Article by guestblogger La cara Pasifae
A little boy went out to play.
When he opened his door he saw the world.
As he passed through the doorway he caused a riflection.
Evil was born!
Evil was born and followed the boy.
(D. Lynch, Inland Empire, 2006)
It was a nice late-summer afternoon, in 2013. I remember well.
A friend had invited me to the opening of his latest exhibition. He had picked an unusual place for the event: an ancient and isolated parish church that stood high up on a hill, the church of Nanto. The building had been recently renovated, and it was open to the public only on specific occasions.
Once there, one immediately feels the urge to look around. The view is beautiful, but it pays the price of the impact the construction industry (I was almost about to say “architecture”) has had on the surroundings, with many industrial buildings covering the lanscapes of Veneto region like a tattoo. Better go inside and look at the paintings.
I was early for the opening, so I had the artist, his works and the entire exhibition area all for myself. I could walk and look around without any hurry, and yet I felt something disturbing my peace, something I couldn’t quite pin down at first: it kind of wormed its way into my visual field, calling for attention. On a wall, as I was passing from one painted canvas to the next, I eventually spotted a sudden, indefinite blur of colors. A fresco. An image had been resting there well before the exhibition paintings were placed in front of it!
Despite the restoration, as it happens with many medieval and Renaissance frescoes, some elements were still confused and showed vanishing, vaporous outlines. But once in focus, an unsettling vision emerged: the fresco depicted a quite singular torture scene, the likes of which I had never encountered in any other artwork (but I wouldn’t want to pass as an expert on the subject).
Two female figures, standing on either side, were holding the arms of a blonde child (a young Christ, a child-saint, or a puer sacer, a sacred and mystical infant, I really couldn’t say). The kid was being tortured by two young men: each holding a stiletto, they were slicing the boy’s skin all over, and even his face seemed to have been especially brutalized.
Blood ran down the child’s bound feet into a receiving bowl, which had been specifically placed under the victim’s tormented limbs.
The child’s swollen face (the only one still clearly visible) had an ecstatic expression that barely managed to balance the horror of the hemorrhage and of the entire scene: in the background, a sixth male figure sporting a remarkable beard, was twisting a cloth band around the prisoner throat. The baby was being choked to death!
What is the story of this fresco? What tale does it really tell?
The five actors do not look like peasants; the instruments are not randomly chosen: these are thin, sharp, professional blades. The incisions on the victim’s body are too regular. Who perpetrated this hideous murder, who was the object of the resentment the author intended to elicit in the onlookers? Maybe the fresco was a representation — albeit dramatic and exaggerated — of a true crime. Should the choking, flaying and bleeding be seen as a metaphor for some parasitic exploitation, or do they hint at some rich and eccentric nobleman’s quirkiness? Is this a political allegory or a Sadeian chronicle?
The halo surrounding the child’s head makes him an innocent or a saved soul. Was this a homage, a flattering detail to exhalt the commissioner of this work of art? What character was meant to be celebrated here, the subjects on the sides who are carrying out a dreadful, but unavoidable task, or the boy at the center who looks so obscenely resigned to suffer their painful deeds? Are we looking at five emissaries of some brutal but rational justice as they perform their duties, or the misadventure of a helpless soul that fell in the hands of a ferocious gang of thugs?
At the bottom of the fresco, a date: «ADI ⋅ 3 ⋅ APRILE 1479».
This historical detail brought me back to the present. The church was already crowded with people.
I felt somehow crushed by the overload of arcane symbols, and the frustation of not having the adequate knowledge to interpret what I had seen. I furtively took a snapshot. I gave my host a warm farewell, and then got out, hoping the key to unlock the meaning of the fresco was not irretrievably lost in time.
As I discovered at the beginning of my research on this controversial product of popular iconography, the fresco depicts the martyrdom of Saint Simonino of Trent. Simone Unverdorben, a two-year-old toddler from Trent, disappeared on March 23, 1475. His body was found on Easter Day. It was said to have been mauled and strangled. In Northern Italy, in those years, antisemitic abuses and persecutions stemmed from the widely influential sermons of the clergy. The guilt for the heinous crime immediately fell upon the Trent Jewish community. All of its members had to endure one of the biggest trials of the time, being subjected to tortures that led to confessions and reciprocal accusations.
During the preliminary investigations of the Trent trial, a converted Jew was asked if the practice of ritual homicide of Christian toddlers existed within the Hebrew cult. […] The converted Jew, at the end of the questioning, confirmed with abundant details the practice of ritual sacrifice in the Jewish Easter liturgy.
Another testimony emerged from the interrogation of another of the alleged killers of the little Simone, the Jewish physician Tobia. He declared on the rack there was a commerce in Christian blood among Jews. A Jewish merchant called Abraam was said to have left Trent shortly before Simone’s death with the intention of selling Christian blood, headed to Feltre or Bassano, and to have asked around which of the two cities was closer to Trent. Tobia’s confession took place under the terrifying threat of being tortured and in the desperate attempt to avoid it: he therefore had to be cooperative to the point of fabrication; but it was understood that his testimony, whenever made up, should be consistent and plausible.
[…] Among the others, another converted man named Israele (Wolfgang, after converting) was also interrogated under torture. He declared he had heard about other cases of ritual murders […]. These instances of ritual homicides were inventions whose protagonists had names that came from the interrogee’s memory, borrowed to crowd these fictional stories in a credible way.
(M. Melchiorre, Gli ebrei a Feltre nel Quattrocento. Una storia rimossa,
in Ebrei nella Terraferma veneta del Quattrocento,
a cura di G.M. Varanini e R.C. Mueller, Firenze University Press 2005)
Many were burned at the stake. The survivors were exiled from the city, after their possessions had been confiscated.
According to the jury, the child’s collected blood had been used in the ritual celebration of the “Jewish Easter”.
The facts we accurately extracted from the offenders, as recorded in the original trials, are the following. The wicked Jews living in Trent, having maliciously planned to make their Easter solemn through the killing of a Christian child, whose blood they could mix in their unleavened bread, commisioned it to Tobia, who was deemed perfect for the infamous deed as he was familiar with the town on the account of being a professional doctor. He went out at 10 pm on Holy Thursday, March 23, as all believers were at the Mass, walked the streets and alleys of the city and having spotted the innocent Simone all alone on his father’s front door, he showed him a big silver piece, and with sweet words and smiles he took him from via del Fossato, where his parents lived, to the house of the rich Jew Samuele, who was eagerly waiting for him. There he was kept, with charms and apples, until the hour of the sacrifice arrived. At 1 am, little twenty-nine-months-old Simone was taken to the chamber adjoining the women’s synagogue; he was stripped naked and a band or belt was made from his clothes, and he was muzzled with a handkerchief, so that he wouldn’t immediately choke to death nor be heard; Moses the Elder, sitting on a stall and holding the baby in his lap, tore a piece of flesh off his cheek with a pair of iron pliers. Samuele did the same while Tobia, assisted by Moar, Bonaventura, Israele, Vitale and another Bonaventura (Samuele’s cook) collected in a basin the blood pouring from the wound. After that, Samuele and the aforementioned seven Jews vied with each other to pierce the flesh of the holy martyr, declaring in Hebrew that they were doing so to mock the crucified God of the Christians; and they added: thus shall be the fate of all our enemies. After this feral ordeal, the old Moses took a knife and pierced with it the tip of the penis, and with the pliers tore a chunk of meat from the little right leg and Samuel, who replaced him, tore a piece out of the other leg. The copious blood oozing from the puerile penis was harvested in a different vase, while the blood pouring from the legs was collected in the basin. All the while, the cloth plugging his mouth was sometimes tightened and sometimes loosened; not satisfied with the outrageous massacre, they insisted in the same torture a second time, with greater cruelty, piercing him everywhere with pins and needles; until the young boy’s blessed soul departed his body, among the rejoicing of this insane riffraff.
(Annali del principato ecclesiastico di Trento dal 1022 al 1540, pp. 352-353)
Very soon Simonino (“little Simone”) was acclaimed as a “blessed martyr”, and his cult spread thoughout Northern Italy. As devotion grew wider, so did the production of paintings, ex voto, sculptures, bas reliefs, altar decorations.
Questionable elements, taken from folktales and popular belief, began to merge with an already established, sterotyped antisemitism.
Despite the fact that the Pope had forbidden the cult, pilgrims kept flocking. The fame of the “saint” ‘s miracles grew, together with a wave of antisemitism. The fight against usury led to the accusation of loan-sharking, extended to all Jews. The following century, Pope Sistus V granted a formal beatification. The cult of Saint Simonino of Trent further solidified. The child’s embalmed body was exhibited in Trent until 1955, together with the alleged relics of the instruments of torture.
In reality, Simone Unverdorben (or Unferdorben) was found dead in a water canal belonging to a town merchant, near a Jewish man’s home, probably a moneylender. If he wasn’t victim of a killer, who misdirected the suspects on the easy scapegoat of the Jewish community, the child might have fallen in the canal and drowned. Rats could have been responsible for the mutilations. In the Nineteenth Century, accurate investigations proved the ritual homicide theory wrong. In 1965, five centuries after the murder, the Church abolished the worship of Saint “Martyr” Simonino for good.
A violent fury against the very portraits of the “torturers” lasted for a long time. Even the San Simonino fresco in Nanto was defaced by this rage. This is the reason why, during that art exhibition, I needed some time to recognize a painting in that indistinct blur of light and colors.
My attempt at gathering the information I needed in order to make sense of the simulacrum in the Nanto parish church, led me to discover an often overlooked incident, known only to the artists who represented it, their commissioners, their audience; but the deep discomfort I felt when I first looked at the fresco still has not vanished.
La cara Pasifae
– R. Po – Chia Hsia, Trent 1475. Stories of a Ritual Murder Trial, Yale 1992
– A. Esposito, D. Quaglioni, Processi contro gli Ebrei di Trento (1475-1478), CEDAM 1990
– A. Toaff, Pasque di sangue: ebrei d’Europa e omicidi rituali, Il Mulino 2008
Avendo una bimba di 3 anni e un bimbo di 1 ho avuto un magone allo stomaco fino alla fine dell’articolo…. Per fortuna che forse è sorto il dubbio sulla vicenda!
Ottimo articolo, come sempre… 🙂
Purtroppo non ci sono dubbi sulle torture subite durante il processo dalla comunità ebraica.
Che poi “unverdorben” in tedesco significa semplicemente “puro”, “innocente”, “non deteriorato”.
Complimenti ! Molto interessante! Lo stile dello scritto è indubbiamente charmant e molto alto. Invita il lettore ad approfondire con curiosità (anche intellettuale) le ricerche . Con la quasi certa sensazione di crampi allo stomaco, in un atto di rivolta contro ogni tipo di violenza. In particolare quella che è inflitta in ogni sua forma sui bambini
Sono di Trento e qui ovviamente la vicenda è molto conosciuta, sono felice di vederla diffusa anche altrove: si è trattato ovviamente di un vigliacco caso di antisemitismo, da allora Trento non ebbe mai più una comunità ebraica e infatti la città non presenta sinagoghe ne il ghetto come invece accade in tante altre località del Triveneto. Segnalo che in centro città è presente ancora una cappella dedicata al Simonino e lo si intuisce dalla presenza sul portone di una piccola scultura del santo bambino: è da tempo sconsacrata e ospita la sede di una casa di aste d’arte e antiquariato. Complimenti ancora per l’articolo 🙂
Una brutta vicenda che conoscevo. Come spesso accade in queste circostanze, a pagarne le conseguenze sono spesso le minoranze culturali e religiose.
Comunque la libertà espressiva dei pittori dell’epoca mi lascia sempre incuriosita. Il povero Simonino aveva due anni e mezzo ma su alcune rappresentazioni doveva soffrire oltre del martirio, anche di gigantismo e invecchiamento precoce :D.
Vi segnalo un altro interessante caso di culto extraliturgico rivolto a un presunto beato: il caso del “glorioso alberto”, nel piccolo paese calabrese di Serra d‘Arce. Sono sicuro che incuriosirà voi come ha incuriosito me. Grazie per questi splendidi articoli!
Grazie per la segnalazione Luca!
Ottimo articolo. Sempre ai massimi livelli!
Un altro caso di pseudo santo fu quello del “santo levriero”, in Francia nel tredicesimo secolo. Divenne un vero e proprio culto con ex voto portati sulla tomba del santo cane martire, protettore dei bambini. Con il tempo l’immagine del cane venne sovrapposta a quella della figura di un santo umano. Fu naturalmente osteggiato dalla chiesa, e il culto venne definitivamente proibito negli anni 30 del secolo scorso.
In effetti sono numerosi i “santi” relativi alla venerazione popolare mai riconosciuti dalle autorità ecclesiastiche, anche se talvolta tollerati.
Eppure “Pasque di sangue” di Toaff parla chiaro e con cognizione di causa… talmente tanto, bene, evidentemente, che ha subito pressioni per farlo ritirare dal commercio e revisionarlo.
Consiglio questa bella ricostruzione di Franco Cardini, molto utile a vedere la vicenda del libro di Toaff con il giusto equilibrio. Molte critiche a Toaff sono state ideologiche, preconcette e isteriche. Ciò non significa che il suo scritto sia immune da difetti e che dal punto di vista storiografico sia da prendere come oro colato.
Scopro solo oggi questo bellissimo sito fonte di spunti culturali incredibili, grazie grazie soprattutto in tempi così bui, è un modo per sopravvivere. Riguardo all’articolo, bello e documentato, rimanda alle cosiddette credenze popolari spesso causa di ingiustizie e persecuzioni sempre guidate dall’esterno e sempre verso minoranze, e quella ebraica ha pagato da sempre il tributo più grande,con l’intento di sviare l’attenzione.
Non finirà mai… http://moked.it/blog/2020/03/27/simonino-di-nuovo/
Ricordavo che ne avevi scritto, perciò sono venuta a cercare sul blog per lasciarti un aggiornamento.
Interessante, tra l’altro, in tempi di epidemia, in cui, come sempre, si guarda all’Altro con sospetto.
Ed è doppiamente un peccato perché tecnicamente sarebbe anche un dipinto realizzato bene.
La minchioneria non si estingue per editto papale.
E come potrebbe, dato che una minoranza tira in dietro, un’altra spinge avanti e nel mezzo il vasto pubblico, gregge passivo e distratto.
Forse in ciascun umano sono presenti queste tre tendenze. Ma è chiaro che il sospetto per l’Altro (il maiuscolo è tuo) e la paura/odio per il “diverso” nascono da un’incapacità di vedere innanzi tutto sé stessi in modo diverso, da un’inettitudine ad immaginare il possibile.
Tornando all’argomento in questione: oggi come ai tempi dell’affresco di Nanto, un artista tecnicamente dotato (come fa notare Ivan) ma privo di idee e con una ridotta visione d’insieme, ripropone triti e comodi cliché per accontentare committenza e clientela, vivacizzare l’estratto conto e volantinare le specialità della bottega.
Più interessante sarebbe domandarsi chi compra questa roba: la danarosa curia? Il bigotto fervente? Il nostalgico arruffapopolo collezionista di sconfitte? O magari qualcuno che corrisponde a tutti questi profili?
Se poi ci stiamo domandando “Quale limite va dato all’arte?”, la risposta non può che venire da un’opera d’arte. Per esempio, *The square* (Ruben Östlund, 2017) risponde al quesito in modo lucido e molto preciso.
January 2022… image is being used in a relatively new slander concerning “adrenochrome harvesting” by evil rich people.
Fine research, though. an admirable study of 15th century agit-prop. Thanks.