Caravaggio_ A Life Sacred and Profane - Andrew Graham-Dixon [239]
Francesco Susinno, writing still later, but from a position considerably closer to the events on Malta and Sicily, leaned towards Baglione’s version of events: ‘‘The fugitive arrived in Palermo, and in that city also left excellent works of art. From there he moved again to Naples, chased there by his angered antagonist, and was badly wounded on the face.’129
To these counterposed explanations of the attack may be added one other possibility: that its origins lay not in Malta but in Rome, and that it was carried out either by or on behalf of the aggrieved relations of the late Ranuccio Tomassoni. There is no suggestion that this was the case in any of the early biographies, nor in any contemporary source. In fact there is no hard evidence of any kind to support the hypothesis. But the theory has been advocated by at least one influential scholar of Caravaggio’s life and work in recent years.130
A great deal of archival research has been done on Caravaggio over the past half-century. Many new discoveries have been made, and it is striking how in almost every case the historical facts have tended to confirm the accounts of one or other of Caravaggio’s early biographers. Baglione has generally proved to be more accurate than Bellori, which is not surprising: he was part of Caravaggio’s own circle, and although the two men were enemies they took more than a passing interest in each other’s activities. Baglione knew who Caravaggio’s friends and allies were in Rome, and understood the complicated and violent codes of honour by which he lived and died, whereas Bellori was simply baffled by them. A fairly straightforward process of elimination establishes Baglione’s account of the assault in the Osteria del Cerriglio as the most credible explanation of the whole dark business.
The modern suggestion that Ranuccio Tomassoni’s relations were the aggressors lacks merit on the grounds of chronology, geography and logic. The attack in the Cerriglio took place more than three years after Caravaggio had murdered Tomassoni. Even if it is assumed that the Tomassoni clan was still bent on revenge, which in this case would have been a dish served very cold indeed, it is unlikely that they would have attempted an attack on the painter in distant Naples: far better to wait until his heralded return to Rome, where they could watch his movements and plan their strike with a greater certainty of success. The most powerful argument against their involvement is the nature of the wounding Caravaggio suffered. He had been cut in the face. In the language of vendetta, the sfregio was punishment for an insult to honour and reputation. But the painter had murdered Tomassoni, not merely insulted him. An eye for an eye: if the Tomassoni had been behind the assault in Naples, Caravaggio would have been killed, not disfigured.
Bellori’s suggestion that Alof de Wignacourt ordered the attack is equally illogical. Caravaggio had not personally insulted Wignacourt, nor had he attacked his reputation. True, he had defied the Grand Master’s authority. But the appropriate punishment for that was extradition back to Malta. The facial wounding of an errant knight at a house of ill repute was not something Wignacourt would have sanctioned. His involvement seems even less likely, given that at the time of the attack Caravaggio was living in the household of the mother of Wignacourt’s admiral of the fleet. The Grand Master was ruthless but he was also intensely pragmatic. If he had wanted satisfaction from Caravaggio, he would have taken it in the form of pictures.
Baglione’s account, to which the Sicilian biographer Susinno subsequently gave his imprimatur, is the only one entirely consistent with the known facts of the case. It has the cold logic of vendetta, stressing the symmetry between insult given and punishment received, even in the author