Dolci and the Counter Reformation

A Critical Analysis of Salome with the Head of St. John the Baptist by Carlo Dolci Carlo Dolci’s Salome with the Head of St. John the Baptist (Illus. 1) is an oil on canvas painting housed in the Phoenix Art Museum.

Completed in Florence, Italy, by Dolci in 1670, the painting reflects the style of the Baroque and the typical religious-historical type of subject associated with the Counter-Reformation underway throughout Europe as part of the Council of Trent’s mission to use art to reinforce the principles and doctrines of the Church at a time when Protestantism was undermining the Church’s teaching authority (Vidmar).

Salome appears as though disinterested in the disembodied head, offering it up to the public as though it were a piece of overripe fruit that one may or may not like to partake of.

Dolci’s use of light reinforces the idea that Salome is by no means to be taken as a conflicted woman—instead, her appearance follows in the Church’s traditional teaching of Salome as a femme fatale, a symbol of female seduction whose sensuous form leaves a trail of bodies in its wake (Barr).

This paper will show how Dolci uses sociopolitical and religious allegory, tenebrism and chiaroscuro to dramatize the message—a Counter-Reformation warning, rather, for his contemporaries to beware the seducers of the modern era: a message that Dolci, as a pious Catholic (Galardi, Sframeli) meant to communicate to his European audience at a time when so many princes and kings were turning against the Pope and the Church founded by Christ and aligning themselves, as it were, with Salome and Herod, the slayers of St.

John and the enemies of God. A devout Catholic, Dolci specialized in religious topics after the manner of Caravaggio (Galardi, Sframeli), using the chiaroscuro effect of heightening a single space on the canvas with a touch of light while casting the rest of the image in shadow or dark, neutral colors. The effect of this style of tenebrism is dramatic and enhances the theme in a way that evokes awe and wonder in the viewer. In Salome, Dolci contrasts the light and the dark not on the head of St.

John the Baptist so much as on the chest, neck and face of Salome, which is half-turned away from the head of the saint held up on the silver platter. By Dolci’s use of chiaroscuro, the eyes of the viewer are thus drawn to the woman responsible for the murder of the herald of the Redeemer.

Elegantly dressed in a 16th century gown, Salome appears clad not like the Salome of the New Testament but rather like a young woman of standing and high social class in the early modern era—in other words, a contemporary of Dolci’s era.

But why does she look away? Her inability to view her work may indicate that there is something within her filling her with regret, remorse or some other feeling of dread as the gaze of the dead saint stares off into the space of eternity, voicing a reminder to her conscience that she too will soon see what it is that he is seeing now.

However, the expression on her face suggests none of this—but rather that she feels no compunction whatsoever for the beheading of the saint and that she is aloof as to the relevance and significance of the moment. Her detachment and indifference is described in the tilt of her head, which shows an affected nonchalance, a type of careless wantonness which is in line with her historical character.

Dolci reinforces this character by throwing all of the light on the canvas towards her most seductive features—her chest, neck and face, which appears so serene and innocent and contrasts sharply with the grisly disembodied head that she holds aloft on the silver platter. Her tools that she uses to seduce are her features, which makes her fall in line with the concept of the loose woman of the medieval tradition, whose body is a trap to keep men from salvation (Barr).

Her Biblical story recounts how she danced for Herod most seductively and he in a fit of lust told her he would give her whatever she wanted; then, at the urging of her mother who had been condemned by St. John for her incestuous relationship with Herod, Salome asked for St. John’s head on a platter. Thus, her story is encapsulated in Dolci’s use of lighting: he reminds his contemporaries (who undoubtedly would have been very familiar with her story) of her charms.

Her gown is low cut and her shoulders are bare—a symbol of lasciviousness. Her alabaster neck shines like a light and her soft face and cheeks check the total disinterest seen in her eyes.

It is a horrifying portrait of how indifferent a person can become and it is an indication of the need that Dolci and the Counter Reformation artists felt with respect to using their art as a reminder to their contemporaries not to be lured into a similar state by false teachers who were rising up all over Europe—from Luther to Calvin to Knox and Zwingli. Salome’s gown is rich and her jewelry indicates that she is wealthy.

The blue silk of the dress and the puffed out white undercoat of the sleeves are on full display so as to emphasize the worldly and material riches that she must possess. Such riches were something that Europe had gotten used to from the time of the High Renaissance to the time of the Counter Reformation when Dolci was painting.

Wealth and riches were a common theme among the religious wars that were raging across Europe at the time: religious arguments and conflicts over whether one should follow the Pope or a different Protestant leader were often pretexts for land grabs, wealth confiscation, and the pursuit of spoils. Dolci here appears to be commenting on the materialism of the age, the soulless pursuit of material profits and wealth while the inner life of the soul is turned into a barren wasteland.

For all of her beauty, niceties and obvious social standing, Salome still represents something vicious in the human condition, something sinister and abject. She is the anti-Judith, who cut off the head of Holofernes to save the Hebrews from annihilation. In the Old Testament story, Judith uses her charms, her beauty and her fineries to seduce the Assyrian general so that she can behead him before he attacks her city, which he has already surrounded with his men. For her actions, she is considered a hero.

Salome, however, uses her charms to seduce Herod into beheading the man who announced the arrival of the Redeemer to the world. Far from being a hero, she is a kind of Harpy who initiates the beginning of Christian persecution. Dolci could also be likening her to Queen Elizabeth, who took over the throne of England from her father Henry VIII.

He had once been called “Defender of the Faith” by Pope Leo X in 1521, yet he would later be excommunicated for refusing to consent to the Pontiff’s decree that he could not have an annulment from his wife (Elton).

Henry, like Herod, had become lustful with desire for another woman, and he wanted out of his marriage—and to get out of it he was willing to sacrifice his country’s Christian heritage and proclaim himself the new head of the church in England (Laux). He went from being a Defender of Catholicism in the 16th century to being its worst enemy.

His daughter Elizabeth succeeded him to the throne and took up the persecution of Catholics that followed in the country, continuing in the vein established by her excommunicated father (Laux). This would have all been well known to Dolci at the time that he painted Salome and therefore it should not be surprising that his Salome is conceived as a kind of queenly teen whose regal bearing and appearance belies the cold heart within, which cares nothing for the coming of Christ.

This is how Dolci intertwines and applies the sociopolitical and religious allegory of the piece: hints of the Protestant Queen can be found in the semblance and dress of the Biblical Salome. Thus, there is a deep and jarring irony in the composition: the juxtaposition of image of the finely and richly dressed, innocent-looking 16th century young woman (the century in which Elizabeth came to power) and the brutal and ugly decapitated St.

John on the silver platter—these two images do not go together, and yet here they are; jarringly thrown onto the same canvas in order to startle and provoke. The innocence and charm of Salome is not to be confused for goodness of character or moral uprightness. She is a devil in disguise, Dolci asserts: one must look past her features and finery to the object she holds in her hands.