A 16th-Century Migration From the Mind of Jacques Callot

I was first introduced to the engravings of Jacques Callot many years ago when I happened upon a free exhibit of his 18-plate series, The Miseries of War. Born in Lorraine in 1593, Callot is one of France’s great masters of engraving. Not only did he produce thousands of spectacular prints during his relatively short life, Callot also furthered his craft by developing new techniques to better preserve etched plates. His passion for drawing began at an early age. The second of eight children, young Jacques’ talents often met with his father’s strong disapproval. Around the age of 12, he ran away from home to pursue the life of an artist.

The family lived in Nancy, the capital of Lorraine, in the northeastern corner of France. However, Jacques had learned that the finest educators and artistic masters were situated in Italy, in particular in Florence and Rome. With little money in his pocket, he set off on foot to the former of these great cities. He soon understood the inadequacy of his resources and realized that without help, he would never reach his destination. He somehow ingratiated himself with a traveling group of Bohemians that was also headed to Florence.

Roughly twenty years later, now a heralded and experienced engraver, Callot memorialized his nomadic flight in the fanciful 4-print series Les Bohémiens.

The Formation of a Visual Historian

According to historians, Callot’s instincts proved fruitful. The band of vagabonds led him to Florence, where he was spotted by an alert officer of the Grand Duke, who noticed that the boy didn’t fit the profile of a typical itinerant. Rather than sending Callot home to his worry-sick parents, however, the official placed him in the care of a local painter, Canta-Gallina, who was also known for his engravings. It was almost the apprenticeship Jacques had been seeking, but his strongest desire was to study in Rome.

The budding adolescent somehow convinced Canta-Gallina to send him there. Upon arrival in the papal city, however, Callot ran into some merchants from Nancy. They recognized the young fugitive and brought him back to his parents.

Callot’s mother was undoubtedly overjoyed at her son’s return. Yet, his father remained more determined than ever to redirect his son’s heart and mind, insisting the boy focus on his schoolwork. It’s not surprising that the elder Callot’s demands fell on deaf ears. At the age of 14, Callot once again ran off to Italy. This time, it’s believed that his mother slipped him a portion of her household savings to finance his trip.

En route, Jacques unexpectedly encountered his older brother Jean, who was returning from a business trip made on his father’s behalf. The dutiful heir dragged his rebellious sibling back to Nancy. It was finally becoming clear, however, that Jacques’ aspirations would not be swayed.

The Callots hailed from noble stock. Jacques’ grandmother was the great niece of Joan of Arc, and his father, Jean, had held a series of government offices. Jean learned that the Duke of Lorraine was sending an envoy to Rome to meet with the Pope, and he arranged for the 16-year-old Jacques to accompany the delegation.

For the next two years, Callot apprenticed with various masters in Rome. He then returned to Florence, where the Medici family’s financial support had encouraged a flourishing art community. Callot remained in Italy, developing his talent and reputation until 1621. His return to Lorraine coincided with two events: the death of Cosme II de Médicis and an offer from Charles de Lorraine that promised a grand welcome and an abundance of satisfying projects.

Having satiated his hunger for artistic mastery, Callot returned to his hometown, where he lived out the rest of his rather short life. He died of stomach cancer at age 43.

The Rear Guard

After his resettlement in France, Callot remained true to his beloved Italy, making several return trips before his death. His memories of that initial flight also seem to have been fond ones. The troop that took him under their wing may have been populated by beggars and thieves, but he never forgot their kindness. His four-plate series is recognized as an accurate portrayal of life among 16th-17th-century migrants.

In his exhaustive compilation of Callot’s work, art historian and collector Jules Lieure invites us to examine details that illuminate Callot’s inner feelings toward his subjects.

The plate above represents the tail end of a whimsical cavalcade. Here, trailing vagabonds are about to reach a waystop where others before them have already begun settling in. Perhaps the rooster perched behind the central character’s back heightens the scene’s romantic quality. As a child looking at a picture like this, I would have projected myself into the setting and wished myself at the travelers’ sides, out on the open road.

The French inscription, however, conveys a cautionary note.

At the head of the group, a comely young woman on horseback attracts our attention. A youthful and stalwart escort marches alongside, casually pointing the way. They are followed by children carrying various cooking implements with one imp wearing a cauldron as a hat. The aforementioned wagon driver raises a whip to coax his beleaguered horse. He wears a cask of spirits on his back, upon which the well-behaved rooster perches. The mood is serene and secure.

The atmosphere shifts, however, as we continue toward the end of the procession. Elderly, infirm, or fatigued members of the clan ride on top of assorted boxes and barrels in the heavily loaded wagon. In front of a large and sturdy wheel walks a pregnant woman with younger children clinging to her dress. She also carries a babe on her back. Might she be one of the bearers of Choses futures, things yet to come?

Two tired women follow, also burdened with offspring. One rides a donkey, her gaze directed toward her nursing tot as if her chin is about to hit her chest. The escort at the rear has seen far more seasons come and go than his counterpart in front. He walks with determination, carrying a lamb under one arm. Might it be stolen?

Theft was a common practice among such travelers. One glaring indication of their destitution lies in the fact that only the men wear shoes, while the women and children are barefoot.

The Vanguard

The procession continues on the second plate; the travelers below precede those above. Note the shadows to the left. They align with shadows on the right of the prior plate. A distant village also spans the background of both engravings as if they are two halves of one more extensive scene.

Here, the riders in front appear dressed in their finest. Extravagant plumes adorn their hats as they straddle prancing horses with braided manes. The woman who follows also displays signs of a higher standing. In addition to her fancy hat, she is the only female in the lineup to be wearing shoes. Her gallant escort carries a long-barreled hunting arm. This time, the French inscription expresses a nobler sentiment.

Two women on horseback take up the rear, accompanied by an older woman and a child on foot. Their clothing and comportment reveal an inferior status in the Bohemian social structure. Two dogs cavort on the other side of the horses, presumably useful for tracking game. Yet, not all provisions are obtained in a lawful manner.

A telling scene unfolds in the background between the horses’ legs. Local peasants are chasing after an offshoot from the party after discovering they’ve been robbed. To hasten their escape, the thieves release the poultry they had managed to snatch.

Tellers of Good Fortune

After a day’s journey, the travelers stop next to an inn. The scene is packed with details that I would not have been able to decipher without the aid of the Fine Arts Library at the University of Michigan. Still, the two historians I relied upon, Jules Lieure (1866-1948) and Arène Houssaye (1815 – 1896), were not contemporaries of Callot. Their distinct analyses retain an element of speculation. I’ve merged the two and added my own interpretation.

At right, a chivalrous member of the troop helps a young woman dismount from her horse, while a companion unloads the day’s plentiful booty. These latecomers are accompanied by a third scoundrel in the foreground, who is armed with a rifle, cutlass, and saber. A small monkey forages in the sacks that hang from the pack on his shoulders.

Most of the wayfarers have long settled in. A group of women stands near the barn, predicting the fortunes of local peasants. To their left, a sow and piglets run from their indoor pen, sensing the peril of mingling too closely with the newly arrived foreigners. Ducks and geese also take flight above a scuffle between Bohemians and local residents. The inscription again bodes ominously.

In the center of the scene, children climb a ladder that leads to a hayloft doorway. Some of the younger marauders have already entered to assess what they might carry off. To the right of the ladder, a young man wearing a two-feathered hat kneels next to a seated woman and child. Houssaye contends that the figure represents Callot—a self-portrait with the face cleverly hidden. Other historians debunk this assertion, for which there appears to be no evidence.

Houssaye’s analysis, however, yields a delightful interpretation of the action unfolding to the right of the thatched roof:

Preparations for a Feast

The migrants settle in for the night far from the disturbances of local peasants. The 4th and final plate in the series contains no trace of a village or outsiders in the background. Again, Callot packs the engraving with alluring details that reveal much about the realities of 17th-century Bohemian life.

Here, the travelers on the left concentrate on preparing the feast. Their open-air kitchen is reminiscent of the fairytale settings I was drawn to as a child. A sizeable fire pit serves to heat a large cooking pot, while also hosting a spit loaded with game. Above, a boy lies against a tree branch, dangling a ham over the flames.

At left, young girls aid their mother in plucking chickens while Houssaye’s Callot butchers a sheep trussed to a knarled tree trunk. Smoke and steam waft over their heads as a breeze transports the scents of their menu in the direction of the day’s earlier exploits.

In the foreground, a dog naps while a seated woman grooms the hair of an adolescent who lies with her head on the woman’s lap. To the right, four men engage in a game of cards. A crudely draped canvas is splayed across the branches of two large trees, offering minimal shelter. Beneath this inadequate tent lies a woman giving birth. She is well-attended by four women and a man who seems poised to bless the new Bohemian.

A Story for the Ages

As with his Miseries of War, Callot doesn’t provide clues about who these people are or where they are traveling to or from. Various observers speculate on their origins, claiming the migrants are protestants leaving Germany, Romanis roaming from city to city, or Egyptians resettling in Italy. It’s likely, however, that Callot purposefully withheld such clues because they lead to preconceived notions about a given population’s trustworthiness and morals.

Callot wants to control the narrative, showing both admirable and undesirable conduct. Traveling bands like this one existed throughout Europe. As with migrants of the 21st century, they sprang from a variety of painful circumstances and often had no other goal in mind beyond escaping to a more stable setting.

As you look at these reproductions, what are your thoughts? Are you filled with a sense of adventure, or does a vagabond’s life instill feelings of fear and loss? Are such people worthy of the care and respect that Callot has afforded them, or do his depictions overly romanticize an unwelcome band of strangers? Perhaps you see two sides of a complicated existence. Whatever the case, I’d love to know your views.