Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, 1571 -1610; the name 'Caravaggio', as Michelangelo Merisi is universally known, derives from his family's ancestral home near Bergamo and was long thought to have been his birthplace; he is now believed to have been born in Milan.
The photo above was taken by me in Rome in 2022; it shows one of Caravaggio's master-works, the Calling of Saint Matthew. What has prompted this article is a recent re-statement by an art historian of what I believe to be a mis-reading of the dynamics of this picture 1. What follows is the result of having not only read about Caravaggio and about this work in particular, but also - and to some extent, more importantly - of having seen the actual painting, in person, in situ (that is, in the chapel for which it was originally painted).
To set the scene: the chapel, not large, contains three masterpieces by Caravaggio who was commissioned to fulfil the will of the patron of the chapel (whose first name was Matthew 2) . The paintings therefore concern events in the life of the Gospel-writer Saint Matthew. The three paintings are: Saint Matthew Inspired by the Angel (a second version, altar wall); The Calling of Saint Matthew (left side-wall); The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew (right side-wall). The picture we are interested in represents the event when the Saint, at the time said to have been a tax-collector (for the Romans) and possibly named Levi, was called by Jesus to abandon his current life and to follow Him.
The apparently usual reading of the action in this startling image is that Christ, on the extreme right of the painting and almost wholly obscured by Saint Peter and shadow, is pointing his index finger at the man called Levi (or Matthew) whom he is more-or-less commanding to follow him, to become one of his disciples. The presumed object of this gesture is the bearded man seated between two others on the opposite side of the table; this figure appears, in the action of seemingly pointing to himself, to be indicating that he is indeed Levi. And this choice of a bearded older figure conforms with the normal iconography of Saint Matthew, so it appears the obvious and logical one. But let's have a closer look at the internal dynamics of this great painting.
Caravaggio is routinely credited with an outstanding and dramatic use of light, and, as in this case, also of deep shadow. In fact, his accentuation of the contrast between lighted areas and those parts in shadow are the essence of this Lombard painter whose approach went on to conquer Rome, Naples, Sicily and eventually the whole of Europe. The other, earlier, essential development in Caravaggio's art was his high degree of realism: in fact, he got into a bit of trouble with various authorities and patrons (including in our case) precisely because his sacred images were too realistic - or, to put it another way, not otherworldly enough. That however is not our concern at present, but his use of light is.
As with many religious works of art - and non-religious for that matter - symbols play an enormous part in their meaning. Light, which in a technical sense is used to mould forms and create space, is highly symbolically charged and perhaps the most important significance it has is that of divine light. Even in contemporary English, we still use the phrase 'to see the light', meaning to finally understand or get the point. The Bible is replete with passages describing divine light, or being brought out of darkness into the light, and so on and so on. Clearly, in Christian art, light is a powerful tool, both technically and as metaphor or analogy. And it is as metaphor that I believe the function of light in the Calling of Saint Matthew has been overlooked 3.
Looking now at our photo of the painting what we see is, yes, Christ with His raised arm pointing towards the men at the table on the other side of the scene. We see as well the bearded figure there, pointing seemingly at himself, as though to say: 'Who, me?' Now let's have a closer look at what the light is doing. An enormous shaft of light streams in from the top right corner of the image and travels across the space of that environment lighting as it does, not only the face, neck and raised hand of Jesus and the back of Saint Peter, but also all the faces (and many of the hands) of the men at the table - all of whom are looking in the direction of Christ ... except one! The young man - nearly always ignored - seated at the left-hand edge of the table (capotavola in Italian, the head of the table), the figure furthest from Jesus.
The physical attitude of this figure, his demeanour, betrays his mind: his downcast face, his shoulders around his neck, his (lighted) hand abstractedly pushing around the coins in front of him 4 and ... the very minimal light on his face (unlike all his companions); all these suggest a man troubled by his life, unhappy with the world and himself. The Bible tells how Levi, a Jew, was despised by his countrymen because he worked for the Romans, he collected their taxes from his own people! In addition, of all those seated at that table with their heads turned to look at the mysterious figure addressing them so strangely, the only one potentially facing Christ directly, directly in the line of His gaze, is this troubled young man; actually and metaphorically, the only one not seeing the light.
My contention is that, despite normal iconography, our Levi-become-Saint Matthew is that man seated at the head of the table. Further comments may be made though concerning the figure usually described as the Saint Matthew, that is, the centrally-placed older man. Apart from his seeming a man of rather nondescript character and therefore an unlikely candidate as a saint (!), his much-remarked gesture is, to say the least, ambiguous. It is possible, as mentioned, that he is incredulously indicating himself, but his gesture could just as easily be interpreted as indicating the even older man to his right; or the younger man at the head of the table.
The history of this commission tells us that already, having begun work first on the Martyrdom of Saint Matthew, Caravaggio had run into difficulties as he was quite unused to working on the large scale required by this commission; as well, he had started by attempting a kind of Renaissance-style composition with which he became unhappy. Temporarily abandoning this, he turned to the Calling and it was here that he 'found his feet', so to speak. He dropped the grand setting and opted for a simple, open theatrical-style 'backdrop' so that it is unclear if we are inside or out. The action occurs in a frieze-like composition although unusually reading from right to left, a decision almost certainly dictated by the source of natural light in the chapel; in fact, in the Martyrdom, the direction of the light is reversed, that is, also in keeping with the source of light in the chapel. Given such adventurous departing from the norm, it does not in the least surprise me that Caravaggio interpreted the Saint - who had plenty to do afterwards - as a robust youngish man; to me at least, he seems quite a bit older than his two younger companions seated on either side of the other end of the table while clearly younger than his obviously senior ones.
To finish, I would like to draw to the attention of the reader the name of a great Italian art historian, Roberto Longhi (1890 - 1970). Apart from crucial studies on such people as Piero della Francesca, Longhi has the distinct honour of being one of a small group of people who rescued Caravaggio from the near oblivion into which he had slipped shortly after his death. In 1951 Longhi organised an exhibition at Milan's Palazzo Reale to celebrate the long-forgotten and oft-maligned artist. Later, in 1952, with additions, Longhi's findings and understanding of Caravaggio were published in a book entitled Il Caravaggio 5. In this re-published book, reviewed last year by Francesca Saraceno, we read (quoting from the Sarceno article): 'E sebbene Longhi individui il San Matteo della Vocazione nel personaggio barbuto al centro, come da consolidata tradizione, tradisce forse il dubbio - sebbene di un attimo - rispetto a quel "giocatore a capotavola che vorrebbe immergersi nell'ombra lurida della propria perplessità"'. (trans: 'And although Longhi identified the Saint Matthew of the Calling as the bearded personage in the centre, following established tradition, he betrays a doubt - if only for a moment - regarding that "gambler at the head of the table who it seems would like to lose himself in the lurid shadow of his own perplexity"'). Some things to note regarding Longhi's quotation: first, the Italian name used here in shortened form for the Calling of Saint Matthew is La Vocazione, meaning the Vocation of Saint Matthew (the same painting under discussion in this article); secondly and importantly, Longhi's apparent doubt, according to Francesca Saraceno, concerning the true identity of the Saint in our picture; and thirdly, Longhi's reference to our man as a 'giocatore'.
In his book, Longhi, as various critics had already suggested, also posits that the future Saint and his companions are actually engaged in a game of chance, that he's gambling; how they managed to arrive at such a conclusion is beyond me as what is on the table in the painting would seem to be the necessaries of a tax collector: account book, ink-well, coins, money bag, etc. Although I cannot see these people as gamblers, the accepted reading of our picture was as an interrupted game of cards (or dice as Longhi insisted), despite the fact that such articles do not appear on the table; this reading also follows a 'consolidata tradizione' (that is, established tradition), probably based on the similarities of the younger men at the table - and their clothing - to similar characters in at least one of Caravaggio's known earlier pictures which deals explicitly with cardsharps (The Cardsharps, in two known versions: at Fort Worth [1595-96] and London [according to Sebastian Schütze - see Note 1 - possibly a copy]).
As said at the outset, it is common opinion among art historians that the bearded figure seated at the centre of the table is Saint Matthew and I have yet to read otherwise, that is, an opinion which frankly supports my own; Francesca Sarceno does seem to intimate that she also sees Saint Matthew in the young man seated at the head of the table and I imagine there may be other critics who concur. In addition, the figures at the table are not gambling but are rather a tax collector and his associates, perhaps finishing off the day's work.
1 Caravaggio, The Complete Works, by Sebastian Schütze (pub. by Taschen, 2021); Caravaggio, A Life by Helen Langdon (pub. by Pimlico, 1999); Emerging from Darkness (catalogue), pub. by Hamilton Gallery (Victoria, Australia) 2023, various authors including David R. Marshall: Caravaggio and Painting from the Model (chapter, p.131);
2 A French cardinal, Matthieu Cointrel (in Italian, Matteo Contarelli), died 1585. Cointrel had bought the chapel and therefore the obligation to decorate it and had specified that he wanted it painted with scenes from the life of his namesake, Saint Matthew. This project dragged on for some years after Contarelli's death, with the usual accusations of financially inspired delays, until Caravaggio - after several others - was given the job to complete the commission. The fact of it being a Frenchman to own the chapel was perfectly normal, given that the church which houses the chapel, San Luigi dei Francesi, actually states in its name (dei Francesi) that it was the church of the French community in Rome; at that time, many foreign communities in Rome had specific churches which served their nationals who were living and working there (ambassadors, businessmen, etc.).
3 In the catalogue of an important exhibition held in Rome in 2010 to mark the 400th anniversary of Caravaggio's death, Italian art historian Maurizio Calvesi has this to say in his catalogue essay on Caravaggio's Basket of Fruit:: "It [the underlying religious aspect] also exalts the value of the light, which in Merisi's paintings is always a light of salvation, a liberation ..." (my italics). Caravaggio, held at the Scuderie del Quirinale, 2010; catalogue in English published by Skira, ed. by Claudio Strinati (various authors); pp 87-88.
4 Helen Langdon in her book Caravaggio, A Life, on page 170, discusses the desires of the Cardinal Cointrel-Contarelli for the decoration of his chapel, saying that "he wished the saint to be shown in the tax collector's office, busily counting money, ...". Having noted this fact however, Langdon then goes on to refer to the 'usual suspect' as the Saint, that is, the older man apparently pointing to himself. In the present painting, an interesting aspect is that both the older man and my choice, the younger one, have one hand on the table - both in front of the younger man - and both men appear to be involved (although the younger rather abstractedly as mentioned) in counting that money. It at first sight appears that those two hands both belong to the younger man who actually, on closer inspection, is seen to have placed his left hand under his right arm (holding perhaps a money bag).
5 Roberto Longhi, Caravaggio, reprinted (my edition) 2006 by Editori Riuniti with an introduction by Giovanni Previtali. Previtali's excellent and scholarly Introduction traces the development of Caravaggio studies from the 19th century up to the Longhi exhibition in Milan in 1951, as well as the development of Longhi's own critical appraisal of the work of Caravaggio.
* There is nowadays a virtual 'Caravaggio industry' but if anyone is considering buying a comprehensive book on the master, I can recommend the Taschen publication referred to in Note 1.
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