius’s hiSlorical treatment. For a discussion of Baronius’s impact on the depiction of Early Christian martyrs, see the essay by Henneberg in the present catalogue. 80 Baldacchini, 1980, 44, no. 60. The 1621 version, published by Angelo Righettini in Venice, is an octavo with four folios. 81 La confessione, 4 verso. 82 Ibid., I verso. Some of the Italian in this passage is ungrammatical, making a translation difficult. I thank Franco Mormando for providing a translation. It is noteworthy that the chapbook’s title page does not indicate that it was published with approval of Church authorities. 83 Due to space conftraints the subject of the Magdalene’s tears, another subject of chapbooks, will be treated only in the context of informed viewing. 84 Zafran, 1-3. 85 Barberini patronage has been ftudied extensively. Haskell, 24-62, is the classic ffudy on painting. For recent bibliography, see detailed fhidies by Scott, Hammond, and Colantuono. 86 On Cardinal Antonio, see Merola; for his inventories, see Lavin, 291-336. Also see n. 85 above. 87 I thank Karin Wolfe for discussing with me her current research on Cardinal Antonio’s artiflic patronage. 88 See Mazza’s entry in Guido Reni, 279-81, cat. no. 47. The painting has been moved from the Palazzo Corsini to the Palazzo Barberini. 89 Mosco, 167, noted that Reni’s many Magdalenes, together with replicas and copies, created an “iconographic formula” of great popularity. 90 Dempsey, 106; Spear, 1997, 172-76 and Fig. 81. 91 Spear, 1997, in. 92 These complex issues, which muft be treated briefly here, are discussed in detail by Spear, 1997, 102-27, csp. 122. Spear (on 122) believes that these ideas were shared by all Roman Catholic viewers “without chronological, educational, or class refirictions.” I tend to agree for the Seicento, but not for our own era. 93 Although Reni’s Magdalenes tend to lack an erotic component, his depictions of Saint Sebastian seem more sexually provocative. See Spear, 1997 (esp. 51-76 and 178-80) on sexuality in Reni’s life and art. For an alternate reading of Reni’s painting, see Mormando’s “Teaching the Faithful to Fly.” 94 On the commission, ftyle, and iconography, see: Spear, 1982, 210-11, cat. no. 57; and esp. Tombari, who correctly identified the central male saint as Eligius, not Paterniano. 95 On the legend, see Grimaldi. 96 The shrine’s reliefs are discussed by Weil-Garris Brandt. 97 Baldacchini, 1980, 104, no. 327. The frontispiece to this chapbook has a crude woodcut illuftration of the Virgin and Child with two angels atop the Holy House. The chapbook is composed in ottava rime and is an octavo with four folios. 98 Gaetti, passim, esp. fols. i verso, 2 verso, 3 recto. 99 Tombari, 108-09. 100 See Spear, 1982, 13-15 and 201-13, cat. nos. 56-59, on the artift’s Fano period. The reasons that patrons in Fano may have favored this archaizing ftyle muff lie beyond the scope of my ftudy. 101 For an overview of the commission, iconography, and ftyle, see Hibbard, 184-91 and 317-19. Although moft books on Caravaggio treat the painting, it has not been ftudied in detail like Caravaggio’s Contarelli Chapel and Cerasi Chapel paintings, for example. 102 See n. loi above; on the church of S. Agoftino, see Montevecchi; Fratadocchi. 103 The icon is PI. 37 in Grimaldi. 104 Hibbard, 186, Fig. 121. 105 Friedlaender, 180. See numerous UluSlrations in Grimaldi for comparisons with the shrine’s architecture. 106 Hibbard, 187; Gregori, 108. 107 Fratadocchi, 8, 33. 108 In my discussion of the critics’ responses to Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto, I cite Hibbard’s translations of their texts for the convenience of non-specialifi readers. Hibbard, 351-56. 109 Baglione in Hibbard, 353. 83 no Ibid., 353-54. 111 Ibid., 190. 112 For example, see Hibbard, 190, and Gregori, 108. 113 Romani, 214. 114 See, for example, Annibale’s baker illustrated in Marabottini, no. 27. 1 15 On this confraternity, see Morelli, 132-34; Benedetti, 7-18. Two groups of bakers in Rome — those of the S. Maria di Loreto confrater- nity under discussion and also a confraternity of German bakers— in fact had old ties, established in their formative Stages, to the church of S. AgoStino. The Loreto confraternity, which was founded in connection with the Jubilee of 1500, actually met in the sacriSty of S. AgoStino prior to obtaining its official church, and the German confraternity had an altar at S. AgoStino before obtaining the church of S. Elisabetta in 1487. No reasons for the choice of S. AgoStino are given, but I believe that its location near the Ponte Sant’Angelo used by pilgrims may have been a contributing factor. See Benedetti, 11-12. 1 16 The confraternity even had a hospital near the church of S. Maria di Loreto, which was later razed in 1871. Morelli, 130-31. 117 Benedetti, 15-17. 118 See nn. loi and 102 above. 1 19 Caravaggio’s art received much critical attention in the Seicento. These three critics’ responses are moSt revealing in the contexts I have chosen to explore. Hibbard, 343-87, reproduced the moSf important art criticism of the Seicento and early Settecento both in the original and in English translation. 120 Scannelli in Hibbard, 356-60; Enggass and Brown, 39-448, for an overview of Scannelli’s life and art tract. 121 Scannelli in Hibbard, 357. 122 Ibid., 358-59. Scannelli’s reversal of the figures’ positions raises the possibility that he knew the composition through a print, perhaps that of the Dutchman Lucas Vorfferman. For Vorfterman’s engraving in reverse, see Moir, 16, 32, and fig. 84. 123 Bellori in Hibbard, 360-74; Enggass and Brown, 5-16. 124 Bellori in Hibbard, 372. Baglione had made the same assessment: see Baglione in Hibbard, 355. 125 Bellori in Hibbard, 366. 126 Ibid., 372. 127 There is considerable scholarship on the queftion. See Varriano’s essay in the present catalogue for references to some of it. 128 For a general overview, see Geremek. Askew, 1995, 259, n. 51, mentioned the problem in Rome of huge numbers of poor pilgrims. On 254, Askew ftated that many figures in Caravaggio’s paintings “are far from any socially identifiable elite. They are not, however, peasants, or paupers; they are simply, as Friedlaender has said, materially poor.’’ 129 Fiorani, 1979, 97-104. 130 Ibid., 54-61, on which my entire discussion of Bellarmino is based. 131 Scholarship on this topic is vaft. Particularly relevant here is Fiorani, 1984. 132 Fiorani, 1979, 45. 133 Ibid., 114 on the population of Rome; 44 on general changes in attitude and forms of assiftance;- 103, 112-13 categories of the undeserving poor. 134 As quoted in Fiorani, 1979, 99. 135 Scannelli in Hibbard, 359. 136 Bellori in Hibbard, 372. 137 Ibid. BIBLIOGRAPHY The Age of Caravaggio. Exhibition Catalogue. New York, 1985. qAlberTI, TiQMANO. Trattato della nobiltd della pittura. Rome, 1585. In Trattati d’Arte del Cinquecento. Ed. Paola Barocchi. Vol.III, 195-235. Bari, 1962. qAlBERTINI, f^RANCESCO. Trattato delTangelo cuftode. Rome, 1612. qArCICONFRATERNITA qAnGELI QuSTODI. Statuti della Venerabile Archkonfraternita dei SS. Angeli CuStodi di Roma. Rome, 1846. qAskew, Tamela. “The Angelic Consolation of St. Erancis of Assisi in Poft-Tridentine Italian Painting." Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 32 (i969):28o-3o6. . “Caravaggio: Outward Action, Inward Vision.” In Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio. La vita e le opere attraverso i documenti. Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Studi. Ed. Stefania Macioce, 248-59. Rome, 1995. ^Baglione, Qiovanni. Le vite de’ pittori, scultori et architetti dal Pontificato di Gregorio XIII del 2572 in fino a’ tempi di Papa Urbano Ottavo nel 1642. Rome, 1642. . “La vita di Michelagnolo da Caravaggio, pittore.” In Howard Hibbard. Caravaggio, 351-56. London, 1983. ‘'BaldaCCHINI, foRENZo. “Per una bibliografia delle ftampe popolari religiose." Accademie e Biblioteche ditalia 44 (i976):24-35. 84 . Bibliografia ddk Uampe popolari religiose del XVI-XVII Secolo. Biblioteche Vaticana, Alessandrinu, Eflense. Florence, 1980. '■BarbeRI, y^RANCESCO. Libri e Etampatori nella Roma dei papi. Rome, 1965. . 11 libro italiano del seicento. Rome, 1985. ^BarONIUS, ('aesar. Annales ecdesiaflici Vol. 1 . Rome, 1588; rpt. Paris, 1864. ^BellORI, Qiovanni '■Pietro. “Michelangelo da Caravaggio.” In I loward Hibbard, Caravaggio, 360-74. London, 1983. '■BenEDETTI, ^NDRO. S. Maria di Loreto. Rome, 1968. '■Bologna, J^erdinando. Francesco Solimena. Naples, 1958. Canons and Decrees of the Sacred Oecumenical Council of Trent Celebrated Under the Sovereign Pontiffs Paul III, Julius 111 , and Pius IV. Trans. James Waterworth. Chicago, n.d. (fuAPPELL, (iMiles f AND (f HANDLER 'W. ‘ 7 (/jRW'/N. “A Petrine Triumph: The Decoration of the Navi Piccole in San Pietro Under Clement V' 1 1 1 . ” Storia dell 'arte 21 ( 1 9 74) : 1 1 9 -7 o. Qohen, if MERRILL. The Evolution of 'Women's Asylums since 1^00. New York and Oxford, 1992. QolantuONO, oAnthont Guido Reni’s Abduction of Helen’: The Politics and Rhetoric of Painting in Seventeenth-Century Europe. Cambridge and New York, 1997. (f OMAN INI, Qregorio. II Figino, overo del fine della pittura. Mantua, 1591. In Trattati d'Arte del Cinquecento. Ed. Paola Barocchi. Vol. Ill, 237-379. Bari, 1962. Ea confessione di Santa Maria Maddalena. Treviso, 1621 . (fuMMINGS, fi'REDERiCK. “Detroit’s Conversion of the Magdalen (the Alzaga Caravaggio).” Burlington Magazine 116, no. 2 (i974):563-93. JDempSET, f.HARLES. “Guido Reni in the Eyes of His Contemporaries.” In Guido Reni i;y^-i642, 101-18. Exhibition Catalogue. Los Angeles, 1988. SnGGASS, 'dioBERT, AND Jonathan ‘Frown. Italy and Spain iboo-ipyo: Sources and Documents in the History of Art Series. Ed. H. W. Janson. Englewood Cliffs, 1970. J^ILIPCZAK, JfRKA JHIot Dry Men Cold Wet Women: The Theory of Humors in Weflem European Art ry/y-r/oo. Exhibition Catalogue. New York, 1997. f^IORANl, fyiGi. “Religione e poverta. II dibattito sul pauperismo a Roma tra cinque e seicento.” Ricerche per la Storia religiosa di Roma 3 (i 979 ): 43 -i 3 I- . “Eesperienza religiosa nelle confraternite romane tra cinque e seicento.” Ricerche per la Storia religiosa di Roma 3 (i984):i55-96. y^RATADOCCHI, <£Margherita rc/>^ Being Sold into Slavery by His Brothers (PI. 24), from the collection of Bob Jones University, is an image of greed and betrayal, thus, in content, not altogether unlike Caravaggio’s The Taking of ChriH: (PI. 30). Sin, in such images, is shown as an offense not solely againft God, but moft especially againft one’s fellow human beings. Judas and Mary Magdalene are but two examples of sinners found in the New Teftament. Peter, like Mary Magdalene, was both sinner and saint. Peter denied his relationship with Chrift; to some degree then, Peter was like Judas. Yet Peter did not hand over Chrift to be killed; 89 moft important, Peter shed tears of repentance for his betrayal. As among other male sinners, Peter’s sin was not portrayed in the biblical narrative, or in early modern images, as luft. Lies and betrayal, yes, but not luft. Were female sinners always imagined as guilty of luft, whether or not they repented? Potiphar’s wife did not; Mary Magdalene did.^^ In chapters four and five of the Acts of the Apoftles, Peter helps to organize a Chriftian community in which all goods and income are shared. A married couple, Ananias and Sapphira, conceals a portion of their wealth and shares only part of their goods with the community. When Peter queftions Ana- nias about his greedy lies, Ananias falls dead. Later Peter queftions Sapphira and she offers the same lies as her hus- band. Sapphira “immediately” dies on the spot and is buried beside her husband; “and great fear came upon the whole church, and upon all who heard of these things” (Acts 5:11). In Criftofano Roncalli’s The Death of Ananias and Sapphira (PI. 12), we see an example of an early modern image of a female sinner not associated with luft. Nothing in the biblical ftory, and nothing in Roncalli’s painting, suggests sexual sin. Yet if Roncalli’s work provides no sup- port to Camporesi’s identification of luft as one of two chief sins in seventeenth-century Italian consciousness, it may help confirm his identification of greed as the other chief sin, and it may offer evidence for his emphasis on fear. Fear of death, especially sudden death, was a major com- ponent of late medieval piety, at leaft since the time of the Black Death in the mid-fourteenth century.^^ Bellarmino’s treatise The Art of Dying Well was heir to at leaft two cen- turies of writing on this subject .^3 Sudden death, without time to repent of one’s sins, was seen as moft dangerous. If Camporesi is correct, fear of death, and especially fear of punishment after death, grew ever Wronger in the early modern period. Bellarmino consiftently treats avarice as the chief sin; he asserts that among those who have gone down to hell, “punishment has opened the eyes of the mind” that in the world had been closed by sin. Those in hell now realize that for seeking riches, honors, pleasures, they have loft the “moft eminent and everlafting” goods . ^4 Bellarmino supposes that memory of life in this world will torment the damned: And what shall I say of the incredible neediness of the damned? Needy with respect to everything good, they who inhabit hell will be rich only in their abundant punishment. In hell rich men will remember the abundant delights of their life on earth, whether in food or drink or in expensive clothes, or in hunting or fowling, in gardens and vineyards, in theaters and various games. But this memory will only increase their pain as they see themselves in hell lying naked, despised, wretchedly Gripped of their goods and fortunes.^5 Alluding to execution by fire, Bellarmino adds that wit- nesses can scarcely bear the sight of such punishment, though it is quickly finished. Yet, in hell, such horrible burn- ing will laft for eternity; one should thus ask oneself, “with what folly” do I expose myself to such a great danger?^^ Viewers of Roncalli’s painting of Ananias and Sapphira, if familiar with the biblical ftory, could well have been moved to fear of death and punishment. Of paintings in this Saints and Sinners exhibition, I would argue that this one, more than any, points to the kind of fear posited by Camporesi. Beholders of Roncalli’s painting who were in- formed by the perspective of Bellarmino’s Art of Dying Well would have seen Ananias and Sapphira as frighten- ingly negative examples of how not to live, examples of unrepentant, avaricious sinners. But Ananias and Sapphira were by no means the only sinners whose images informed the religious culture of seventeenth-century Italy. Women guilty of luft may well have been frequently depicted, Mary Magdalene chief among them. Yet her images promoted the hope of transformation from sinner to saint, not despair and fear of damnation. Another biblical figure associated with the sin of luft is the woman caught in adultery (John 7:53-8:11). In this text, Jesus is in the Temple, teaching, when the scribes and Pharisees queftion him about a woman they have apprehended in the act of adultery. Referring to Leviticus 20:10 and Deuteronomy 22:23-24, the scribes and Pharisees assert that the law of Moses commands that such women be ftoned, and they ask Jesus what he has to say about this. Jesus responds not by focusing on the woman’s sin, or on the evil of sexual sin, but by high- lighting the hypocrisy of the self-righteous: “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the firft to throw a ftone at her.” When all have walked off, leaving Jesus alone with the woman, he sends her on her way, albeit telling her to sin no more. In Caravaggio’s The Taking of Chrill (PI. 30), Jesus is an image of humble submission, of submission to those seeking to kill him. His eyes are caft down, his hands are folded; he offers no resiftance or defense. Both Pietro da Cortona and Orazio de Ferrari depict the woman caught in adultery in this manner. In Chrill and the Woman Taken in 90 Adultery (PI. 26), Pietro da Cortona portrays the woman with hands bound and eyes caft downward, while Jesus en- gages in debate with one of the scribes or Pharisees, who holds a book, presumably representing the law of Moses. The painting shows the letter of the law confronted with the reality of human frailty; even as the keeper of the law grasps his book tightly, Jesus points not toward it, but toward the woman. In the McMullen Museum’s Chridt and the Woman Taken in Adultery (PI. 27), by Orazio de Ferrari, the woman’s eyes are caft down and her hands crossed, while Jesus debates with the scribes and Pharisees. Did devotional literature authorize the self-righteous- ness of the pious, or did such literature warn againft it, as Jesus had? Scupoli, who assumes that Chriftians are fre- quently tempted to sin, warns against judgment of others. Inclinations to judge our neighbor muft be resifted by recalling our own sinfulness; even if another clearly has done wrong, one should excuse that person with “pious affection” and believe that that person has hidden virtues. One ought to believe that whatever good one feels toward one’s neighbor is the effect of the Holy Spirit; whatever contempt, precipitous judgment and bitterness one feels againft one’s neighbor comes from one’s own malice and from diabolical suggeftions.^7 Scupoli says, “when you are difturbed or offended by others, do not turn your atten- tion to them but rather consider different things. It is likely that some who read Scupoli also viewed paintings by Pietro da Cortona and Orazio de Ferrari. The point of view of Scupoli’s Spiritual Combat is that one’s own wrongdoing, not the sins of others, should be a Chriftian’s concern; the ftory of the woman caught in adultery, as represented by these two artifts, would have reinforced, in a powerful way, the Theatine’s treatise. The pride of the self-righteous may be more sinful than luft. Evidence for corroboration of Camporesi’s thesis on the centrality of luft in seventeenth-century Italian con- sciousness of sin appears mixed. Even when it is a focus of intereft, as in many images of Mary Magdalene, luft is often forgiven; the sin of the woman caught in adultery is depicted as surely no worse than the self-righteousness of the woman’s accusers. In his book, Christianity in the WeSl 1400-iyoo, John Bossy ftates: Altogether the signs of disturbance on the sexual front do not seem to amount to a case that by 1700 ChriSfians of any denomination were generally being taught or believed that sexual gratification occupied the centre of the universe of sin. They may have come nearer to this in the eighteenth cen- tury when, in Catholicism at leaSf, a revival of naturalistic ethics began to make mountains of things like maSfurbation and contraception. ^9 Many of Bossy’s theses are open to serious challenge, perhaps especially his contention that by the sixteenth century the Ten Commandments had largely replaced the Seven Deadly Sins in the Chriftian moral conscience. 3 ° Yet, Bossy may well be correct on the marginality of concern with sexual sin, at leaft through the end of the seventeenth century. (Jall to Qhange Roberto Bellarmino deemed avarice to be at the heart of sin, and Judas, the worft of sinners. Yet, his Art of Dying Well is not entirely pessimiftic, even with its graphic warnings on hellfire. Hell, in Bellarmino’s view, is for only those who fail to change their lives, for those that refuse conversion, for those who resift transformation by grace, for those who ftubbornly refuse to change their avarice into charity. 3 ^ Bellarmino’s readers would have been well prepared to interpret paintings such as Bernardo Strozzi’s The Calling of Saint Matthew (PI. 13), from the Worcefter Art Museum. Painted about i620,3^ this canvas was exactly contempo- rary with the publication oiTheArtofDyingWell. Referring to Matthew 9:9, a gospel verse in which Jesus invites a tax collector named Matthew to follow him, Strozzi’s painting features a table covered with money. As Matthew looks at Jesus, who is pointing at him, one of his own hands points to the money on the table. As Matthew hesitates between following Jesus or pursuing wealth, other men around the table seem poised to profit should Matthew depart. Readers oi The Art of Dying Well could easily have seen in the choice Matthew faced the same choice Bellar- mino placed before them. We know that Strozzi’s The Calling of Saint Matthew was influenced by Caravaggio’s painting of the same sub- ject, painted ca. 1599, in the Contarelli chapel of San Luigi dei Erancesi in Rome (fig. 6). Strozzi, who worked in Genoa and later Venice, may have seen the painting in Rome, or may simply have known of it through copies or accounts of other artifts. 33 Bert Treffers, in an article on Caravaggio’s The Calling of Saint Matthew, discusses at length the central importance of the gospel of Matthew, especially its account of the calling of Matthew, for Erancis of Assisi and the Eranciscan order.34 In Caravaggio’s depiction of a discalced (barefoot) Jesus, Treffers sees a reflection of Eranciscan debates on poverty, and especially 91 fig- 6 CALLING OF ST. MATTHEW, I599-160O (Caravaggio Contarclli Chapel, San Luigi dei Francesi, Rome (Photo: Alinari-Art Resource, NY) 92 the viewpoint of those who insisted on a literal poverty.35 Yet Caravaggio was no Franciscan, auftere or other- wise;3^ vStrozzi was a Franciscan friar, indeed a Capuchin. Founded in sixteenth-century Italy, the Capuchins were one branch of the Order of Friars Minor who insifted on actual or literal poverty.37 By the early seventeenth cen- tury, they were very ftrong in numbers and influence, and had spread to much of the Catholic world. In January 1619, with the huW Alias felicis recordationis. Pope Paul V recognized this and granted the Capuchins full autonomy from other branches of the Franciscan order; the seven- teenth century would prove to be the “golden age” of the Capuchins. 3^ Their conftitutions devoted a paragraph to the matter of feet: In accordance with the example of Chrift it is ordained that the young Friars, and those who can, shall go barefoot, as a sign of humility, teflimony of poverty, mortification of sensu- ality, and as a good example to our neighbor. And those who cannot do this may, in conformity with evangelical teaching and the example of our primitive Fathers, wear sandals with the permission of the Prelate; but they shall be simple, plain and poor, without any ornamentation. 39 These conftitutions also named poverty “the queen and mother of all the virtues, ”4° and specified many other ways in which the friars should live as poor men. These ways included the wearing of beards “after the example of Chrift moft holy, and of all our firft Saints, since it is some- thing manly, natural, severe, despised and auftere.”4^ Though Caravaggio’s Calling of Saint Matthew depicts a barefoot Chrift, Strozzi’s does not. Strozzi’s version includes no feet at all; Chrift appears almoft beardless. Did the friar-painter exclude, for some reason, Franciscan themes that Caravaggio had included? Though Strozzi lived much of his life apart from the houses of his order, I do not necessarily see this as the explanation. Further comparison of these Caravaggio and Strozzi paintings shows the relative prominence of the money-covered table in Strozzi’s version. Caravaggio’s version uses a wider-angle lens, as it were, showing full-length figures. This and the other Caravaggio paintings in the Contarelli chapel, Irving Lavin has described as “cinematographic” images that enable their viewers to “behold and recognize the myfterious power of faith to illuminate and transform those able to see. ”4^ I suggeft that Strozzi offers a close- up shot of half-length figures around the tax collectors’ money-covered table. The wealth Matthew is obliged to leave behind, in order to follow the Jesus who calls him, is the principal focus of Strozzi’s painting and would certainly have been compatible with a Franciscan inter- pretation of Matthew 9:9. Etymologically, “conversion” means a turning; Strozzi’s Matthew hesitatingly begins to turn away from his money and toward Jesus. Wealth as an impediment to the following of Chrift was by no means an exclusively Franciscan theme. Bellarmino’sylr? of Dying Well shows how a Jesuit might emphasize the dangers that wealth could hold. But Bellarmino makes some careful diftinctions: “the goods of this world, wealth, honors, and pleasures, are not completely forbidden to Chriftians;” it is “immoderate love” of worldly things that is forbidden. 43 “Necessary” riches may be retained, but retention of “superfluous” riches is sinful; individual cases and circumftances differ, for “moderate wealth is possibly superfluous for one per- son, while for another a vaft amount of riches seems clearly necessary.” Each one muft carefully examine, with the help of reading and meditation, “or with the help of truly learned and pious men,” what muft be given to the poor and what may be retained. 44 Juftice demands that one give each person his due: to the prince one owes trib- ute; to parents, honor; to makers, fear; to sellers, a juft price; to workers, a juft wage; to the poor, wealth beyond our needs. Such wealth “is not ours, but belongs to the poor.” As for those who act unjuftly toward the poor and hold onto their superfluous wealth, Bellarmino asks, “Are they not fools who so carefully protect precisely what will damn them to hell?”45 In his Art of Dying W^// Bellarmino calls his readers to examine their lives and to consider how they might change. Many in early modern Italy could not read;4^ but if printed texts were beyond the capacity of the aver- age person, oral discourses were not. Camporesi is surely juftified in examining sermons (or homilies) preached in the Seicento. The Capuchins, along with the Jesuits, Theatines, and other members of the newer religious orders, devoted much attention to the pulpit. In the late Middle Ages, moft pulpit oratory in Italy had been delivered by Franciscans and other friars;47 by the seven- teenth century they were joined by the new orders and, increasingly, by bishops and parish priefts.4^ At the Council of Trent, reform of preaching was a major issue. The Council defined preaching as the principal duty of bishops (praecipuum episcoporium munus), and de- clared that all bishops must personally, unless lawfully 93 hindered, preach the gospel of Christ. If a bishop is so hindered, he is obliged to appoint competent persons to beneficially discharge the office of preaching. 49 When bishops administer the sacraments, they are to explain, in a manner adapted to the ability of those who receive them, their efficacy and use; on all feasts and solemnities, bishops shall preach, in the vernacular, sacred words and maxims of salvation. 5° Biblical models of preachers and preaching were readily available, especially Saint Paul and Saint John the Baptist. If the former was an example of preaching Chriftian doctrine to pagans, the latter was an example of preaching repentance for sin. In the gospel of Mark, John the Bapti^, clothed in camel’s hair and subsiding on a diet of locufts and wild honey, proclaims a “baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins,” and announces the coming of one greater, one who will baptize not only with water but with the Holy Spirit (Mark 1:4-9). In the gospels of Matthew and Luke, John does likewise, and urges his audience to bear fruit worthy of repentance (Matthew 3:7; Luke 3:8); the Lucan John the Baptift ex- horts anyone who has two coats to share with those who have none and whoever has food to do likewise (Luke 3:11). In John’s gospel, upon seeingjesus, John the Baptift de- clares, “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:29); the one who would take away sin was the light shining in the darkness, the light coming into the world (John 1:5-9); John was not the light, “but came to testify to the light” (John 1:8). After Trent, images of John the Baptift preaching could have reminded bishops and other clergy of their duty to preach. Such images could also have helped view- ers, clerical, lay, religious, to recall the content ofjohn’s preaching. An image such as Mattia Preti’s St. John the Baptist Preaching (fig. 7), ca. 1665, could have reinforced exhortations on the vice of avarice and the virtue of generosity and on Chrift as the remedy for sin. A scantily clad John dominates the scene; he points heavenward with one hand while grasping a ftaff in the other. From the ftaff hangs a banner with the words Ecce Agnus Dei (Behold the Lamb of God); the ^taff links the light from heaven above with a lamb below, a lamb among the people likening to John. In Preti’s painting, men and women give John’s preaching a very attentive reception. In this essay I concentrate on ways in which certain paintings could have been received or viewed in early mod- ern Italy. Some of these paintings also have “reception” as their theme. A painting such as Preti’s St. John the Baptist Preaching could have encouraged preachers, Poft- Tridentine bishops. Capuchins, Jesuits, and others, to expect a favorable reception to their discourses. Preti’s canvas highlights the preacher, in this case John the Baptist, and shows him to be dramatic, theatrical, and very effective. His audience is neither bored nor diftracted; no one’s attention turns elsewhere; all turn toward the preacher and concentrate on him alone. His message does not go unreceived. Viewers of this image who attended sermons could have seen it as an example of how preaching should be heard, of how one ought to behave at such events. Peter Bayley, a specialift in early modern oratory, states that the term ‘Baroque’ applies to “those aspects of seventeenth-century culture which express dynamism, exuberance, theatricality.”^'' According to these criteria, Preti’s painting of John the Baptift is a perfect example of Baroque culture, of a Baroque image. Salvator Rosa (1615-73) was a contemporary of Preti (1613-99). His St. John the Baptist Preaching (PI. 15)^^ is very different; John does not dominate the scene. His gestures, like those of Martha in Caravaggio’s The Conversion of Mary Magdalene (PI. 4), are those of a rhetorician carefully making points. 53 The preaching of Rosa’s John the Baptift appears more reflective, more measured, than that of Preti’s John. Even greater is the contract between the two audiences. In Preti’s version, the audience gathers closely around the preacher, yearning to hear every word; in Rosa’s, the audience is loosely scattered over a rocky hillside. Preti’s John preaches to a ftanding-room-only crowd; Rosa’s preaches to people who may not even be there to hear him. Some seem to enjoy, above all, a day in the country. Rosa was well known for his landscapes, and the background in this painting is of that genre. In Preti’s painting there is no land or landscape at all, only heaven and living creatures below. Several members of Rosa’s audience pay close attention to the preacher, but many do not. There is a much wider diversity of reception than in Preti’s image. In Rosa’s image, the diversity of audience includes varied ages, young children to old women and men, while Preti’s audience is uniformly adult— and is landing. Rosa, inftead, assumes a range of poftures: landing, sitting, and turning in all directions; some pay more attention to each other than to John the Baptift. Preachers who found their audiences less than en- tirely attentive could well have identified with what Rosa depicted. This may have been reassuring; if even John the 94 fig- 7 ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST PREACHING ca. 1665 tiMdttia 'Preti called il QavaliereQalabrese (Photo: Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, Museum Purchase, Roscoe and Margaret Oakes Income Fund and Kathryn Bache Miller Fund, 1981.32) 95 Baptift had trouble keeping his audience’s attention, what else might other preachers expect? Those who attended sermons in seventeenth-century Italy could well have found Rosa’s depiction of an audience far more accessible, far closer to what they experienced, than Preti’s. Diversity of reception/response to the preaching of Christian teaching would not have surprised those famil- iar with Trent. In its decree on the juftification of the sinner, Trent responded to Proteftant emphasis on grace alone as the means to salvation. The Council insifted on the necessity of divine grace and human effort, grace and response to grace. In Nicolas Regnier’s St. Matthew and the Angel (PI. 14), the tax collector-turned-evangelift works alongside an angel to compose the gospel. Viewers famil- iar with Trent’s perspective on grace and works could have seen a beautiful example of human cooperation with di- vine grace. Compared to the younger, hesitant Matthew in Strozzi’s version of The Calling of St. Matthew, this older Matthew appears eager and fully willing to collaborate with grace. Trent ftates that original sin weakened, but did not extinguish, free will. 54 Through grace sinners are helped to “convert themselves to their own justification by free- ly assenting to and cooperating with that grace;”55 “justification” is not only a remission of sins but also “the sanctification and renewal of the inner man through the voluntary reception of the grace and gifts whereby an unjuSt man becomes juSt; these gifts are not faith alone, but faith, hope, and charity.”5^ According to Trent, coop- eration with grace leads to salvation; such cooperation means faith and good works. 57 Free assent, voluntary reception: Trent’s perspective is one in which some would favorably receive ChriSIian teaching, while others would reject it. In declaring preach- ing the chief duty of bishops, Trent States that bishops and prieSts, and all who are responsible for the care of souls Cura animarum), muSt teach the people what they should know to be saved, and impress upon them “with briefness and plainness of speech the vices that they muSt avoid and the virtues that they muSt cultivate, in order that they may escape eternal punishment and obtain the glory of heaven. ”5^ Some would freely choose to hear such teaching and to put it into practice, while others, according to the Council, would freely choose to turn away with deaf ears. Rosa’s painting shows juft such a diversity of responses. However, nothing in this painting highlights any consequences of such responses; fear of hell and/or hope of heaven were probably not elicited in many viewers of this image. Perseverance in J^aith and Works Trent posits that juftification and sanctification are not, in the normal course of things, momentary, sudden events; they are processes that can move forward, or that can be reversed. Transformation might mean growth in sanctity, but backsliding is always possible; vain confidence is to be avoided. 59 In Trent’s perspective, it is with the help of grace, and by persevering in cooperation with grace, that one may grow in faith, hope, charity; placing one’s hope in God, one should also “fear for the combat that remains with the flesh, with the world and with the devil.” Such “combat” includes almsgiving, prayer, fafting, chaftity.^^ This concept of ongoing “combat” carried out with the help of grace is also the main theme of Scupoli’s beftseller. Spiritual Combat. The “Counter Reformation” has often been labelled “militant” and described as greatly emphasizing military imagery and analogies, as well as deeds. Frequent use of the language of “combat” could be considered to bolfter that thesis; however, careful attention to visual and textual sources may show the need to temper such interpretations. Roberto Bellarmino, in his Art of Dying Well, clarifies the meaning and purpose of “soldier” of Chrift: he is made for suffering and for bearing injuries, not for inflicting them; in the “army of Chrift” one “fights not againft men whom we see, but againft demons we do not see.” Chrift’s soldiers suffer injuftices more willingly than they commit injuftice; they do not think of revenge when they have suffered injuftice, but readily and willingly forgive injuftice. Informed by such a text, viewers of Caravaggio’s The Taking of Chri§l (PI. 30), or of Daniel Seiter’s St. Sebastian Healed by St. Irene (PI. 18), could have seen examples to emulate. Though a Roman soldier come to arreft Chrift dominates Caravaggio’s canvas, Chrift himself responds to suffering and injuftice much as Bellarmino advises the “soldier of Chrift” to do. Thus, from Bellarmino’s perspec- tive, The Taking of Chrill could be seen to present its viewers with a choice to make between two dramatically different models of a soldier. According to legend, Sebaftian was a Roman soldier shot with arrows as punishment for his con- version to Chriftianity. From Bellarmino’s vantage point, Seiter’s painting could be seen as showing a Sebaftian will- ingly accepting unjuft suffering, as showing a man who 96 had been transformed from a pagan soldier into a soldier of Chri^f. From Trent’s viewpoint, Sebaftian was an exam- ple of one who grew and persevered in his fidelity to Chrift. Forgiveness of the baptized who nevertheless sinned, of those who failed to persevere in faith, hope, or charity in some way, was a major topic at the Council of Trent. Trent affirms the sacrament of penance as a second “plank” after the shipwreck of sin, the firft “plank” being baptism. ^3 Trent insifts that baptism is necessary for salvation, and that like the sacraments of confirmation and orders, it imprints an “indelible mark” on the soul; yet the Council also insifts that the baptized may lose the grace of baptism through sin. ^4 If seen in Trent’s perspec- tive, images such as Guercino’s painting St.John the Baptist in the Wilderness (PI. i6) could be vivid reminders of the significance of baptism. In this painting, on bended knee, John holds out a small cup under a ftream of water: he is ready to baptize sinners. If water brought death in the “shipwreck” that was sin, in the wilderness or desert it brought new life. Responding to Proteftant attacks on the sacrament of penance, and seeking to encourage Catholics to receive the sacrament, Trent declares that “the benefit of Chrift’s death” was applied in this sacrament to those who had “fallen” after baptism. ^3 Diftinguishing four parts of the sacrament— contrition or sorrow for sin, confession of sins, absolution by a prieft, works of “satisfaction” for sin — the Council insifts that the sacrament of penance signifies and produces reconciliation with God. Contra- dicting depictions of penance as promoting “terrors that agitate the conscience,” Trent asserts that persons who receive the sacrament “with devotion” find “peace and serenity of conscience with an exceedingly great consola- tion of spirit. If Camporesi is correct, terror, not consolation, domi- nated the discourses of Italian preachers after Trent.^7 Yet other evidence may complicate his rather monochro- matic picture of early modern Catholicism. As Franco Mormando points out in his essay on Peter and Mary Magdalene, images of these repentant saints were abun- dant and at leaft some of their images were seen as allusions to the sacrament of penance, contrition in particular. However, no single biblical text or person authorized or exemplified all four parts of the sacrament as delineated by Trent. Perhaps the parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-24) comes the closeft to a biblical warrant for the sacrament; it was frequently explained in preaching. discussed in devotional literature, depicted in art. In the parable, a young man travels to a diftant country and waftes his father’s inheritance in “dissolute” living; he regrets this, decides to return to his father and to admit his sin, and to accept hard work as a servant; as he approach-es home, his father sees him, is filled with compassion, runs to meet him, embraces him, and orders fine clothes and a feaft for his son who was “loft” but is found. In a Tridentine per- spective on the sacrament of penance, it could be said that the parable’s sinner is “contrite,” and determines to “con- fess” his sin and to make “satisfaction” for it; the father offers an “absolution” that is moft consoling indeed. Scupoli points to this parable in urging his readers to receive the sacrament of penance as a part of their “com- bat” againft sin. Citing Luke 15:18-19, Scupoli exhorts sinners to repent and say to God with all their hearts, “Father, I have sinned againft heaven and before You; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me as one of your hired servants.”^^ In a chapter on some rea- sons why the sinner ought not to delay “conversion” to God, Scupoli alludes to the parable and includes a con- soling section on the Father’s heart of mercy: God does not simply wait for the sinner, “He runs to meet him. He embraces him, kisses him, and clothes him in His grace, and His other blessings. Guercino’s The Return of the Prodigal Son (fig. 8), ca. 1665,7° shows the prodigal’s father embracing his nearly naked son while the son wipes away tears. The father wraps his own cloak around his son in a gefture of protection. 7 ^ The text of this parable in the gospel of Luke does not mention grace, at leaft not in so many words; but viewers of Guercino’s painting who were familiar with Scupoli’s work could have seen a vivid image of grace at work; view- ers familiar with Trent could have seen in the embrace of father and son an example of cooperation with grace. In an image such as Simone Cantarini’s The Penitent Peter (PI. 10), the tears depicted would have been seen as signs of contrition. Such tears attracted much attention from spiritual writers such as Bellarmino. In The Art of Dying Well, he speaks of tears of sorrow changed into tears of joy: A heart truly contrite and humble really arouses the mercy of God our Father in a marvelous way. For the sweetness and goodness of the Father cannot refrain from going forth to the prodigal but truly repentant son, and embracing and kissing him. Ffe will give him the ring of peace, wipe away the tears of sorrow, and fill him with tears of joy sweeter than all honey.7^ 97 fig-^ RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON ca. 1665 Quercino The Putnam Foundation Timken Museum of Art, San Diego 98 I In the gefture of the father’s clothing his naked son, viewers could also have seen an example of a “good work,” specifically the clothing of the naked. In the Gospels, mo^f especially in Matthew 25: 31-46, Jesus declares among the “blessed” those who clothed the naked, fed the hungry, cared for the sick, visited those in prison, welcomed Grangers. As discussed above, Trent rejects the Prote^Iant doctrine of juftification by faith alone, or grace alone, and insifts on faith and good works. Viewed in the light of Trent, the father of the prodigal son could have been seen as an example of one of the blessed of Matthew 25. In Daniel Seiter’s painting of St. Sebaflian Healed by St. Irene (PI. 18), ca 1682, Irene could have been seen in a similar way.73 By the late seventeenth century, new mod- els of religious life for women had developed, models that included women not only as cloiftered, contemplative nuns, but as active agents of charitable work among the poor, the sick, and the needy.74 While Giovanni Baglione’s image of Sebaftian cared for by an angel (PI. 2) could have been seen by many as an image of God’s care for injured, fragile humanity, that is, an image of grace, Seiter’s Irene could have functioned as an image of the good works necessary for salvation and of the new oppor- tunities increasingly available to women. 75 If devout persons on earth— those on a path to sanctity— cared for the sick in Poft-Tridentine Italy, so too did the saints in heaven. A saint’s “good works” were not considered to come to an end with death; indeed they likely became more abundant and more effective. Pamela Jones, in her essay in this catalogue on the power of images, points to Francesco Solimena’s The Miracle of Saint John of God (PI. 3) as an example of belief in mirac- ulous healing through the saints and their images. Yet such belief or hope was often disappointed. In early modern Europe, few who were seriously ill recovered, no matter what recourse or remedies were tried. The “good work” of caring for the sick rarely led to the patient’s recovery of physical health. Weeping over a dead body could not have been a rare experience. 7^ II Cavaliere d’Arpino’s The Entombment (PI. 22)77 is an image of griev- ing men and women; it could have been seen in Seicento Italy as a reflection of contemporary, daily life, and as a reminder of the death of Chrift. Bellarmino’s Art of Dying Well assumes that sudden death is a conftant danger; therefore, one muft live well (devoutly) to die well. Bellarmino warns his readers to go to confession before it is too late; “while we are in good health, we should unburden our conscience and do true penance, as if that confession would be our laft.”7^ At the hour of death one should beware of temptation by the devil; such temptation may lead one away from faith, hope, and charity, and to heresy, despair, and hatred for God. 79 Bellarmino cautions his readers that there will be more persons damned than saved;^® but he also points to abundant help available at the hour of death, includ- ing the eucharift, extreme unction, and one’s guardian angel. The eucharift “is offered to us on our pilgrimage as food so that we do not faint on the path to the father- land, especially at that time when, tired by a long journey, our forces are apt to wane.”^^ Offering reassurance to his readers, Bellarmino ftates that angels, martyrs “who have gone before,” apoftles, the “queen of heaven,” and Chrift himself, “often assift good men and women as they leave this life.”^3 Viewers of Francesco Bassano’s The Agony in the Garden (PI. 9) could have identified in Chrift in the garden of Gethsemane an example of one tempted, at the hour of death, or at any other hour. They could also have seen in Bassano’s sleeping disciples a negative example, an example of no resiftance to temptation. This painting contrafts very ftrongly Chrift in ardent prayer and his disciples in deep slumber.^4 Bellarmino, however, devotes little attention to Chrift as an example of how to resift temptation; Scupoli gives this theme far more attention. The Theatine advises that, when one is “drawn to choices through bad habits” and a “corrupt” will, one should pray, “No, no. I wish to do the will of God, always with his help. My God, help me quickly, so that this desire that I now have, through your grace, al- ways to follow your will, may not later be choked by my old, corrupt will.” If in resifting the corrupt will one feel great anguish, one should “proceed mentally to Chrift in the garden of Gethsemane,” and “beg Him that in virtue of His anguish He may give . . . the victory” over one’s own. ^5 For Scupoli, the crucified Chrift is an example of obedience, of patience in the midft of insults, blasphemy, and of torture; Chrift is an example of charity One should place the crucified Chrift before the “eyes” of the mind; he is the “true portrait” of every virtue, the “book of life” that inftructs the intellect with words and “inflames” the will with living example. 99 Scupoli thus links, even equates, book and portrait, text and image, reading and seeing. His readers he urges to look upon Chrift in their “combat” againft temptations; his readers — and they have been very many indeed — are exhorted to “read” images as helps in turning from sin to sanctity. oA (^AINT WITHOUT ^IN? Scupoli also links hearing to reading and seeing, but puts the greateft emphasis on images: When you read, it may seem that you see the Lord beneath the words and receive them as if they were coming from his divine mouth. Gazing at the holy cross, remember that there lies the standard of His army .... When you see a beautiful image of the Virgin Mary, direct your heart to her, she who reigns in paradise, thanking her who always was prepared for the will of your God. She gave birth to, suckled and nourished the Redeemer of the world, and in our spiritual conflicts, she never fails us with her favor and assistance. The images of the saints represent to you great champions who, having run their race valorously, have opened the path to us. By following in like manner, you will be crowned with perpetual glory along with them. ^7 Scupoli’s singling out of the Virgin Mary may reflect her special place among the saints. In Italy and elsewhere in the Catholic world, the century or so after Trent saw renewed zeal in Marian devotion, in part as a response to Proteftant denigration of her cult, in part simply as a focus of Catholic piety, both popular and elite. Though theologians agreed that Mary was a saint who had never committed any “actual” sins (quite unlike saints such as Mary Magdalene or Peter), there was a difference of opin- ion as to whether or not she had ever been “tainted” by original sin. Was she immaculately conceived, that is, free of original sin from the firft moment of her existence in her mother’s womb? The Franciscans generally pro- moted a doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, while the Dominicans, following Thomas Aquinas, generally denied it.^^ While Trent, in its decree on original sin, was careful to ftate that it did not intend to include the Virgin Mary in this decree, the Council also did not teach that she was or was not immaculately conceived. ^9 Susan Haskins points out that Mary Magdalene, imag- ined as a sinner who became a saint, was a much more accessible role model than the Virgin Mary in her sin- lessness. 9° Yet, as Scupoli’s words imply, Mary could and did function not only as a kind of unique saint, but also as a saint like others who could (should) be imitated. Tanzio da Varallo’s Adoration of the Shepherds with Saints Francis and Carlo Borromeo (fig. 9), ca. 1628-30, shows Mary in prayer before Jesus. Imitating her in kneeling before the infant Jesus are two Italian, male saints, Francis of Assisi and Carlo Borromeo (1538-84), the cardinal archbishop of Milan who had been canonized as a saint in 1610. 9^ Nothing in this painting suggests a Mary above or apart from other saints, or above or apart from ordinary hu- man experience. If one of the three saints is depicted as having a kind of special or privileged relationship with Jesus, it is Francis, not the Virgin Mary. In this image, only Francis touches Jesus, and with a hand clearly displaying the wound of the crucified Chrift (the ftigmata). Less tender, more militant images of the Virgin Mary also abounded in Poft-Tridentine Italy. As Peter Burschel has pointed out recently, Mary underwent a progressive militarization. She was seen as a generalissima sacrale who had triumphed over the Turks at the battle of Lepanto in 1571, and over the Proteftants at White Moun- tain in 1620. She increasingly became a political saint, a patron of Catholic principalities, dynasties, provinces, and ftates.92 Mary was also imagined as triumphant in her Ass- umption into heaven, body and soul. Though not as controversial as the Immaculate Conception, the Ass- umption of Mary, like her Immaculate Conception, did not gain the ftatus of defined doctrine until long after the seventeenth century.93 Yet by no means did religious paintings merely illuftrate eftablished doctrines. Point- ing to Marian doctrines, Jaroslav Pelikan observes that “Chriftian art often anticipated the development of dog- ma, which eventually caught up with the iconography.”94 In their fascinating work Heaven and the Flesh, Clive Hart and Kay Stevenson devote an entire chapter to the Ass- umption and its “transformations” in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. There was an increasing emphasis on the bodily Assumption of Mary; metaphors “about shed- ding the flesh as one sheds garments continued to have currency, but the popular imagination was increasingly invited to think that perhaps you can, after all, take it with you. ”95 Bellarmino urges his audience to consider not only hell but also heaven, as death approaches. He describes the “heavenly paradise” high above the earth; in the “pure air” of heaven, there is “neither darkness nor fogs nor 100 fig- 9 ADORATION OF THE SHEPHERDS WITH SAINTS FRANCIS AND CARLO BORROMEO, C 3 . 1628-3O Tanzio da ‘Varallo Los Angeles County Museum lOI mifts nor blafts of wind nor any peftilence.” The “power of the blessed” will be “almoft beyond what we can imag- ine.” The saints “will be called and will really be kings of the whole world.” For the juft who love God, “God has truly prepared in the heavenly fatherland joy, happiness, pleasure, delight, sweetness, and contentment, such as no mortal has ever tafted or has been able to attain in thought.”96 Two paintings in the Saints and Sinners exhibition show the Virgin Mary in heaven. Solimena’s The Virgin Receiving St. Louis Gonzaga (PI. 19) shows Mary pointing to the Jesuit monogram, IHS, while Gonzaga and other young men fall to their knees in devotion to the Virgin. Gonzaga (1568-91) entered the Society of Jesus and died of plague contracted while miniftering to plague victims in Rome; he became a model, for Jesuits and others, of selfless devo- tion to care of the sick. 97 Early modern viewers could have seen in this painting the hope for transformation of the plague-ridden bodies of this world into healthy, unblemished, heavenly flesh. 9^ Sassoferrato (1609-85) was one of the moft proli- fic painters of Marian images in Seicento Italy.99 The McMullen Museum’s Sassoferrato, Madonna of the Cherubs (PI. 23), shows Mary in heaven. With her hands folded in prayer (as in Tanzio da Varallo’s painting), Mary is a model of serene devotion. Bellarmino’s readers could have readi- ly seen delight, sweetness, contentment. Scupoli’s readers, when viewing this painting, could have seen a “beautiful” image of Mary, who “reigns” in paradise, who ran the race with valor, who has been “crowned with perpetual glory,” and whose path may be followed. (Conclusion Hiftorians in many fields of hiftory make use of images as well as of texts and other types of sources. Images may matter more in some fields than in others;*°° serious hiftorians of the religious culture of early modern Italy muft place images at the heart of research. Paintings cannot be treated as peripheral, as marginal, as somehow less important than manuscripts and printed texts, by those seeking to underftand early modern Catholicism. Like Camporesi, I have sought to underftand how the literate, devout elite may have “viewed” religion in seventeenth-century Italy. Camporesi drew his conclu- sions from a certain body of textual evidence. He argued that fear of hell dominated Seicento Catholicism, and that luft and avarice were the sins moft feared as leading to damnation. Attention to a broader range of evidence, including Trent, Scupoli, Bellarmino, and Caravaggio, Strozzi, Guercino, Rosa, etc., suggefts a more nuanced picture. Yes, fear of hell was at times promoted, but so too was hope of heaven. It was thought that sinners could become saints if they cooperated with grace and per- severed in a life of faith, hope, and charitable good works. Sin was imagined as abundant, avarice perhaps more than luft or other sins, but the Church was seen as offering remedies, especially in the sacrament of penance. It was believed that the saints who had gone before had not only shown the way, but that, from heaven, they now actively sought to help sinners progress in their transformations from sin to sanctity. The hearing of the preached word, the reading of de- votional texts, and the viewing of paintings of saints and sinners were imagined in early modern Italy as powerful means of transformation. Trent, Scupoli, and Bellarmino believed that one could resift transformation and remain a sinner. But among those who cooperated with grace, with grace mediated through sacraments, through oral dis- courses and through printed texts, and through images, sainthood was possible. The art of living well and dying well was imagined as an art of change. 1 Trent, Session XXV, Decree on the invocation, veneration, and relics of saints, and on sacred images. 2 Burke, 1987, 48. 3 Ibid., 48-62. 4 Camporesi, 28. 5 Ibid., 26-27, 70-77. 6 Ibid., 69-80. 7 Ibid., 50. 8 Ibid., 85. 9 On theTheatines, see Jorgensen, 1-29. 10 See discussion by Hudon in Theatine Spirituality: Selected Writings, 42-48. Also see Hudon, 1996, 799-800. 1 1 (3n versions of Bellarmino’s De arte bene moriendi, see Sommervogel, i: 1244-47. 12 On the Council itself, and on the diflinction between the Counter Reformation and the Catholic Reformation, see Jedin 1957-61, Jedin, 1973, and John O’Malley’s essay in this catalogue. 102 13 Trent, Session IV, Decree concerning canonical Scriptures. On 'Trent’s understanding of tradition, see Ilagen, 401-11. 14 Trent, Session V, Decree concerning original sin. Luther and some of the other ProteStant reformers identified the inclination to sin as itself sinful. For 'Trent, sin was less inclusive and pervasive. 13 See, e.g., Matthew 26: 14-16. In citing Scripture passages in English, I have followed, insofar as possible, the New Revised Standard Version. 16 Roberto Bcllarmino, The Art of Dying Weil, 381. 17 Ibid., 382. 18 ('amporesi, 6. 19 See Mahon, 284-87. 20 On Peter, Mary Magdalene, and Judas, see Franco Mormando’s essays in this catalogue. 21 Mary Magdalene was often depicted as a proftitute or reformed proftitute; on women and prostitution in early modern Europe, see Hufton, 303-35. 22 See the forthcoming book, edited by DuBruck and Gusick, on death and dying in the Middle Ages. 23 See Donnelly’s discussion in his introduction to Robert Bellurmine: Spiritual Writings, 33-36. 24 Bellarmino, 376. 25 Ibid., 332. 26 Ibid., 333. 27 Scupoli, 177-78. 28 Ibid., 236. 29 Bossy, 136. 30 Ibid., 38. 31 These themes appear throughout his treatise. 32 See Worcester Art Museum: Selected Works, 116. The present frame of the painting incorporates a different gospel text, “Friend, I do thee no wrong; didSl thou not agree with me for a penny” (Matthew 20:13), cited in the King James version. This verse is taken from the parable of the laborers in the vineyard; it illuSfrates God’s generosity and warns againft human envy and avarice. 33 Worcester Art Museum: Selected Works, 116. In 1995 a Strozzi exhibition was held at the Walters Art Gallery in Baltimore; see the catalogue, edited by Spicer, which includes a biographical essay on Strozzi by Lukehart. 34 Treffers, 1989, 241-55. 35 Ibid., 248. On preaching, images and Caravaggio, see also Treffers, 1996, 270-87. 36 On Caravaggio’s own religious devotion, or lack of it, see John Varriano’s article in this catalogue. 37 On the Capuchins, see Gleason, 31-57. 38 Ibid., 40. 39 Capuebin Conftitutions of 1536, in Olin, 157 (#26). For a critical edition of the original 1536 edition, and later revisions, see Cargnoni, i: 227-464. 40 Ibid., 157 (#27). 41 Olin., 158 (#29). 42 Lavin, 99. 43 Bellarmino, 244. 44 Ibid., 277. 45 Ibid., 260. 46 On the queftion of literacy in Renaissance and early modern Italy, see Grendler. 47 On the hiftory of medieval preaching, especially in Italy, see Rusconi. On the Renaissance and preaching, see O’Malley, 1979. 48 On Rome and preaching ca. 1600, see McGinness. 49 Trent, Session V, Decree on reform, chap. 2. 50 Trent, Session XXIV, Decree on reform, chap. 6. On Trent’s view of the ideal bishop, see Jedin-Alberigo, 1985. 51 Bayley, i. 52 On this painting and its patron, see Scott, 173. 53 On this gefture and Caravaggio’s The Conversion of Mary Magdalene, see the essays by Franco Mormando and Pamela Jones in this catalogue. On the “language” of gefture in early modern Italy, see Burke, 1997, 60-76. 54 Trent, Session VI, Decree on juftification, chap. i. 55 Trent, Session VI, Decree on juftification, chap. 5. 56 Trent, Session VI, Decree on juftification, chap. 7. 57 Trent, Session VI, Decree on juftification, chap. 10. 58 Trent, Session V, Decree on reform, chap. 2. See O’Malley, 1983, 23-52, on content and form according to sixteenth-century treatises on preaching. On the queftion of free will, and especially the De auxiliis controversy, see Varriano’s essay in this catalogue. 59 Trent, Session VI, Decree on juftification, chap. 9. 60 Trent, Session VI, Decree on juflification, chaps. 10, 13. 61 See, e.g., Evennett, 1-22 , for a summary of the hiftoriography. 62 Bellarmino, 284-85. 63 Trent, Session VI, Decree on juftification, chap. 14. 64 Trent, Session VII, Canon 9 on the sacraments. Canons 5 and 6 on baptism. 103 65 Trent, Session XIV, Decree on penance and extreme unction, chap. i. On this decree, see Duval, 151-222. 66 Trent, Session XIV, Decree on penance and extreme unction, chaps. 3, 6. 67 The question of whether or not the sacrament of penance was consoling, before, during, or after the Reformation era has received considerable attention. SeeTentler; Ozment, 204-22; Myers; Delumeau, 1990. 68 Scupoli, 227. 69 Ibid., 230-31. 70 See Mahon, 298-99. 71 This is not unlike images of the Virgin Mary protecting her devotees with her mantle. Such images were very common in late medieval/Renaissance Europe, and especially in Italy; see Delumeau, 1989, 261-89. 72 Bellarmino, 293. 73 See Varriano, 1988. 74 On possible occupations for women in early modern Catholicism, see McNamara, 385-362; Wiesner, 195-203. For a discussion ofTrent’s failure to appreciate the possibility of an active religious life for women, see Conrad, 415-36. 75 For more thorough discussions of these two paintings, see the essays in this catalogue by Josephine von Henneberg and Pamela Jones. 76 Cultural and social historians are giving increasing attention to the history of illness and medicine; see, e.g.. Porter. 77 For a discussion of the patronage and provenance of this painting, see Sutton, 133. 78 Bellarmino, 341. 79 Ibid., 352-57. 80 Ibid., 328-29. 81 Ibid., 342. 82 Ibid., 345. 83 Ibid., 371-72. 84 Francesco Bassano was part of a family of artiSts; on bis father’s paintings as “visual exegesis” of the Bible, see Berdini on Jacopo Bassano. Bellarmino would not have seen Francesco (1549-92) as an example of living or dying well; ill with tuberculosis, he threw himself out a window in November 1591 and died a few months later. See Vinco da Sesso, 348-49. 85 Scupoli, 212. 86 Ibid., 190-91. 87 Ibid., 149. 88 For summaries of the hiftory of Marian doctrine and devotion, see Graef, Pelikan, Tavard. 89 Emphasis mine. Trent, Session V, Decree on original sin. Not until 1854 was the Immaculate Conception formally defined as part of Catholic doctrine. 90 Haskins, 141. 91 On Borromeo’s canonization, see Rasmussen, 264-76. 92 Burschel, 326-27. On Marian devotion after Trent, see also Bruckner, 204-09. 93 In 1950, by Pius XII. On the hiftory of this doctrine, seejugie. 94 Pelikan, 194. 95 Hart and Stevenson, 148. 96 Bellarmino, 334-37. 97 On Gonzaga, see Tylenda, 190-93. 98 See further discussion of Gonzaga, and of this painting, in Gauvin Bailey’s essay in this catalogue. 99 On Sassoferrato and images of the Virgin Mary, see Mancini, 864-65. too For a general discussion of hiftorians and their use of visual materials, see Gaskell, 168-92. 101 For an excellent discussion of the central place of the visual in early modern Catholicism, see Miles, 118-25. 104 BIBLIOGRAPHY ‘'BaYLEY, ‘■Petek. “Residing the Baroque.” Seventeenth-Century French Studies i6 (1994): 1-14. ‘■BelLARMINO, '■PciBERTO. The Art of Dyin^ Well. In Robert Bellarmine: Spiritual Writings, ed. and trans. John Patrick Donnelly and Roland Teske, 233-382. New York, 1989. 'Berdini, '■Paolo. The Religious Art of Jacopo Bassano: Paintingas Visual Exegesis. Cambridge, 1997. Bossy, John. Chrinianity in the Well, 1400-IJ00. Oxford, 1985. 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Mary: a History of Doctrine and Devotion. 2 vols. London, 1963-65. (jRENDLER, 'Baul. Schools in Renaissance Italy: Literacy and Learning iyoo-1600. Baltimore, 1989. JBaGEN, Kenneth. “A Conciliar Hermeneutic of Trent on Tradition.” Annuarium HiSloriae Conciliorum 9 (1977): 401-11. OBarT, Clive, and TQyr Q. ^tevenson. Heaven and the Flesh: Imagery of Desire from the Renaissance to the Rococo. Cambridge, 1995. !JfASKINS, ,Jusan. Mary Magdalen: Myth and Metaphor. London, 1993. JBudON, William. “Religion and Society in Early Modern Italy— Old Questions, New Insights.” American Historical Review 101 (June 1996): 783-804. JfuFTON, Olwen. The Prospect before Her: A History of Women in Western Europe, iyoo-i8oo. New York, 1996. Jedin, JTvbert a History of the Council of Trent, trans. Erne^I Graf 2 vols. London, 1957-61. . “Katholische Reformation oder Gegenreformation?” In Gegenreformation, ed. Ernft Walter Zeeden, 46-81. Darmftadt, 1973. Jedin, JTvbert, and Qwseppe oAlberigo. 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Cambridge, MA, 1996. clABileS, ^Margaret Image as Insight: Visual Understanding in WeStem Christianity and Secular Culture. Bofton, 1985. (lAByerS, W. 'David. “Poor Sinning Folk": Confession and Conscience in Counter-Reformation Germany. Ithaca, 1996. 105 (Dlin,Johs, ed. The Catholic Reformation: Savonarola to Ignatius Loyola. New York, 1992. (D’cl^4alleT,John. Praise and Blame in Renaissance Rome: Rhetoric, Doctrine and Reform in the Sacred Orators of the Papal Court, ca. 14^0-1^20. Durham, 1979. . “Content and Rhetorical Forms in Sixteenth-Century Treatises on Preaching.” In Renaissance Eloquence, ed. James Murphy, 238-52. Berkeley, 1983. OzMENT, ^TEVES. The Age of Reform i2<;o-iyyo: An Intellectual and Religious History of Late Medieval and Reformation Europe. New Haven, 1980. ^ELIKAN, Jaroslav Mary through the Centuries: Her Place in the History of Culture. New Haven, 1996. ‘‘Porter, ‘Rqt. The Greatest Benefit to Mankind: A Medical History of Humanity from Antiquity to the Present. London, 1997. ‘‘PASMUSSEN, £SIiels. “Liturgy and Iconography at the Canonization of Carlo Borromeo, i November 1610.” In San Carlo Borromeo: Catholic Reform and Ecclesiastical Politics in the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century, ed. John Headley and John Tomaro, 264-76. Washington, D.C., 1988. ‘‘PuSCONI, TiQBERTO. Predicazione e vita religiosa nella societd italiana da Carlomagno alia controriforma. Turin, 1981. ^ficOTT, Jonathan. Salvator Rosa: His Life and Times. New Haven, 1995. ^CUPOLI, foRENZO. The Spiritual Combat. In Theatine Spirituality: Selected Writings, ed. and trans. William Hudon, 112-236. New York, 1996. (fiOMMERVOGEL, fi,ARLOS. Bihliotheque de la Compagnie de Jesus. 10 vols. Brussels, 1890-1900. ffipiCER, JoANEATH. Bernardo Strozzi: Master Painter of the Italian Baroque. Baltimore, 1995. ffiuTTON, Teter Q., ed. 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Worcester, MA, 1994. 106 FLY TEACHING THE FAITHFUL TO MARY MAGDALENE IN BAROQUE AND PETER ITALY J^RANCO (iM'oRMANDO Later that night, I dreamed about two persons flying and I didn’t see their wings, but I saw they came from the sky and wanted to pick me up, and I was trying to think who they were, and I seemed to hear that both had come to teach me to fly and that they were St. Catherine of Siena and St. Mary Magdalen. I told them not to take me with them because I was afraid they might drop me along the way, and then grabbing onto them I would bring them down. They put me between them and took me flying and when I was in mid-air, they wanted to let me go, and I held on to them, and laughing they embraced me and led me into a place of great sweetness. . . . Many times they took me flying until they finally taught me to fly by myself ('.ATERiNA '-Paluzzi ( 1573 - 1645 ), Autobiography * T O AN extent unimaginable to us today, the saints were an intimate part of the daily lives of early modern Italian Catholics — their conscious, public lives and, as the Dominican myftic Caterina Paluzzi’sT«?o- biography reveals, their subconscious, private lives as well. Among the hundreds of saints enrolled in the rovers of official Catholic sanctity, two of the moft popular in Italy (as elsewhere) were Mary Magdalene and Peter the Apoftle. The popularity of Mary and Peter was due not only to their privileged role in the NewTeftament salvation drama of Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection, but also to their appealing accessibility as role models. Saints who had sinned, gravely and dramat- ically, Mary and Peter were two readily recognizable, utterly fallible human beings with whom the Chriftian, lay or cleric, could easily identify.^ By imitating the well- publicized examples of the lives of Mary and Peter, ordinary Christians could learn to “fly” spiritually, that is, to overcome the limitations of their fractured humanity, reach heaven, and become saints themselves. (I leave the psycho-sexual implications of Paluzzi’s dream for others to decipher.) In addition to their Status as exemplars rele- vant to all Christians, male and female, Mary and Peter also served more specific functions: the former as role model for women, the latter as symbol of the papacy. We shall see them in these roles later in this Study. The examples of Mary’s and Peter’s lives were ever present to early modern Italians; they heard about them in Sunday, Lenten, and other public sermons; they read of them in their chapbooks, catechisms, and other devotional- didactic literature; and, above all, they feaSted their eyes on the painted and sculpted images of Mary and Peter that populated their landscape at every corner, ecclesi- aSHcal and civil, public and private, institutional and domestic. Indeed, these sacred images were a “muta praed- icatio,” A silent form of preaching, as Saint Gregory the Great had described them, echoing the sentiments of Saint Basil who declared, “ArtiSts do as much for religion with their pictures as the orators do with their eloquence.”3 The present exhibition allows tbe viewer to examine and contemplate — to use a favorite term of early modern spir- itual literature— Mary Magdalene and the apoSlle Peter in a few of the significant moments in their gradual ascent from sin to sanctity. In commenting upon these paintings, the present essay seeks to contribute to the further underftanding of these works by answering certain queftions regarding meaning and reception: How might have the original “consumers” of these paintings interpreted or otherwise responded to them? What significance — spiritual, doctri- nal, social, and moral — did these scenes and figures have for their original audiences? What meaning (literal or symbolic), what associations, what queftions and what answers did these scenes conjure up, provide, or other- wise suggeft to the early modern viewer? In other words, in the pages that follow, we will seek to re-create the orig- inal religious context in which these paintings were born and functioned as objects of public or private devotion. The answers to such queftions are, to a great extent, knowable by turning to a body of texts too often ignored— until fairly recently— by art hiftorians, traditionally more occupied with matters of ^le, composition, and patron- age, rather than meaning and reception. These texts represent the literature that early modern Italian Catho- lics read, heard, or otherwise “consumed,” whether in the 107 form of sermons, devotional manuals, biblical commen- tary, or, as made popular by the great scholar Cardinal Baronius (1538-1607), ecclesiaftical hiftory.4 Two works in particular ftand out in this mass of material, both “beft sellers” in early modern Catholicism and thereafter: the multi-volumed devotional manual, the Vitajesu Christ by Dominican-turned-Carthusian Ludolphus of Saxony (d.1377) and the great Commentary on Sacred Scripture (Com- mentaria in Scripturam Sacram) by Jesuit exegete Cornelius a Lapide (1567-1637). As for the firft of these two works, though a product of the later Middle Ages, Ludolphus’s Vitajesu ChriSli went through nearly ninety editions in the firft two hundred years after its composition; having played a role in the conversion of Ignatius of Loyola, it was prescribed by Teresa of Avila as required reading in every Carmelite house. 5 The second book, inftead, is con- temporary with many of the paintings in this exhibition. The labor of a Louvain scholar who taught at the Collegio Romano for the laft twenty years of his life, Lapide’s Com- mentary is a monumental work of va^f erudition composed for the practical use of popular preachers, summarizing centuries of patriftic and medieval thought, as well as the lateft hiftorical findings (e.g., Baronius) and polemical disputation (Luther and Calvin are regularly cited and refuted). It thus encapsulates the spirit of its age, while being a reliable treasure of the moft popularly heeded, tradi- tion-sanctioned opinions of the Church Fathers and the influential medieval magiSlri.^ The reft of the literature consulted for this essay shall be identified as the discussion unfolds, but let me preface my remarks with two disclaimers. Firft, no apodeictic claims are here made for the original intentions of either the artift or the patrons of the paintings in queftion. For none of the Peter and Magdalene paintings included in our exhibition do we possess a record of the discussions and thought-processes that resulted in the final painted product. However, at the same time, given the great cir- culation of certain fundamental notions and topoi of Catholic theology, hiftory biblical exegesis, and spirituality in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Italy, among all levels of the population, rich and poor, learned and un- learned, we can reasonably conjecture what the artift or patron would have known about the subject matter in queftion. To be sure. Catholic doctrine and, consequently. Catholic iconography in the Poft-Tridentine period were, in reality, much more pluraliftic in their content than scholars may have previously assumed; nonetheless, reading the moft popular devotional literature of the day, we find that certain notions and certain motifs enjoyed wide currency among Roman Catholics. Thus, a fairly reliable — though ftill conjectural— reconftruction of the, or rather, a typi- cal Baroque interpretation of any given painted Gospel scene or figure in art can be achieved. Second, the present essay represents only a partial reconftruction of the Italian Baroque Magdalene and Peter and does not attempt to summarize the vaft amount of available material surrounding these two figures in the form of works of art, primary written sources, and secondary scholarly criticism. What I offer is simply a reading of certain prominent features of the early modern image and rep- utation of Peter and Mary as illuftrated by the specific paintings in the present exhibition. Again, these features will be read from the eyes of an early modern Italian view- er, based upon several popular texts or ideas which he or she is likely to have encountered repeatedly in the course of daily life. 7 MARY MAGDALENE A S LAPIDE reports in \\is Commentary, Chrift re- vealed to the fourteenth-century visionary Saint Bridget of Sweden, that “there were three saints specially pleasing to Him: the Blessed Virgin, John the Baptift, and Mary Magdalene.” The conversion of the Magdalene, Chrift further revealed to Bridget, was a cause of great despair to the devils, who complained: “How shall we gain power over her again, for we have loft a goodly prey? We cannot look at her because of her tears; so covered and protected is she by good works, that no spot or soil of sin can ftain her soul; so holy is her life, so fervent her love for o God, that we dare not draw nigh her.”® Despite her divinely conferred “moft favored ftatus,” there was a great deal of theological controversy in Cara- vaggio’s Italy surrounding the figure of Mary Magdalene, a controversy mirrored — self-defensively so — in the Cath- olic literature, both popular and learned, in the early modern period. 9 I refer not to the well-known dispute between Proteftants and Catholics over the sacrament of penance and the issue of salvation through good works, of which the penitent, weeping Mary and Peter both became eloquent defenders in Catholic art. I refer inftead to the debate that had erupted in the early sixteenth 108 century— fir^t among Catholics, then between Catholic and Protestants — over her very Scriptural identity. The question was, to cite the title of Cardinal Baronius’s long apologetic disquisition in the Annales, “Una an pltires Magdalenae fuerint?” {“Was there one or more than one Magdalene?”)^® Traditionally, following the teaching of Pope Saint Gregory the Great (d. 604), theologians, exegetes, and preachers had tranquilly conflated into one person the three separate figures of Mary of Magdala, Luke’s unnamed “woman in the city who was a sinner” (Luke 7:37, the scene depicted in Francesco Vanni’s painting, PI. 5), and Mary of Bethany (i.e., siSfer of Lazarus and Martha). Modern biblical scholars have long since recognized this conflation as an exegetical miSf ake. However, during Cara- vaggio’s lifetime and for years to come. Catholic apologiSfs Still adamantly defended the traditional teaching in the face of ProteStant critique of this and other exegetical- hagiographical-doctrinal matters. The debate had been set into motion by Jacques Lefevre d’Etaples’s controversial treatise of 1517, “De Maria Magdalena et triduo ChriSli disceptatio,” the fruit of Renaissance humaniSt critical scholarship applied to biblical exegesis. The treatise ultimately caused the French scholar to be accused of heresy and occasioned in 1521 a solemn censure of such questioning of Church teaching by the Theology Faculty of the University of Paris, a censure which years later the BollandiSts deemed Still necessary to reprint as a warning in the Acta sanc- torum}^ As Haskins points out, despite the abundant evidence to the contrary, the Catholic Church could not change its traditional teaching on the Magdalene: to have done so would have been to admit to ProteStants and Catholics alike that it had indeed been guilty— for centuries — of Scriptural error, while at the same time, losing a moSf useful and popular saintly exemplar. Hence, in viewing Baroque images of the Magdalene, we muSl keep in mind this ever-present theological “Static” that inevitably accompanied her wherever she was depicted. The (Conversion of ({Mary ({Magdalene This necessary piece of hiSforical-theological background in place, we can proceed to our “contemplation” of the Story of Mary Magdalene and of her gradual ascent to saintly greatness as illustrated by our exhibition. The Story begins, traditionally, with the scene of her con- version. Yet, here again, we immediately find ourselves, as did early modern Catholics, in the midSt of another debate: exactly when and how did the Magdalene con- vert? The answer, at leaSt according to Caravaggio’s painting on the subject now in the Detroit Institute of Arts (PI. 4), was that Mary converted as a result of the admonitions of her pious siSter Martha, already a devoted disciple of ChriSt. In Caravaggio’s beautiful canvas we witness the very moment in which Mary— surrounded by the symbols of her vain, lascivious life, the mirror,^3 the fancy dress, the comb — experiences the very firSt life- transforming infusion of divine illumination, the very moment in which divine grace pierces her once-hardened heart and opens her once-blinded eyes to the truth about herself and the spiritual life. “So great a miracle of God {it was]” exclaimed popular Franciscan preacher of the six- teenth-century Cornelio Musso, “that the Magdalene, having lived twelve years in such sordid ways in one infant became so holy!”’^4 All of this Caravaggio commu- nicates in the motionless, but deeply pensive expression of Mary’s face and the revealing quickening of her eyes. Though in the shadows in the painting, Martha played an important role in this miraculous occurrence. Again, according to Caravaggio, she was the very vehicle of her sifter’s conversion, thanks to her assiduous admonish- ments and her careful, logical disputations. These disputations are here symbolized by the didactic gefture of her prominently positioned hands known as the comput digitalis, a visual feature of public rhetorical practice, rec- ommended by Leonardo da Vinci in his advice to painters and which we see also in Salvator Rosa’s St.John the Baptist Preaching (P\. 15). ^3 According to Maurizio Calvesi, the message of Caravaggio’s Conversion of Mary Magdalene is quintes- sentially Tridentine, if perhaps a bit too subtle for the ordinary, less learned viewer: “No one accedes to grace spontaneously (this is one of the fundamental articles of the polemic againft the Proteftants, underlined in San Luigi de’ Francesi), but through a process of awareness and therefore reflection. Whether or not Caravaggio had this or some similar doctrinal lesson in mind when painting this scene, his depiction of the Magdalene’s con- version does inevitably call attention to the role of human intermediaries in the process of conversion and spiritual ascent. As we know, this issue represented a major point of contention between Cathofics and Proteftants. Intended or 109 not, such a message about the role of intemediaries comes forward all the more noticeably when we contra^ Cara- vaggio’s account of Mary’s conversion with what had traditionally and, for all intents and purposes, unanimous- ly been considered tbe manner and locus of that event, the dinner party given by Simon the Pharisee which Mary “crashed” in order to beg forgiveness of her sins from Jesus, Simon’s gueft. This is the scene depicted in Francesco Vanni’s ChriSl in the House of Simon the Pharisee (PI. 5), corre- sponding to the Gospel passage of Luke 7:36-50. Despite the Chriftocentric title of Vanni’s painting, in the Cath- olic tradition this Lucan pericope usually bears the name, “The Conversion of Mary Magdalene,” as we see, for inftance, moft conspicuously, in Baronius’s Annalesf'i it also represents the Gospel reading for the feaft of Mary Magdalene, July 22, even though her name appears no- where in Luke’s ftory (the woman in queftion is identified simply as “a sinner in the city”). Neither Luke nor any of the other New Testament authors describes the process that led to Mary’s bold, dra- matic invasion of Simon’s dinner party, and very few of the written sources I have consulted even broach the topic. Nonetheless, according to the traditional hypothesis, Mary’s conversion was underwood as a direct result of her encounter with the charismatic person and preaching of Jesus, no intermediary being involved in her transforma- tion from harlot to holy one. As we read under the rubric “The Conversion of Mary Magdalene” in the beft-selling Meditations on the Life of Chri§l (Meditationes Vitae ChriSli), a work of medieval origin, yet of perennial popularity long attributed to Saint Bonaventure: Hearing that He was at the house of this Simon, the Magdalene, who perhaps had heard Him preach a few times and loved him ardently, although she had not yet revealed it, but was touched to the heart with pain at her sins and inflamed by the fire of her love for Him, believing that she could have no well-being without Him and unable to delay any longer, went to the place of the dinner with bowed head.*° Ludolphus of Saxony, in bis Vitajesu ChriSli, echoes Pseudo-Bonaventure’s explanation: Hearing [that Jesus was in the home of Simon the Pharisee], the Magdalene who had perhaps already heard him preaching, having been touched by grief for her sins in the innermoft core of her heart, and full of perfect contrition for them, and inflammed with love for him, hurried to the place of the banquet with her alabafter jar of ointment. *9 However vague and tentative in their re-creations of the fteps of Mary’s conversion, again, none of the contemporary sources here in queft ion— with juft two exceptions, as we shall see — assign a role to Martha. The moft popular legends of both Mary and Martha, such as those contained in the Legenda aurea and in Pseudo- Rabanus’s widely read The Life of Saint Mary Magdalene and of Her Siller, Saint Martha as in Baronius’s and Martryologium, make no mention at all of Martha as catalyft for the conversion of her sifter. Closer to Caravaggio’s life- time, Gabriele Fiamma (d.1585), bishop of Chioggia and “one of the moft famous preachers of his time,” took up the subject of Mary’s conversion in one of his popular moral-didactic sonnets, Le rime spirituali, written, he says, because Scripture is silent on the topic. Though it was Martha whose conftant admonishing had finally con- vinced Mary to attend one of Jesus’s sermons, it was Jesus himself who, “wounding her with divine love,” brought about her “marvelous,” inftantaneous conversion, as she declares in Fiamma’s sonnet: “His sacred presence and his comely, holy manner, his clear light free of all arrogance, his voice and lively and impassioned words, sweeter than any celeftial song completely shattered the hard encase- ment [of my heart}. Thus, as beautiful and as moving a dramatization of conversion as it is, Caravaggio’s scene represents a decid- ed anomaly within the prevailing ecclesiaftical tradition, both written and visual, and unfortunately we know noth- ing about the origins of the painting that might illuminate the artift’s idiosyncratic interpretation. There is certainly no equivalent depiction in the art of any of the artift’s predecessors. After Caravaggio, inftead, thanks to the popularity of his canvas, many painters, Caravaggeschi and non-Caravaggeschi alike, would try their hands at the subject, among them Orazio Gentileschi, Carlo Saraceni, Simon Vouet, Valentin de Boulogne, and Antiveduto della Grammatica — if indeed one is truly juftified in entitling any and every depiction of Martha admonishing her sifter as “The Conversion of Mary Magdalene. Even the Detroit painting should be more properly— albeit more clumsily— entitled “The Beginning of the Conversion of the Magdalene,” since Mary had not yet had her fateful encounter with Jesus chez Simon. As for Caravaggio’s decision to show Mary’s conversion in this fashion, the text usually cited as basis for such a depiction is an anony- mous popular and fanciful vita—\n effect, “a devotional romance”— of the Magdalene in vernacular prose dating no from the fourteenth century, included in some editions of Domenico Cavalca’s “early well-known charming transla- tions of Saint Jerome’s Lives of the Saints.”^^ This is one of the two above-mentioned exceptions in the Magdalene literature, positing some direct role to Martha in the con- version of her sifter. Yet, according to this Trecento vita, the words of Martha that ftirred the Magdalene’s heart were not didactic discourses, punctuated by a comput digitalis, but rather merely her breathless, wonder-filled description of her own miraculous healing by Jesus after a long, in- tractable illness and of his other miracles and good deeds: And thus ftupefied, the Magdalen seemed scarcely able to speak to her sifter, but she gazed at her, and saw a new splendour in Martha’s face, which awoke a great wonderment in her, and such a pleasure in good . . . And though Martha was preaching and discoursing of the miracles of this blessed Mafter and of His goodness, which she had seen and heard tell of, nonetheless she looked in Mary Magdalen’s face, and saw the change upon her countenance, whereon already she discerned a glory. And the gaiety which was usually on her face vanished, and she was transformed . . . And I think to myself that the Magdalen was beginning to enter into the light of faith, whence she per- ceived in her heart that she was yielding love to the goodness she heard related of Him . . .^4 The second exception in the Magdalene literature mentioned above is a sermon by popular sixteenth-century itinerant Capuchin preacher Girolamo Finucci da Piftoia (d.1570). In his sermon entitled “On conversion, in which Martha dialogues with the Magdalene about making hafte to convert and give one’s heart to God,” Martha’s conver- sation with her sifter is, above all, a rational discourse on the topic of death, the kind of punctilious logical argumentation that might indeed accompany Caravaggio’s comput digitalis?'‘i Time and space preclude a summary of the two sifters’ debate; suffice it to say that in the end Martha wins over her sifter Mary. Mary, however, experiences no great heart- ftirring moment of epiphany, but simply a desire to attend one of Jesus’s sermons. It is there that her transformation occurs, initiated by Jesus: “Chrift therefore takes the bow of his love and aims his arrows, full of love, at Mary’s heart . . Jesus in the J-Couse of^imon the ‘Pharisee According to Girolamo’s reconftruction of the sequence of events, shortly after her life-transforming experience at the sermon, Mary decides to accept what the Capuchin refers to as her previously received invitation to dinner at the home of Simon the Pharisee, evidently a person of her acquaintance. ^7 (Lapide says explicitly that Mary was a friend of Simon’s, a claim that Simon’s hoftile, dis- dainful reference to the intruding woman, in Luke 7, seems to contradict.) This brings us back to the scene in Francesco Vanni’s painting now at the Snite Museum at the University of Notre Dame (PI. 5). Vanni depicts the moment in which the contrite Mary is at Jesus’s feet, anointing them with her ointment. Jesus, gefturing ap- provingly toward the opulently garbed yet humbly proftrate woman, gently reproaches Simon who had dared to think, “If this man were a prophet, he would know who and what sort of woman this is who is touching him, that she is a sinner” (Luke 7:39). The real “sinner” in the scene is Simon, a member of that self-righteous, legaliftic Pharisee party— or so the NewTeftament portrays it— which was always trying to trap Jesus in some violation of the letter of Mosaic Law. Accordingly, Vanni has outfitted Simon in sartorial finery whose lively, though “vain,” colors nearly eclipse those of the Magdalene. Yet, he, unlike her, shows no sign of contrition or humility and thus Jesus scolds him: Do you see this woman? When I entered your house, you did not give me water for my feet, but she bathed them with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but she has not ceased kissing my feet since the time I entered. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she anointed my feet with ointment. (Luke 7:44-46) As Richard Spear points out, Mary’s bold act of kissing and washing Jesus’s feet, despite its spiritual intention, is, nonetheless, erotically charged, “as hair caressing bare feet washed with tears inevitably muft” be. ^9 Yet in this canvas Vanni has chosen to depict the scene as chaftely as possible. Mary is shown simply and tenderly holding, not kissing, Jesus’s unshod foot, her hair undone but not touching his flesh. The modefty of this depiction may be due to the fact that the original painting (of which the Notre Dame canvas represents a smaller autograph vari- ant) was executed as a public altarpiece for the Church of San Francesco in Siena, a venue for which blatantly sen- sual art was simply inappropriate, at leaft in Poft-Tridentine Italy. 3° I will have more to say about the Magdalene and sensuality later when discussing Badalocchio’s Penitent Magdalene. Sensual as it may be, Mary’s act of anointing carried with it rich spiritual meaning, located in the symbols of III the alabafter jar, the precious ointment, and the kiss. The alabafter jar, says Ludolphus, “we can underhand to represent the hidden retreat of [Mary’s] breaft and heart full of faith and charity,” whereas, according to Lapide, who cites Peter Damian, the ointment represents Mary herself: “for [Mary], mixed and macerated in the mortar of repentance, sprinkled with the oil of discern- ment, and softened in the caldron of discipline by the fires of remorse, is applied a precious and acceptable ointment to the Saviour’s feet. ” 3 ^ Baronius, by the way, points out that, inasmuch as anointing the feet was a custom un- heard of among the Jews and not practiced even by the luxury-loving Romans, Mary’s gesture would have been all the more shocking. 3 ^ Mary’s anointment ritual included the copious kissing ofjesus’s feet— recall Jesus’s words to Simon, “she has not ceased kissing my feet since the time I entered.” Though not portrayed in Vanni’s painting, the kiss was, nonethe- less, very much a part of this well-known Gospel episode and would have been taken for granted by the viewer as such. I will reserve my discussion of the significance of the kiss for my later examination of the scene of the betrayal of Chrift (see my other essay in this catalogue, “Juft as your lips approach the lips of your brothers”), but let me here point out that, at leaft for the better- informed seventeenth-century Catholic viewers, the kiss carried with it rich hiftorical, spiritual, and liturgical asso- ciations. Even the less-informed Catholic would have known, for it is mentioned in such popular works as Pseudo-Bonaventure’s Meditations on the Life of Chri^ and Ludolphus’s Vitajesu Chri§li, that the kiss was an im- portant and diftinctive cuftom of Jesus and his followers, one that ultimately became inftitutionalized as the rite of peace of the Mass. The kiss also connects this Gospel scene (Luke 7) with that of the later betrayal of Chrift, the two kisses — that of the loving and faithful Magdalene and that of the evil, treacherous Judas being explicitly juxtaposed, as we shall see, in sermons and Chriftian devotional literature. Catholic viewers, therefore, underftood the scene of Vanni’s painting as the moment of the Magdalene’s con- version— or its culmination, if we grant with Caravaggio that the process began previously in the interaction between the two sifters. In addition, they also underftood that it illuftrated the sacramental act of penance, the recovery of God’s love and hope for salvation through the public confession of one’s sin. As is well known, Mary was one of the Church’s premier penitential icons. She was the consummate model of contrition and repentance meant to inspire sinful or lukewarm Catholics to do likewise and to avail themselves of the sacrament of confession. Introducing his commentary on Luke 7, Lapide proclaims, “Behold a wonderful thing, and a wonderful example of penitence. A woman called Mary Magdalene. ”33 As the scroll often accompanying medieval depictions of the Magdalene counsels, “There is no need to despair, even for you who have lingered in sin; ready yourselves anew for God. ”34 This was the hope, the promise, the ultimate moral message exemplified by the penitent Magdalene, a message extended to all who made recourse to the Church’s sacrament. Encouraging the faithful to confess their sins to their priefts — as was their annual obligation since the Lourth Lateran Council (1215) — Catholic theologians and spir- itual writers emphasized that Mary’s many and great carnal sins, once repented, were no handicap to her access to divine love. In fact, as Lapide reports, citing the fifth- century Palladius of Helenopolis, “a certain virgin who had fallen into sin ‘was more pleasing to God in her pen- itence that in her former purity’” (though the Jesuit exegete assuredly did not mean to suggeft that his virgin readers shed their virginity as a way of ultimately gaining a greater share of divine love).33 Moreover, the Magdalene’s example, and Peter’s, let us note, ftood in direct and in- evitable contraft with that of Judas the betrayer of Chrift. As Baronius points out, Judas was indeed “led by repen- tance” {ductus poenitentia) to give back to the high prieft his ill-gotten money, “detefting the great crime that was being perpetrated [againft Jesus}.” However, in the end, he despaired of the mercy of God and hanged himself 3 ^ As Ludolphus, citing the authority of Jerome, points out, Judas’s suicide, a result of despair, was a greater sin than his betrayal of Chrift.37 As we know, in the face of Proteftant rejection of the sacrament of penance, the Catholic Church responded with a proliferation of literature and images defending and publicizing its scriptural validity and spiritual impor- tance— though, to be sure, not every Baroque image of a penitential saint is to be read merely as a response to the Proteftants. Again, sinful and lukewarm Catholics had to be catechized as well regarding the necessity of repentance. In any case, our two “saints who sinned,” Mary Magdalene and Peter the Apoftle, were the moft important icons of this campaign, and the specific scene 112 depicted in Francesco Vanni’s painting— a scene that con- cludes with Jesus’s words of absolution, “Go, your sins are forgiven” (Luke 7:48)— would have been a key element therein. Accordingly, in the Vitajesu ChriSli, Ludolphus entitles this Gospel episode “The Penance of Mary Magdalene” (“De poenitentia Mariae Magdalenae”), while the great fifteenth-century myftic-theologian Denis the Carthusian (d. 1471) was even of the opinion that the sacrament of penance itselt had its origins in this inter- action between Mary and Jesus. 3 ^ Inftead, the Council of Trent, whose decree on penance defined official Catholic doctrine on the subject for centuries to come, found the inftitution of the sacrament in the pronounce- ment of the resurrected Jesus to his Apo^Fles in John 20:22-23: “Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained . ”39 The jQlmentation Be that as it may, beginning with her dramatic act of penance in the home of Simon the Pharisee, Mary Magdalene became one of the closeft and moft conspicu- ous disciples of Jesus, her name usually having pride of place in NewTeftament lifts of the female followers of Chrift, such as that of Luke 8:1. Even though traditional scriptural commentary, written by largely “patriarchal” and, at times, misogyniftic hands has overlooked or undereftimated their importance, Mary, together with the other female members of Chrift’s retinue, played a significant role in Chrift’s official public miniftry, a significance whose dimensions are only now beginning to be appreciated with the advent of feminift biblical scholarship. 4 ° Fdowever, even traditional, “patriarchal” scriptural commentary acknowledged — and celebrated— that it was Mary and the other female, not male, disci- ples of Jesus who remained faithful to the very hour of his death, as we see in Scipione Pulzone’s altarpiece. The Lamentation, commissioned for the Jesuit mother- church of the Gesu in Rome (PI. i). 4 * Whereas Peter, for example, for all his boifterous proteftations of fidelity (Matthew 26:35 and parallels), ignominiously abandoned Jesus in his hour of need (see Francesco Bassano’s ylgowy in the Garden, PI. 9) and ultimately denied him, Mary inftead remained faithful. In a sermon preached to an audience of women, renowned Jesuit theologian and controversialift Roberto Bellarmino (1542-1621) had these words of praise for the female sex: God has given to women a certain instinctive tendency towards devotion, that he has not given to men. . . . We read in the Gospel that women showed greater devotion toward ('hriSt dur- ing his lifetime, in his death and after his death, than did men. We read of no woman ever offending him, as did many men. On the contrary, in fact, when the Scribes and the Pharisees were cursing him, it was a holy woman who Sfood up amidSl the crowd and said: “Blessed be the womb that bore you.” And how much honor was granted to the devotion of the Magdalene? At the cross, out of all the men there was only John, whereas there were many women present. The next day the firSl to go to the tomb and to see him resurrected were women. 4^ Similarly, glossing Matthew 27:55 (“There were many women there . . .”), Lapide underscores the greater spiri- tual depth and courage of women: S. Matthew says this to set forth how much greater faith, conftancy, and affection for Jesus these women had than men. “See how things were reversed,” says Euthymius, “the disciples had fled, but the women remained.” For women are commonly more holy than men, and hence the Church prays “for the devout sex of women.” It was also to point out that they, as grave and pious matrons, were reliable witnesses of what had taken place, and moreover that they had carefully provided for His burial. It was also to show that they had been so drawn to Him by His patience and holiness, that they could not be torn away, either by fear, or by the threats of the Jews, from wondering, gazing, and meditating on Him. 43 Hence, although, as Mary Garrard points out, there may be much “ambivalence”44 in the Magdalene as an image of and a role model for women, she does represent an affirmation of women. Especially when we take into consideration her final, serene, spiritually triumphant years in the desert (as depicted in Badalocchio’s and Reni’s paintings in the present exhibition. Pis. 7 and 8), the Magdalene’s “sanctioned, transforming meditation could be seen to carry women to an intellectual and spiritual plane normally occupied only by men. ”45 Some people in early modern Italy, men included, already underftood this. In his Libro del Cortegiano, one of the beft known and moft influential works produced by Renaissance Italy, Baldassare Caftiglione defends women’s equality with men, as far as the higheft achievements of love and myfticism are concerned: Here Giuliano the Magnificent replied: “Women will not be surpassed at all by men in this {love and myfticism], because, as Socrates himself confesses, all of the mysteries of love which he knew had been revealed to him by a woman, that is, Diotima; and the angel who with a flame of fire marked St. Francis with the ftigmata has likewise considered certain women of our time worthy of the same diffinction. I muff also remind you that Mary Magdalene’s many sins were for- given because she loved much, and perhaps as a result of a no less a gift of grace than that of St. Paul, she was many times seized by angelic love and raised to the third heaven; and the same can be said of many other women . . . 4^ In the Pulzone altarpiece, we see Mary in her tradi- tional, humble, yet nonethleless physically intimate position at Jesus’s feet; she refts there “with the in- ftinctivity of a domefticated feline , ”47 as one critic has somewhat saucily described her, tenderly caressing their bare flesh, as in Francesco Vanni’s canvas. Here, as in other depictions of the Crucifixion and its aftermath, Mary’s role is “to enhance the drama of the Passion and to act as a transmitter of emotions. ” 4 ^ Yet in Pulzone’s work, as befits a Poft-Tridentine public altarpiece, Mary’s emotion, though deeply felt and movingly communicated, is decorously retrained: no gushes of tears, no wild flay- ing of arms, no swooning. Nonetheless, Pulzone’s Mary retains a certain sensuality. Her long, silken blond hair flows smoothly and freely, ready perhaps to be used, as in Luke 7, as a towel for Jesus’s flesh. Mary’s luxuriant and cascading hair, in fact, represents somewhat of a contra- diction of the image of the reformed, respectable woman she presumably had become. Social cuftom, in ancient Judaea as in early modern Italy, required “respectable” women to keep their hair bound and covered. If not a tra- ditional iconographic reminder to the viewer of Mary’s identity, her undone hair may have been intended as an exterior sign of her “undone,” that is, completely distraught emotional State at the death of her beloved Jesus. Though he lets Mary’s hair flow freely, at the same time, from what we can see of Mary’s attire, Pulzone avoids the “error” and “abuse” criticized by Gilio and Paleotti of protraying the Magdalene at the Passion dressed “to the nines” as if she were Still a proStitute .49 Scripture itself tells us nothing explicit of Mary’s emotional response to Jesus’s Crucifixion; yet Catholic writers and artiSts had always depicted it as one of intense pain and sorrow. Although Scripture was silent on the issue, in early modern Italy, Jesus ChriSt was not— at leaSt according to the Franciscan myStic BattiSta da Varano (d.1524; beatified 1843) who claims, in The Mental Sorrows of ChriH in His Passion, to have been commissioned by Jesus himself to copy down and disseminate the descrip- tion of the Passion she records therein. Through Suor Battista, Jesus tells us this of the Magdalene: Now can you imagine how great was the sorrow I bore for the pain and affliction of my beloved and blessed disciple, Mary Magdalen? But neither you nor any other person could grasp it, since from her and from me all holy and spiritual loves had and will have their origin and foundation. . . . [A]fter my beloved mother no one grieved more over my death than Magdalen. . . . When she saw me lifeless, she thought that both the heaven and earth had been loft to her, for in me was all her hope, all her love, peace and consolation. 5° 29 Peter’s denial, though committed out of simple fear, was, nonetheless, a mortal sin, causing him to lose the grace and love of God. However, he “mentally retained his faith, which moved him to repentance and tears. jr, this he, like the Magdalene, is in direct contra^ to Judas Iscariot who despaired of divine love: “Oh, was not Judas foolish to think that his iniquity was greater than God’s mercy? The Lord in a single glance pardoned and converted Peter and made him head of the Church; he would have done the same to Judas had he grieved and repented for his sin. ”^31 In Cantarini’s painting, as in many of the por- traits of saints in Cardinal Federico Borromeo’s famous collection, the utterly human and realiftically depicted Peter is shown praying and in extreme proximity to the viewer. As Pamela Jones points out, the immediacy and sensual realism of such devout compositions were intended to emphasize “the direct, intimate connection between saints and sinners,” to remove the otherwise “formidable psychological barrier between saint and sinner” and to bluntly confront the viewer with a saintly exemplar to be imitated. *32 What artists suggested in paint, preachers exhorted in words: “Awakening during the night, imme- diately recall to mind your Lord, and in particular, grieve for your sins in imitation of Saint Peter who, at the crow- ing of the cock used to always awake to cry bitter tears for his sin. ”^33 On the subject of tears and prayer, Bellarmino tells us in one of his sermons that we muft ask God to grant us, firft and above all, heart-felt sorrow for our sins. He also tells us that the shedding of tears is the sureft signs that we have reached our goal: The souls of the wicked are fterile, juft as a land without water; nothing grows there except thorns and nettles. But where these frequent rainfuls [of tears] fall on the sons and daughters of the Lord, there germinate the living plants of good thoughts, the flowers of holy desires and the fruits of good works. The tears of the Magdalene, how much fruit did they produce! Likewise the tears of Saint Peter . . .^34 Juft as the faithful were to take example from Peter’s penitence and consolation from his forgiveness, so too were they to take warning from the very fact that Peter, who until that moment had appeared so loving of Jesus, so zealous for the faith, and so magnanimous in all his deeds, could actually sin so egregiously by denying his beloved Jesus and his faith. The principal moral message to be 123 drawn from this episode, say contemporary sources, is a warning againft foolish self-reliance, againft a vain, presumptuous confidence in one’s own powers, and a dan- gerous disregard for the “imbecillitatem carnis,” thdit is, for the weakness of human flesh.^35 However, as already men- tioned, in addition to being a “mirror” of the ordinary Chriftian, Peter was also symbol of the papacy Hence, the weighty queftion facing preachers and other ecclesiaftical commentators of Scripture was: Why did God permit the very head of his church to fall so totally and so ignomin- iously? The answer given by both Ludolphus and Lapide: because God wanted to impart an important, challenging paftoral message to Peter as future head of the Church and to his successors, the popes. The popes — and indeed all other prelates in charge of souls— were expected to have great compassion for human frailty and fallibility; they were to empathize with the sinner and act accordingly in their response to him or her.^3<3 The Jjberation of '-Peter In proceeding to the next scene from the life of Peter in- cluded in our exhibition, we skip over many years of the apoftle’s career and arrive at the episode of his miraculous liberation from prison in Jerusalem (PI. ii). The episode, recounted in Acts 12, is here depicted in an unfinished painting of circa 1614-15 from the Richard Feigen collection by Giovanni Lanfranco of Parma, a ftudent of Annibale Carracci working in Rome. (Together with Badalocchio, Giovanni worked in Rome on both the Galleria Farnese and the Palazzo Mattel.) In mid-career— beginning in 1614 — Lanfranco’s work was characterized by a “delicate, elegant and refined ftyle,” “subtle silhouette effects” and “a magical chiaroscuro atmosphere,”^37 all qualities readi- ly seen in the Feigen Liberation of Saint Peter, despite its unfinished ftate and its pentimenti. The present canvas represents, we might mention, an earlier, somewhat dif- ferent version of the painting that Lanfranco executed in 1620 for the Benediction Loggia in Saint Peter’s Basilica, now known only from an engraving by Pietro Santo Bartoli of 1665.^^ As for the event depicted in the painting. Scripture tells us that in his persecution of the new Chriftian sect. King Herod began arrefting its leaders; having arreted and killed James, the brother of John, “and when he saw that this was pleasing to the Jews” (Acts 12:3), the king seized Peter as well. However, since it was the feaft of Passover— as it was at the time of Jesus’s capture— Herod held Peter temporarily in prison. Meanwhile, “prayer by the church was fervently being made to God on his behalf” (Acts 12:5). That prayer was efficacious, and soon after there unfolded the scene that Lanfranco, with literal accuracy and dramatic chiaroscuro, sets before us: On the very night before Herod was to bring him to trial, Peter, secured by double chains, was sleeping between two sol- diers, while outside the door guards kept watch on the prison. Suddenly the angel of the Lord ftood by him and a light shone in the cell. He tapped Peter on the side and awakened him, saying “get up quickly.” The chains fell from his wrifts. (Acts 12:6-7) This providential deliverance of Peter was considered a momentous event in the life of the apoftle and in the hiftory of the early Church — a great sign, as we will hear Baronius say, of God’s special love and ever-vigilant pro- tection, not only of Peter, but also of his successors and of the Church itself Accordingly, a separate feaft was created in the Church’s universal calendar to commemorate the event: Auguft i, the Feaft of St. Peter in Chains — even though, as Jacopo da Voragine says, it should be more accurately called “Saint Peter out of Chains. ”^39 The early hiftory of both the feaft and the celebrated Roman church bearing that name is not completely clear; what is known is that Auguft i had been the pagan feaft of the Roman Emperors; and according to the Catholic Encyclopedia (1911) the new feaft was “originally the dedication feaft of the Church of the Apoftles, erected on the Esquiline Hill in the fourth century.”^40 The present sixteenth-century Church of St. Peter in Chains (San Pietro in Vincoli) ftands on the site of this paleochriftian Church of the Apoftles, which in the fifth century had been rebuilt at the expense of Eudoxia, daughter of the wife of Emperor Theodosius II, whose name was also Eudoxia, and who had brought to Rome the chains used to bind Peter in Jerusalem . ^41 However, the set of chains on display in Lanfranco’s time — ftill to be seen today— represented a melding of those from Peter’s Jerusalem imprisonment with those from his later (but entirely legendary) imprison- ment in Rome’s Mamertine Prison, as recounted in the apocryphalHcfr o/Pefer of the late second century.^42 Pseudo-Chrysoftom, Baronius, and Lapide devote much attention to the chains, lavishing abundant praise on them as precious relics of the greateft thaumaturgic 124 powers. In Baronins and Lapide, no doubt, the contempo- rary polemic with the Froteftants over the subject of relics accounts for some of the intensity of their adula- tion. As Pseudo-Chrysoftom exclaims in his already-cited sermon on the “venerable chains and sword of Peter, prince of the Apoftles,” These precious chains, I say, [are} so entirelyworthy of vener- ation, these chains which had bound those miracle-working hands, drawing divine grace from them, so that now miracles gush forward from them, liberating the sick from their illness and making holy all those who approach them with faith . . . Even though they might be made of [mere] iron, they, howev- er, are filled with divine grace and power ... It is fitting, moft certainly, it is fitting that not only these chains which had bound those hands be greatly venerated, but also all articles which have touched the limbs of the ApoSfle muft be each embraced and revered. *43 Underscoring their hiftorical and spiritual legitimacy, Baronius reiterates that the chains have been kept in the perpetual memory of the Church “as the glorious trophy of this moft noble victory” and have been “celebrated by almoft all the Fathers of the Church in outftanding speeches of praise. ”^44 There follows a long excerpt from one such speech of praise, from Auguftine: “O happy chains which adhered to the naked bones [of Peter] . . . O happy fetters.” Auguftine speaks also of the great miracle-working power of the chains: if the mere shadow of Peter could cure the sick (Acts 5:15), all the more so these chains, which had absorbed his very blood and sweat!^45 The chains, says Baronius, are, furthermore, signs of the worldwide imperium of Peter, that is, the papacy. He explains, “it is no myftery that both Eaft and Weft solemnly celebrate the feaft of the chains of Peter, as they do with those of no other Apoftle for it is only fitting that the chains of he whose power to bind and loose is so great in the Church should be held in honor by all the faithful.”^4^ In view of Proteftant attack on the inftitution of the papacy, this emphasis in contemporary biblical commen- tary and catechetical inftruction on Peter as symbol of the papacy, especially in such a scene of divine favor and Petrine triumph, comes as no surprise. Like Roncalli’s Death of Ananias and Sapphira (PI. 12), The Liberation of Peter, whether by Lanfranco or others — recall Raphael’s splendid fresco in the Borgia apartments commissioned by Leo X— could be and was indeed exploited for its great propaganda value in the papacy’s campaign to assert its scriptural and hiftorical legitimacy. In effect, therefore, the success of papal reftoration in the seventeenth century represents not only the triumph of the inftitution but also the tri- umph of art and the power of the image. This propaganda value was not loft on the ftaunchly and devoutly pro-papal Baronius, whose commentary on this scene in his Anna/es is calculated at every ftep to em- phasize Petrine/papal importance and triumph. The arreft of Peter, the cardinal says, was a devaftating “earthquake” for the Church thus deprived of its very foundation. The effortless way in which the angel of the Lord — some say it was Saint Michael himself, Lapide reports — overcame the guards and broke through the chains shows “how very foolish” it was for Herod — or anyone — to try to thwart the plans and wisdom of God. The implication was that those who attempt to do harm to the papacy will be simi- larly defeated, for in the end, “the angel led Peter out of prison, not as if he were fleeing but rather as if he were processing in triumph. ”M 7 Intensifying this image of miraculous victory was a further element that, although not mentioned by Baronius, is likely to have impressed the imagination of the viewer of Lanfranco’s depiction of Peter’s liberation: seeing the overcome guards, the great burft of light, and the young male angel — all traditional components of the scene of the Resurrection of Chrift— the Catholic viewer might have made, if only unconsciously, a connection between Peter’s delivery from his prison- tomb and the Resurrection of Jesus from the dead, thereby reinforcing in bis or her mind the identity among Jesus, Peter, and the pope, the vicar of Chrift on earth and suc- cessor of Peter.^40 However, to focus a moment on Peter himself and his demeanor in Herod’s prison, we find that, although it is somewhat ftrange, in our sources, the apoftle is both praised and blamed. On the one hand, as Lapide tells us, Peter slept soundly, for he trufted fully in the Lord; the apoftle’s faith only grew during his imprisonment, and, to the “confusion” of his guards, he remained “happy and of secure cheerfulness. ”^49 On the other hand, Peter’s puzzled reaction to the intervention of the angel — only after it was all over does he realize that it had all been the work of the Lord (Acts 12:9) — is the occasion for reproach, at leaft in the eyes of Pseudo-Chrysoftom. For a moment the old, “clueless,” doubting Peter returns to the fore: “What are you saying, o prince of the Apoftles? Only now you say that you know what it has all been about? Only 125 now do you believe? Only now you can enjoy the miracle? Where did that old fervor of yours go? To where did that secure hope of yours fly? To where did that impassioned confession of faith of yours disappear?”^^^ Therefore, even such a scene of Petrine/papal triumph contained the inconvenient reminder that, pro-papal propaganda notwith^anding, Peter was, to the end, very much suscep- tible to the weaknesses and fallibility of his human flesh. There was, finally, a more personal message that the or- dinary Chriftian was meant to derive from contemplation of painted depictions of the liberation of Peter. As they were with every scriptural pericope, ordinary Chriftians were to apply the NewTeftament ftory to their own per- sonal lives and find their own experiences reflected somehow in Peter’s. In his didactic sonnet on this epi- sode, Bishop Gabriele Fiamma explains the connection: the prison represents the habit of sin; the four soldiers are the four ways of sinning (ignorance, negligence, malice, and omission); Peter’s somnolence represents “the sinner who is incapable of waking himself up and doing what needs to be done” to escape sin, whereas the two chains represent the two forms of cupiditas, covetousness, that of the mind and that of the flesh. The only escape is recourse to God’s help. Inspired by Peter’s liberation. Catholics, therefore, were to raise this traditional prayer from the Mass in honor of the feaft of Saint Peter in Chains: “O God who allowed Saint Peter, bound by his chains, to leave his prison untouched by harm, release us, we beseech you, from the fetters of sin and remove from us the snares of all evil.”^^^ The 'Death oe qAnanias and^^apphira All that we have said about papal inviolability and triumphalism and their artiftic expression with respect to Lanfranco’s Liberation of St. Peter applies as well to our final painting. The Death of Ananias and Sapphira (PI. 12) by Criftofano Roncalli (also known as “Pomarancio”). Indeed, in view of the provenance of this canvas (also in the Feigen collection), those remarks are even more relevant: the Feigen Roncalli (1599-1604) represents one of the preparatory modelli executed by the artift en grisaille in creating his monumental altarpiece — the largest of his career— for the newly reconftructed St. Peter’s Basilica. The hiftory of the Roncalli painting, and of its place in the Petrine cycle planned by Clement VIII for the small naves of the basilica, has been publicized by Chappell and Kirwin in their lengthy ftudy, “A Petrine Triumph: The Decoration of the Navi Piccole in San Pietro under Clement VIII,” and needs no repeating here. ^53 Let us simply recall that Roncalli was granted the superintendency of the Petrine cycle project— the apogee of his career— probably through the graces of Cardinal Baronius. As one of the principal advisors to Pope Clement and cardinal-overseers of the decoration of the basilica, Baronius probably had much to say about the iconographical contents of the cycle. C4 Having also worked for Caravaggio’s patrons, the Mattei (he frescoed one of the Mattei chapels in the Aracoeli as well as portions of the Palazzo Mattei), Roncalli was honored with the diftinction of “Cavaliere di Crifto” for the success of this altarpiece. Let us further recall that, like all the other components of Clement’s grand decoration scheme, Roncalli’s gigantic altarpiece was meant to awe and in- spire the thousands of pilgrims who would be flooding the richly and programmatically ornamented basilica, espe- cially during Jubilee Years, with visions of the hiftorical legitimacy, majeftic power— both spiritual and temporal— and glorious triumph of the papacy.^^5 The episode depicted in Roncalli’s altarpiece again comes from the Acts of the Apoftles (5:1-11): Ananias and Sapphira, husband and wife, were members of the early Chriftian community; selling their land for purposes of communal benefaction, they attempted to deceive Peter by retaining a portion of the proceeds for themselves. Inftead, in an act of divinely inspired omniscience — Lapide calls it the apoftle’s “spirit of prophecy”^^^ — Peter exposed their fraud, severely remunerating fire Ananias and then Sapphira, both of whom dropped dead immedi- ately upon hearing Peter’s terrible words. The scriptural account concludes, “And great fear came upon the whole church and upon all who heard of these things” (Acts 5:11). In Roncalli’s we see in the dieance the already- dead Ananias being carried off, while Sapphira— partially naked here, for this is how the artift prepared the ana- tomical modelling of his figures^^7 — is in her death throes at the feet of the apoftle. Before Roncalli, the scene had been rendered in art moft notably by Masaccio in his fresco cycle in the Brancacci Chapel (Santa Maria del Carmine, Florence) and by Raphael in one of the famous Vatican tape^Iries commissioned by Leo X.^5^ The differ- ences among the three are quite revealing. Although Raphael’s Peter has indeed far more grace, nobility, and dignity than Masaccio’s utterly humble, decidedly 126 undramatic, near ru^^^ic counterpart, neither approaches the awe-inspiring terribilita, gravitas, and grandeur of Roncalli’s mighty Peter. The monumental presence of Peter— whose facial type and demeanor explicitly recall Moses, the patriarchal law-giver and judge — is, in turn, emphasized and heightened by the majeftic architectural setting of the scene. It is, as Kirwin notes, a “frightening depiction, calculated to place the fear of God — and of the pope — in those who view it. Somewhat surprisingly, neither Baronius nor Lapide makes any explicit mention of the papacy and its divinely guaranteed inviolability in his commentary upon this episode; that is clearly the principal message of Roncalli’s altarpiece, one that likely overwhelmed all others in the mind of the seventeenth-century viewer. For Lapide the episode was about avarice, serving, above all, as a warning to those who fteal from the Church; among such thieves are those religious who violate their vow of poverty— a sub-topic that the Jesuit covers at great length. Indeed, Ananias’s wife, Sapphira, who figures prominently in Roncalli’s painting, was a traditional exemplar of the sin of avarice. Having been “canonized” in this diftinction by Dante’s Divine Comedy (Purgatory 20:112), she is also portrayed in this role, for example, in Allegory of Avarice by Jacopo Ligozzi (1547-1626) in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. In Ripa’s Iconologia (firft edition, 1593), inftead, Sapphira and her husband repre- sent the personification of mendacium, lying. In his discussion of the episode in the Annales, Baronius’s main concern is, above all, the queftion of Peter’s alleged “cruelty” and whether the punishment fit the crime, two topics covered by Lapide as well.*^^ The charge againft Peter was ancient— Porphyrins had accused him of “savage slaughter ”''^3 — and both the cardinal-hiftorian and the Jesuit exegete do their beft to exonerate the apoftle. As Jerome points out, the actual killing was an act of God; Peter’s voice was simply the “occasion” and the moral, not material, inftrument of the execution . ^^4 Lapide asserts that such a harsh punish- ment was, in fact, necessary to inftill terror in the new Church, which was in need of object lessons of discipline in a time of great expansion. Baronius on this matter quotes Origen, who claims somewhat sophiftically that, by caftigating the couple right before death, “so that they left this world cleaner,” Peter saved them from damnation. Since they were believers, they will one day be saved . ^^5 Baronius also sees juftification for Peter’s behavior in Mosaic law, which punishes severely those who merely collect wood on the Sabbath. What is licit for Moses, he implies, is licit for his successor as supreme law- maker and judge, Peter. Furthermore, we are meant to underhand, what is licit for Peter— namely, the severe punishment of sinners even by death — is licit for his suc- cessors, the popes. This debate, concerning the punitive authority of the head of the church, was not reftricted to the personal hi^ory of the apoftle Peter, but rather the papacy faced it repeatedly in its own hiftory as well. In the early modern period, a time of many “wars of religion,” large and small, between Catholics and Proteftants or Catholics and the papacy, the issue was of especially burning relevance. In early seventeenth-century Italy the moft clamorous and controversial case was, as mentioned during our discus- sion of Peter’s mutilation of Malchus at the arreft of Jesus, the Venetian Interdict crisis of 1606. In this crisis, Baronius adamantly contended that the pope should ftrike hard againft the recalcitrant Venetians, even if that meant sanctioning slaughter. In a speech to the papal consi^ory, citing John 21:15 (“Feed my Iambs”) and Acts 10:13 (“Kill and eat”), Baronius declared that “Peter’s ministry is to feed and to kill, as the Lord commanded him;” in other words, the Petrine functions included both spiritual feeding and temporal killing .^^7 Commissioned through the agency of the same Cardinal Baronius juft a short while before the Venetian crisis, Roncalli’s Death of Ananias and Sapphira is completely in keeping with such a vision of the papacy. Thus, in effect, the ultimate message that Peter, in such a fearful Mosaic guise, communicated to the Catholic faithful was a warning: they could indeed, like Caterina Paluzzi, learn to fly on their own to great spiritual heights, but let them be mindful that any flights they might undertake were ever under the watchful, policing eye of the supreme pilot of the universal Church, the pope. 1 Excerpted in Dooley, 543. For Paluzzi’s biography, see Dooley’s intro- duction, 538-39. A protegee of Federico Borromeo, Caterina helped Cardinal Sfondrati locate the body of Saint Cecilia, as she relates in her Autobiography. For the Baroque cult and iconography of Cecilia, see Josephine von Henneberg’s essay in the present catalogue. 2 Jones, 129. 3 Auguftine, quoted by Delenda, 178; Basil, quoted by Hibbard, 29. 127 4 For Baronius, see Josephine von Henneberg’s essay in the present catalogue. 5 See Shore, 2-7; and The New Catholic Encyclopedia, s.v. “Ludolph of Saxony,” 8:1063-64. 6 For Lapide’s career, see The New Catholic Encyclopedia, s.v. “Lapide, Cornelius a,” 8:384; Galdos; Poncelet, 494-95; and the Dictionnaire de spirituality s.v. “Lapide (Cornelius a Lapide),” 9:253-55. 7 Of course, what any given viewer saw in and understood of a painting depended on his or her education and experience of life; see Pamela Jones’s distinction between the “informed” and “uninformed” viewer in her essay in the present catalogue. In my essay, I focus above all on those ideas and topoi that I believe were the common religious and cultural property of both groups of viewers. For the image of Mary Magdalene in the sermons of great Observant Franciscan preacher, Bernardino of Siena whose cult experienced a great reflourishing in PoSL-Tridentine Italy and whose opera omnia were published in three separate editions in the early modern period (Venice 1591, Paris 1635, and Lyons 1650), see Mormando. For the Study of Mary Magdalene in art and literature, Haskins’s vaSt Study is indispensible; for Mary in Italian literature of the early modern period, see Ussia; for the medieval period. Garth. 8 Lapide, 4:205. 9 The controversy is explicitly discussed or mentioned, e.g., by Baronius, Lapide (4:196-97), and Bishop Gabriele Fiamma in his didactic moral sonnets meant for a popular audience (for Fiamma, see n. 21 below). 10 Annales, an. 32, c. 17, 87. Baronius’s discussion extends from pp. 87 to 92, covering cc. 17-30. 1 1 For the text of the censure, see Acta sanctorum (Venice, 1748), July 22nd, 189. 12 Haskins, 246. For Jacques, see the Oxford Encyclopedia of the Reformation, 2:415-16; and Olin, 107-10. 13 Yet, as Cummings points out, the mirror here functions simul- taneously as a symbol of prudence or self-examination. Cummings’s article remains the beff discussion of the meaning of the painting; but see also Calvesi, 1985 and 1986, as well as the essays by Pamela Jones and John Varriano in the present catalogue. 14 Musso, “Predica del miftero della vigna,” 128. However, Musso does not say this inffanteous transformation came through the mediation of Martha, as is suggefled in Caravaggio’s painting. 15 Mosco, 155; and Calvesi, 1986, 149; see Leonardo da Vinci, 2:229, “Precepts of the Painters.” The use of the comput digitalis appears in an earlier depiction of the disputation between Martha and Mary by Leonardo’s follower, Bernardino Luini. Caravaggio was likely to have seen this painting (then attributed to Leonardo himself) in the Roman home of Cardinal del Monte (Mosco, 155-57; of Caravaggio, 250; see n. 22 below). 16 Calvesi, 1986, 149. 17 Annales, an. 32, c. 17, 87. For other references to this scene as “The Conversion of Mary Magdalene,” see, e.g., Pseudo-Bonaventure, 169 and fig. 153; Lawrence of Brindisi, “Dies Sanctae Mariae Magdalenae,” 89; and Michelangelo da Venezia, 1341. 18 Pseudo-Bonaventure, 170. The Legenda aurea is extremely vague, not to say illogical, concerning the process of Mary’s conversion, attributing it simply to “divine inspiration:” “As rich as Mary was, she was no less beautiful; and so entirely had she abandoned her body to pleasure that she was no longer called by any other name than ‘the sinner.’ But when Jesus was journeying about the country preaching, she learned one day, by divine inspiration, that He sat at meat in the house of Simon the Leper. Thither she ran at once, but, not daring to mingle with His disciples, she stayed apart. And she washed the Lord’s feet with her tears . . . (Jacopo da Voragine, 356). 19 Ludolphus, 2:108. This is the explanation given as well by Bernardino of Siena, “De Maria Magdalena, et de bonis et malis mulieribus,” 270a. 20 Ed. David Mycoff, Kalamazoo, 1989. Nor does Giles Conflable’s lengthy fhidy of the primary source literature on Martha and Mary record any mention of Martha as catalyff for her sifter’s conversion, although, ftarting in the late fifteenth century, she does begin to appear in the guise of Mary’s admonitor; see Conftable, esp. 128-29. 21 Sonnet 94, 320. Even Fiamma, by the way, feels the need to interrupt his exposition of the sonnet to address the issue of the identity of the Magdalene— is she one or three?— and affirm his adherence to official Church teaching (321). For Fiamma’s biography and impor- tance, see the Dictionnaire de spirituality 5:293-95, whence the quotation in the preceding sentence. 22 Age of Caravaggio, 251. In his multi-volume inventory of the icono- graphy of the saints in Italian painting, Kaftal lifts no scene of the conversion of Mary that includes Martha and only one depiction of Martha as she admonishes Mary this from a late 14th-century fres- coed cycle of the Magdalene’s life in Bolzano (Kaftal, Iconography of the Saints in the Painting of North Eall Italy, 707-08). Martha as Mary’s admonitor appears also in the Passion of San Gallo of 1330 (Mosco, 155). Mina Gregori tells us that “the source of Caravaggio’s painting was probably a work by Bernardino Luini in Cardinal del Monte’s collection, then attributed to Leonardo,” which has been identified with “the version in the Fine Arts Gallery of San Diego” (Age of Caravaggio, 250-51). The Luini painting, however, appears to jux- tapose Mary and Martha as representatives of, respectively, the contemplative and the active life, and does not depict the Magdalene’s conversion; see Cummings, 575-76. See Pamela Jones’s essay in this catalogue in which she suggefts that Caravaggio has sim- ply conflated two episodes of Mary’s life— her admonishment by Martha and her conversion — into one atemporal canvas. 23 The quotations are from Vernon Lee’s introduction to Valentina Hawtrey’s translation of the text (Hawtrey, vii). 24 Hawtrey, 24, 25-26. 25 “Della conversione, nella quale dialoga Marta con Maddalena del prefto convertirsi e dare il cuore a Dio,” 2357-81. Girolamo’s sermons were printed in Bologna in 1567 and again in Venice in 1570 (2346-47). The Capuchins, cited often in this essay, were one of the moft active and influential religious orders in Poft-Tridentine Catholicism; see Thomas Worcefter’s discussion in his essay in the present catalogue. 128 26 Finucci da Fiftoia, 2375. i-j Finucci tia Piftoia, 2377; in the anonymous Trecento Vita, after her soul-converting conversation with Martha, Mary goes looking for Jesus, eventually finding him at Simon’s house (Hawtrey, 35-37). 28 Lapide, 4:204. Pseudo-Rabanus says, inftead, that Simon was “a good friend and a relative of the blessed Martha” (Pseudo-Rabanus, 32). 29 Spear, 176. 30 Vanni’s aJtarpiece was destroyed in a fire in 1655. The Snite painting is believed to be a variant done by Vanni himself; the artist is known to have made smaller copies in oil of some of his works. The attribution of the Snite painting to Vanni was made by Susan Wegner in 1984 - the work had previously been attributed to Ventura Salimbeni (Fredericksen-Zeri, 614) -based upon drawings by Vanni for the loft altarpiece published by Riedl (q.v.). My thanks to Mary Frisk Coffman, Curator, Snite Museum of Art, for this information, 31 Ludolphus, 2:108; Lapide, 4:204; see also Lapide, 3:152-53 for his discussion of the alabafter jar and the ointment in connection to Mary’s second annointing of Jesus at Bethany in Matthew 26. 32 Annales, an. 32, c. 26, 90-91. Baronius is commenting on Mary’s anointing of Jesus at Bethany (Matthew 26) but his remark is pertinent to the anointing of Luke 7 as well. 33 Lapide 4:196. 34 See, for example, Ludolphus’s discussion, 2:112-13. 1 have taken the English translation of Mary’s Latin scroll (which begins “Ne desperetis vos qui peccare soletis”) from Dillenberger, 50. 35 Lapide, 4:211. 36 Annales, an. 34, c. 75, 129. 37 Ludolphus, 4:53. 38 Ludolphus, 2:107; for Denis the Carthusian, see his In Evangelium Lucae, as cited by Haskins 399, n. 44. 39 Tanner, 2:703. For more on penance in the early modern Church, see the essay by Thomas Worcefter in the present catalogue. 40 See, e.g., Ricci and Thompson. 41 See Gauvin Bailey’s essay in this catalogue for the hiftory and further discussion of the Pulzone altarpiece. 42 Bellarmine, 323-24. 43 Lapide, 3:315-16. 44 Garrard, 46. 45 Garrard, 47. 46 Caftiglione, Book 4, Chapter 72, 542-43. 47 Mosco, 92. 48 Kenaan-Kedar, 701. 49 Gilio and Paleotti in Barocchi, 2:32-33, 2:266, 2:367. 50 Battifta da Varano, 17-18. For the hiftory of this work, see the translator’s Introduction, iv-v. 51 Ludolphus, 4:192, 193, Pscudo-Bonaventure’s Magdalene tells Jesus “that so much grief from the harshness of your Passion and death filled my heart that everything was obliterated” (363). 52 Ludolphus, 4:195. 53 The quotations are respectively from Amann, 42; and The Age of Correggio, 150. 54 See Romani, 86; and Cadogan, 181-82. There is another version of the same scene by Orsi in the Galleria Eftense, Modena; see Cadogan, 182, fig. 33. 55 The quotation is from Ludolphus, 4:194. For the same theme see Lapide, 6:261; and Lawrence of Brindisi’s sermon for the “Secondo giorno di Pasca,” 2691. 56 Lapide, 6:262. 57 Marsh, 637. 58 Pseudo-Bonaventure, 363. 59 Ludolphus, 4:192. 60 Musso, “Dell’allegrezze che debbe haver il chriftiano per la Resurretione di Chrifto Noftro Signore,” 159, 160. 61 Lapide, 6:264 for both quotations. 62 Firft, that is, after Jesus’s mother, the Virgin Mary, who was visited by her son, according to a widely-believed pious legend. Confirmed by the revelations of Battifta da Varano (18), the legend was accepted by Pseudo-Bonaventure (359), Ludolphus (4:193), and Baronius, who declares, “[N]o pious person, I think, would deny [this traditional beliefl” {Annales, an. 34, c. 179, 158-59). For the Magdalene’s love and perseverance as reason for her reward, see Lapide, 6:257 and 266. 63 Haskins, 62. 64 Ludolphus, 4:200. Ludolphus also cites Ambrose, Auguftine, and Bede to the same effect, while Lapide cites Chrysoftom (3:344-45). The topos of woman as temptress, especially sexual temptress, of devout men and, to use Ludolphus’s image, as a “gate of death,” is ancient and recurrent in Chriftian literature and art; one such example of womanly evil is Potiphar’s wife, the would-be corrupter ofjoseph. See Guercino’s rendition of that scene from Genesis 39 included in the present exhibition (PI. 25). 65 Lapide, 3:345. Ludolphus agrees: women cannot preach, he says, because of their inferior mental and physical capacities (4:200). 66 Lapide, 6:266. 67 Martyrologium,}\x\y 22; dind Annales, an. 35, c. 5, 208. Yet, Lapide criticizes Baronius for accepting the “improbable” ftory that Joseph of Arimathea, after landing in France with Mary and Martha, ended up in England where he preached the Gospel (Lapide, 3:319). 68 “By the end of the thirteenth century Mary Magdalen had, it seemed, left behind at leaft five corpses, in addition to many whole arms and smaller pieces which could not be accounted for” 129 (Haskins, 99). Ironically, despite her flatus as a monument to the accomplishments of womanhood, no female was allowed to enter her tomb at Aix, as was announced by the medieval plaque placed at its entrance: “no lady whatsoever, no matter what holiness or wealth she may have or nobility” (Garth, 102). 69 See Haskins, 287-89. 70 Dillenberger, 43. 71 Haskins, 298, fig. 72. See Haskins’s fig. 73, showing Orazio Gentileschi’s variation on the same composition in the Richard Feigen collection. 72 The quotation in the previous sentence comes from The Age of Correggio, 373; for Badalocchio and Lanfranco, see Schleier, 23 and the biographical entry, “Badalocchio, Sifto” in La pittura in Italia. II Seicento, 2:620. For this painting, see Spike, cat. 3, 20. 73 Haskins, 232. 74 “In short, ‘to be naked is to be deprived of our clothes and the word implies some of the embarassment which moSf of us feel in that con- dition.’ The word ‘nude,’ on the other hand, connotes no such image of a ‘huddled, defenseless body, but of a balanced, prosperous and confident body: the body re-formed’ ” (Miles, 13, quoting Kenneth Clark, The Naked and the Nude: A Study in Ideal Art [London, 1936], i. A large number of scholarly works has been published in the recent pafi examining attitudes toward, and the significance of, the human body (especially the naked human body) in the European cultural tra- dition; see, e.g., Peter Brown’s The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (New York, 1988); Carolyn Walker Bynum’s Fragmentation and Redemption: Essays on Gender and the Human Body in Medieval Religion (New York, 1992); Leo Steinberg’s The Sexuality of Christ in Renaissance Art and Modem Oblivion (2nd. ed., Chicago, 1996); and the ju^l-cited Margaret Miles’s Carnal Knowing: Female Nakedness and Religious Meaning in the Christian WeSt. 73 Haskins, 232, 234. 76 Paleotti’s table of contents for the unwritten third book is extant; see Barocchi, 2:304-06; for discussions of nudity in art in contemporary treatises, see Marcora, 216-17 (re: Paleotti), 220 (re: Borghini), 226 (re: Lomazzo). 77 Petrocchi, 97. Petrocchi is not clear on the date; it seems to have been 1623. 78 See the Dictionnaire de spiritualite, s.v., “Nudite;” Haskins, 224-27; Bernards; Chatillon; and Gregoire. 79 Jones, 74; Haskins, 237. 80 Titian Prince of Painters, 334. 81 Hart and Stevenson, 73-76. 82 Paleotti, in Barocchi, 2:267. The quotation about Borromeo is taken from Haskins, 244. 83 De inspirationibus, 239. The original Latin is: “Novi personam, quae dum contemplabatur humanitatem Chri^Ii pendentis in cruce (pudet dicere et horrendum eft etiam cogitare) sensualiter et turpiter polluebatur et foedabatur.” 84 Yet this detail is in neither Jacopo da Voragine nor Pseudo-Rabanus; we find it, however, in the Aurea rosa (see n. 86 below). 83 Haksins, 260; see also 238 and 300. 86 Prierias, 433-36. The prolific Dominican writer and Mafter of the Sacred Palace under Leo X, Sylvefter Prierias (1460-1323) whose real name is Mazzolini (Prierias derives from Priero, the place of his birth in Piedmont), was the firfl theologian to engage Martin Luther in public disputation over papal supremacy, indulgences, and ecclesiology. He is also author of the enormously popular thelogical handbook, the Summa SilveStrina. His Rosa aurea was firfl published in Rome in 1310 (see Enciclopedia cattolica, 8:337-38, s.v. “Mazzolini, Silveftro [Prierias];” and the New Catholic Encyclopedia, 9:324-23, s.v. “Mazzolini, Sylvefler”). Capuchin popular preacher and spiritual writer Criftoforo da Verucchio (d.1630) also mentions this relic of Chrifl’s blood collected by Mary— “according to the mofl authentic of her legends, found in Surius”— in his Compendio di cento meditazioni sacre, sopra tutta la vita e la passione del Signore . . ., dedicated to the Duke of Llrbino, Francesco Maria II della Rovere, published in Venice, iff ed., 1392, 2nd ed., 1602 (Crifloforo da Verucchio, 1213; for his life and work, see 1083-87, 1190-91 and fig. 24, facing 1121. 87 Haskins, 273. On the subject of Magdalene-related relics, what was considered to be her hairshirt is in the Museo del Tesoro of the Church of St.John Lateran in Rome, according to Mosco, 192. 88 Not only only was Mary literate, she was, according to Bernardino of Siena, “adorned with natural wisdom.” Her name, Magdalene, in fact, means “illuminata,” enlightened, “since she possessed a marvelous natural intelligence” (“De ardentissimo amore sanc- tissimae Magdalenae,” 421; “De peccatoris conversione,” 283). 89 Lapide, 4:213. 90 Ochino, “Predica predicata in Vinegia il giorno della fefla di S. Maria Maddalena. MDXXXIX,” 2303. See my other essay in this catalogue for the significance of the scene of the betrayal and capture of Chrifl in Franciscan spirituality. 91 Pseudo-Bonaventure, chap. LXXIV-LXXXIII. 92 Battifla da Faenza, 348. 93 Prierias, 438-39. 94 Alessio Segala da Said, 1720. The already-cited Battifla da Faenza reports the same flory of Michael and the Magdalene and her meditation of the Passion (349). 93 Zafran, 68. 96 Lapide, 4:214. 97 Pseudo-Rabanus, 106-07. 98 “De ardentissimo amore sanctissimae Magdalenae,” 437. 99 Ochino, “Predica predicata in Vinegia il giorno della fefla di S. Maria Maddalena. MDXXXIX,” 2300-01. This is not to say that all artiffs depicting the penitent Mary agreed with Ochino’s description of her emotional flate. For an alternative reading of Reni’s Penitent Magdalene, see Jones’s essay in the present catalogue. 130 100 Male, chap. 4, 151-201. 101 Michelangelo da Venezia, 1406-07; the quotation is from his devotional treatise defined for a popular audience, the Fascetto di Mirra, net quale si contengano quaranta meJitazioni sopra la passione di noilro Signore, che possono servire anco per I'oratione delle ^aranta More, firft published in Venice, 1611. 102 Lapidc, 2:5. 103 The question of Peter’s primacy comes up at leaft four times in vol. i of the Annales-. an. 31, c. 23-28, 63-67; an. 33, c. 11-27, 96-101; an. 34, c. 198-206, 164-66; and an. 45, c. 1-9, 293-95. 104 Campanelli, 399. 105 Annales, an. 69, c. 14, 594. Paleotti cites Eusebius to the same effect: 2:243. 106 Regarding Peter’s eyebrows, Baronius’s original Latin reads “super- cilia prope evulsa” but this is a misquote. Nicephorus, Baronius’s source, tells us that the apoftle’s brows were, instead, “arched.” His description may be found in the Patrolo^a graeca, vol. 145, col. 853. (My thanks to Dr. Kenneth Rothwell for his help with the Greekand Latin texts.) 107 Annales, an. 69, c. 31, 599. For the ancient Petrine prototypes, see Freedberg, 205-07; Ronca, 428; Toscano, 414; and Campanelli, 399. 108 Gilio, 2:31-32; Ludolphus, 4:233. 109 Jones, 195. For further discussion of the oldeft extant images of the apoftle, in addition to Ladner cited by Jones, see also the Dictionnaire d'archeologie chretienne et de liturffe, 14/1, s.v. Pierre (Saint),” ss. LI V and LV, cols. 941-45; Catholic Encyclopedia (1911), 11:752, s.v. “Peter, Saint, Prince of the Apoftles”; and the New Catholic Encyclopedia, 11:205, s.v. “Peter, ApoSfle, St.” no Maccoby, 29. Ill Ludolphus (4:45 and 48-49) and Lapide (3:240-41) both emphasize that it was a simple girl who was the occasion of Peter’s great denial of Chrift. As Auguftine exclaims: “Behold this moft firm pillar tumbled at one single breath of air!” (Lapide 3:241). In Ludolphus’s analysis, the girl represents the sins of cupiditas and voluptas, covetousness and sensual pleasure (4:48-49). H2 The quotation from Ludolphus comes from 4:16. Benedetti (48) points out that Bassano’s altarpiece of the Assumption of the Virgin hung over the high altar in San Luigi dei Francesi, “where it was probably admired by Caravaggio.” For Bassano’s possible influence on Caravaggio’s The Taking of Christ, see Benedetti, 30-31. 113 Lapide, 3:210. 114 For the subject of martyrdom in early modern Catholicism, see the essays by Josephine von Henneberg and Gauvin Bailey in this catalogue. 115 For more on this painting and its attribution, see my other essay in this catalogue. 116 Ludolphus, 4:26; Lapide, 3:219; ^ecromus, Annales, an. 34, c. 67, 128; Pseudo-ChrysoSIom, 8:18 (more about this source below). 117 Pseudo-Bonaventure, 321. 118 Lapide, 3:220. 119 Ludolphus, 4:26-27. 120 Lapide, 3:221. 121 For this crisis and Baronius’s role in it, see Pullapilly, 117-134. 122 According to Reau, 3/3:1081. 123 Pseudo-Chrysoftom, 20. 124 Baronius read the sermon in question, as we know from his anno- tations to the Martyrologium-, there he suggests, however, the names of Saints Germanus or Proclus as possible authors of the sermon since, in Chrysoftom’s time, the chains had not yet been found {Martyrologium, Auguft i). 125 Pseudo-Chrysoftom, 18 (for the quotation in the previous sentence), 20. 126 The Smith College Penitent Peter has been attributed by Stephen Pepper to the Pesarese artift Simone Cantarini (1612-48), but is of otherwise unknown origins (communication from the Smith College Museum of Art, September 10, 1997). The painting is unpublished except for a lifting (and reproduction) in La Chronique desArts, the supplement to the Gazette des Beaux-Arts, March 1987 (entry 136). There is a similar Penitent Peter by Cantarini in the Doria-Pamphili Gallery in Rome (see Mancigotti, 135, fig. 73). 127 Ludolphus, 4:46-47; Lapide, 3:247-48; see also the already-cited Michelangelo da Venezia and Alessio Segala da Salo, 1346 and 1690-91, respectively. Lapide (3:247) credits “S. Clement, the disciple and successor of S. Peter” as the source of this information. 128 Alessio Segala da Salo, 1690-91. 129 Tansillo, canto i, octave 51. 130 For Peter’s fear, see Ludolphus, 4:45; for his mortal sin and “mental faith” see Lapide, 3:242, whence the quotation. 131 Bernardino Ochino, “Predica predicata in Vinegia il lunedi di Pasqua MDXXXIX,” 2269 . 132 Jones, 128-29. 133 Michelangelo da Venezia, 1346. Ludolphus (4:48) adds that the cock represents the preacher who awakens us to our sins. 134 Bellarmino, 325. 135 Ludolphus, 3:351-52 (whence the quotation); Lapide, 3: 242. 136 Ludolphus, 3:352; Lapide, 3:243 and 4:49. 137 La pittura in Italia. IlSeicento, 2: 781; see also The Age of Correggio, 483. 138 Information from the files of Richard Feigen, Inc. 139 Jacopo da Voragine, 403. lyo Catholic Encyclopedia (1911), 11:751-52. s.v. “Peter, Saint, Prince of the Apoftles. VI. Representations.” Baronius gives some of the hiftory of the chains and their re-discovery in the Martyrologium, Auguft ift. 141 Hibbert, 334; Catholic Encyclopedia (1911), 11:751-52. 142 Aletford, 196; and Reau, 3/3:1081. According to a footnote in the Turin 1877 edition of Surius, Cardinal Sfondrati, with the permission of Clement VIII, brought a portion of the chain to Santa Cecilia (Surius, 8:22n.) 143 Pseudo- Chrysoffom, 16, 17. ly/^Annales, an. 44, c. 6, 267. 145 Annales, an. 44, c. 6, 268. As Baronius points out, Auguftine was actually speaking of the Mamertine chains, the Jerusalem chains not yet having been discovered. 146 Marty rologium, August i. For Lapide’s discussion of the chains, which draws much from Baronius, see his gloss on Acts 12:6 (Lapide/Acts, 17:261-62). Lapide reminds his readers that like the Church, so too does God honor these relics by causing miracles to be wrought through them. 147 Annales, an. 44, c. 3, 266, and c. 6, 267. 148 The liberation of Peter as visually analogous to the scene of Jesus’s resurrection is Reau’s suggeftion, 3/3:1092. 149 Lapide, 17:261; Pseudo-Chrysoftom, 10. 150 Pseudo-Chrysoftom, ii. 151 Fiamma, Sonnet 61, 187-88. 152 This is my translation of the oratio for the Auguft Petrine feaft taken from the 1574 edition of the Roman Missal. 153 See also Kirwin; for a preparatory sketch relating to this altarpiece, see Pouncey The altarpiece was done on slate and placed at the foot of the pilone di SantAndrea until 1726, at which time, having suffered humidity damage, it was replaced by a slightly different copy in mosaic. The original is in the Roman Church of Santa Maria degli Angeli (information from the files of Richard Feigen, Inc.; see also DiFederico, 76-77). Roncalli described his working method, from initial idea to final illoria, in a speech delivered to the Roman Accademia di San Luca on June 26, 1594: for the text of the speech, see Beltramme, Appendix i, 219-20. 154 Other artifts involved in this project under Roncalli and represented in the present exhibition are Francesco Vanni and Giovanni Baglione. For tbe facts of Roncalli’s career, in addition to Chandler- Kirwin, see also Kirwin and La pittura in Italia. II Seicento, 2:824. 155 On the jubilees of the period, see Brezzi, 112-38. 156 Lapide/Acts, 17:145. 157 Rodino, 36. 158 Fermor, fig. 20. 159 PetrioliTofani, 216. 160 Kirwin, ii. 161 Lapide/Acts, 17:141-45. 162 Annales, an. 34, c. 265, 184-85; Lapide/Acts, 17:147-48, addresses the question as well, drawing, however, from Baronius in large part. 163 Lapide/Acts, 17:147; set Annales, an. 34, c. 264, 184. 164 Lapide/Acts, Annales, an. 34, c. 264, 184. 165 Lapide/Acts, ly.iy-j, Annales, an. 34, c. 264, 184. 166 Annales, an. 34, c. 264, 185, quoting Isidore. 167 Pullapilly, 118. BIBLIOGRAPHY The Age of Correggio and the Carracci: Emilian Painting of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. Exhibition Catalogue. Washington, DC, 1986. qAImaNN, oArmand, etal., eds. Du manierisme au baroque: Art d’elite et art populaire. Exposition du 2 mars au 28 mars 7995 au Muse'e des Beaux-Arts de Chambery. Exhibition Catalogue. Cbambery, 1995. ‘'BaROCCHI, ‘■Paola, ed. 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Paris, 1868. [Cited as Lapide/Acts] . The Great Commentary. 8 vols. Trans. Thomas W. Mossman. Edinburgh, 1908. jQiWRENCE OF '-Brindisi. “Dies Sanctae Mariae Magdalenae.” In Opera omnia, 10 vols. Vol. 9; Sanctorale. Padua, 1944. . “Secondo giorno di Pasca.” In / frati cappuccini, 3/2:2687-99. J^ONARDO DA UiNCI. The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci. 2 vols. Ed. Edward MacCurdy. London, 1954. Lodovico Carracci. Exhibition Catalogue. Ed. Andrea Emiliani. Essay and Catalogue by Gail Eeigenbaum. Milan, New York, and Fort Worth, 1994. jfVDOLPIIUS OF (^AXONY. Vitajesu ChriSii. 4 vols. Paris, 1878. (fAfALE, Smile. Dirt religieux de la fin du XVIe siecle, du XVI le siecle et du XVIIIe siecle. Etude sur Ticonographie apres le Concile de Trent. 2nd ed. Paris, 1951. clManCIGOTTI, LMario. Simone Cantarini. Pesaro, 1975. (fiViARCORA, fi,ARLO. “Trattati d’arte sacra al tempo di Baronio.” In Baronio e Tarte, 189-246. clMarSH,Joiin. St.John. Philadelphia, 1968. cCAfETFORD, J.Q.J- Dictionary of ChriSlian Lore and Legend. London, 1983. ({Michelangelo da “Venezia. Fascetto di?mrra, nel quale si contengano quaranta meditazioni sopra la Passione di noSlro Signore, che possono serivre anco per I’oratione delle ^aranta I lore. In I frati cappuccini, 3/1:1264-335. ({Miles, LMargaret T{ Carnal Knowing: Female Nakedness and Religious Meaning in the ChriSlian Well. New York, 1989. ({MormandO, J-ranco. ‘“Virtual Death’ in the Middle Ages: The Apotheosis of Mary Magdalene in Popular Preaching.” In Death and Dying in the Middle Ages, ed. Edelgard E. DuBruck and Barbara I. Gusick. New York, forthcoming. ({MoSCO, (lMarilena, ed. La Maddalena tra sacro e profano. Da Ciotto a De Chirico, Palazzo Pitti, 24 maggio-j settembre iq86. Exhibition Catalogue. Milan and Florence, 1986. ({MvSSO, (Jornelio. “DeH’allegrezze che debbe haver il chri^fiano per la Resurretione di Chrifto Noftro Signore.” In Tre libri delle prediche, n. 5. Venice, 1576. . “Predica del miftero della vigna e dell’arte del ben vivere.” In Tre libri delle prediche, n. 4. Venice, 1576. (.OciIINO, ‘■Bernardiso. “Predica predicata in Vinegia il giorno della fefta di S. Maria Maddalena. MDXXXIX.” In I frati cappuccini, 3/1: 2290-306. . “Predica predicata in Vinegia il lunedi di Pasqua. MDXXXIX.” In I frati cappuccini, 3/1:2255-70. &LIN, John Q. The Catholic Reformation: Savonarola to Ignatius Loyola; Reform in the Church 1495-/540. New York, 1969. '-Paleotti, Qabriele. “Discorso intorno alle immagini sacre e profane.” In Barocchi, 2:117-509. ‘•Pepper, David. Guido Reni.A Complete Catalogue of His Works. New York, 1984. ‘PetrIOLI ‘Jofani, oA. and QRAiiAMfiMiTii. Sixteenth-Century Tuscan Drawings from the Ujfizi. New York and Oxford, 1988. PetrOCCIII, CMassimo. Roma nel Seicento. Bologna, 1976. La pittura in Italia: Il Seicento. 2nd. ed. 2 vols. Milan, 1989. PoNCELET, qAlfred. HiSloire de la Compagnie de Jesus dans lesAnciens Pays-Bas. 2 vols. Brussels, 1926. pRIERIAS, firivESTER. “De beata Maria Magdalena ex Aurea rosa Sylveftri Prieratis viri doctissimi professione dominicani in expositione evangelii feriae V infra octavam Paschae.” In Surius, 7: 434-4> (July 22)- [PSEUDO-PONAVENTURE.J Meditations on the Life of ChriSl:An Illustrated Manuscript of the Fourteenth Century. Eds. Isa Ragusa and Rosalie B. Green. Princeton, 1961. [PseUDO-QhrYSOSTOM.] “In honorem venerabilium catenarum et gladii s. Petri apo^lolorum principis.” In Surius, 8:5-22. [PsEUDO-pABANUS.] The Life of Saint Mary Magdalene and of Her Sister, Saint Martha: A Medieval Biography. Ed. David Mycoff Kalamazoo, 1989. PuLLAPILLT, (JrRiAcliQCaesar Baronius. Notre Dame, 1975. '•P,EAU, Lfiuis. Iconographie de Part chretien. 3 vols in 6. Paris, 1955-59. 'p^CI, Qarla. Mary Magdalene and Many Others: Women Who Followed Jesus. Kent, 1994. ‘•PjEDL, ‘■Peter qAnselm. “Bemerkungen sur alten Ausftattung von San Francesco in Siena.” Mitteilungen des KunSlhiSlorischen Institutes in Florenz 23 (1979): 325-36. '•PODINO, fiiMONETTA ‘■Pros PERI 'Valenti. Disegni romani dal XVI al XVHI secolo. Rome, 1995. ‘'Pqmani, Vittoria. Lelio Orsi. Modena, 1984. ^CIILEIER, Srich. “Due opere ‘toscane’ del Lanfranco.” Paragone 31 (1980): 22-38. (fiEGALA DaJ^ALO, oAlessio. Area santa della vita e passione di CriSto Signor NoSlro. In I frati cappuccini, 3/1:1646-729. ^HORE, ‘■Paul. “The Vita ChriSli of Ludolph of Saxony and Its Influence on the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius of Loyola.” Studies in the Spirituality of Jesuits, 30/1, January 1998. 134 i^PKAR, -R^(piARn 8 . The 'Divine Guido:’ Religion, Sex, Money and Art in the World of Guido Reni. New Haven, 1997. ^^PIKE, John 'T' Italian Barot/ue Paintings from New York Private Collections. Hxhibition Catalogue. Princeton, 1980. f^VRIUS, jQii'RENTius, ed. HiEoriae seu vitae sanctorum. 13 vols. Turin, 1877. ’Tanner, w\oramn, ed. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils. 2 vols. London and Washington D.C., 1990. TanSILLO, fuiGi. Le lagrime di San Pietro. Venice, 1606. Thompson, tTMARr ‘■If Mary of Magdala - ApoEle and Leader. New York, 1995. Titian, Prince of Painters. Exhibition Catalogue. Munich, 1990. USSIA, ^^LVATORE. “II tema letterario della Maddalena nell’eta della Controriforma.” RiviEa diEoria e letteratura religiosa 24 (1988): 386-424. !^ERAN, 8ric dAT. Fifty Old MaEer Paintings from the Walters Art Gallery. Baltimore, 1988. 135 CARDINAL CAESAR BARONIUS, THE ARTS, AND THE EARLY CHRISTIAN MARTYRS Josephine von JTenneberg F rom the days of the early Church, the saints always had a place at the center of Chri^ian devotion. In Webern Europe, their cult remained a vigorous spiritual cataly^ that would la^ through the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Images of saints were part of an individual’s intellectual equipment: saints’ attributes made them immediately recognizable, and the popular Tories connected with their lives spoke directly to the imaginations of view- ers, encouraging their piety and devotion. The Reformation, however, pushed the saints and their cult aside on the grounds that they were tainted with paganism and super^ition. Luther, Calvin, and Zwingli condemned the sacred images as objects of immoderate cult and as too licentious and sensual. Their pronouncements opened a period of anxiety for arti^s that reflected the theological controversies affecting the Church. In the second part of the sixteenth century, the Council of Trent, carefully phrasing its directives to prevent any accusation of idolatry, gave the saints a new lease on life by asserting that they were not only an aid to devotion, but also a powerful means of intercession between God and the faithful. In their decrees, however, the Church fathers made it clear that images were to receive “honor and veneration,” not in their own right, but only as prototypes of what they represented. As vehicles of religious teaching, sacred images were to be free from impropriety and doctrinal errors and remain true to textual sources. To that aim, the Church fathers directed that “nothing new, nor anything that has not hitherto been in use in the Church” could be employed by the arti^s, thus licensing for controls that at times went as far as censorship.^ It is in this perspective — and in the context of the importance the Council explicitly gave to visual imagery— that the figure of Cardinal Caesar Baronius (1538-1607) and his hiftorical work should be approached. Annales ecclesia§lici (1588-1607), the immense work that has earned him the name “Father of Modern Church Hiftory,”^ has long been the object of scholarly Judies. Yet only in re- cent years have art hi^orians begun to examine it in relation to the visual arts. 136 rhc queilion of images ami of the cult of the saints and their relics was important to Baronius as it was to the many writers who, around the years of the Council of Trent, produced a proliferation of treatises in which they discussed matters of aefthetics and doctrine, cutting across the boundaries of ecclesiastical and secular disci- plines. Unlike many of his contemporaries, however, Baronius was not interested in art theories or abstract debates. A Staunch supporter of Tridentine spirituality, he accepted images not only as powerful instruments that could deepen and Strengthen the worship of God, but also as tangible witnesses to the hiStory of Christianity. Images were to him documentary evidence that muSt be approached with rigorous critical and methodological tools, since on their authenticity reSt, againSt all critics, the sacredness and historical continuity of the Church of Rome. Baronius’s work was far from the Standards of modern scholarship and clearly polemical in justifying the traditions of the Church. Still, it had a scrupulous honeSty that earned him the respect of Catholics and ProteStants alike. His scholarship often eradicated myths and legends not only from ecclesiastical hiStory, but also from reli- gious imagery— hence the enduring importance of his name for the visual arts. Baronius was the favorite disciple of Filippo Neri, under whose tutelage he was placed soon after his arrival in Rome in 1557 and whom he succeeded in 1593 as ProvoSt of the Congregation of the Oratory, which Filippo had founded . 3 He fully shared his mentor’s ardent desire for prayer and spiritual renewal, as well as his aim to reform the Church through a return to the values of Early Christianity. Early volumes oiVtSimnms’sAnnalesecclesiailici dealt with the trials of the early Christian martyrs, and were based on a series of nightly talks on the hiStory of the Church that Neri had urged him to deliver to the mem- bers of the Roman Oratory .4 Baronius had approached the same subject in his revision of the Martyrologium romanum, the official version of the saints’ lives to be used by the Church, which he prepared at the requeSt of Pope Gregory XHI and published in 1583. In this work, he drew extensively on material obtained from the newly rediscovered catacombs. The accidental discovery on May 31, 1578 of the Cata- comb of the Giordani, believed at the time to be the ancient cemetery of Priscilla, was epoch-making. The intereSf in Roman antiquities had permeated papal Rome since the end of the fifteenth century, but the aSfonishing news directed contemporary attention to the existence of a vaSt subterranean city Fhe new findings Stunned anticjuar- ians and collectors alike, setting the Stage for the scientific exploration of the catacombs that was to follow and adding fuel to the current debates on religious images . 3 For the faithful, the discovery was a source of wonder. The wall paintings of the catacombs provided compelling evidence that the early ChriStians had used images in their rituals, while the human remains of those who had died at the hands of their Roman persecutors gave new, tangible meaning to the cult of the martyrs and their relics.^ In particular, the catacombs offered Baronius fresh material for his research 7 and awakened in him the desire to emulate the earlieSf ChriSHans as closely as pos- sible by putting his thoughts into action. The result was the reftoration of a number of early Chriftian ftructures which he brought to their former conditions in close adherence to the theories he had developed on early ChrisTian practice. Foremoft among these was his own titular church of SS. Nereo ed Achilleo, which he renovated and decorated in 1596-99.^ In SS. Nereo ed Achilleo, his belief that architecture is the enduring teftimony of the paft led to reftorations that he believed would not alter the meaning of the origi- nal ftructure. Architecture, furnishings, and decorations were all turned into an integrated and coherent whole. Whenever the original mosaics were beyond repair, new frescoes were commissioned from contemporary painters all extolling the same theme: the celebration of victory in the name of Chrift. On the apse and the walls of the church, the lives and martyrdoms of the two titular saints and of the apoftles, along with depictions of angels, reminded viewers of the ancient heroes who died vic- toriously for Chrift .9 In 1597, the relics of Nereo and Achilleo, along with the inftruments of their martyrdom, were transferred with a splendid ceremony to the crypt below the high altar in celebration of the saints’ ultimate victory over the Devil. As in an ancient triumph, the pro- cession passed under the triumphal arches the emperors had erected in the Roman Forum, the inscriptions on which were covered by new ones Baronius prepared in honor of the saints. Today the casual visitor may regard Baronius’s impact on the arts of Baroque Rome as marginal: the few reftora- tions he directly sponsored in the city are not well known (special skill may be needed to persuade a cuftodian to unlock the oratories adjacent to the churches of San 137 Gregorio al Celio and San Cesareo de Appia), and the artifts he directly commissioned were not of the higheft rank. Criftofano Roncalli (II Pomarancio) was his favorite painter, but his name is at present seldom mentioned outside small groups of specialifts.*^ Yet Baronius’s role as artiftic advi- sor to the pope is evident in the large decorative programs of the two churches in Rome moft directly associated with the papacy: St.John in Lateran and St. Peter’s. As part of the 1600 Jubilee celebrations, the transept of the Lateran church was painted with works that, made freshly relevant by Baronius’s erudition, reaffirmed the authority and legitimacy of the apoftolic succession.’’^ In St. Peter’s, the Clementine Chapel and the small naves were decorated on the basis of the program Baronius had drawn up for Clement VIII (1592-1605). Also at Baronius’s recommendation, the moft sacred relics ol the primitive church, those of the saints Veronica, Longinus, and Andrew, which had been removed at the time of the destruction of the ConSfantinian basilica, were transferred to the four great piers supporting Michelangelo’s dome. ^3 Here they would soon receive emphasis from the shrines and colos- sal sculptures that Bernini planned for the crossing, in immediate proximity to the spectacular baldacchino he erected over Peter’s grave as “tomb marker, ceremonial cover, and gigantic reliquary.”^ 4 Of great significance, albeit little known to the gener- al public, was also Baronius’s involvement (as Cardinal Protector of the Roman Oratory) with the decoration of the Oratorians’ church of Santa Maria in Vallicella, founded by Filippo Neri. For this project, the Oratorians ben- efitted from the presence in Rome of two painters whose altarpieces act to this day as magnets for the innumerable visitors to the city: Rubens’s The Madonna Adored by Angels and Saints (1606) and Caravaggio’s Entombment of Christ (1603-1604). *3 Although Baronius may not have been direct- ly involved in the commission, the “Baronian” character of the Rubens altarpiece has often been acknowledged in the pa^. A spirited debate ftill engages art hiftorians on the connection between Caravaggio’s painting and its visual adherence to the biblical and archaeological sources the cardinal advocated in his writings. The much wider role that Baronius’s work played in the hiftory of Baroque art has lately been the object of much scholarly scrutiny. The cardinal’s concerns and eru- dition were so wide-ranging that their repercussions were felt in many areas. His contributions to the development of philological and archaeological research and to the ftudy of the classical world could not be ignored. Soon the intereft in paleo-Chri^ian antiquities spread beyond the Oratorians and other ecclesiastical circles to engage laymen not directly inspired by religious fervor. An example may be the figure of Cassiano del Pozzo (1588- 1657). An insatiable curiosity drove this learned connois- seur to assemble and catalogue in his Roman palace all surviving traces of Roman civilization in an amazing col- lection of drawings he called his “Paper Museum” (Museo Cartaceo). There were also artiSts, like the French painter Poussin (1593-1665) who, drawing from their extensive knowledge of historical and antiquarian artifacts, sought to bring to life the hiStory of the primitive Church and ancient Rome. ^7 The impact of Baronius’s Studies, however, was even broader. The emphasis on truth and StyliStic directness, which in his own day earned Baronius the designation of “God’s great reporter,”^^ may have influenced many of his Roman contemporaries. I mentioned earlier that Caravaggio’s altarpiece for Santa Maria in Vallicella may reflect Baronius’s ideas, but increasing numbers of schol- ars have begun to recognize the cardinal’s influence in the works of other painters as well. ^9 In general, his writings were consulted whenever specific religious and historical themes had to be developed;^® thus Baronius was the source of new topics that entered and altered the visual legacy of Baroque art. “New” saints from Early ChriStian history became part of the repertory of artiSts,^^ and traditional renderings were modified on the basis of Baronius’s efforts to eSlablish a more secure founda tion for the sacred narratives. To illuStrate Baronius’s contribution, three paintings in the present exhibition are discussed below in terms of his writings: Giovanni Baglione, St. Sebastian Healed by an Angel, Harris Collection, New York;^^ Daniel Seiter, St. Sebastian Healed by St. Irene, Mount Holyoke College Museum of Art; and the St. Cecilia from the Ringling Museum of Art attributed to Massimo Stanzione (Pis. 2, 18, 20). The Sfory of SebaSfian, the Praetorian guard of the emperor Diocletian (243-313 A. D.), who for his launch Christian faith was bound to a ^ake and shot with arrows, has exerted such appeal on the popular imagination that an account of his legend and iconography may be found even on the Internet. ^3 From early times, special tributes were paid him on his feaft day of January 20 at his burial site in the ancient Chriftian cemetery outside Rome that ftill bears his name. ^4 From medieval times to the 138 sixteenth century, in countless other places, the martyred Roman centurion became the object of a widely popular cult for his reputation as a miraculous healer. As the plague periodically erupted throughout Weftern Europe with renewed violence, the belief in Saint Sebaftian’s power to curb it prompted prodigious numbers of works of art, both painting and sculpture, that represented his martyrdom. Almoft all Renaissance artists treated the subject of Sebaftian’s ordeal. Skillfully using their newly found anatomical knowledge to show their maftery of the nude, they presented Sebaftian as tbe epitome of the Chri^Tiian soldier. His youthful, physical beauty became the outward sign of the spiritual perfection that enabled him to nobly accept torture, fteadfaft in his determina- tion to remain true to his faith. Such harrowing representations of Sebaftian, which often exude ambiguous mixtures of ftoicism and sensu- ality, prevailed through the late sixteenth century. The saint should be painted so “full of arrows as to resemble a hedgehog,” Giovanni Andrea Gilio recommended in his 1564 treatise.^^ By the end of the century, however, another part of Sebaftian’s legend gradually began to attract atten- tion and became the source of recurrent inspiration for Baroque artifts: the healing of the saint at the hands of the widow Irene. The ftory that Sebaftian had survived the archers’ arrows and that Saint Irene had healed his wounds was not part of the Golden Legend, the famous thirteenth- century compilation of the lives of the saints, but was uncovered and publicized by Baronius.^7 In his revision of the Marty rologium, the church hiftorian wrote that Sebaftian was firft hit with arrows and later clubbed to death. At the same time, he endorsed the novel por- trayal of an older, bearded man on the precedent of the martyr’s depiction ftill visible in the early Chriftian mosaic of the church of San Pietro in Vincoli, Rome. ^9 In volume three of xLx^Annales, published in 1592, Baronius expanded the narrative. The image of Sebaftian pierced with multi- ple arrows persifted, but Baronius’s moving account of the saint’s recovery with Saint Irene’s help and of his final martyrdom enlarged the visual repertory of Saint Sebaftian. 3 ° Painters henceforth also represented him being beaten to death with ftaves and gradually trans- formed his legend from a tale of Roman heroism into one of human suffering and compassion. 3 ^ It is the latter part of Baronius’s account, the healing of Saint Seba^ian, that is illuftrated in the BagHone and Seiter paintings in the present exhibition. I'he theme, which the young Rubens also depicted in Rome in the same years, 3 ^ appears an almost natural development during a time of un- precedented growth of public assiftance and the care of the sick in the Eternal City. In sixteenth-century Rome, lay confraternities and religious orders vied with private indi- viduals to continue the age-old tradition of brotherly help . 33 Heeding the needs of the wider public, they extended the care cuftomarily given to their own members and engaged in activities that appear to be as much social- bonding mechanisms as they were devotional and spiritual practices. Many new ftructures were created, and later expanded with the support of the popes, to serve the material needs of the residents of Rome and of the vaft numbers of pilgrims that converged on the city during Jubilee years .34 Under Gregory XI 1 1 (1572-85), a hospital was estab- lished in the abandoned convent of San SiSIo on the Via Appia: a local malaria epidemic rendered it ineffective, however. Another, more suitable. Structure was built near an ancient church on the island in the Tiber to be run by the order of the Brothers of Mercy {Fatebenefratelli) M Within a few years, at the time of Clement VHI (1592-1605), four other hospitals were officially liSted in Rome and to these muSt be added the Ospedale della SS. Trinita, founded by Eilippo Neri as part of his Confraternity of the MoSt Holy Trinity and Convalescents. 3 ^ In fact, the topic of Saint SebaSIian’s cure by the angel of Giovanni Baglione’s canvas seems anticipated, perhaps even inspired, by the life of Eilippo Neri himself One may recall in this context the miraculous healing powers attributed to Neri ;37 his personal devotion to the church and catacombs of Saint SebaSfian where he passed whole nights meditating on the relics of the early martyrs, and which became the deftination of the weekly pilgrimages of his followers; 3 ^ the intensity of his faith and the visions he often reported; and his conftant care for the sick, which he also demanded of his disciples. Eilippo Neri died in 1595, but the extraor- dinary impression created by an apoftolate that penetrated all social classes remained, and I suggest that his message of Caritas as redeeming, brotherly love had an echo in the episode of Sebaftian and Irene that Baronius included in his Annales. In Baglione’s painting, an angel delicately extracts one more arrow from the flesh of the ailing but ftill-handsome and youthful Sebaftian, a task that Irene will perform in the later work by Seiter. Tbe darkness of the background 139 heightens the intimacy of the scene, bringing attention forward to the picture plane, where the density and sculp- tural solidity of forms are vigorously modelled by light. Baglione’s debt to Caravaggio is clear. The dramatic con- traft of light and shadow places the painting in the early part of Baglione’s career, when the future author of The Lives of the Painters was ftill attempting to emulate the painter he would later come to deteft .39 There is no supernatural triumph, as in typical seventeenth-century depictions of martyrdom. The emphasis is on physical suffering and compassion. Baglione appeals to viewers to participate in Sebaftian’s ordeal through their own aware- ness that loving care and close personal involvement do indeed soothe human pain. Such an appeal has much in common with the Oratorian message of Chriftian brother- hood. Similarly, the simplicity and clarity of ftyle that Baronius adopted in his writings — along with his firm belief that the hiftorical events of the Church were to be presented directly and without rhetorical embellish- ment-may also be sensed in the direct and deeply human portrayal of the narrative. On those grounds, I further suggeft that Baglione was— as I believe, Caravaggio himself was — acutely aware of the spiritual atmosphere pervading early seventeenth-century Rome, of which Baronius and the Oratorians were effective spokesmen. The provenance of the painting appears to support such a view. Baglione’s St. Sebastian has been identified with a work lifted in the 1724 inventory drawn at the death of Anna Maria Sannesio. 4 ° Sannesio was born into a family of modeft means from a provincial town in the Marche, which quickly rose in ftatus and wealth in Papal Rome during the pontificate of Clement VIII Aldobrandini (1592-1605). Anna Maria was the laft direct heir of Jacopo Sannesio, who in 1604 obtained the cardinal’s hat from the pontiff 4 ^ The tafte of the Sannesio family reflected that of their powerful protector. Among the works they commissioned were paintings by artifts of diftinction such as Annibale Carracci, Giovanni Lanfranco, and Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio. 4 ^ We know from Baglione himself that Cardinal Sannesio acquired the two Caravaggios rejected byTarquinio Cerasi for his chapel in Santa Maria del Popolo .43 Both Cardinal Sannesio and his brother Vincenzo were competitive and ambitious patrons, acutely aware of the usefulness of the arts in the advancement of their family’s social ftatus. The cardi- nal was responsible for building and decorating several ecclesiaftical sites, and Vincenzo, for the conftruction of “palazzi, ville e casini .”44 Both men also had extensive art collections. Cardinal Sannesio’s circle of friends includ- ed the cardinals Federico Borromeo and Francesco Maria del Monte, the firft major patron of the ftill-unknown Caravaggio. These men were all in close contact with Baronius and supported the work of artifts who followed his teachings . 45 It is entirely plausible, therefore, that Baglione’s St. Sebastian, although not lifted in the family inventory of 1651,4^ was part of the Sannesio holdings, perhaps even added by Anna Maria, who was born too late in the century to have commissioned the painting. However, one wonders if its original patron may have indeed been a woman. Patrons often had great say over the treatments of subjects, particularly of works commis- sioned for private deftinations .47 The theme of the angel tenderly soothing Sebaftian may have appealed to the sensibilities of a female patron at a time when women were taking increasingly active roles in the building and dec- oration of ftructures they sponsored for purposes of charitable relief (Certainly the theme would have appealed to Anna Maria Sannesio.) We know of numerous pious matrons who from the late 1500s spent large sums on an ever-growing number of charitable inftitutions, often seeking support for their actions by eftablishing parallels between their lives and those of their early Chriftian namesakes. 4 ^ The circumftances of the Baglione commission, were they known, might help explain what John T. Spike has called “the unusual subftitution of an angel for Irene” in the rendering of a theme that was itself so unusual as to be a virtual invention of the seventeenth century.49 We have no explanation for the angelic presence in Baglione’s (or Rubens’s) painting, but it is clear that the motivation behind its inclusion had changed by the time Seiter painted his St. Seba^ian. The suggeftion of the physical healing of the saint’s wounds remains, but Irene’s dainty and graceful gefture, the clear bright colors, the softness and sensuous elegance of the saint’s body, ftretch- ing into a wide space that now enfolds the diftant landscape, no longer convey compassionate love for the sufferer. Rather, the impression is of an undisguised voluptuousness made more tantalizing by the sacredness of the act being performed. In all likelihood, Daniel Seiter painted the St. SebaSlian in the early 1680s, soon after his arrival in Rome in 1681. 140 The painting shows the eclectic but highly expressive ftvle that the AuiTrian developed by merging the tenebroso ftyle and lyrical mood he had learned in Venice from Loth^° with Roman Baroque compositions and motifs taken from (Caravaggio’s followers. This ^le soon gained him the acceptance and favor of many Roman patrons. Among them were the Oratorian prie^s of Santa Maria in Vallicella, who in the laft decade of the seventeenth century chose Seiter as one of four painters to complete the long-awaited decorations of the interior of their church. By that time, the attitude of the Oratorians toward the iconography of their paintings was more relaxed than at the opening of the century, when Baronius, as Cardinal Protector of the Oratory, guided the development of the church’s decorative program. The presence of Saint Cecilia, the early Chriftian virgin and martyr, painted in one of the chapels of the Vallicella by Criftofano Roncalli, Baronius’s favorite painter, may be an indication of the cardinal’s own preferences — and of the “inextricable mixture of medieval legend and mod- ern philological science” the contemporary reader finds in his work. 52 The ftory of this saint, whose name is con- nected to the painting in the present exhibition (PI. 20), formerly attributed to Artemisa Gentilleschi and current- ly to Massimo Stanzione, is included in Baronius’s Annales ecclesia§tid. Cecilia is widely known as the patron saint of music. According to the ancient narrative of her martyrdom, the Passio Sanctae Caeciliae, compiled ca. 495-500, she was a patrician from third-century Rome, brought up as a Chriftian. Forced to marry a young pagan nobleman, Valerianus, she persuaded him to respect her vow of charity, a requeft which the bridegroom had accepted on condition that he might see the angel who, she said, was watching over her. The angel put in an appearance as requeued, and through the miniftrations of the heavenly creature, Valerianus converted to Chriftianity along with his brother and the soldier appointed to guard them. They were all executed. Cecilia was condemned to die by suffocation by hot fteam, but she remained miraculously unharmed. An executioner was then dispatched to behead her and tried three times to slay her with his sword, but succeeded only in wounding her neck. Cecilia remained alive for three days in her blood-soaked garments and spent her final hours diftributing her wealth to the poor. Baronius’s veneration for the saint was a special one: he was present when ("ecilia’s mortal remains were found. In October 1599, the casket containing her body was dis- covered during reftorations of the ancient basilica on the right bank of the Tiber (Traftevere) which ftill bears her name. Baronius was sent by the pope, Clement VIII Aldobrandini (1592-1605), to examine her body. The hist- orian of the early Church eloquently describes his emotions as he Stood before the extraordinary sight: “vidimus, cog- novimus et adoravimus” (we saw, we recognized and we worshipped). 53 He was again in attendance when Cecilia’s remains were reinterred the following month — in the same place they had been found— with a solemn ceremo- ny officiated by the pope and forty-two cardinals on her feaSt day, November 22. Although Baronius the historian included accounts of Cecilia in both the Martyrologium and the Annales, Cecilia was — and remains — one of the great “unsolved mySteries” of early Church hiStory.54 Many questions about her Still confront the modern scholar. Her real identity has not been determined: she was perhaps the conflation of two historical figures, one centered in the catacombs and one in the site occupied by her Roman church. We know neither when she was put to death nor where, nei- ther the day nor the year of her martyrdom. Nor does any evidence associate the church in TraStevere with the reputed site of her house or martyrdom. Her burial site is also in doubt: it was determined earlier in this century that her crypt in the cemetery of St. CalliShis55 was erected after the end of the Roman persecutions. QueSfions sur- round the identification of the remains, which Pope Pascal I solemnly transferred in 821 from the ancient site on the Appian Way to the basilica he erected in Rome, and which Baronius centuries later (in 1599) rediscovered and examined; he may have found them in the catacombs of Praetextatus, and not of Calliftus. Equally puzzling queftions persift as to the origin of her cult and of her designation as the patron saint of music— the organ is her attribute — since the sources contain no reference to her music-making and no musical inftrument was ever part of her early representations. 5^ The suggeftion that Cecilia’s traditional role as patron of music may have originated in an inexact inter- pretation of the Latin text of her legend (the “organs” of the narrative became the “organ” of her iconography)^? helps explain why this instrument became her emblem. In 1522, in his famous representation of 5/. Cecilia in EcSlasy, Raphael placed a small organ in her hands, juft as Guido Reni included an organ in his 1601-1602 painting for Santa Cecilia in Traftevere.^^ In the seventeenth cen- tury all public images of Cecilia as patron saint of music followed their example. Yet the young woman in our painting plays not an organ but a violin. If not for the palm frond that unobtrusively lies on the floor under sheets of music as a suggeftion of her martyrdom, she could be read in more general terms as a symbol of music and grouped with other renderings of young women playing a variety of inftruments. Such ren- derings ftarted to appear among Caravaggio’s followers in the early decades of the seventeenth century, probably in the wake of the immense popularity of Cecilia’s cult in Rome where, thanks to the Oratorians, music had become a widespread attraction. Absorbed in their music- making or, more often, looking dreamily upward, these young musicians could be loosely associated with the virgin-saint (specific references to her were often absent) and their representations came to be generally designated “Allegories of Music”. Music not only became the vehicle of the soul’s elevation to God, as it had been for the chafte Roman maiden who “sang in her heart to God alone, but also at this time came to be recognized as the art that, more profoundly and immediately than any other, arouses and affects human emotions. Music is clearly implied in the Ringling Saint Cecilia in the present exhibition, and it is in the context of musical imagery that I will discuss the two artifts proposed as the work’s possible painters. They both were Caravaggeschi, Artemisia Gentileschi (Rome 1593-Naples 1652/33) and Massimo Stanzione (Orta di Atella i585?-Naples 1656).^^ Artemisia was the only female follower of Caravaggio. Born and educated in Rome, where she balanced the Tuscan training received from her father with exposure to the works of Caravaggio, she lived and worked in several cities in Italy. She also traveled to England before returning in 1642 to Naples, where she probably remained until she died.^^ Stanzione was trained in Naples under Battiftello Caracciolo, the latter perhaps the greateft assimilator of Caravaggio’s ftyle. He gradually combined his early Caravaggesque manner with the graceful idealized rhetoric of Bolognese classicism introduced into the city by Guido Reni and Domenichino. Stanzione was so successful that he came to be known as “il Guido Reni napoletano,” the Neapolitan Guido Reni. A similar range of ftyliftic influences — Caravaggio’s ftrong chiaroscuro and raking light; the rich coloring of Neapolitan painting; the precise depiction of detail point- ing to a contact with Roman and Tuscan sources — informs works of both painters. Problems of attribution, however, are clearly outside the scope of the present paper, and the following remarks are limited to the two artifts’ associa- tion with music. We know from his biographer that Stanzione ftudied literature and music before he turned to painting at the age of eighteen. ^3 Although his contacts with members of literary circles in Naples are documented, no work in his whole artiftic output shows evidence that his intereft in music continued beyond his youth. Musical images per- meate Artemisia’s background and work, however. Ever since her early years in Rome, she was exposed to the world of music. She received her early artiftic training from her father, Orazio, a diftinguished painter whose love of music (manifeft in several well-known paintings)^4 may have been heightened by his contacts with important musical developments in Pisa, his native town. There, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, a celebrated new organ attracted much attention. Built and inftalled in the Duomo for the Medici Granduke Ferdinando I under the supervision of Emilio de’ Cavalieri, the eminent former musician of the Roman Oratory, the organ was the only one in Italy to compare with the inftruments of the great northern cathedrals and soon acquired great fame. ^3 Whether or not the young Artemisia was involved as early as 1611-12 in the fresco decoration for Scipione Borghese, in which “her father extensively developed the theme of female musicians, her intereft in music dur- ing her Roman years is documented by at leaft one work. The Woman Playing the Lute (1610-12, Rome, Galleria Spada). Only one painting of Saint Cecilia, executed per- haps during her years in Florence, has so far been definitely included in \\er oeuvre. Attributing the Ringling work to her would demonftrate a suftained intereft in the subject, and could be seen as a link with the theme of the female musician she approached again in England in the late 1630s. In the decorations for the ceiling of the Queen’s House in Greenwich, where she participated with her ailing father in his commission from Charles I {An Allegory of Peace and the Arts under the English Crown, London, Marlborough House), the image of Music is like- ly to have been by Artemisia’s hand. Placed among the personifications of the Four Arts that anchor the figures of the Muses at the corners of the great hall. Music is caft 142 .fKD.mHLIOTHKC.ANNAl.lVM liCiCl.K.SlAST. St'.RirTOR I-XIMIVS AKTAl! .S'VAK ANN.LXlIll. n I s r o I in , c t p I (• t n r r mi cn r B n ro t\iu x; a 1 1 c i' l.vmcn at) altcnus lummc Cumit lionos. hiiniifl iiiVilliiitinitifi'.RoniJ- Anno, iortona penned one of the moft curious trea- tises on the visual arts ever to come out of the frenzy of treatise writing after Trent. Ottonelli had already written two conservative tracts whose main purpose was to impose an extremely rigorous ethical code and combat obscenity in the theater. His treatise on the visual arts was only the third volume in the series. Ottonelli sought help from Pietro da Cortona— his spiritual advisee and one of the leading artifts of the period — to lend the work technical authority. Although moft of Trattato della pittura e scultura, uso et abuso loro (Florence, 1652) is written by Ottonelli, Cortona appears to have written a substantial portion, primarily the passages with purely art-hiStorical and tech- nical information. The theological material in the book, dense and heavily footnoted, is closely based on Gabriele Paleotti’s Discorso intomo alle immagini sacre e profane (1582), perhaps the moSt influential of the PoSl-Tridentine art treatises. The material on the lives of artiSts, much leaner and more lucid, is also fairly traditional and seems to come from Standard biographical works, like Baglione’s Le vite de’ pittori, scultori, architetti (1642). In a discus- sion of the Style of Caravaggio, for example, the authors praise his artless naturalism and differentiate his Style from the mannerism of the Cavaliere d’Arpino, a catego- rization of Caravaggio very much in keeping with Baglione and other art critics of the day.*°4 Although the treatise does not openly criticize Caravaggio for his lack of deco- rum as did many contemporary works, it slaps his wriSt for being too carried away with the business of painting at the expense of other matters: Michel’Angelo da Caravaggio painted by observing nature very closely; [which is] why he was often in a half-abstracted State and too reliant on the actual labor of his work. But after- wards, when he left off, he allowed himself to be drawn into cheerful discussions of every kind.*°5 These artiftic cliches notwithftanding, some moments in the treatise concerning the practical aspects of the painters’ art are quite conversational and disarming in their simplicity. These fragments are the moft likely to have come from Cortona’s hand. Although there are ftrong discrepancies in ftyle between the two authors, there is no reason to suspect that Cortona’s views were necessarily at odds with those of his Jesuit coauthor and spiritual director. Cortona was a deeply religious man who would have been faftidious about appropriately depicting sacred and profane images. I lis views may not have been as doctrinaire as Ottonelli’s, but he need not be seen as the free-thinking artift roped into the project againft his will. The division between sacred and secular in early modern Italy was not nearly so neat as it is today. Although the leitmotif of the Ottonelli-Cortona trea- tise is to moralize art at all cofts, it is not as negative a tract as the reputation of its primary author would lead one to expect. Like many of the Poft-Tridentine treatises, it is a strikingly positive Statement of the power of images and reaffirmation of the role of art in religious life. Al- though in images of “ChriStian perfection” figures should be clothed in “virtuous coStumes,” the authors write, they should also be depicted with all the benefits of “vivacious colors" —docere et delectare, to teach and to delight. Emphasizing the affective Strength of figural imagery, the authors write that “visual images have by nature a great power for moving human souls and emotions. Vittorio Casale refers to the importance the treatise gives to images as an “iconocracy.”^*^^ But there is really nothing in this work that had not been said seventy years earlier, and its influence even on Cortona’s painting should be seen as minimal. It did travel, though, and may have had an effect elsewhere. Thanks largely to the Jesuit mission network, the book appeared in libraries as far away as Latin America, probably as early as the seven- teenth century.^°9 Our picture by Cortona dates from much earlier, when the artift was ftill eftablishing a reputation for him- self, but it already shows his concern for decorum and clarity in depicting a religious scene. Ciriaco Mattei paid Cortona forty scudi to paint Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery (PI. 26) ar\d Adoration of the Shepherds (1622-24) for the family’s picture gallery in the Palazzo Mattei di Giove in Rome.^^® Members of the Mattei family, incidentally, as well as being patrons of Cortona and Caravaggio, were frequent benefactors of the Gesu.''^^ In this early period of his life Cortona took on many commissions for little pay, both because of his own religious devotion and for the more pragmatic reason of gaining a wider reputation and hence new patrons. The two canvases followed by only a few months the completion of his frescoes of the life of Solomon in the vaults of the same Mattei gallery (1622-23), considered to be his firft mature work. Ciriaco and his brother Asdrubale, as we have seen elsewhere in this volume, commissioned the centerpiece of this exhibi- tion, The Taking of Christ (PI. 30). The Mattei family commissioned Cortona to produce a canvas in a generically Caravaggesque ^le to accompany the gallery paintings by CaravaggiSli such as Serodine, Antiveduto Gramatica, Riminaldi, and di Turchi. Cortona’s Caravaggism came to him second-hand through the chiaro- scuro ftyle of his mafter Baccio Ciarpi and the French painter Vouet, whose powerful tenebrism had a ftrong influence over the young mafter. Cortona’s ftyle is more graceful than Caravaggio’s, and his tenebrism diluted, his colors more luminous and “vivacious.” Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery exhibits Cortona’s characteriftic love of drama and solidity, qualities which were crucial to the Poft- Tridentine cult of images and which the artift would later promote in his collaborative treatise on the arts. CONCLUSION: A PARTNERSHIP IN THE ARTS E ven though few now seriously believe that the Jesuits promoted their own artiftic ftyle, the order figured prominently in the art patronage of early modern Italy, as I hope I have demonftrated. In fact, their lack of a separate, idiosyncratic ftyle reveals precisely the extent and intimacy of their participation in mainftream Italian culture. Far from being the militant “Counter- Reformation” monolith it is often portrayed to be, the Society of Jesus combined a specific, if elusive, “way of proceeding” with a willingness to adapt, borrow, and learn from the greater culture of the time. Jesuit culture, therefore, was a true partnership, and the Society’s ar- tiftic ventures were always responsive to the genius of the individual artifts they worked with. Oliva’s iconographic and architectural revolution, despite his inclination toward the arts, would have meant nothing without Bernini, Gaulli, and Maratti, among others. The Gesii is a famously complex product of negotiation among patrons, artifts, and Jesuits, and the ftyle developed by its artifts was crucial for the germination of Early Baroque painting. Few yet recognize the power and significance of the Fiammeri-Celio images in that church. Even Ottonelli and Cortona’s odd treatise, doctrinaire and moralizing as it is, allows Cortona a forum for a very ftraightforward and probably personal discussion of the craft of art and the lives of artifts. Although appearing almoft a century too late and having probably little effect on the practice of art, at leaft outside the Society, the Trattato is re- markable in being one of the very few Poft-Tridentine treatises on the arts that could actually claim extensive participation from a major artift. It is this emphasis on participation, a willingness to engage people from outside the order while holding true to a coherent program, that gives the art produced under Jesuit auspices such pro- found relevance for Italian Baroque culture. 1 Upon his death in 1667, Borromini left 500 scudi iov qualche adorna- mento deWaltar di S. Ignazio in the Gesu, which was firft drawn upon in Auguft 1670 [Archivum Romanum Societatis lesu (hereafter ARSI), FG 2012, 44, 49V., ii6v, 129]. For references to the original will of Borromini, see Wittkower-Jaffe, 1972, 11, n. 38. 2 This point was firfl raised in MMe, 10-15. See also Casale, 1973, CXXXIII.n. 16. 3 In Patrons and Painters, Haskell showed that the Jesuits were not even the prime players in the development of Baroque visual culture. 4 See Bailey, Style Jesuite, forthcoming. 5 Brockhaus, 657-58. My translation. This quote is referring specifically to Jesuit churches in Germany. 6 As early as 1887 Cornelius Gurlitt pointed out that the popular conception of Jesuit flyle was flawed since it ignored the earlier auftere phase between 1540 and the mid-i7th century [Gurlitt, 1887; Haskell, 1972, 51-62}. For a recent discussion, see Patetta, 164. 7 Hibbard, 29-50. 8 From our preface in O’Malley, Bailey, et al., forthcoming. 9 For good surveys of the Jesuits’ use of the term modo nostro, see Patetta, 159-202; Baleflreri 19-26; andTerhalle, 83-146. The archives are full of references to this term [e.g. ARSI, Ital.bz, 234; Ital.fs},, 225; ItalA^, 351}. to See: Vallery-Radot, 6ff; Bosel, iiff 11 See: Haskell, 1972, 54ff; Haskell, 1963, chapter 3; Moore; Robertson, 1992; Robertson, “Two Farnese Cardinals,” forthcoming. 12 The original Latin text reads: “De ecclesiis tamen nihil dictum eff, et hanc rem totam magis considerandum esse videbatur.” [Examen, 182-83]. 13 Abromson, 239. 14 Wittkower, 12. 15 Insolera, 161-217. 16 The classic work for the impact of the Exercises on Bernini is Weibel. On Caravaggio and Ignatius, see Francaflel, 57; Friedlaender, ix. 172 121-22; Spear, 5-6; C'horpenning, 149-58. Fora refutation, see Askew, 253. 17 See Maher. 18 Hibbard, 1972; Herz, 65-67; Age of Curavuggto, 172. For a recently published print of how the Gesu interior looked before the High Baroque renovations, see Schwager, 295-312. 19 Levy, 48-49. 20 For a thorough treatment of the application of the Exercises in the Early Modern Period, see Iparraguirrc, 1947-73. ^'ce also (^’Malley, i27ff 21 Hibbard, 1972, figs 23, 32a. 22 Hibbard, 1972, 34; Zuccari, 1990, 612-18; Baumftark, 458-61. 23 ARSI, FG 2004, IV., 3, 39V. Hibbard (1972, 39) has contributed to the view that the patrons of the side chapels regulated their own pictorial programs when he claims that “the Jesuits obviously let the patrons choose the painters of the altars,” suggesting that by contraSl, the vault paintings, done by Jesuit or budget artiSls, fell more under their direct supervision. Nowhere do the archival sources suggeSt this dichotomy, and artiSls such as Pulzone, who were chosen to paint altarpieces in the church, were often Jesuit favorites. 24 Hibbard, 1972, 39; Herz, 1988, 65-67. 25 The term was coined specifically for the religious paintings of Pulzone by Federico Zeri [Zeri, 1957, 54-55]. 26 The Lamentation was replaced with a painting by Andrea Pozzo of the Jesuit Saint Francis Borgia at a time when many of the chapels were given over to Jesuit saints. For further literature on the Lamentation, see BaumSlark, cat. no. 137; Paoletti and Radke, 426, fig. 9.17; Partridge <)8-ioi-, Jesuit Art in North American Collections, cat. no. 10; de Laurentiis, 592ff; Macioce, 9iff; Age of Caravaggio, cat. no. 50; Vaudo, 37, n. 26, pi. 39; Zeri, 53, 68-69, 73. 79. 82-83, pis. 90, 91. For archival references to Pulzone’s commission, see ARSI, FG545, 2; LG 2004, 3; 6v, 7, TV.; Busta I, 78, 79. On the Passion Chapel, see Laura Russo, “Capella Mellini (della Passione)” in Roma di Sisto V, 173-75. 27 ARSI, LG §4^, 4; LG 2004, IV.; Busta I, 78. Bianca Mellini regularly gave alms to the Gesii into the firft two decades of the seventeenth century [ARSI, FG 2005, yv; LG 200<;a, 6v, 27V, 5b, 38, 47, 54V, 62]. 28 ARSI, FG 2004, IV, 3, 6v, 7, yv. 29 ARSI, LG 545, 2, 4; LG 2004, IV, 3, 6v, 7, jv.\ LG 200^, fv.-,LG Busta I, 78, 79. See also the document published in Pirri, 1970, 378. 30 D’Amico, 197. 31 ARSI, LG 545, 2v. Fiammeri was a pupil of the Florentine architect Bartolommeo Ammannati [Pirri, 1943, 25, n. 60} and has received little attention in the scholarship. For the Baglione text, which credits Valeriano with the designs for all the wall and vault paintings in the chapel, see Pirri, 1970, 397. 32 D’Amico, 197-98. 33 Hibbard, 1972, pi. 29a, 29b. Buser suggests as much when he says that “Gaspare Celio used Nadal’s Lvangelicae historiae imagines as the source for his painting of Christ Nailed to the Cross in a chapel of the Gesu decorated about 1594,” but he does not consider that Fiammeri may have actually made the design for Gelio’s image. 34 I le is known to have worked on the Trinity chapel and the crypt of SS. Abondio e Abbondanzio, as well as the designs for the Passion chapel [Pecchiai, 92-93, 95, 105, 228, 254]. I am presently working on a project to reassess the role of F iammeri in the Gesii and other Jesuit projects in Rome. 35 O’Malley, 164. The Exercises called for the viewer to put himself or her- self “under the standard of the cross,” which was powerfully suggested by Fiammeri’s and Cello’s triumphal images (Spiritual Exercises, third week, midnight of sixth day, notes 290-96). On Nadal’s Lvangelicae Historiae Imagines, see Buser, 424-33; Mauquoy-Hendricks, 28-63; Wadell, 1980, 279-91; and Rheinbay. 36 Buser, 425. 37 Wadell, 1980, 282; Wadell, 1985, 31-42. 38 Macioce, 95-96. 39 ARSI, FG 2004, 41; FG 1233, 39V. For an illuftration of Pulzone’s paintings for the Chapel of the Madonna della Strada see Freedberg, fig. 297, and Zeri, pis. 59-62. 40 Hibbard, 1972, 38; Hibbard, 1983, 146-47; Zuccari, 1990, 6i2ff For similar images of the seven archangels from the Oratorian circle, see La regola e la fama, cat. nos. 61-67. 41 Although the cult of the angels had been a special favorite of the Jesuits, four of the archangels were considered apocryphal by prominent churchmen such as Roberto Bellarmino (a Jesuit) and Caesar Baronius. Such a doctrinal slip would have rankled the officials planning the upcoming Papal Jubilee in 1600, when thousands of pilgrims were expected to visit the church. See Zuccari, 1990, 614. 42 Male, 8. 43 ARSI, LG 545, 2v. For another reference, see Pecchiai, 105. 44 Partridge, loi. 45 Hibhard, 1983, 160-61. Ironically, things did not go easily for the victor Baglione either. Five years after the canvas was finished, he was ftill fighting to force the Jesuits to pay for his work [ARSI, FG545, 7}. 46 Paravicino’s famous ftatement was made in a letter of 1603. See Cozzi, 36-38. 47 The account book of Sant’Andrea al Quirinale for 1569-1586 records payments for gesso and paint for religious images between 1569 and December 1574, with moft of the activities in the laft year [ARSI, LG 1048, 29, 67, 67V.] There was another small spurt of painting activity in 1583-84 [Ibid., i02v, 105}. 48 Herz, 59. 49 Male, 109-12; Rottgen, 89-122; Lotti and Lotti, 125-28; Buser, 424-33; Monssen, 130-37; Zuccari, 1984, 37; Herz, 65, 67; Lucas, 186-91. 50 Monssen, 131; Lucas, 188. 173 51 ARSI, Rom. 162 I, 93V.-94. For another version of this source, contained in a letter to Father General Claudia Acquaviva, see Buser, 429. 52 ARSI, Row. 762 /, 94. 53 Buser gives a slightly different translation based on another source which suggefts that all the saints’ images were over the capitals [Buser, 430]. The text is admittedly ambiguous (and we are using two independent, although similar, sources); however, it seems to make more sense that there would be martyrdom scenes along the two walls of the church as well as individual saints over the capitals. 54 Ibid., 94. 55 Paoletti and Radke, 429. 56 ARSI, Row./^y, 25. 57 Buser, 424. Buser believes that the preparatory drawings for the illustrations to Nadal’s gospels directly influenced the frescoes. 58 Lundberg, 232-25. 59 Flibbard, 1983, i02ff; Zuccari, 1984, i46ff For the frescoes as a guide to meditation, see Noreen, 1998, 69. 60 Pirri, 1952, 3-59; Herz, 53-67; Zuccari, 1984, 141-47, 159-65; On the patronage of Isabella della Rovere, see Valone. 61 ARSI, Rom. 162 /, 155V. Accounts for S. Andrea from 1599-1600 record petty cash paid to carpenters, masons, and painters for S. Vitale [ARSI, FG 1048 bis, 146V.]. 62 Ibid., 55. 63 Macioce, 122. Antonio Gallonio’s Trattato degli strumenti di martirio (1591), an encyclopedia of martyrological symbols, had juSl been published. 64 ARSI, Rom. 162 1 , 156V. Previously published in Zuccari, 1984, 160. See also Abromson, 24yff; Lucas, 188-89. 65 Zuccari, 1984, 140. 66 See Ross, forthcoming. See also Bailey, Art on the Jesuit Missions, forthcoming. 67 Angeli, 1911; Held, 93-104; Konig-Nordhoff; Papi, 71-80; Simson, 1996; Baumftark, cat. nos. 34, 35. 68 Angeli; Puyvelde, 225; Lewine, 143-47; Smith, 39-60; Held, 93-104; Konig-Nordhoff; Papi, 71-80; Simson, 173-74. 69 Serrao, 56-69; O piilpito e a imagem, 22. The same church has an Ignatian cycle from a slightly later date, based on the images in the Vita beati Ignat ii. 70 Conisbee, cat. no. 47; Spear, 1996, cat. no. 42; Papi, 71-80; Baumflark, cat. no. 31. 71 ARSI, TG 545, 2v. See also Lucas, 225, which includes an illuftration of the St. Ignatius picture. 72 Lucas, cat. nos. 57, 81; BaumSlark, cat. no. 33. 73 Wittkower-Jaffe, fig. 34. 74 I am grateful to Ursula Fischer-Pace for showing me the Vatican paintings. 75 Ursula Fischer-Pace has suggested that one of the earliefi drawings of the altarpiece of The Death of St. Francis Xavier, formerly attributed to Maratti, is in fact the work of Pietro da Cortona [Personal communication]. See her two unpublished papers, “La morte di S. Francesco Saverio di Carlo Maratti nella chiesa del Gesii a Roma,” and “L’ultimo Pietro da Cortona nei suoi disegni.” Fischer-Pace is preparing an article for publication on the drawing she believes to be by Cortona. 76 Schaar, 262. 77 Schaar believes that Maratti’s came firfi, citing a preparatory drawing that might date before 1674. On the other hand, Caneftro Chiovenda maintains that since Gaulli’s altarpiece was actually in place a few years before Maratti’s was completed, the latter is dependent on his model. Jacob Bean, referring to Ciro Ferri’s version, cautions that “it is hard to say if Ferri was influenced by Maratti or vice versa.” [Schaar, 263; Canefiro Chiovenda, 263; Bean, cat. no. 172}. 78 Ursula Fischer-Pace proposes that Cortona’s is the earliefi drawing [Personal Communication]. 79 The original contract of foundation for the Francis Xavier chapel is in ARSI, FG Busta I, 73, 74. 80 Bean, cat. no. 172; Davis, fig. 150. 81 ”La Cappella di S. Francesco Saverio fatta da Monsignor Negroni, di.segno, come dicono, di Pietro da Cortona.” [ARSI, FG 545, 2]. For more on Cortona’s participation, see Pecchiai, 132. Cortona’s nephew Lorenzo Berettini also worked for the Gesii, painting a canvas of the Jesuit saint Stanislas Koska in 1644 [ARSI, FG Busta 1 , 13V.]. 82 Davis, fig. 151. On Ferri, see also Lopez, 229-34. 83 A hozzetto for this image is reproduced in Lucas, 51-54, cat. no. 124. 84 Caneflro Chiovenda, 263-5. 85 Enggass, fig. 46. 86 Copies of Gaulli’s picture are reproduced in Canefiro Chiovenda, figs. 3 and 4 (fig. 3 is a bozzetto; the author attributes both these images, not wholly convincingly, to Gaulli). A further version of Gaulli’s image (fig. 14) is in Sao Roque in Lisbon, the very church whose sacrifly contains the 1619 Xavier cycle (see also below) [O piilpito e a imagem, cat. no. 15]. Among others in Latin America, I saw an eighteenth-century Peruvian copy in the church of the Compania in Cuzco. 87 The completed painting is in the Haute Collection in Diisseldorf, and a possible bozzetto is in the Philadelphia Museum of Art (Bloomfield Moore Collection, 1883-89). 88 A photograph of our painting in the Longhi archives in Florence was mentioned by Bean and classed as “school of Maratti.” [Bean, 136]. I thank Mina Gregori for sending me a photocopy of the photograph, that allowed me to confirm that it is the same painting. Our painting was purchased on the art market in 1994. 89 Schaar, 262. 174 t)0 In the C>asa Frofcssa, Rome. I thank Ursula Fischer-Pace for bringing this image to my attention. 91 Burke, cat. no. 35. 92 Correspondence from Raffaello Causa, Ann Percy, and Nicola Spinosa in the files at the Ringling Museum of Art. Another version attributed to de Mura is in Princeton [Goldsmith et al., cat. no. 6]. 93 For more on Bernini’s relationship with the Jesuits, see: Kuhn, 1969, 229-33; Kuhn, 1970, 297-323. Kuhn shows how ftrongly influential Oliva’s sermons were on Bernini’s spirituality. The classic ftudy is Haskell, 1972, 51-62. 94 Weibel, 8, 47; Lavin, 4, n. 3. 95 Brauer-Wittkower, cat. nos 94, 104b, 105; Italian Drawings, cat. no. 99A; Hyatt Mayor, cat no. 214; Harris, cat nos 81, 82; Taste for Angels, 153. 96 For Poft-Tridentine preaching, see Thomas Worcefter’s essay in the present catalogue. 97 Enggass, fig. 125. 98 Ibid., fig. 18. 99 Taste for Angels, cat. no. 16. too Pecchiai, 131-32. loi Ottonelli and Berrettini, 1652, modern ed., 1973; Collareta, 177-96; Scott, 134, 159; The Society of Jesus, 1^48-iyyy, cat. no. 154; Casale, 1997. I am grateful to Joseph Connors for some of the above references. 102 On Paleotti, see Jones, 127-39. 103 Casale, XVI-X IX. 104 Ottonelli-Berrettini, 26, 230. Theories such as Giovanni Battifta Agucchi (1570-1632) and Giulio Mancini (1588-1630) similarly remarked on Caravaggio’s naturalism; however they used it to criticize his lack of decorum according to the Renaissance notion of perfected nature [Enggass and Brown, 29, 38]. Baglione also begrudgingly admired Caravaggio’s realism, but maintained that he lacked decorum [Hibbard, 1983, 38-39]. 105 “Michel’Angelo da Caravaggio dipingeva molto osservante del naturale; il perche spesso rimaneva mezzo aftratto, e troppo applicato all’attual fatica del lavoro, da cui poi uscendo lasciavasi tirare ad allegre conversazioni d’ogni qualitL” Ottonelli-Berrettini, 230. 106 Ibid., preface. 107 Ibid., 51. 108 Casale, LII-LXIV. 109 See Bailey, Art on the Jesuit Missions, esp. chapters 2 and 6. no Caravaggio e la collezione Mattel, 150-55, cat. no. 17; Pietro da Cortona 1597-1660, 311, cat. no. 20. Ill For example, there are regular references to donations from Asbudrale Mattei in the account books of the Gesii from 1599-1619 [ARSI, FG 2005-, FG 2005a]. BIBLIOGRAPHY oAbrOMSON, (lMorton. Painting in Rome during the Papacy of Clement VIII. New York, 1981. The Age of Caravaggjo. Exhibition Catalogue. 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