On a recent trip to Rome, I visited the Galleria Borghese where I stood for several minutes admiring Caravaggio’s David with the Head of Goliath (1609/10). It is an impressive painting. David, young and lean, but not overly muscular, holds his enemy’s head away from his body with his left hand, his facial expression more meditative than triumphant. In his other hand he holds Goliath’s sword, which he has used against his dead foe. Blood flows from Goliath’s neck, suggesting his decapitation has only just occurred, his fixed final facial expression is of shock and surprise, in contrast to the dispassion of his conqueror. This is a picture that portrays victory in combat not exultantly but with nuance and sympathy.
Caravaggio had painted this scene at least twice previously: there is a version from 1606/07, now in Vienna, similar in construction, with David’s upper body once again half-covered by a thin white shirt, although in this version the different position of his right arm (which is almost invisible in the Rome painting), holding the sword behind his head, draws our gaze away from Goliath. I think the Roman version has a stronger compositional structure. Another version of the scene, from 1598/99, now in Madrid, shows the moment at which David severs the head from the body. Goliath’s face, in the bottom right corner, is less expressive than in the later paintings, but David’s face is partially obscured by shadow: it is almost as if Goliath’s head has fallen from David’s body. All three paintings remind us of Caravaggio’s innovative and virtuosic use of light and shadow in his construction of the scene, and his delight in the portrayal of young male flesh. Beyond his technical mastery, he also interprets the story for us, the victory of the young, unknown Israeli shepherd boy over the giant Philistine warrior.
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