that he had close links with one of the sinister robber gangs that terrorized Rome by night, but this is untrue. He was not a criminal, merely unbalanced. During a court case in 1603 he referred to “Mario, a painter,” who can only have been Mario Minniti. “This Mario once lived with me, but left three years ago, and I haven’t spoken to him since.” According to Minniti’s earliest biographer, he left because he could not put up with Caravaggio’s “disorderliness.” Later, after marrying, he fled from Rome, apparently after killing a man in a duel.
Earning the income of a minor, well-to-do nobleman or a prosperous merchant, Caravaggio could do as he pleased. Restraints on his private lifemay have had something to do with his leaving del Monte’s household; the cardinal had begun to think that he had “a most strange brain.” In September 1603 he moved out of the Palazzo Maffei, taking rooms in the Campo Marzio, in a house in the Vicolo San Biagio. His landlady was a highly respectable widow. While he had no wish to live in the cramped quarters provided by del Monte, he was anxious to stay near him, in case of trouble with the police.
Baglione, who knew Caravaggio personally and disliked him intensely, tells us that “because of an excessively fearless temperament, he sometimes went looking for a chance to break his neck, or to put somebody else’s in danger.” Yet even Baglione had to admit that he was only “a little,” not wholly, dissolute. Bellori says that painting could not calm Caravaggio, that after working for a few hours he would stroll around Rome, pretending to be a soldier. He wore “the costliest silks and velvets like a nobleman, but once he had put on a suit, he left it on until it was in rags.” Often he slept in his clothes and always he wore his dagger in bed. He was careless about washing, and for many years used an old portrait as a tablecloth.
All the early sources agree that he was an exceptionally difficult man. Baglione found him “sarcastic and haughty,” but what really annoyed him was a withering contempt for all Mannerists, dead or alive, including Baglione. “He spoke ill of all the painters of the past, and of the present day too, however distinguished they might be; because he was convinced that he had surpassed everyone else in the profession.” Sandrart says, “It was not easy to get on with him.”
But Caravaggio was not invariably disagreeable. He could be surprisingly fair-minded; on at least one occasion he described Arpino, whom he loathed, as a good painter. Although disreputable, his boon companions, if Sandrart can be believed, were cheerful enough, “young men, most of them stout fellows, painters and swordsmen.” His close friends stayed loyal to him. Onorio Longhi, a Lombard like himself, fought at his side in at least one duel, while Mario Minniti was delighted to meet him again in Sicily manyyears later, and long after his death the Cavaliere Marino wrote an affectionate poem in his memory. His patrons went out of their way to protect him, and it is unlikely that they valued him for his art alone. Nevertheless, his signs of a profoundly unhappy nature are unmistakable.
The first suggestion of a disorderly private life came in May 1598, when the
sbirri
caught him wearing a rapier without a permit. He told the police magistrate, “Yesterday, I was arrested at about two o’clock at night between Piazza Madama and Piazza Navona because I was wearing a sword, which I wear as painter to Cardinal del Monte, since I’m one of the cardinal’s men and in his service and lodge in his house, and my name is written down on the list of his household.”
The next hint of rowdiness was in October 1600, when Onorio Longhi was charged with insulting and attacking Marco Tullio, a painter. During his defense, Longhi said his friend Caravaggio had intervened between Tullio and himself, pulling them apart. At no time had “Michele” drawn his sword, as alleged;
Earning the income of a minor, well-to-do nobleman or a prosperous merchant, Caravaggio could do as he pleased. Restraints on his private lifemay have had something to do with his leaving del Monte’s household; the cardinal had begun to think that he had “a most strange brain.” In September 1603 he moved out of the Palazzo Maffei, taking rooms in the Campo Marzio, in a house in the Vicolo San Biagio. His landlady was a highly respectable widow. While he had no wish to live in the cramped quarters provided by del Monte, he was anxious to stay near him, in case of trouble with the police.
Baglione, who knew Caravaggio personally and disliked him intensely, tells us that “because of an excessively fearless temperament, he sometimes went looking for a chance to break his neck, or to put somebody else’s in danger.” Yet even Baglione had to admit that he was only “a little,” not wholly, dissolute. Bellori says that painting could not calm Caravaggio, that after working for a few hours he would stroll around Rome, pretending to be a soldier. He wore “the costliest silks and velvets like a nobleman, but once he had put on a suit, he left it on until it was in rags.” Often he slept in his clothes and always he wore his dagger in bed. He was careless about washing, and for many years used an old portrait as a tablecloth.
All the early sources agree that he was an exceptionally difficult man. Baglione found him “sarcastic and haughty,” but what really annoyed him was a withering contempt for all Mannerists, dead or alive, including Baglione. “He spoke ill of all the painters of the past, and of the present day too, however distinguished they might be; because he was convinced that he had surpassed everyone else in the profession.” Sandrart says, “It was not easy to get on with him.”
But Caravaggio was not invariably disagreeable. He could be surprisingly fair-minded; on at least one occasion he described Arpino, whom he loathed, as a good painter. Although disreputable, his boon companions, if Sandrart can be believed, were cheerful enough, “young men, most of them stout fellows, painters and swordsmen.” His close friends stayed loyal to him. Onorio Longhi, a Lombard like himself, fought at his side in at least one duel, while Mario Minniti was delighted to meet him again in Sicily manyyears later, and long after his death the Cavaliere Marino wrote an affectionate poem in his memory. His patrons went out of their way to protect him, and it is unlikely that they valued him for his art alone. Nevertheless, his signs of a profoundly unhappy nature are unmistakable.
The first suggestion of a disorderly private life came in May 1598, when the
sbirri
caught him wearing a rapier without a permit. He told the police magistrate, “Yesterday, I was arrested at about two o’clock at night between Piazza Madama and Piazza Navona because I was wearing a sword, which I wear as painter to Cardinal del Monte, since I’m one of the cardinal’s men and in his service and lodge in his house, and my name is written down on the list of his household.”
The next hint of rowdiness was in October 1600, when Onorio Longhi was charged with insulting and attacking Marco Tullio, a painter. During his defense, Longhi said his friend Caravaggio had intervened between Tullio and himself, pulling them apart. At no time had “Michele” drawn his sword, as alleged;
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