“Of course, he’s only her father,” the art historian says to calm the Israeli who thought the suckling man was a stranger. “He is Cimon, and he was sentenced to die by starvation, so his daughter came to him in secret and nursed him so he wouldn’t die. In the end, the jailers caught her, but they were so impressed by her daring and unique devotion that they had mercy on the father and set him free. That’s the kernel of the story, which inspired many paintings back in ancient times. For example, when they dug Pompeii out of the ashes of Vesuvius, they found a fresco with this motif. Valerius Maximus himself admitted that such paintings were more powerful than his story. People stop and stare in amazement at this picture — they cannot take their eyes off it, they see it come alive. Even you, sir, a citizen of the twenty-first century, were so agitated by the painting that you sent for me.”
“But is this a copy of an original painting from ancient Rome?”
“No, surely not. The story enticed many important painters over the centuries, and each one expressed it in his own way. Rubens, who painted it at least twice; Caravaggio, Murillo, Pasinelli, and a great many others before them and after.”
“Before them — you mean the Middle Ages?”
“No, in the Middle Ages the motif almost disappears, but it was revived and flourished during the Renaissance and Baroque periods.”
“Maybe because of the overt eroticism.”
“Precisely so. In the medieval period, they questioned the honesty of the compassion and mercy of the daughter nursing her father. Perhaps she was exploiting his misery, in an oedipal fashion, I mean…”
She bursts into hearty laughter.
“Oedipal?” Moses chuckles. “What did they know in the Middle Ages about the Oedipus complex?”
“They didn’t know the term, but they felt the essence of it, the same longing. After all, the truth does not need a label in order to be real. Therefore the eroticism tangled up in this act of kindness deterred, and perhaps frightened, the artists of the Middle Ages, as much as it aroused artists of the Renaissance and Baroque and later, into the nineteenth century. Yet each one dealt with the erotic aspect in a different fashion, depending on his personality, his natural inclinations, and his courage vis-à-vis his surroundings.”
“For instance?”
“In many paintings, the artists made sure that the daughter looked off to the side, so as not to see the face of her nursing father, out of respect for him or out of shame or not to reveal other motives, his and perhaps hers too.”
“Hers?”
“Hers too. Why not? We are talking about human beings who are alive and complicated, not figures made of cardboard. But in some other paintings, such as the one hanging here, or one by Rubens, for example, one sees that Pero is unabashedly studying the face of the old man she is nursing. It all depends, of course, on the father’s situation.”
“In what sense?”
“If he is depicted as feeble and dying, she is allowed to look at him directly, because it is clear to the viewer that his approaching death neutralizes any erotic intent on either side. The daughter may therefore permit herself a gentle gaze, or even support the head of the dying man. But when the father is strong and muscular, as in your painting, or one by Rubens, she must be very careful. Look, for example, sir, at Cimon here. Despite the baldness and the beard, I wouldn’t take him for more than fifty, and a man like that is able to desire and take pleasure, is he not?”
“Why not.”
“And therefore, when such men are being nursed, it is important that they be tied up, either their feet or, usually, their hands, like the man in your picture.”
“My picture, my picture.” Moses laughs in protest. “Please, dear lady, it’s not mine, it belongs to the hotel.”
“Of course it does, but while you are staying here, this fellow is hanging beside your bed. If his hands are tied behind his back, it means the artist wants you to know that the erotic possibilities of the situation are limited, or at least under supervision, and therefore the merciful gaze of his daughter, as depicted here, may be construed as pure, even though one can never really know the line that divides compassion from passion.”
“That says it all, señora.”
“Excuse me, sir, but might I inquire as to your profession? They did tell me over the telephone, but at my age I easily forget things that are not directly connected to my field of interest.”
“I am a motion picture director. And my companion here in the bed is a wonderful actress, a veteran of many of my films and those of others.”
“Very pleased to meet you, madam,” says the expert, and again bows politely, wedged between the bed and the wall. And Moses makes a mental note that this image — a hotel room in faint light, strewn with blankets and clothes and an open suitcase, with a tiny old lady who resembles his mother speaking to a woman in a flimsy nightgown lazing under the covers — needs to be fully re-created in one of his future films, perhaps even his next. And again the question flashes — is it possible that Trigano was familiar with a painting on this theme?
“As I was saying,” the art expert continues, “these are very delicate issues.”
“Very delicate,” agrees Moses, “and also complicated.”
“And in Caravaggio’s marvelous painting The Seven Acts of Mercy,” the expert carries on, “as with Perino del Vaga, who influenced Caravaggio, the daughter nurses the father through the bars of his prison cell, and thus, even if the man is strong and active, he is nevertheless neutralized. A magnificent painting like Caravaggio’s can even hang in a church. But in most renderings, the Roman Charity enables the daughter to be in closer contact with the father, sometimes to touch his head and shoulders, and in bolder paintings to expose her beautiful shoulders and bare the non-nursing breast. Such things generally occur only on the condition that the father’s hands are bound, although, for example, in the painting by the American artist Rembrandt Peale, early nineteenth century, only one of the father’s feet is attached to the wall by a long chain, whereas the hands are free, and one of them touches the thigh of the daughter, and they both look aside fearfully, as if to check whether someone can see them, and such a thing might justifiably raise all sorts of suspicions and speculations. Yet there are artists who, to dispel any suspicion, gave Pero a baby, to demonstrate that she is indeed, first and foremost, a nursing mother, and she includes her poor father as a second child, and only as a child.”
“The baby is her alibi,” says Moses, beginning to tire.
“Precisely, sir, you got it exactly.”
Moses turns with a smile to Ruth, still recumbent in bed, her hair scattered on the pillow, her pretty eyes glistening with tears that express her thanks for the cautious yet elegant way her companion chose to revive a banished memory that never vanished.
“But I am obligated to tell you,” expounds the expert, suddenly raising her voice, “that there are painters who gave themselves unbridled license. They preserved the heart of the story but shamelessly, gratuitously stripped not just the miserable father but the gracious daughter of clothes, thus taking a story of compassion and kindness to a most disgusting place. It’s best I not burden you with any additional names, but you know as well as anybody that art has no boundaries.”
“None, as perhaps it should be…”
The old woman tilts her head with mild disapproval and forges on.
“In any event, a moral artist places the act of kindness at the center, adding the erotic touch only to deepen compassion and devotion, not to contradict them, and certainly not to replace them. There needs to be a proper balance among the elements: the man, the father, his age and his physical condition. And if the man, the father, is in good shape, the binding of his hands and feet, that is to say, the extent to which he is immobilized, is crucial. So too with the nursing daughter: What is she is looking at? How does she expose the feeding breast? How much of her body is unclothed in the painting? A balance among all these should give us a human picture that is also a moral one. All this is quite apart from the quality of the composition, the perspective, the finish of the details, and the colors.”