murder, caravaggio and The Taking of Christ
The Irish rediscovery of a lost masterpiece
By Philip McCouat For comments on this article, see here
Introduction
It all started with a murder.
On the morning of 15 June 1920, in Gorey, a market town in County Wexford, Ireland, Captain Percival Lea-Wilson, aged 33, was gunned down in a hail of bullets. He had been walking back to his home after buying the morning newspaper. He was found on the footpath in a pool of blood [1].
A car with five men had been seen in the area earlier that morning, and was seen leaving immediately after the murder. The crime was treated as retribution by the IRA (Irish Republican Army) for an earlier incident which had occurred in the aftermath of the Easter Rebellion in 2016. Back then, the English-born Lea-Wilson had been stationed in Dublin as District Inspector of the Royal Irish Constabulary, and had charge of about 250 Irish Republican prisoners who had surrendered.
Reports varied, but it was said that Lea-Wilson had abused, ill-treated and publicly humiliated them -- refusing to allow some injured to be taken away, not allowing some to urinate standing up, and forcing one, the well-known Tom Clarke, the first signatory of the Proclamation of the Irish Republic, to strip naked [2]. This incident was clearly never forgotten by the those in the Republican movement, who were already aggrieved by Lea-Wilson’s active general campaign against them.
On the morning of 15 June 1920, in Gorey, a market town in County Wexford, Ireland, Captain Percival Lea-Wilson, aged 33, was gunned down in a hail of bullets. He had been walking back to his home after buying the morning newspaper. He was found on the footpath in a pool of blood [1].
A car with five men had been seen in the area earlier that morning, and was seen leaving immediately after the murder. The crime was treated as retribution by the IRA (Irish Republican Army) for an earlier incident which had occurred in the aftermath of the Easter Rebellion in 2016. Back then, the English-born Lea-Wilson had been stationed in Dublin as District Inspector of the Royal Irish Constabulary, and had charge of about 250 Irish Republican prisoners who had surrendered.
Reports varied, but it was said that Lea-Wilson had abused, ill-treated and publicly humiliated them -- refusing to allow some injured to be taken away, not allowing some to urinate standing up, and forcing one, the well-known Tom Clarke, the first signatory of the Proclamation of the Irish Republic, to strip naked [2]. This incident was clearly never forgotten by the those in the Republican movement, who were already aggrieved by Lea-Wilson’s active general campaign against them.
The murder set off a complex chain of events which, at the time, could never have been predicted. In this article, we’ll be tracing how these unlikely events unfolded -- and how they culminated, in a most unlikely way, in the eventual discovery of a masterpiece by the celebrated artist Caravaggio [3].
Lost and found in a monastery
Lea-Wilson’s widow, Marie, was devastated by his loss. She felt that a great injustice had been committed against him, and vowed that the memory of her husband should never be forgotten. In his honour, she commissioned a well-known stained glass artist Harry Clarke to create a memorial window for her husband at the local Christchurch, in Gorey. This was themed on the martyr St Stephen, with Percival’s family coat of arms, and the inscription, “Lord, lay not this sin to their charge” [4].
In the early 1920s, Marie took a holiday in Edinburgh where, as was her habit, she visited galleries, auction rooms, and antique dealers. While there, she bought a 17th-century painting labelled The Taking of Christ in the Garden by “Gerard of the Night Scenes”, the popular name for the capable Dutch painter Gerard van Honthorst. On her return she had it hung in her Dublin home.
As time went on, Marie continued to experience considerable distress from what she considered was the unjust loss of her husband. As a devout Catholic, she sought counselling from a priest at the St Ignatius Residence on Leeson Street, Dublin [5]. In the early 1930s, she gifted the painting to him in gratitude for the spiritual guidance he was able to provide her during this period. The painting was duly hung in the Jesuits’ dining room. It was fated to remained there for the next 60 years.
We can now fast forward to 1990, when a newly-appointed principal of the Jesuit Residence, Father Noel Barber, instituted a major cleaning and refurbishment of the premises. He also arranged for an expert from the National Gallery of Ireland, Bryan Kennedy, to come and appraise and advise on the various religious paintings that hung in the Residence. Kennedy brought along Sergio Benedetti, the Gallery’s senior expert on art restoration.
Of all the paintings they saw, one stood out, the Honthorst Taking of Christ the Marie had gifted to the Jesuits so long before. Admittedly, it was in poor condition --“it was dark, the whole surface obscured by a film of dust, grease and soot. The varnish had turned a yellowish brown, giving the flesh tones of the faces and hands a tobacco-like hue. The robe worn by Christ had turned the colour of dead leaves…” [6]. But Benedetti not only recognised its quality. He also recognised that, despite the wild improbability of such an idea, it might even be by Caravaggio [7].
As time went on, Marie continued to experience considerable distress from what she considered was the unjust loss of her husband. As a devout Catholic, she sought counselling from a priest at the St Ignatius Residence on Leeson Street, Dublin [5]. In the early 1930s, she gifted the painting to him in gratitude for the spiritual guidance he was able to provide her during this period. The painting was duly hung in the Jesuits’ dining room. It was fated to remained there for the next 60 years.
We can now fast forward to 1990, when a newly-appointed principal of the Jesuit Residence, Father Noel Barber, instituted a major cleaning and refurbishment of the premises. He also arranged for an expert from the National Gallery of Ireland, Bryan Kennedy, to come and appraise and advise on the various religious paintings that hung in the Residence. Kennedy brought along Sergio Benedetti, the Gallery’s senior expert on art restoration.
Of all the paintings they saw, one stood out, the Honthorst Taking of Christ the Marie had gifted to the Jesuits so long before. Admittedly, it was in poor condition --“it was dark, the whole surface obscured by a film of dust, grease and soot. The varnish had turned a yellowish brown, giving the flesh tones of the faces and hands a tobacco-like hue. The robe worn by Christ had turned the colour of dead leaves…” [6]. But Benedetti not only recognised its quality. He also recognised that, despite the wild improbability of such an idea, it might even be by Caravaggio [7].
Betrayal and arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane
Let’s now pause in the narrative for a moment to see what this Dublin painting actually looked like under that grime.
The painting shows the aftermath of the Last Supper, when Christ was being arrested before his ultimate trial. This took place during the week of Passover, a major Jewish religious holiday [8], possibly in the year AD 33 [9], when Christ had a supper with his 12 disciples. During the meal, now known as “the Last Supper”, he made the shocking prediction that one of them, whom he did not identify, would betray him.
Later that night, Christ and the disciples went to Gethsemane, a garden area, often described as an olive grove. While there, one of the disciples, Judas, kissed Christ. This “Judas kiss” was a betrayal, being a secret pre-arranged indicator identifying Christ to Temple officials, who then had Christ arrested [10]. Christ would go on to face trial for sedition before Pontius Pilate, the governor of the Roman province of Judaea, who sentenced him to crucifixion.
In the painting, Caravaggio telescopes a number of these events into the one moment – the kiss by Judas, the arrest of Christ and the panicked reaction of the disciples
The painting shows the aftermath of the Last Supper, when Christ was being arrested before his ultimate trial. This took place during the week of Passover, a major Jewish religious holiday [8], possibly in the year AD 33 [9], when Christ had a supper with his 12 disciples. During the meal, now known as “the Last Supper”, he made the shocking prediction that one of them, whom he did not identify, would betray him.
Later that night, Christ and the disciples went to Gethsemane, a garden area, often described as an olive grove. While there, one of the disciples, Judas, kissed Christ. This “Judas kiss” was a betrayal, being a secret pre-arranged indicator identifying Christ to Temple officials, who then had Christ arrested [10]. Christ would go on to face trial for sedition before Pontius Pilate, the governor of the Roman province of Judaea, who sentenced him to crucifixion.
In the painting, Caravaggio telescopes a number of these events into the one moment – the kiss by Judas, the arrest of Christ and the panicked reaction of the disciples
The sorrowful, heavily-shadowed Christ is on the left of the painting [11], clad in a red robe, being seized by Temple guards, who are in armour. Judas, in characteristic orange robe, his brow furrowed, is just about to withdraw from his embrace.
At far left, the disciple John is fleeing, gasping in horror, his arms outstretched; and his red cloak flying back, apparently restrained by the second guard. At far right, a man is holding up a glowing lantern, though it is clear that the light in the picture must come from the front/left. This man with the lantern is evidently modelled by Caravaggio himself. Just beyond him is the helmet of the third guard.
The drama of the scene is heightened by the closeness of the action to the front of the picture, the inky darkness of the enveloping night, and the patches of unrealistically brilliant light. This contrasts with the shiny black armour on the arm of the arresting guard, which dominates the centre of the painting. The positioning of the central figures closely follows a 1509 woodcut by Dürer.
At far left, the disciple John is fleeing, gasping in horror, his arms outstretched; and his red cloak flying back, apparently restrained by the second guard. At far right, a man is holding up a glowing lantern, though it is clear that the light in the picture must come from the front/left. This man with the lantern is evidently modelled by Caravaggio himself. Just beyond him is the helmet of the third guard.
The drama of the scene is heightened by the closeness of the action to the front of the picture, the inky darkness of the enveloping night, and the patches of unrealistically brilliant light. This contrasts with the shiny black armour on the arm of the arresting guard, which dominates the centre of the painting. The positioning of the central figures closely follows a 1509 woodcut by Dürer.
Caravaggio’s battle for recognition
How likely was it that Benedetti’s hunch was right, and that this painting hanging on the Jesuits’ wall could actually have been by Caravaggio?
You might well feel that it was surprising that for decades no-one at the Residence, including “a chairperson of the Arts Council and a distinguished philosopher of art” [12], realised that there might be a Caravaggio painting worth a fortune hanging on their walls. But perhaps this was not so unlikely after all. Remember, it had been accepted as a Honthorst for so long that no-one thought to question the attribution. Then, too, as we have seen, it was extremely dirty, making close examination almost impossible. Finally, although Caravaggio’s work is now extremely popular and “fashionable”, this has certainly not always been the case.
You might well feel that it was surprising that for decades no-one at the Residence, including “a chairperson of the Arts Council and a distinguished philosopher of art” [12], realised that there might be a Caravaggio painting worth a fortune hanging on their walls. But perhaps this was not so unlikely after all. Remember, it had been accepted as a Honthorst for so long that no-one thought to question the attribution. Then, too, as we have seen, it was extremely dirty, making close examination almost impossible. Finally, although Caravaggio’s work is now extremely popular and “fashionable”, this has certainly not always been the case.
Caravaggio’s reputation has suffered some dramatic swings over time, and in the 18th and 19th centuries he began falling right out of favour. In a time where prevailing fashions started to favour balanced, moral, refined depictions of harmony and beauty, Caravaggio’s art, along with his own lurid and scandalous personal life, with episodes of violence and even murder, seemed to have little to offer. His raw and realistic treatment of biblical scenes, his ultra-dramatic violent themes, his extremes of light and shadow, and his use of everyday, common people as models all became problematic.
Conservative judges recoiled from perceived outrages such as his depiction of the Virgin Mary with bare dirty feet [13], his basing of the biblical Judith on a famous prostitute [14], and his placing of his own likeness onto the decapitated Goliath [15]. In fact, it’s said that at one stage his Supper at Emmaus was so unpopular in was given to the National Gallery in 1839 by an owner who could not find anyone to buy it at Christie’s. One can almost imagine that the Jesuits, if given the choice in the 1930s, might actually have preferred a “genuine” Honthorst to a possible Caravaggio.
Conservative judges recoiled from perceived outrages such as his depiction of the Virgin Mary with bare dirty feet [13], his basing of the biblical Judith on a famous prostitute [14], and his placing of his own likeness onto the decapitated Goliath [15]. In fact, it’s said that at one stage his Supper at Emmaus was so unpopular in was given to the National Gallery in 1839 by an owner who could not find anyone to buy it at Christie’s. One can almost imagine that the Jesuits, if given the choice in the 1930s, might actually have preferred a “genuine” Honthorst to a possible Caravaggio.
The Dublin version and its rival
So, what do we actually know about the original painting’s history? We know that it was commissioned in 1602 by the Mattei family in Rome, but was much later mistakenly attributed as a work by Honthorst in 1792 [16]. We also know that a Taking of Christ attributed to Honthorst was sold to a collector in Scotland in 1802, and stayed there until it was apparently bought at auction by Marie Lea-Wilson. But the question is: was it the same painting that was involved in all these events?
The position is complicated by the fact that we know of multiple copies of the painting, of widely varying quality, some of which were painted soon after the painting appeared, and possibly even included a copy by Caravaggio himself. Of these, the main rival to the Dublin painting is the “Sannini” painting, so named after the collector Luigi Sannini, who is known to have owned it in the 20th century (Fig 7) [17]. This emerged as a rival relatively recently, some ten years after the final unveiling of the Dublin painting. Those claiming that the Sannini painting is the original argue that the Dublin version must be just a high-quality copy.
The position is complicated by the fact that we know of multiple copies of the painting, of widely varying quality, some of which were painted soon after the painting appeared, and possibly even included a copy by Caravaggio himself. Of these, the main rival to the Dublin painting is the “Sannini” painting, so named after the collector Luigi Sannini, who is known to have owned it in the 20th century (Fig 7) [17]. This emerged as a rival relatively recently, some ten years after the final unveiling of the Dublin painting. Those claiming that the Sannini painting is the original argue that the Dublin version must be just a high-quality copy.
Here are some of the factors that have been argued should be taken into account in assessing the respective legitimacy of the Sannini and Dublin paintings. Some factors point one way, some point the other:
Internal changes. An X-ray and infrared examination of the Sannini painting has revealed that the artist (whoever it was) had extensively changed it in significant ways during the painting process – two of the figures had been repositioned, and there was a ghostly image of what looked like the braided hair of a woman. Proponents of the Sannini painting argue that this is to be expected when painting an original, as the artist’s thinking might change and develop, but it is much less likely when painting a copy. A copyist, it is argued, would not need to do this as there is no need to them to rethink what they’re doing, as the original is already before them.
However, the opposite can also be argued. If we believe that Caravaggio was a confident and fluent painter, it can be argued that he would not have needed to make major changes during the painting process, and that the fact that such changes were done is more a sign of inexperienced artist. On this basis, it is argued, the Dublin painting’s relative lack of internal changes actually points toward it being done by a great master who was supremely confident of what he was doing.
In any event, one can also imagine instances where a copyist would be forced into making changes during their own painting process. So, for example, Jonathan Harr suggests a (rather unlikely) scenario in which a copyist briefly sees the original in the Mattei palazzo, and then returns to his studio where he paints it from memory. Then, when he goes back to the palazzo to check his accuracy, he realises his mistakes, and corrects them [18].
Size. The Sannini painting is significantly larger than the Dublin version, about two feet (60cm) wider and a foot (30cm) taller, and includes details such as John’s outstretched arm at the left edge being cut-off at the wrist, whereas in the Dublin version it has been cut off higher up at the elbow. Therefore, it is argued, this suggests that the Sannini painting is not just a copy, as why would a copyist deliberately make their copy different from what was a finished well-known original?
Internal changes. An X-ray and infrared examination of the Sannini painting has revealed that the artist (whoever it was) had extensively changed it in significant ways during the painting process – two of the figures had been repositioned, and there was a ghostly image of what looked like the braided hair of a woman. Proponents of the Sannini painting argue that this is to be expected when painting an original, as the artist’s thinking might change and develop, but it is much less likely when painting a copy. A copyist, it is argued, would not need to do this as there is no need to them to rethink what they’re doing, as the original is already before them.
However, the opposite can also be argued. If we believe that Caravaggio was a confident and fluent painter, it can be argued that he would not have needed to make major changes during the painting process, and that the fact that such changes were done is more a sign of inexperienced artist. On this basis, it is argued, the Dublin painting’s relative lack of internal changes actually points toward it being done by a great master who was supremely confident of what he was doing.
In any event, one can also imagine instances where a copyist would be forced into making changes during their own painting process. So, for example, Jonathan Harr suggests a (rather unlikely) scenario in which a copyist briefly sees the original in the Mattei palazzo, and then returns to his studio where he paints it from memory. Then, when he goes back to the palazzo to check his accuracy, he realises his mistakes, and corrects them [18].
Size. The Sannini painting is significantly larger than the Dublin version, about two feet (60cm) wider and a foot (30cm) taller, and includes details such as John’s outstretched arm at the left edge being cut-off at the wrist, whereas in the Dublin version it has been cut off higher up at the elbow. Therefore, it is argued, this suggests that the Sannini painting is not just a copy, as why would a copyist deliberately make their copy different from what was a finished well-known original?
Actually, however, it’s not so hard to imagine situations in which a copyist might deliberately differentiate their copy from the original. For example, Pieter Brueghel the Younger, when copying his father’s The Marriage Feast, added an extra foot to one of the characters, apparently because he thought that its absence in the original was a mistake: see article here [19]. Similarly, various copies of Hieronymus Bosch's The Conjuror add entire scenes to the supposed original. Furthermore, if the Sannini painting is the original, why would other copyists make their copies smaller, with the arm cut-off at the elbow, much closer to the Dublin version?
Provenance. It has been argued that the Sannini painting lacks a verifiable “history” before being acquired by Ladis Sannini sometime in the 20th century (though this may be disputed [20]), whereas the Dublin version has a traceable possible connection all the way back to the Matteis [21]. This is potentially a serious drawback to acceptance of the Sannini version.
Quality. It is generally accepted that the Sannini painting is “rougher” and of inferior quality to the Dublin version. This too is a major obstacle for the Sannini proponents. However, this is not a universal view -- for example, Sergio Rossi argues that the radically cut-off arm of the Dublin version is so strange that it could never have been intended by Caravaggio [22].
Pigment. A pigment analysis of the Sannini painting has disclosed that it contains antimony, a component of the colour Naples Yellow, which, allegedly, was not present in paintings in Caravaggio’s era [23]. However, it appears that the extent to which painters used the pigment at this time may have been underestimated, so this factor may not be as decisive as some may have thought [24].
As you can see, there is disagreement on most of these arguments [25], so the result is rather confused. The air of uncertainty also raises questions over the relative importance and validity of technical analysis, compared to the judgment of an “informed human eye” [26]. Be that as it may, the balance of established opinion, bolstered by some years of detailed research and analysis, is that the Dublin version is the original Caravaggio, though the Sannini version still has its proponents [27].
Provenance. It has been argued that the Sannini painting lacks a verifiable “history” before being acquired by Ladis Sannini sometime in the 20th century (though this may be disputed [20]), whereas the Dublin version has a traceable possible connection all the way back to the Matteis [21]. This is potentially a serious drawback to acceptance of the Sannini version.
Quality. It is generally accepted that the Sannini painting is “rougher” and of inferior quality to the Dublin version. This too is a major obstacle for the Sannini proponents. However, this is not a universal view -- for example, Sergio Rossi argues that the radically cut-off arm of the Dublin version is so strange that it could never have been intended by Caravaggio [22].
Pigment. A pigment analysis of the Sannini painting has disclosed that it contains antimony, a component of the colour Naples Yellow, which, allegedly, was not present in paintings in Caravaggio’s era [23]. However, it appears that the extent to which painters used the pigment at this time may have been underestimated, so this factor may not be as decisive as some may have thought [24].
As you can see, there is disagreement on most of these arguments [25], so the result is rather confused. The air of uncertainty also raises questions over the relative importance and validity of technical analysis, compared to the judgment of an “informed human eye” [26]. Be that as it may, the balance of established opinion, bolstered by some years of detailed research and analysis, is that the Dublin version is the original Caravaggio, though the Sannini version still has its proponents [27].
conclusion
The Dublin painting is now on indefinite loan by the Jesuits to the Irish public and in 1993 was hung in the National Gallery of Ireland [28]. The unveiling ceremony, with hundreds of guests, was festival-like, with Robert O'Byrne reporting in The Irish Times that there were “mob scenes unwitnessed in the capital since the Beatles visited Dublin 30 years before” [29].
Marie Lea-Wilson went on to pursue medical studies -- a notable achievement for a woman in those times – graduating at the age of 41, and later becoming a noted senior paediatrician at St Gabriel’s Hospital in Dublin. Her reputation, however, was severely tarnished by a major controversy over abuse and mistreatment of patients [30]. She died in 1971, never dreaming that the painting that she originally bought for a song could turn out to be a Caravaggio masterpiece ■
© Philip McCouat 2025. First published 3 February 2025
This article may be cited as Philip McCouat, “Murder, Caravaggio and ‘The Taking of Christ’”, Journal of Art in Society (2025) https://www.artinsociety.com/murder-caravaggio-and-the-taking-of-christ.html
We welcome your comments on this article.
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© Philip McCouat 2025. First published 3 February 2025
This article may be cited as Philip McCouat, “Murder, Caravaggio and ‘The Taking of Christ’”, Journal of Art in Society (2025) https://www.artinsociety.com/murder-caravaggio-and-the-taking-of-christ.html
We welcome your comments on this article.
RETURN TO Home
end notes
[1] Noel Barber, Preface: The Murder Behind the Discovery”, in Saints and Sinners: Caravaggio & The Baroque Image, ed Franco Mormando, McMullen Museum of Art, Boston/ University of Chicago Press, 1999 at 11-14.
[2] Ronan McGreevy, “Retribution and Attribution – An Irishman’s Diary on the Assassination of Percival Lea-Wilson and a Caravaggio masterpiece”. The Irish Times, 14 June 2020 https://www.irishtimes.com/opinion/retribution-and-attribution-an-irishman-s-diary-on-the-assassination-of-percival-lea-wilson-and-a-caravaggio-masterpiece-1.4278831
[3] (1571-1610). His full name was Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio
[4] Finola, “Transcending Violence: Harry Clarke’s Sublime Lea-Wilson Window”, Roaringwater Journal, 13 June 2020
[5] Father Thomas Finlay, who was also Professor Emeritus of Political Economy at University College, Dublin: Barber, op cit
[6] Jonathan Harr, The Lost Painting, Random House, New York, 2005, at 147. This is an invaluable general reference on the history of the painting
[7] Sergio Benedetti, “The Finding of a Lost Masterpiece. The Taking of Christ in the Garden by Caravaggio” Studies: An Irish Quarterly Review Vol. 82, No. 328 (Winter, 1993), at 385
[8] It celebrates the exodus of the Israelites from slavery in Egypt
[9] Or thereabouts. There are differing views on the actual date, though it appears it fell into the range AD 30 – 36
[10] The Biblical accounts, which vary somewhat, are at: Matthew 26:24–25, Mark 14:18–21, Luke 22:21–23 and John 13:21–30
[11] The shadows recall the shadowed treatment of Christ in Caravaggio’s The Calling of St Matthew. See Katie Kresser, “Obscurity: On Caravaggio”, Christian Scholar’s Review, 29 April 2021 https://christianscholars.com/obscurity-on-caravaggio/
[12] Barber, op cit
[13] In Madonna di Loreto
[14] In Judith Beheading Holofernes
[15] In David and Goliath: see Katie Kresser, op cit
[16] Benedetti, op cit at 387
[17] Yet another rival emerged in the 19th century and was held in the Odessa Museum of Western and Eastern Arts in Ukraine. It was of high quality, but following its restoration, it was generally determined to be a copy, and has been embroiled in mishandling, theft, controversy and litigation ever since. Interestingly, in this version, the disciple John’s outstretched left arm seems to be is totally missing. For this painting’s later progress, see https://www.kyivpost.com/post/7373
[18] Harr, op cit at 279
[19] Philip McCouat, “Bruegel’s Peasant Wedding Feast”, Journal of Art in Society (2021) https://www.artinsociety.com/bruegels-peasant-wedding-feast.html
[20] Sergio Rossi, “Caravaggio's Excursus, news on Caravaggio and the Mattei and exclusive reflectographic analyses on The Taking of Christ and on the ex Cecconi San Francesco”, About Art online, 26 May 2021 https://www.aboutartonline.com/excursus-caravaggesco/
[21] As detailed in Harr, op cit; and Benedetti, op cit at 386
[22] Sergio Rossi, op cit
[23] Harr, op cit at 281
[24] Michael Daley, "Art's Toxic Assets and a Crisis of Connoisseurship”, ArtWatch UK, 30 September 2014
[25] Harr, op cit at 263
[26] Michael Daley, op cit, considers that, “The informed human eye is our best ‘diagnostic tool’ in the study of art and will remain so no matter how much money and resources might be thrown into technical studies”.
[27] See for example Sergio Rossi, op cit
[28] National Gallery of Ireland website, “Caravaggio: The Irish Connection” https://www.nationalgallery.ie/art-and-artists/exhibitions/past-exhibitions/caravaggio-25-years-display/caravaggio-celebrating-0
[29] Robert O’Byrne, “Lovers of art left speechless”, The Irish Times 17 November 1993; see also “Caravaggio: A masterpiece revealed” https://www.nationalgallery.ie/art-and-artists/exhibitions/past-exhibitions/caravaggio-25-years-display/caravaggio-celebrating-1
[30] Women’s Museum of Ireland website, entry for “Dr Marie Lea-Wilson” https://www.womensmuseumofireland.ie/exhibits/dr-marie-lea-wilson
© Philip McCouat 2025
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[2] Ronan McGreevy, “Retribution and Attribution – An Irishman’s Diary on the Assassination of Percival Lea-Wilson and a Caravaggio masterpiece”. The Irish Times, 14 June 2020 https://www.irishtimes.com/opinion/retribution-and-attribution-an-irishman-s-diary-on-the-assassination-of-percival-lea-wilson-and-a-caravaggio-masterpiece-1.4278831
[3] (1571-1610). His full name was Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio
[4] Finola, “Transcending Violence: Harry Clarke’s Sublime Lea-Wilson Window”, Roaringwater Journal, 13 June 2020
[5] Father Thomas Finlay, who was also Professor Emeritus of Political Economy at University College, Dublin: Barber, op cit
[6] Jonathan Harr, The Lost Painting, Random House, New York, 2005, at 147. This is an invaluable general reference on the history of the painting
[7] Sergio Benedetti, “The Finding of a Lost Masterpiece. The Taking of Christ in the Garden by Caravaggio” Studies: An Irish Quarterly Review Vol. 82, No. 328 (Winter, 1993), at 385
[8] It celebrates the exodus of the Israelites from slavery in Egypt
[9] Or thereabouts. There are differing views on the actual date, though it appears it fell into the range AD 30 – 36
[10] The Biblical accounts, which vary somewhat, are at: Matthew 26:24–25, Mark 14:18–21, Luke 22:21–23 and John 13:21–30
[11] The shadows recall the shadowed treatment of Christ in Caravaggio’s The Calling of St Matthew. See Katie Kresser, “Obscurity: On Caravaggio”, Christian Scholar’s Review, 29 April 2021 https://christianscholars.com/obscurity-on-caravaggio/
[12] Barber, op cit
[13] In Madonna di Loreto
[14] In Judith Beheading Holofernes
[15] In David and Goliath: see Katie Kresser, op cit
[16] Benedetti, op cit at 387
[17] Yet another rival emerged in the 19th century and was held in the Odessa Museum of Western and Eastern Arts in Ukraine. It was of high quality, but following its restoration, it was generally determined to be a copy, and has been embroiled in mishandling, theft, controversy and litigation ever since. Interestingly, in this version, the disciple John’s outstretched left arm seems to be is totally missing. For this painting’s later progress, see https://www.kyivpost.com/post/7373
[18] Harr, op cit at 279
[19] Philip McCouat, “Bruegel’s Peasant Wedding Feast”, Journal of Art in Society (2021) https://www.artinsociety.com/bruegels-peasant-wedding-feast.html
[20] Sergio Rossi, “Caravaggio's Excursus, news on Caravaggio and the Mattei and exclusive reflectographic analyses on The Taking of Christ and on the ex Cecconi San Francesco”, About Art online, 26 May 2021 https://www.aboutartonline.com/excursus-caravaggesco/
[21] As detailed in Harr, op cit; and Benedetti, op cit at 386
[22] Sergio Rossi, op cit
[23] Harr, op cit at 281
[24] Michael Daley, "Art's Toxic Assets and a Crisis of Connoisseurship”, ArtWatch UK, 30 September 2014
[25] Harr, op cit at 263
[26] Michael Daley, op cit, considers that, “The informed human eye is our best ‘diagnostic tool’ in the study of art and will remain so no matter how much money and resources might be thrown into technical studies”.
[27] See for example Sergio Rossi, op cit
[28] National Gallery of Ireland website, “Caravaggio: The Irish Connection” https://www.nationalgallery.ie/art-and-artists/exhibitions/past-exhibitions/caravaggio-25-years-display/caravaggio-celebrating-0
[29] Robert O’Byrne, “Lovers of art left speechless”, The Irish Times 17 November 1993; see also “Caravaggio: A masterpiece revealed” https://www.nationalgallery.ie/art-and-artists/exhibitions/past-exhibitions/caravaggio-25-years-display/caravaggio-celebrating-1
[30] Women’s Museum of Ireland website, entry for “Dr Marie Lea-Wilson” https://www.womensmuseumofireland.ie/exhibits/dr-marie-lea-wilson
© Philip McCouat 2025
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