Story and Photos by Libor Pospisil.
Feature image: Caravaggio’s life in Rome revolved around Piazza Navona. Back in his day, it was not an exquisite landmark, but a raucous marketplace.
My recent trip to Rome lasted only two days, but in that short time, I managed to reach a milestone. I completed my quest to see all the art in Rome created by the greatest painter of the Baroque, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio. I wove together my past trips in Rome and crafted three Caravaggio Trails. They were too rich to be completed in a single day or even two. Still, even their fragments can draw a traveler deep into the world of Baroque Rome through the story of a unique artistic character – Caravaggio.
I booked the trip around Caravaggio 2025, the once-in-a-lifetime exhibition at Palazzo Barberini that received glowing reviews in newspapers around the globe. My entire European itinerary revolved around that one precious ticket, which I had reserved months in advance.
Although the exhibition is over now, and the paintings have returned to their original homes, the spirit of Caravaggio continues to permeate Rome, his adopted hometown. He does not have a dedicated gallery in Rome, which, in fact, creates a unique opportunity for travelers and explorers to follow Caravaggio by walking trails (Caravaggio Trails) that connect galleries, churches, and palaces, as well as hidden spots off the tourist path.
Why Caravaggio, why now?
Caravaggio fever has taken hold among the art-viewing public and professionals alike. The darkened rooms in Palazzo Barberini were packed with slowly moving crowds of visitors from all continents. It was not always this way. Caravaggio’s paintings might have conquered Rome and the Catholic world in the 17th century, but his name fell into oblivion when the Baroque era passed. Neoclassicism and modernism had little patience for Caravaggio’s focus on drama, his unvarnished portrayal of human bodies, and dark backdrops.
The credit for Caravaggio’s resurrection belongs to just one man—the art historian Roberto Longhi. In 1951, Longhi staged a seminal exhibition of Caravaggio’s work in Milan, which the public, tired of decades of abstract art, embraced wholeheartedly. With that, the fever was sparked, grew steadily, and culminated in the reunion of Caravaggio’s paintings at Palazzo Barberini in 2025.
Santa Maria del Popolo: My first Caravaggio trail began at an imposing gateway at Piazza del Popolo. Right next to the gate stands a church, which used to be the first stop for pilgrims entering the city and thus, an ideal place for artists to show their work. It took me several attempts, since a funeral or a mass repeatedly turned me away. When I finally made it inside, my steps led directly to a small chapel at the back. There, a coin-operated reflector illuminates two Caravaggio paintings. One of them was The Crucifixion of Saint Peter.
The Crucifixion piqued my initial interest in Caravaggio—it was not because he was in vogue, I swear. I stumbled upon his painting of Saint Peter’s crucifixion while casually browsing Paul Johnson’s A New History of Art. A page in its chapter on Baroque Art was wholly taken over by Saint Peter, nearly naked, nailed upside down on a cross, in a vertigo-inducing position. It was the most striking image in the book. I looked up the painter at once and have followed him since.
In Santa Maria del Popolo: Here, this painting is even more stunning than on a faded page in an art history book. Saint Peter’s body is strongly illuminated, contrasting with the surrounding darkness—an effect called chiaroscuro that Caravaggio pioneered. The veins and creases of the torso are captured in fine detail. The shaded crucifiers are facing away from the spectator, so the eye can see nothing but Saint Peter’s predicament. The drama is absolute.
Piazza Borghese: Art exchange: I left Piazza del Popolo and set off along my first Caravaggio Trail. I paused at the seemingly unremarkable Piazza Borghese, initially for non-Caravaggesque reasons. There. I found a cluster of kiosks in the piazza which does not sell mundane tourist trinkets. Instead, they form a small market for book and print collectors, with shelves of old volumes, antique maps, and engravings of Rome.
It turned out that my detour to browse antiques in Piazza Borghese was not a detour at all. In the best recent biography of Caravaggio, Andrew Graham-Dixon describes how the artist rented a house in Vicolo del Divino Amore, which happens to be one of the narrow alleys leading from Piazza Borghese. The alley has some worn façades and graffiti, but they did not bother me. Instead, they evoked a view of Caravaggio’s world. Though he achieved great fame and mingled with cardinals, dukes, and popes, he preferred another sort of company—rowdy men, courtesans, and people of the street. His nightly adventures led to repeated run-ins with the law; one of the lesser interludes involved carrying a dagger without a permit.
The gleaming Palazzo Borghese takes up one entire side of the piazza. In the artist’s time, the palazzo was the residence of Cardinal Scipione Borghese, nephew of Pope Paul V and a contemporary of Caravaggio. The Cardinal, an avid art collector, admired Caravaggio’s work and did not hesitate to acquire it in somewhat unscrupulous ways. A few times, he used his high status to rescue the painter from legal troubles in exchange for a pretty canvas. Cardinal Borghese’s collection in the Palazzo grew into a world-class treasure of art. It was eventually transferred to the family villa on the city’s outskirts, known today as Galleria Borghese.
Basilica di Sant’Agostino: Muddy feet
I continued my walk until I reached the Basilica di Sant’Agostino. Inside hangs another Caravaggio masterpiece, Madonna of the Pilgrims, which he painted in that last house I visited on Vicolo del Divino Amore. As the model for Madonna, he enlisted Lena, a friend and possibly a courtesan. She is shown standing in the shadow of a doorway, welcoming two kneeling pilgrims.
Those two pilgrims caused a stir. Caravaggio’s honest depiction of ordinary people won him popularity among churchgoers. The Catholic Church was pleased as well. A rival artist sneered when the work was unveiled in the basilica: “[Caravaggio] painted from life with two pilgrims; one of them has muddy feet and the other a soiled and torn cap; because of this pettiness in the details of a grand painting, the public made a great fuss over it.” In line with its Counter-Reformation ideology, the Church at that time sought to utilize visual art to captivate believers and keep them from the Protestant fold.
To appreciate how daring Caravaggio’s art was, I did not need to go anywhere. This was Rome after all, so I just turned my head in the basilica and saw Raphael’s Prophet Isaiah. It is a fresco on a column representing the High Renaissance of a century earlier. The contrast with Caravaggio’s Madonna could not have been more stark. Raphael wrapped his Isaiah in ancient robes, while Caravaggio’s figures wore contemporary clothes. Raphael’s work radiates bright hues, like gold, blue, and pink. His Isaiah brims with energy, flexing his forearm and calf. No wonder that Caravaggio’s muddied, frail pilgrim marked such a revolutionary departure in style.
San Luigi dei Francesi: Popes dazzled.
From Sant’Agostino, it was just a two-street walk to the Church of San Luigi dei Francesi. Its much-visited chapel houses a cycle of three Caravaggio paintings—including his first major commission, depicting the life of Saint Matthew.
The first of Caravaggio’s paintings, The Calling of Saint Matthew, is perhaps the most photographed in Rome. In it, rays of light are cast toward the table where Matthew, a Baroque tax collector, counts his money. Jesus, barely visible in the shadows, suddenly points toward him. The rays were not placed by accident; they seemingly radiate from the chapel’s actual window. Caravaggio cared very much about the intended location of his works, sometimes to excess. At his house in Vicolo del Divino Amore, his landlady once complained about ceiling damage. It was likely caused, according to some historical accounts, by torches that Caravaggio fixed somewhere high up in the room. He wanted to study the dramatic effects of light that he would then recreate on canvas.
For us agnostics, The Calling of Saint Matthew appears crowded, and without further context, it conveys no obvious message. Yet the painting deeply moved the Catholic elite and still resonates with spiritual souls to this day. The late Pope Francis described The Calling as his favorite artwork and often prayed in front of it. The Pope saw very human emotion in Matthew’s surprise. His one hand points to himself, while the other “holds on to his money as if to say, ‘No, not me!’” Matthew was a sinner, on whom “the Lord has turned his gaze” and called.
My eyes moved to the opposite wall, where no additional reading was required. There hangs The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew, which contains perhaps the most intense figure Caravaggio ever painted—the executioner. Every fiber of his straining body pulses with rage as he raises his sword against the soon-to-be martyr. His stature may be short, but he exudes a fear that overpowers the entire canvas. Here in the chapel, Caravaggio’s art entered its supreme phase.
Palazzo Madama: Education of an artist.
From San Luigi dei Francesi, I walked around the corner. There I found myself at the stately façade of Palazzo Madama, the current seat of the Italian Senate. In the Baroque era, the palace was home to Cardinal del Monte, whose encounter with Caravaggio proved the luckiest moment in the artist’s life.
Caravaggio grew up in northern Italy. In 1592, at the age of twenty, he set out to find his fortune in Rome. He had some artistic training, but very little money to support it. Cardinal del Monte noticed the young man’s talent and invited him to stay in Palazzo Madama. There, Caravaggio came into the Cardinal’s circle of artists, musicians, wealthy collectors, and a wide range of intellectuals. The Cardinal even befriended and supported Galileo.
Those crucial years at Palazzo Madama shaped Caravaggio into a refined and confident artist. It also provided him with a network of contacts who would offer him increasingly larger commissions. Standing in front of the façade, I looked up at the top row of windows. Somewhere up there, in the cramped attic rooms, Caravaggio once lived and worked.
Piazza Navona: Center of life.
Since I was nearby, I strolled into Piazza Navona, the focal point of Baroque Rome. Today, it is a tourist-filled architectural jewel, but in Caravaggio’s time, it was a raucous market where he spent a considerable amount of his time. His friend and model, Lena, likely stood there “on her feet,” and historical records even show that Caravaggio himself was once arrested in the piazza.
Doria Pamphilj and the Capitoline: Caravaggio before chiaroscuro
From Piazza Navona, I walked through a maze of narrow, cobblestone streets until I emerged on Via del Corso, the central artery of Baroque Rome. The Corso is lined with so many tall palaces that none truly stands out. My avid readers may recall that on a previous trip, I managed to slip inside one of them—Galleria Doria Pamphilj, which houses art in a gilded setting. Its lack of fame and strict reservation system ensures that the art viewing there is a quiet, almost meditative affair, exactly as I enjoy it.
Among the treasures of Galleria Doria Pamphilj are two early Caravaggio paintings. One, The Rest on the Flight to Egypt, is remarkable for its serenity: graceful figures, gentle colors, and even a lush landscape. The detailed music sheet, held by Joseph for the violin-playing angel, suggests the work was painted in the highly sophisticated environment of Palazzo Madama. Intriguingly, the canvas carries almost no hint of Caravaggio’s future style, which he would develop only three years later in the Saint Matthew cycle of his work.
Another early Caravaggio painting awaited me on the Capitoline Hill, behind Piazza Venezia at the end of the Via del Corso. In the Capitoline Museums, there are two of his works, including the famous Fortune-Teller. Brighter and less dramatic than his later canvases, it won popularity for its playful theme. A young man, lost in a dreamy gaze at the fortune-teller, fails to notice that she is sliding a ring off his finger.
Cardinal del Monte bought The Fortune-Teller—possibly his first notice of Caravaggio—and hung it in Palazzo Madama. Many others have shared the Cardinal’s taste. In my modest hotel—yes, called Hotel Caravaggio—there was a print of The Fortune-Teller above my bed. The painting received additional national recognition when it was chosen for the Italian hundred-thousand-lira banknote in the 1980s. It demonstrates the versatility of his talent: he impressed with scenes of everyday mischief as well as with weighty religious dramas.
From the rise to the fall.
As I stepped out of the museum on Capitoline Hill, I was greeted by glorious sunset views of Rome. That was the fitting moment to end the first of my Caravaggio Trails, one that illuminated his rise and his lasting influence. The next two trails will follow his triumphs—and the tragic turn in his life:
- Caravaggio Trails in Rome, Part 2: Triumphs and Tragedies.
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List of all Caravaggio’s works along the first trail
- Santa Maria del Popolo https://santamariadelpopoloroma.it/
- The Crucifixion of Saint Peter
- The Conversion of Saint Paul on the Road to Damascus
- Basilica di Sant’Agostino https://www.santagostinoroma.it/orari-della-basilica/
- Madonna of the Pilgrims (also known as Madonna di Loreto)
- San Luigi dei Francesi https://saintlouis-rome.net/horaires-visite-opening-hours/
- The Calling of Saint Matthew
- The Inspiration of Saint Matthew
- The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew
- Galleria Doria Pamphilj https://www.doriapamphilj.it/en/rome/
- The Rest on the Flight to Egypt
- Penitent Magdalene
- Saint John the Baptist (Youth with a Ram)
- Capitoline Museums https://www.museicapitolini.org/en/node
- The Fortune-Teller
- Saint John the Baptist
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