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Sir Denis Mahon: The Caravaggio Connoisseur
At ninety-one, Sir Denis Mahon moved in a slow but deliberate shuffle across the piazza toward Da Fortunato restaurant near the Pantheon. His bald head gleamed in the midday Roman sun as he walked, dressed in his customary dark blue double-breasted Savile Row suit, starched white shirt with gold cuff links and collar pin. His tortoiseshell glasses sat cockeyed, repaired with tape, though his hearing remained sharp and his eyes clear.
As the world's foremost authority on Caravaggio since his rival Roberto Longhi's death, Sir Denis had studied every known work by the artist. Though he owned seventy-nine masterpieces of seicento art, he regretted never acquiring a Caravaggio-now worth perhaps fifty million pounds. He recalled his 1952 discovery of a St. John painting in the mayor's office in Rome, which he believed was the authentic Caravaggio rather than the accepted Doria Pamphili version. This sparked a satisfying feud with Longhi that lasted years.
Sir Denis believed paintings were windows into their creators' minds-that studying Caravaggio's work revealed the depths of genius, something no copy could achieve. His passion for Italian baroque painting had begun during his Oxford days and continued unabated through his long life. Never married and with no direct heirs, this only child had outlived his discreetly-kept lovers, dedicating his life entirely to art scholarship.
When Francesca and Laura met Sir Denis for lunch at Da Fortunato, the experience felt to Francesca like being invited to play chess with a grandmaster. While Mahon ate with obvious pleasure, Francesca barely touched her salad, too nervous to eat. He impressed them by having studied their essay meticulously, praising their verification that Hamilton Nisbet had bought the original Taking of Christ in 1802. When Francesca mentioned Hugh Brigstocke's essay about the Hamilton Nisbet collection, Mahon encouraged her to contact him at Sotheby's and gave her his own telephone number, inviting her to see his paintings in London.
Only later did Francesca realize his interest wasn't entirely altruistic-he wanted to be first to hear of any discoveries she might make. As Brigstocke later warned her, Mahon "latches onto young scholars" when they interest him. This was the beginning of a relationship that would eventually connect all the key players in the rediscovery of Caravaggio's lost masterpiece.
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The Unexpected Discovery: From Jesuit Residence to Gallery
In August 1990, Sergio Benedetti, the National Gallery of Ireland's chief conservator, accompanied assistant director Brian Kennedy to the St. Ignatius Residence on Lower Leeson Street in Dublin. The Jesuits had requested assistance in cleaning several paintings from their collection, most of which were typical religious works of modest artistic merit. However, among these unremarkable pieces, Benedetti's attention was immediately captured by a large, dark painting in an ornate gilt frame. Despite layers of accumulated dust, kitchen grease, and severely yellowed varnish obscuring its surface, Benedetti's trained eye recognized telltale signs of exceptional seventeenth-century craftsmanship. The painting's size, approximately 5.5 by 4 feet, and its remarkable state of preservation immediately suggested something extraordinary.
After a meticulous preliminary examination of the craquelure patterns in the paint surface, the distinctive brushwork techniques, and particularly the masterful rendering of hands and faces characteristic of the baroque period, Benedetti strategically suggested taking it to the gallery for restoration. He deliberately kept his growing suspicions to himself, not wanting to create premature excitement. Only during their walk back to the gallery did he reveal to a visibly skeptical Kennedy what seemed an almost preposterous possibility: "I think it might be by Caravaggio." Kennedy, understanding the magnitude of such a claim, immediately suggested they consult with Raymond Keaveney, the gallery's director.
Keaveney, a wiry man with sharp features and wavy gray hair who was known for his cautious approach to attribution, remained deeply skeptical despite his long-standing respect for Benedetti's judgment. When Benedetti described recognizing the subject matter-Christ's betrayal by Judas in the Garden of Gethsemane-and explained that while numerous copies existed throughout Europe, this painting exhibited characteristics that suggested it could be the original, Keaveney insisted on absolute secrecy and extreme caution. He later pulled Kennedy aside, warning him privately, "The implications are staggering. There will be dealers from London and New York with their wallets wide open if word gets out."
Benedetti's expertise was particularly relevant to this discovery. Having trained at Rome's prestigious Istituto Centrale per il Restauro, he had spent decades studying Italian baroque painting and had always dreamed of making a significant discovery during his twenty-five years of restoration work. His time in Rome had proved invaluable, especially his carefully cultivated relationship with Sir Denis Mahon, the preeminent Caravaggio scholar, whom he had first met at Mario's trattoria in 1968. Though Benedetti had worked as a restorer primarily out of necessity rather than choice, he had devoted countless hours to studying everything about Caravaggio, his artistic hero, from technical methods to historical documentation.
Upon closer inspection at the gallery, Benedetti noticed a wooden plaque attached to the frame identifying the painting as "The Betrayal of Christ" by Gerard Honthorst (also known as Gherardo della Notte). This attribution triggered an immediate connection to Roberto Longhi's seminal essay suggesting that Caravaggio's lost masterpiece The Taking of Christ had been misattributed to Honthorst over the centuries. The possibility electrified Benedetti-could this dusty painting from a Jesuit residence be the very same work that had vanished without trace after the mysterious 1921 Edinburgh auction? The coincidence seemed almost too perfect, yet the evidence was compelling enough to warrant deeper investigation.
Kapitel 6
The Restoration Drama: Revealing Caravaggio's Hand
Benedetti began the delicate process of restoring the painting, laying it facedown on a white cloth to examine its condition. He discovered the canvas had been relined at least once before, with the original canvas trimmed to within a quarter inch of the painted surface. Though the relining was over a hundred years old, it had held up remarkably well with minimal damage. Michael Olohan photographed the painting in its original state, documenting each step of the restoration process.
As layers of dirt and yellowed varnish were carefully removed, evidence of Caravaggio's distinctive technique began to emerge. Benedetti discovered pentimenti (artist's corrections) that copyists wouldn't make, including a ghostly second ear above Judas's head and adjustments to a soldier's belt. These changes revealed the creative process of an artist working directly on the canvas rather than copying a finished composition.
The most critical and controversial moment came when Benedetti decided to reline the painting-a procedure comparable to cardiac surgery that subjects an already fragile artwork to significant stress. Following traditional methods, he first protected the painting's surface with tissue paper adhered with a mixture of rabbit-skin glue, water, vinegar, ox bile, and molasses. After removing the old brittle lining, he found the original canvas was high-quality single-sheet hemp that had darkened to brown with age.
However, accounts of what happened next differ dramatically. Benedetti used Irish linen canvas instead of waiting for proper Italian canvas, applying his traditional glue mixture and hand-pressing techniques. The densely-woven Irish canvas absorbed glue differently than the original, causing contraction that cracked the paint surface. Fellow restorer Andrew O'Connor and photographer Michael Olohan observed the damage with shock, noting hairline cracks across the painting "like a sheet of ice that has started to melt." Though visibly distressed, Benedetti never discussed the problem and worked alone to remedy it, eventually relining the painting again with proper Italian canvas.
Despite this setback, scientific analysis in London confirmed the painting's authenticity. Tests comparing its pigments to those in Caravaggio's "The Supper at Emmaus" showed consistent use of materials-lead-tin yellow, malachite, red lake, bone black, and green earth mixed with walnut oil. One unusual feature was the "bizarre" ground layer containing reds, yellows and green earth, which scientist Ashok Roy described as resembling a "palette-scraping" ground where leftover paints had been recycled as primer-a characteristic technique observed in other Caravaggio works.
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Connecting the Dots: Tracing the Painting's Journey
While the scientific analysis proceeded, Benedetti worked to establish the painting's provenance-the documented history of ownership that would connect the Dublin painting to Caravaggio's original. He traveled to Edinburgh, unknowingly following Francesca's research path. At the National Portrait Gallery, he found the 1921 auction catalog showing eight guineas noted beside The Taking of Christ. At the Scottish Record Office, he discovered Italian receipts showing Duke Giuseppe Mattei had sold six paintings, including "The Taking of Christ by Honthorst," to Hamilton Nisbet.
His most significant discovery came at the National Gallery of Scotland, where he found two Mattei paintings with frames identical to the Dublin painting, providing physical proof connecting it to Hamilton Nisbet's collection and the Mattei family. Benedetti also discovered that Hamilton Nisbet had actually paid 2,300 scudi for the paintings, not the 525 scudi listed on the export license-suggesting Patrick Moir had understated the cost to avoid customs duties.
After meeting Sir Denis Mahon at a Guercino exhibition in Bologna, Benedetti was encouraged to contact Francesca Cappelletti about her Mattei research. Their meeting in Rome was tense-Benedetti scrutinized her research line by line while revealing nothing about his own findings, his condescending manner irritating Francesca. Yet his intense interest in her work suggested he had found something significant related to The Taking of Christ.
The final piece of the provenance puzzle emerged when Father Barber revealed the painting had been gifted to Father Tom Finlay by Dr. Marie Lea-Wilson, a pediatrician who had died over twenty years earlier. Born to a wealthy Catholic family in 1888, she had married Captain Percival Lea-Wilson, who was later assassinated by the IRA in 1920. After her husband's death, she found solace through Father Finlay's guidance and became one of Dublin's few female doctors. Despite extensive research, Benedetti couldn't determine how she acquired the painting between its 1921 Edinburgh auction and its gifting to the Jesuits in the early 1930s-a decade-long gap in an otherwise meticulously documented four-century history.
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The Announcement: A Masterpiece Revealed to the World
The secret of the painting's discovery couldn't be kept forever. Italian journalist Fabio Isman's detective work began when Denis Mahon casually mentioned seeing a new Caravaggio "a few weeks ago" while being driven from the train station in Rome. After questioning various Caravaggio experts and receiving cryptic responses, Isman made a brilliant deduction. Recalling an article about Mattei collection paintings, he suspected the work might be The Taking of Christ. After discovering a curious Dublin exhibition curated by an unknown Italian named Sergio Benedetti, Isman made a direct call to Ireland.
When confronted, Benedetti exclaimed "Cazzo!" in surprise, confirming Isman had guessed correctly. Despite Benedetti's pleas to wait for the official announcement, Isman published his scoop on the front page of Il Messaggero four days later. The news immediately traveled to Father Barber, who was returning from a silent Easter retreat. When Brian Kennedy revealed the painting's true identity as a Caravaggio masterpiece potentially worth thirty-five million pounds, Father Barber was initially shocked but couldn't contain his enthusiasm, "nearly floating" with excitement.
The Jesuits debated the painting's fate intensely. Some argued for selling it-the proceeds could fund their St. Vincent de Paul charity or build a new school, especially with Ireland's 19% unemployment rate. Father Barber, however, insisted it remain in Ireland, warning "The country would turn on us in anger if we sold it off." After careful deliberation, the Provincial of the Society of Jesus announced their decision to place The Taking of Christ on "indefinite loan" to the National Gallery of Ireland-effectively giving the gallery full possession while maintaining their stewardship.
In November 1993, scholars from around the world gathered in Dublin for the public unveiling of The Taking of Christ. Francesca saw the painting for the first time-larger than she had imagined, with light more brilliant and colors more luminous than photographs had suggested. She examined the details closely: Caravaggio's self-portrait holding the lantern, the veined hand of Judas, and pentimenti visible in the original. The painting's power transported her, reminiscent of her first encounter with Caravaggio's work as a young girl.
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Legacy of a Rediscovery: The Painting's New Life
Following the conference, Sergio Benedetti's life underwent a dramatic transformation. Once a quiet restorer working in relative obscurity, he suddenly found himself thrust into the international spotlight. Art enthusiasts and scholars sought his autograph at exhibitions, and his name became permanently associated with Caravaggio scholarship, joining the ranks of legendary figures like Roberto Longhi and Denis Mahon. Leading museums and universities across Europe extended invitations for him to lecture on his historic discovery. Irish television produced an hour-long documentary chronicling the fascinating story, while the National Gallery of Ireland elevated him to curator of Italian art, marking the end of his hands-on restoration work.
The Taking of Christ embarked on an extensive exhibition tour, traveling to prestigious venues including the National Gallery in London, the Palazzo Venezia in Rome, and several major American museums. Benedetti accompanied the painting on these journeys, sharing detailed insights about its discovery and restoration process with eager audiences. Each exhibition drew record crowds, with visitors often waiting hours to glimpse the masterpiece that had been hidden for centuries.
Francesca and Luciano's romance, kindled during the investigation, culminated in their wedding at Rome's historic San Lorenzo in Lucina basilica the following year. The church, with its own Caravaggio connection through a painting that once hung there, provided a fitting venue. However, their marriage eventually ended as they struggled to bridge the geographic divide between Dublin and Rome. Sir Denis Mahon, whose validation had been crucial to authenticating the painting, remained actively engaged in Caravaggio scholarship well into his nineties, attending conferences and debates with undiminished enthusiasm. His final gift to art history was the donation of his exceptional collection of seventy-three paintings to the British National Gallery, ensuring their preservation for future generations.
The painting's new life at the National Gallery of Ireland wasn't without challenges. In April 1997, an observant visitor spotted minute movement on the frame, leading to a concerning discovery by conservator Andrew O'Connor. Upon careful examination in the restoration studio, he found an infestation of biscuit beetles (Stegobium paniceum) that had consumed portions of the relining along the tacking edges. The insects had been attracted to the traditional flour-based colla pasta adhesive used in Benedetti's restoration. While the original canvas thankfully remained intact, the situation required immediate intervention. O'Connor opted for a conservative approach, carefully removing the compromised sections and applying new tacking edges using modern synthetic resins, more resistant to such infestations.
The rediscovery of The Taking of Christ transcends the mere identification of a lost masterpiece-it exemplifies the collaborative spirit of art scholarship and conservation. From Francesca Cappelletti and Laura Testa's methodical archival research in Roman libraries to Benedetti's skilled eye and careful restoration work, the painting's journey from obscurity to worldwide recognition illustrates the interconnected nature of art history. As Denis Mahon frequently reminded colleagues, "Habent sua fata picturae"-paintings have their own destinies, unfolding across centuries until the perfect alignment of scholarship, expertise, and fortune brings them back into the light. Today, the painting stands as the crown jewel of the Irish National Gallery's collection, drawing art lovers from every corner of the globe who come to witness this masterpiece of Baroque art, whose own dramatic history rivals the scene it depicts.
