Engraving and Religious Imagery in the Modern Age: Between Verisimilitude and the Suggestion of Non-Existent Realities. Analysis of Some Cases Elaborated in Spain

Abstract

The didactic importance of the religious image can be appreciated in the use of engraving and its power to disseminate, especially in the urban society of the Modern Age, in connection with the printed book. Such images will use their evocative power to suggest, based on observable realities, a reality that never existed, but which is convenient to create: The image will be able to construct this reality and convince observers of its undoubted existence. Some examples elaborated in Spain will be analyzed, as well as their inventors or the engravers who followed the instructions of the previous ones.

1. Introduction

The study of the religious image in the Spanish Modern Age can be approached from multiple perspectives. In this article, I will try to make an approximation through engraved images. I consider that the dissemination power of engravings is essential, as it enhances the contents to be transmitted (Ramírez 1988). Moreover, since the objective of the religious image is the dissemination of specific values, its alliance with the printed image is logical and fruitful; especially if the urban society of the Spanish Modern Age is taken into consideration, as it is the moment in which it begins to have specific weight in the population as a whole. In this context, the book and the printed image, whether associated with it or not, acquire importance (Maravall 1975).

Reflections on the uses of such image are multiple and early; for example, to stress the relevance given to it in preaching, we could use the anecdote of the archbishop Hernando de Talavera. He was the first of this status in Granada, appointed in 1493, by Isabella the Catholic, immediately after the conquest of what used to be a Muslim city and kingdom (1492). According to Bermúdez de Pedraza (1638)1, he used the holy cards to preach the new faith among the people of the surrounding villages, using the image as a support, due to the language difficulties. The same would be done by religious people aimed at spreading this same faith in the New World. Friar Diego Valadés (1533–1582), “engraver of some of the illustrations in his book Retórica Cristiana (Christian Rhetoric) and inventor of others” (Vargas 2009, p. 264), explained in 1579 that prints were used to teach the new religion: “As the Indians were not literate, it was necessary to teach them by some kind of illustration; for this reason, the preacher points out the mysteries of our redemption with a pointer, so that by going through them, they may be better remembered.” (Vargas 2009, p. 264)2. It can be noted in this reflection how he values the images not only for teaching purposes but also for their mnemonic power, probably reinforced by the impact that such images would have on this population. L. L. Vargas adds to the previous quotation the one by Friar Diego de Ocaña (1565–1608), who mentions the passion for possessing them, awakened among the natives: “Que si… tuviera yo… veinte o treinta mil estampas, todas las gastara, porque cada uno llevara para tenerla en su aposento”3* (Vargas 2009, p. 264). Most probably, in this case, thaumaturgic or miraculous powers of all types would have to be added, with which they would be associated (and this is another, and no less important, of the powers invoked with the image).

On the other hand, reflecting on this same image, it can be noted that it shows situations that are, perhaps and conveniently, only pretending to be real. Indeed, the image will have the power to shape realities, entire worlds that will be shown as truthful. From those people whose inhabitants had no heads—in their chests were the eyes, the nose, the mouth…—which are narrated before Pliny did so and Pliny himself, followed by St. Augustine, St. Isidore of Sevilla…, and that end up appearing in the xylographs of the book The Travels of Sir John Mandeville by the false Jehan de Mandeville, and even inhabiting, according to the latest versions, the New World to the monster that personifies hell, devourer of sinful souls for ever and ever. This being repeated from the chariots of the medieval theatrical performances to El Greco’s artworks (“Adoration of the Holy Name of Jesus”, 1577–1579), for example, and heir—why not—to the Egyptian god Ammyt, both serve as examples of a long iconographic trajectory. The memory of Plato immediately comes to mind here: He considered painters to be charlatans who deceive people; the key nuance is that what Plato considers a lie is what we consider to be the truth, perhaps the only truth: what our eyes can see. Hence, the demand for verisimilitude that, without leaving the classics, Horatio says in his Epístola a los Pisones (Epistle to the Pisos) (1st cent. BC) to the creators: We should not ask to believe that “snakes mate with birds, lambs with tigers” (Aristóteles 1988, p. 129).

Verisimilitude also became a requirement for figurative representations in the Modern Age. Theorists insist on it and give prominence to a concept: decorum, propriety. My intention here is to walk along this difficult-to-define line that uses the logic of the plausible to evoke events or even non-existent worlds in a convincing and impressive way, including or departing from parts of that truth that is effectively verifiable, at some point, from the empirical. I reiterate the aim I stated at the beginning: to transmit values in the religious sphere, which is always difficult to separate from the political one. From the engraving, the image strengthens its capacity to configure realities with a strong evocative power, which will increase its mnemonic power, a fundamental purpose in all these compositions. With these so-called realities will come the power to shape, in the minds of contemporaries, useful ways of interpreting, understanding their world, and acting in it.

2. Developing

2.1. About the Image of Christ

Let us begin with, perhaps, the most elementary but not the simplest: The portrait of the model person. Not only is it not simple, but it may even be—according to our current criteria—impossible. Therefore, it seems to be a great audacity to present the visage of Jesus, from a tondo, in an engraving (Figure 1); it is not an approximation of him in one action or another: It is his pretended portrait in a bust, in profile. I refer to the book by Felipe de Sosa,4 where the image of Christ’s visage is shown, in the manner of the portrait books of illustrious personages, whose fashion began at this moment. This image will not be referred to because of the option chosen, which represents a white man with European features,5 with obvious connotations that will not be discussed here.

Let us observe this representation as the visage of a man in his prime, around his thirties, with masculine features accentuated by his small split beard, his hair over his shoulders, curled at the bottom and parted in the center of his head and, above all, in the perfect (canonical, according to the Greek canon6) measurements of his head (distributing the visage into three equal parts --high forehead/glabella, glabella/end of the nose, end of the nose/chin--, each of these parts being the measurement of his straight, fine, and perfect nose), the classicist option of the Renaissance use, where perfection or beauty is identified with goodness --and, conversely, ugliness with malice--7. “The ideal and geometric measurements were appropriate above all, or even exclusively, to Christ and the Virgin… [in artistic representations, as they were] the only examples of perfection of character and humoral balance” (Defradas and Klein 1989, p. 149). Thus, I relate this to the meticulous, supposedly realistic configuration of the visage of Christ, since this desire for veracity would have an instrument that is being used at the time: physiognomy. With the knowledge it provides, not only will the character and moral values of the person be identified according to each of the details of the conformation of the visage,8 even minimal, but conversely, by knowing the character and moral values of the person, a suitable visage can be assigned. Pomponio Gaurico, in his treatise Sobre la escultura (De sculptura)--Florence, 1504--, includes a treatise on physiognomy derived from ancient Greek and medieval9 treatises, where he defends that the expression and characteristics of the visage translate the soul and vice versa,10 the latter being the option that interests us here as it makes it possible to know the visages of people from other times, now deceased. The fundamental principle that always governs the definition of perfection is that of mediocritas: “balance, measurement, the equal distance between two opposite deformations, perfect form, are always indications of laudable qualities” (Defradas and Klein 1989, p. 148). Thus, unlike those who inhabit the north and those who inhabit the south (with extreme physical and moral qualities, abounding in these the negative), “those who inhabit the center, between the north and the south, also have the intermediate characteristics: they are of medium height, hair neither too curly nor too straight, honey-colored skin, a more pleasant appearance, apt for study, ingenious, sensitive, modest and thoughtful…” (Gaurico [1504] 1989, p. 162). So, he begins to describe a series of physical qualities that Gaurico tries to identify—often in a confusing and contradictory way—with different peculiarities of character, mainly masculine. Curiously, although he does not allude to it, the purpose of the possible fidelity to the visage of Christ is always present in him, so he ends with a lament (being here the only mention of it) about the careless representation that is usually made of him (Gaurico [1504] 1989, p. 188).

We will try to apply his remarks to our image. Gaurico begins with the eyes, to which he gives priority: “Nature intended the eyes to be the windows through which our souls are observed” (Gaurico [1504] 1989, p. 165); “Adamantius says [that] whoever you see with black and slightly arched eyes, you will be able to judge that he is strong and brave, like the lion… whoever has a fixed and penetrating gaze, like the ox, will be serious and sober…. Aristotle says that perfect eyes should be neither large nor small…” (Gaurico [1504] 1989, p. 167); “if his eyelids are light and unwrinkled, if his forehead is smooth and his eyebrows are not bushy, we are in the presence of a generous, just, gentle, pious, approachable, hospitable and good counsellor man. The wet and sad looking eyes reveal a studious man, dedicated to numerous disciplines” (Gaurico [1504] 1989, p. 171); “those whose gaze is not evasive are strong and unshakeable” (Gaurico [1504] 1989, p. 172); “those whose pupils are large are very gentle in spirit, generous, magnanimous and strong, as so are lambs and oxen are. Those whose pupils match the size of their eyes are honorable” (Gaurico [1504] 1989, p. 173). “A high forehead is proof of docility and good exercise… Those whose upper lip covers the lower lip are quite prudent… A sharp chin identifies people of great refinement of spirit” (Gaurico [1504] 1989, pp. 176–77). “The general opinion is that the perfect head, from the point of view of intellectual faculties and from any other, is the medium-sized, upright, fairly proportioned head….; Aristotle… claims that soft hair is a sign of fineness of spirit… Ears… square and of medium size [indicate] great fineness of hearing” (Gaurico [1504] 1989, p. 179). “According to Adamantius, the… thin face [is proper] to the studious” (but also to “lovers and schemers”) (Gaurico [1504] 1989, p. 179). Finally, “the strong neck [is characteristic of those who are] hardy, courageous and gifted for study… if not bent, it reflects moderation and ability for various arts and studies” (Gaurico [1504] 1989, pp. 180–81). We have chosen the features described by Gaurico that are best referred to in the engraving analyzed, with the suggested implications for the character. On the negative side, however, there would be: “The bags that may appear under the eyes… characteristic of drunks…; eyebrows curved towards the temples, cheerful character…; a straight nose reflects an intemperate tongue…” (Gaurico [1504] 1989, pp. 174–75). In addition to these aspects, which would not fit in with the supposed personality of Christ, we can add nuances regarding the total expression of the visage studied, in our opinion, of dignity and sadness, marked by the bags under the eye and by other wrinkles next to the lower part of the nose and the corner of the lips. As the author of the text, Sosa, insists, we are before a Christ who has suffered in the Passion, who has suffered it in his body as a man, something that is insisted on throughout the book, and specifically in his sadness: “Y como començasse ya a ocupar aquel su divino coraçon, la tristeza en desmedido grado, dixo a los tres sobredichos discípulos: Triste esta mi alma hasta la muerte… Padescio verdadera y no fingidamente en este lugar, para que en los siglos advenideros uviesse memoria de aquel debido sentimiento, de su sagrada passion… Verdaderamente se canso, verdaderamente tuvo hambre… verdaderamente derramo copiosas lagrimas y se entristecio, como paresce en este lugar del huerto de Gethsemani.”11* (Sosa 1569, p. 18 vo.).

As for the nose, straight or Greek, it is a reflection of perfection and beauty, a module of the canon that governs such beauty in the classical visage, Christ’s perfection which is also insisted on in the text: “en la naturaleza humana deste varón justo, se halla no solo unión con la naturaleza divina, mas todo aquello que puede divisar entendimiento criado en estado de perfección… Y quanto a la forma exterior y visible, excede aquel hombre Dios … y es preferido a todos los hombres”12* (Sosa 1569, p. 108 vo.); “hermoso en el aspecto y forma corporal”13* (Sosa 1569, p. 3). For this reason, it is noted, “el dolor que atravesso el alma destos sanctos varones [al descenderle de la cruz], acordándose de la hermosura, con que vieron aquel rostro divino y aquella gracia y autoridad… repartiendo… dones … de toda salud y consolacion”14* (Sosa 1569 p. 166 vo.).

It would also be necessary to add the split, not long, beard, which would be linked to the traditional representation of Christ in relation to the classical image of the philosopher (Grabar 1985, p. 21), and we should remember the different allusions to his character as a studious man, according to certain facial features—or the Syriac image.

In conclusion, and on the basis of these facial characteristics, Christ would be a person gentle in spirit, peaceful and docile, kind and hospitable, moderate and prudent, honest, fair, generous, and pious; this would be combined with courage, strength of spirit, and resilience against adversity. In addition: serious, studious, and interested in different fields of knowledge and skilled in various arts.

Although we do not venture to assert that Gaurico was the source for this representation, he could easily have served the anonymous author of our engraving, as well as the author of the text of our book. I cannot even affirm that such engraving was made for this book; I am only unaware of a similar and earlier one. However, what is clear to us is the aforementioned claim to realism in the portrait, a claim that the author of the text, Felipe de Sosa, proposes, assumes, and shows throughout the text, which is why he includes this engraving and no other, and which leads him to include only one other engraving in this book: an extremely faithful copy—such faithfulness includes the size—of the nail of Christ’s hand on the cross, a relic possessed by Philip II of Spain: “Para que la devoción del piadoso lector se incite; y encienda con mayor fervor… ponemos aquí la propia forma y figura de uno de aquellos clavos, con que fue affixado en la cruz, aquel sanctissimo y soberano señor”15* (Sosa 1569, p. 121). With this copy, we come to the real reason for the book, the one that would justify these realistic pretensions: to guarantee the veracity of this relic, its authenticity, to which the detailed description of the relic responds,16 as well as its representation in the engraving (Figure 2).

It is noteworthy how important it is to defend the veracity of such a relic which, in turn, legitimizes the possessor as a world leader in his battle for the defence of the “true” religion, an essential binding force for the preservation of his immense territories and justification of the battle for its increase. The same aspiration to fidelity justifies the inclusion and form of the two images engraved in the book.

Formally, the visage is presented in an oval, framed by an inscription: TV ES CRISTVS FILIVS DEI VIVI QVI IN HVNC MVUNDVM VENISTI. Inside, the bust of Christ also has an inscription: IHS XPS SALVATOR MVNDI17 The head is surrounded by a halo, within which four semicircles separated by three small bursts of light, which in turn contain other supposedly luminous outbreaks, help to accentuate what the author defines in the text as light in his resurrected body: “Mas en la resurrección… permaneciendo en la mesma substancia de naturaleza humana, la rodeo de dotes y de grandes dones de gloria, de impasibilidad, de sutileza, de ligereza y de claridad… la claridad que consiste en la hermosura del color perfecto, y en resplandor de mayor claridad que la luz del sol”18* (Sosa 1569, p. 178 r. y vo.). This is how the represented moment of Christ’s life is made concrete: resurrected. Indeed, it is the eternal moment, the best translator of the essence of the character represented.

Moreover, the configuration of the image, the bust in profile and within this slightly oval, or elongated tondo,19 is reminiscent of classical representations of notable men, from the Roman emperors on coins, to the repertoires of illustrious men (emperors, literati, scientists, popes…), as well as those of the texts that are beginning to spread at this time—and we cite only a few prior to our book20 that could have served as iconic references—that of Andrea Fulvio (Illustrium Imagines, Rome, 1517), that of Antonio Zantani and Enea Vico (Le imagini con tutti i riversi trovati, Venice, 1548), that of Guillaume Rouillé (Prontuarii iconum, Lion, 1553), or that of Jean de Tournes (Insignium aliquot virorum icones, Lion, 1559). In this respect, it should be noted that the engraving in question dates from 1569, in Seville (Juan Gutiérrez’s printing house).

I would also like to point out the link between such configuration, in which image and text are united with the world of the emblematic, which is also spreading widely at that moment. In this respect, I agree with Rafael Zafra Molina when, speaking of this model of representation of illustrious men, icones (icons), he states: “The work of Alciatus, recognized as the beginning of the emblematic genre, is undoubtedly the main predecessor of the books of icones, from which they take precisely what makes them books of emblems: the technique of amplifying and glossing through a combination of image and poetry a common place—in the icones a character—synthesized in the nickname” (Zafra 2014, p. 137). As a nickname and allusive inscription in the engraving we are studying, the texts quoted in its frame could be considered, adding the long text that follows this icon of Christ, a text that always refers to his life and passion, and thus we will find the fundamental elements of the emblem. Moreover, the didactic pretensions inherent in the emblematic genre, which in the icones would be centred around a model figure, would be even more evident in the figure of Christ.

F. de Sosa’s book is a fundamental source for another one, printed a few years later, in 1604, in Granada, written by the Mercedarian Pedro de Medina and with a similar theme,21 although centred on the cross of Christ. From the engravings he includes, he will also try to configure with them a reality that he will try to affirm with a multitude of data and bibliographical references. The engraving of Christ on the cross will be analyzed and, like all the others, it is anonymous (Fernando Díaz de Montoya’s printing house) (Figure 3).

In the text, Medina insists on the perfection of Christ’s body, referring to the classical canonical proportions: “Christo, el qual fue por lo menos de seis a siete pies de largo, por ser el estado mas común de un hombre perfecto”22*. From such perfection derives the measurements of the cross: “Que el cuerpo sanctissimo de Christo en el instante de su concepcion fue organizado y perfectissimo y acommodado para el anima sanctissima y bienaventurada que Dios infundia en el mismo… assi como el Espíritu Sancto fabrico en aquella inefable [Virgen] un cuerpo humano, el mas perfecto de quantos se pueden pensar, según la perfección del alma sanctissima que le avia de informar, en orden todo a la unión hypostatica del Verbo con la misma humanidad, assi también pues el mismo Verbo humanado y passible avia de ponerse estendido y clavado y muerto en una Cruz, convino, y fue así, que el mismo Espíritu Sancto con particular providencia la traçasse y ordenasse como fuese de la materia y forma que fue, en orden y a fin de la manifestación de la bondad de Dios, de la exaltacion de la gloria de su hijo Christo y de la Redempcion humana”23* (de Medina 1604, Libro Primero, p. 397). Indeed, the engraving shows Christ as a well-formed man, with a perfectly muscled body, even athletic, young, and beautiful, in which, if we look closely, we will find the perfect proportions perfectly measured for the male body, according to the classical canon. The detailed configuration of this so-called reality includes the characteristics of the cross: “En la cruz del Señor estuvieron quatro maderos, que son el mástil derecho el madero transversal, el tronco puesto al pie [para fijar bien la cruz en el suelo] y el titulo puesto arriba… Demas desto también estuvo otro que fue un çoquete asido con clavos en la Cruz baxo los pies de el Redemptor, donde los tuvo clavados”24* (de Medina 1604, Libro Primero, p. 367). The mechanical usefulness of all these pieces of lumber is described and explained. We add a controversial aspect—specifically in the artistic representation—at the time, which Medina would clearly explain: the insertion of Christ’s two feet on the cross with a single nail—and not two—the right on the left, emphasizing the truthful recreation of what is depicted.

Medina, in his in-depth study of the cross, approached from very different aspects, configures a whole world of references, he even prefigures the Old Testament, capturing this in many images that become true references. The engraving of the bronze serpent that Moses raised in the desert is really impressive (Figure 4) (de Medina 1604, Libro Tercero, p. 81). As it can be seen, a cross inserted into the ground in a field is depicted. It may be the top of a mountain, where a winged reptile with a long tail is crucified, which the author calls a serpent, but which would resemble a fantastic representation of a dragon. Its wings are spread out and nailed to the lateral sides of the cross; the tail is also nailed to the lower part of the vertical pole. The nails are sumptuous. It has a long neck, and its head is in profile, turned to its right. By its human-like build and proportions, and by its position, intentionally, it immediately evokes the crucified Christ, who, like the serpent for the Israelites in the desert, meant spiritual health for humans: “La hechura desta sierpe… fue conforme a la forma y figura de las bivas… a imitación de las que matavan a los hombres… tenia el color de las sierpes bivas. Estava crucificada en el palo… Moysen por mandado de Dios hizo una forma de Cruz de bronze y la levanto derecha cerca del tabernáculo… Para mayor conveniencia entre la figura que era la sierpe, con lo figurado que es Christo, se deve considerar… que aquella sierpe… tenia sus dos alas como las tenían las bivas… las tenia estendidas y en forma de Cruz… aquella pértiga levantada por orden divino era una Cruz… Y todos los que… la miravan, quedavan salvos con la vida y sanos con las heridas… Nos hemos ocupado en la historia, con que mejor se a de entender el espíritu de la figura… [que lo] fue…de la Cruz del Salvador del mundo”25* (de Medina 1604, Libro Tercero, pp. 79–84).

2.2. About the Image of a Saint: St. John of God

We are going to analyse how, from the beginning, the requirements of verisimilitude are combined in the configuration of the image of a saint. We are referring to St. John of God. Here, the distinguishing feature is that John was a well-known person, with a face, appearance, and actions familiar to his neighbours in Granada. For this reason, the image should be easily identifiable, as it begins to be depicted only 30 years after his death. Most illiterate people will have no difficulty, and for the totality, it will be immediately recognizable and will provide mnemonic facilities in the transmission of concepts. This iconographic construction responds to the promotion of the recognition of his sanctity, a circumstance which, in general terms, reached its peak in the period after the Council of Trent (1545–1563), as a response to Protestant rejection of the veneration of saints, as well as their iconic representation. We are going to observe the conformation of the image of Saint John of God (John Ciudad, Montemor-o-Novo, Portugal, 1495, Granada, 1550), from the first moments, that is to say, before he was even considered beatified: The engraved image played a fundamental role in this very early construction. Very early because he was loved and admired by his neighbours thanks to his work in helping the neediest. The iconography was based on his contemporaries’ description of John, those who knew him: According to their story, John of God died in the house of the lords who took him in, already ill, the so-called Casa de los Pisa (House of the Pisa), at the foot of his bed, kneeling and holding a crucifix in his hands, the position in which he remained after his death, when they found him. This is how he will be represented, in such a special way, so distinctly and, therefore, identifiable. Before this iconic model, in 1579 the figure of the future saint (Figure 5 and Figure 6) appears in a rudimentary xylographic engraving—according to M. Gómez-Moreno26—in the translation into Spanish of the Bull Licet ex debito (given by Pope Pius V in 1571, to confirm the foundation of the Hospital promoted by John in Granada). As the publication of this translation was made in Granada27 (Larios 2006, p. 100) and the iconic references are those given by its neighbours, we assume that the xylography would have been made in that city. Despite its simplicity, it is a very significant engraving; it is the “only [engraving] that represents him in his miserable clothing” (Gómez-Moreno 1950, p. 6)—it will be this bull (and therefore after his death) which will indicate the corresponding habit for the followers28--, bareheaded, always barefoot, and “rapado a navaja, barva y cabeça”29*, which gives a realism that makes him immediately identifiable among his people, as he is the result of the description made by such witnesses. He is praying in front of the crucified Christ, kneeling, with his basket over his shoulder (in which he kept the donations given to him by his neighbours for his protégés) and his staff; both objects, with which he always walked and with which those who saw him passing through the streets associate him, also identify him and will be his attributes.30 Everything points to the fidelity of this earlier image, which, according to M. Gómez-Moreno (1950, p. 6) and J. M. Larios (2006, p. 100), is the first image of John, only 29 years after his death.

However, along with this fidelity, the drawing of this engraving plays with creating an ambivalent situation: the realism of the figure of Christ, the realism of the cross nailed to the ground and fixed with wooden blocks, the same dirt floor that serves as a succinct reference of location for the two protagonists, the complete avoidance of any other reference in either of the two, surrounded by the same environment, all of this makes one imagine that it is a scene in which John sees Christ on the cross. Each one is on a page, facing each other. The size of Christ is smaller than that of John, which can be interpreted by the distance between the two. However, it is also suggested that Christ is a sculptural image: The obvious evocation of the reality of the miraculous vision is nuanced by the fact that John was not yet even beatified.

Shortly afterwards, in Granada (Lebrija’s printing house, in 1585), his first biography was published by John’s successor, Francisco de Castro;31 this xylography32 is again included in it. However, this formula was not sufficiently distinctive: Directly, from the episode of death, which would soon emerge, a more explicit and exclusive formula for John could be specified. Before, and in that primitive iconographic search, perhaps we should look at the reprinting of the same biography, also in Granada, but now in another printing house, that of René Rabut, only three years later, which gives us an idea of the dissemination of the text, in 1588.33 On its cover appears the visage of God.34 Significantly, we know from the statements of those who knew John—made for the process of beatification—that the neighbours called him John of God35 and Juan de Esperaendios (John Waiting for God) (Gómez-Moreno 1950, p. 196), which is perhaps the interpretative key to this small image (Figure 7), which does not reflect John’s own visage. However, the divine image would be an evocation too subtle of the—so far—only admired as a saint, and even allude, in a generic way, to a current that seems to have spread (1570–1575, approximately) of “estos que llaman Juanes de Dios, los cuales andan con unos sacos y descalzos y a cuestas con unas talegas y serones, demandando limosna para sustentar hospitales y niños huérfanos… En 1378… en Cremona… En nuestro tiempo comenzó en Granada por un sancto varón llamado Juan de Dios, de donde se llamaron después todos… Joanes de Dios…”36*, information that can be linked to that image.

John’s iconography had to be defined and, if the first and most explicit iconographic initiative had come together with a bull, the concreteness in it will also come on the cover of a collection of bulls of 1596,37 where he will be definitively represented in the way that will constitute his essential iconographic typology and of reference: It is an engraving (Figure 8) that represents John kneeling, barefoot, with his habit—already adapted to the typology of the order—with a hood on his back and a scapular, holding a crucifix with both hands at the level of his visage. From his mouth comes an inscribed band that says: IN MANUS TUAS DOMINE,38 an expression he addressed to Christ and with which he died, according to the account of his life.39 His body is shown in three-quarter length, turned to his right, and his face almost in profile. On the bent elbow of his left arm rests his staff; next to it, on the ground, is his large, braided wicker basket. The space in which he is represented is striking, as the square floor would not extend more than one meter sideways, in comparison with the figure of John. The back and side walls, worked with stripes in the engraving, block the space in an overwhelming way, although there is no ceiling; in the best case, it would give the sensation of a square alcove containing the image of a saint. However, his figure and visage are realistically rendered, emphasizing the expressiveness of his face, with his affectionate and vehement gaze focused on the crucifix. This posture and gesture will constitute his essential iconography. The lower part of the engraving contains the inscription: S. IVº. DE DIOS,40 that is to say: his name with the denomination of saint. We should bear in mind that the beatification did not take place until 1630 and the canonization until 1690.41 I would like to refer to the crucifix he carries, where the image of Christ is also treated realistically, highlighting the crown of thorns, the bent legs and upright head, as if Christ himself wanted to give John his last look.

Indeed, the less important aspect is to know if that was his death and if his last words were also those quoted. There is a reality that has become unquestionable, confirmed, and legitimized by the image, recognizable without confusion and with a series of elements (crucifix, kneeling posture, alms basket, cane…) that not only identify him but also make it possible to memorize his exemplary qualities: poverty, humility, and untiring love for his brothers and for Christ.42

In this way, his image will be codified in successive representations, such as the engraving described by M. Gómez-Moreno (from Rome, 1599), in a biography of the future saint, printed with the privilege of Pope Sixtus V.43 To this central scene are added those that will stand out in his life: “the saint is represented on his knees with a Crucifix in his hands, in the same way he died; at the top, an image of God amid clouds and brightness, which seems to receive his soul; on one side, the beds of the poor; on the other, a staff, from which hang the basket and the collection plate in which he collected the alms. In six ovals on the sides… his conversion while hearing Master John of Avila preach; when he received the habit from the Bishop of Tuy; when he converted worldly women; when he was hurled down by the devil; when he was not burned in the middle of the fire of the hospital of Granada, and when he discovered the thoughts of obstinate sinners. All this accompanied by biblical texts allusive to these representations” (Gómez-Moreno 1950, p. 170).

We should add the curious fact that, in the process of John’s beatification, between 1622 and 1623, there are references to holy cards and medals with his image—these surely “minted, at least, since 1600” (García-Melero 2017, p. 300), through which the popes themselves had already granted indulgences; that is to say: through his image and before he had even been considered beatified. According to the descriptions, there is a predominance of “medallas en las quales está puesto y figurado el bendito padre Juan de Dios como cuando murió”.44*

2.3. About the Image of the Final Judgment

These are the years in which, through another great Spanish saint, St. Ignatius of Loyola, a methodology of prayer, reflection, and spiritual exercise is being developed, with the image as a central element. This image will be suggested in an absolutely descriptive and plastic manner from the texts or even introduced in them to facilitate such reflection. It will also be expected that such image evokes, beyond pure vision, sensations transmitted—imaginatively—by the other senses. It is the so-called “composition of place”, or exhaustive evocation of the empirical context of an event. The purpose is to engrave the intended concepts in the mind of the exerciser with it. The great proliferation of images that respond to this demand is well known. Especially in view of the themes developed in Ignatian contemplation, specifically those linked to the life of Christ, many of them will form part of this immense group of images that construct realities. However, I would like to focus on one that I find particularly striking in this game of plausibility and evocation: The Jesuit Sebastián Izquierdo (1601–1681), in 1675, wants his reader45 to exercise his mind in a “composition of place” that must deal with the moment of the Last Judgment. He needs a known reference, evocative with verisimilitude of the suggested one. The empirical plane that seems most similar to him is that of the evocation of an auto-da-fé, which he establishes as a starting point so that, from it, the senses can reach the plane of transcendence or of what will happen in the future. However, in that gigantic final auto-da-fé, we would all be judged. The emotional impact for people who have known and even lived through, but only as spectators, such an event and who know its real consequences—the terrible condemnation of the stake—is great. Thus, he suggests it to his readers; he says: “Suponese… que Christo nuestro Señor el día ultimo del Mundo ha de baxar del Cielo a la tierra, para juzgar vivos y muertos con un Juyzio universal… Las circunstancias de aquel ultimo Juyzio han de ser tales… que à todos en grande manera nos importa el considerarlas de espacio con frequente, y atenta consideración, a que se ordena este Exercicio”46* (Izquierdo 1675, pp. 63–64). For this, contemplation is initiated: “La composición de lugar [será] imaginar un Teatro amplissimo, en que se celebra un Acto general de Inquisición”47* (Izquierdo 1675, p. 64).

On that last day, “el Sol y la Luna se oscurecerán. Las estrellas caerán del Cielo… En el Ayre avrá terribles tempestades… Bramará el mar…saliendo de sus límites… La tierra padecerá… terremotos… Embiará Dios aquel fuego… con el qual sera cubierto… este globo del Mundo”48* (Izquierdo 1675, p. 66), and the voice and trumpet of the angel shall sound universally, calling the living and the dead to judgment, and “se abrirán los Cielos y baxará el Hijo de Dios con grande Magestad y potestad, acompañado de todos sus Angeles… bibrando la espada de su Justicia con el braço de su Omnipotencia… como Juez riguroso”49* (Izquierdo 1675, pp. 68–69). Even though these terrible and startling aspects concern everyone—living and dead—and the autos-da-fé only concern—although also in a terrible and final way—a group of people, the metaphor has enough points in common and becomes more similar in its two terms when Izquierdo says that, following the events explained, Christ “llega a cerca de la tierra y puesto en debida distancia, sentará su Tribunal en una nuve blanca … poniendo a su mano derecha à su Santissima Madre la Virgen María y a la izquierda a los Apóstoles y demás varones Apostólicos… para que sean como Assessores suyos, ayudándole a juzgar a los demás… Luego se abrirán aquellos Libros… en que se verán escritas todas las obras de los hombres, buenas y malas… las quales por Divina virtud se harán allí patentes, y todos claramente verán todas las obras buenas y malas … assi las propias como las de todos los otros. Que estraña afrenta, deshonra y confusión padecerán los malos de ver allí manifiestos a todos, todos sus pecados mas ocultos”50* (Izquierdo 1675, pp. 69–70). Afterwards, the righteous will be rewarded with blessedness and the wicked will be sent to eternal fire: “Como acá la Inquisición relaxa los condenados al braço seglar, aquellos mal aventurados serán relaxados y entregados à los demonios… [y arrojados] al calaboço del Infierno”51* (Izquierdo 1675, p. 71).

If we compare the image of the anonymous engraving that Izquierdo introduces in his book52 (Figure 9) with the well-known engraving by Gregorio Fosman y Medina53 of the auto-da-fé that was held in Madrid in its Plaza Mayor on 30 June 168054 (Figure 10), time after and very close to that of the printing of the text, we can observe not only conceptual but also formal similarities between the contexts represented. If the auto-da-fé requires an adequate and superimposed scenography (configured with a specific and very common ephemeral architecture in all of them, given the identical ritual requirements and the similar places—central squares—always chosen), in which a series of dais and boxes indicate the status of those who occupy them,55 the same happens in the upper part of the engraving suggested by Izquierdo, where, in a celestial structure superimposed on the Valley of Josaphat, Christ presides with the Virgin and the saints. In the auto-da-fé, that place is occupied by Charles II of Spain, his wife, and his mother, from the central balcony of the Casa de la Panadería. The different officers of the Inquisition—including the so-called “soldados de la Fé” (soldiers of the Faith), guardians of order in all the terrestrial process, with weapons, artillery salvos and drums—ordering the act would be equivalent to the angels—especially the trumpeters—and the demons of Izquierdo’s engraving. Next to the one holding the sword and the scales, it is remarkable the image of another angel holding the book of the acts of each one, something that some demons also do at ground level, in front of a man who contemplates them pleading, observing a landscape of striking demons and a horizon of fire, in contrast to the path of the blessed ones. These demons, composed of different human and animal parts, would allude to specific sins such as the snake placed in a very significant way in the genitals of one of them. Such man will have to publicly assume his faults, which are recorded in the book, such as those accused by the Inquisition, on a dais, in front of a multitude of people in attendance. Christ, as in Fosman’s engraving King Charles II himself—presiding the act from the central balcony—will separate the blessed to his right (in Madrid, the nobility and the clergy will be seated there); in both cases, to the left of the king or to the left of Christ, the condemned will be seated. The formal and emotional similarity will provide a mnemonic reference of strong impact that we can imagine in those who, having reflected on Izquierdo’s book, witnessed the Madrid auto-da-fé or have witnessed some other: The image of the Last Judgment, to which a multitude of sounds, colors and even smells could be added, would come to an indelible life in their minds. Izquierdo’s engraving is accompanied by this inscription: “Quis poterit cogitare diem adventus eius. Malach”; this corresponds to a quote from Malachi 3:2, where he says, “Who will be able to resist the day of his coming?” This gives the engraving a similarity to the world of the emblematic—adding to it the rest of the explanatory text—and a greater capacity for mnemonic retention.

2.4. About the Image of the King and the Pope

Creating realities that never were with characters that are not only real but even recognizable is another possibility in that subtle line I am trying to draw. Since the image, as we are seeing, is never innocent, I am interested in another engraving, the perfect union of the religious and the political, a justification of the actions in this second field by demonstrating, precisely with the image, to be an instrument of the first.

I am referring to the engraving made in 1626 by Alardo de Popma56 (Figure 11) on the cover of the book Primera parte de las noticias historiales de las Conquistas de tierra firme en las Indias Occidentales57 by the Franciscan Pedro Simón (1574–ca.1628).58 He was superior of province (Provincial) of his order in the New Kingdom of Granada, therefore, he knew these lands and the importance of the integration of religious preaching in the complex system of governance of these people by the new powers, coming from a distant metropolis. He alludes to this when he makes the following observation: “La Tiara del Sumo Pontífice tiene tres Coronas, con que da a entender ser la Iglesia Católica Romana absoluta señora de las tres partes del mundo, será también, que por la parte de España se le aumente una quarta Corona, por esta quarta parte del mundo, que se le ha añadido a su jurisdicción, y mando, como lo están estas Indias Occidentales, o Nuevomundo, por la industria de los Castellanos, en virtud del gran poder de sus Reyes…; Se puede añadir a la del Sumo Pontifice, por la parte de nuestra España una quarta Corona… aviendosela conquistado a fuerça de usar sus armas, y que sepa el mundo los acrecentamientos que España haze en la dilatación de la Fe”59* (Simón 1627, chp. IX, p. 29). Therefore, there is no doubt that he was the inspiration for the image that appears in the chalcography on the cover.

It is composed by an architectural structure that combines the form of an altarpiece with that of a great portico or triumphal arch, which introduces us to the great central scene, at the moment when Philip IV of Spain, kneeling before Pope Urban VIII, offers him a crown, and says, as written in an inscribed band that comes from his lips: QUARTUM OFFERO PRO INDIS.60 Philip refers to this crown, with which he would govern the West Indies, and which would be the fourth that the pope would add to his tiara—held in his left hand—already composed of three others. Thus, he alludes to the newly enlarged parts of the world: four, with the New World; all of them, fundamentally at the hands of the Spanish monarchy, will be under the Catholic Church. Philip IV of Spain, with features in his portrait that seek to make him perfectly identifiable,61 shows his loyalty to the papacy: The king’s tufted helmet is on the ground, as a sign of submission, in front of a pope who looks at him and picks up the crown, seated on a throne under a canopy and raised a few steps from the ground on which the king kneels, indicating his hierarchical superiority. The king wears armour—in allusion to his conquests—which he covers with a cape.

It should be noted that, in these games and traps of the image in which we are entering, in contrast to the fidelity required and observed in the king’s face, the fidelity of the pope’s face—who in those years is older than he would appear in the engraving and also wears a beard62—is indifferent: The pope is identified, in a totally sufficient way, by all the symbolic elements with which he surrounds himself; moreover, in Spain, almost nobody would have ever seen him. In the background, behind a railing that leads to the outside, the majestic dome of St. Peter’s in the Vatican, exactly locating the scene. The fictitious nature of the event does not prevent the image from capturing and translating a situation in a completely truthful and convincing way in the eyes of the viewers. Someone would identify it with reality. If it did not happen, it is the metaphorical image of what one must really believe it to be: It is the convenient construction of history.

On either side of this scene, configuring this altarpiece or triumphal arch—allusive to the triumph of good royal government, presented as a triumph of religion—are two Corinthian columns—reiterating this triumph—on each side, on a protruding pedestal on those sides, on whose dados appear some coats of arms on cartouches of cut and curled leather, referring to the Franciscan order. The entablature supported by the columns also protrudes and holds half-length portraits (in the same type of cartouches) of “the fathers of the evangelizing orders, St. Francis and St. Dominic”.63

2.5. About the Image of the Martyrs: Alonso Navarrete and Alonso Mena, Martyrs of Japan

In 1629, Alardo de Popma64 also engraved the chalcography of the cover of Conservación de Monarquías y Discursos Políticos sobre la gran Consulta que el Consejo hizo al Señor Rey don Filipe Tercero, Al Presidente y Consejo Superior de Castilla65 (Figure 12). The author of the previous drawing was F. Agustín Leonardo,66 painter and Mercedarian friar. The author of the text was the Licenciado (Licentiate) Pedro Fernández Navarrete (1564–1632), Canon of the Church of Santiago, Court Chaplain, Consultant of the Inquisition, and holder of other administrative positions;67 he was also a humanist and poet. The book deals with “la despoblación de Castilla… impuestos… problemas financieros… los «gastos de conservación y defensa de la monarquía»…”68* (Gómez Urdáñez 1999, p. 128), that is: political, social, and economic issues concerning the governance of the nation.

However, no image of civilian content is chosen for the cover, but rather, and in a way that seems to us absolutely surprising and shocking to support the theoretical approach, the author does not hesitate to place, standing and full-length, the images of his brother and his first cousin, both with the palm of martyrdom since they have been martyred recently (1617 and 1624, respectively), in Japan. Both are Dominicans and wear their habit, a rosary, and an open book; both explicitly show how they were martyred: the brother, with a large cut on his neck, from which he bleeds profusely, and the cousin, burned at the stake. The cover is made up of the triumphal arch and altarpiece, on a high acropodium, whose entablature is supported by four Corinthian columns—always allusive to the triumph, in this case, not only of the Faith but of the values that such martyrs would defend, in connection with the Faith—two on each side. The martyrs are placed between these columns. In the dado of the respective acropodia, the character and his relationship with the author are identified, as well as the circumstance.69 On both, an inscribed band with an inscription that varies from one to the other: PRO LEGE ET REGE, on the brother and PRO REGE ET LEGE,70 on the cousin. Between them, in the opening of the arch, the inscription with the title and author of the book; in the lower part, an inscribed band linking the two martyrs, with this text: STEMATE RELIGIONE ET CHARITATE CONIUNTIUNTI.71 If we reflect on these inscriptions, we observe that the indissoluble union between religious and political values, undoubtedly explicit in the books they bear and for which they have given their lives, values that would underlie those exposed by the author of the book whose cover we are talking about, in its pages. The entablature supports the allegories of Wisdom (SAPIENTIA, with an open book in which he points with his left index finger, above the brother) and Prudence (PRUDENTIA, with a mirror and a snake, proper attributes,72 above the cousin). In between is the coat of arms of Castile with the royal crown. This inscription, in which that EGO, that I, is identified with good governance, occupies the upper part of the engraving: EGO IN CONSILIO HABITO (over the image of Wisdom); ERUDITIS INTER SU COGITATIONIBUS73 (over Prudence). That is to say, the two martyrs, with the sacrifice of their lives, contribute to the triumph of values synthetically symbolized in two words: law and king, of equal importance, which support good governance, directed by wisdom and prudence—fundamental values for the good ruler, according to contemporary political treatises74—and centred in Castile. The author of the text, who undoubtedly inspired the author of the drawing with these images, finds no better support for what he defends than the consideration of what he has supported is reason why his own relatives have given their lives to heretics (who martyred them)*. Such argument is built with images that would reproduce that reality, also impressive due to its temporal proximity to the possible reader. The state, the good governance of the state—whatever the basic points that the author defines—should be based on and defend what his relatives, whom he mentions as an example,75 had bravely defended. Even more, the good governance of the state, and the state itself, are based on the principles defended by these martyrs. Thus, this was an argument of unquestionable importance for the citizens, as they were obliged to comply with them.

2.6. About the Image of the Purgatory

In contrast to the denial of the belief of Purgatory by Protestant doctrines is the Counter-Reformation affirmation of it. The image will contribute to the mental creation of this area. In a concrete way, among the Carmelites, from the late medieval period with Simon Stock (XIII century), and with the vision of Pope John XXII (XIII–S.XIV century), the belief of the Sabbatine Privilege is spread, by which the Virgin of Carmel frees from Purgatory to the faithful who wear her scapular in life and death on the first Saturday after their death76. This translates into a multitude of representations, such as the one that appeared in the book Cinco palabras del apóstol San Pablo Comentadas Por el Angelico Doctor Santo Thomas de Aquino y declaradas por el menor Carmelita Descalço Fray Francisco de la Cruz…77 These are not the images that are of interest to us now, but others, which are multiplied in this book, to remind us that Purgatory can be exited with prayers, masses, suffrages, or alms, which those who suffer in this place ask of their living relatives and friends, if they have not taken the precaution of leaving it foreseen while they were alive. A request, as can be seen, not at all disinterested. We observe the engravings that reflect this request: It is essential to highlight the reality of the place—with its igneous characteristics and the suffering of those who live there—and the need for help expressed by its inhabitants so that their souls may leave and go to blessedness. The reality is accentuated when the requesting souls are known, the requests are from concrete persons, Carmelites—women and men—or their relatives, perfectly identified, with names and surnames, and very close in time, who would have appeared to other people—Carmelites—equally close, concrete and known. The engraving will reproduce with different sequences in a single plate, the different episodes of the life of the chosen person, highlighting those of the apparitions, or the stories of different characters will be reflected, centred on the moment of the apparition, in different boxes also in a single engraving. Each scene is identified with a capital letter that, below the engraving, links to an explanation, in a brief text, about what is exposed there. I would like to point out the similarity that this procedure has with the first engravings78 that try to be useful to the Ignatian composition of place, of which we have already spoken, as a way to make the most, mnemotechnically, of the image. When the dialogue between the characters is to be made explicit, it is done by means of inscribed bands or even large, unrolled sheets with the texts, carried by their issuers, reflecting in them the dialogue; in this way, they make the viewer of the engraving a participant in the dialogue, who, without having to read the chapter they illustrate, acquires sufficient news of what is to be transmitted.79

The engraver is F. Quart80, but the invention of these pieces of chalcography should be attributed to the author of the text. The book consists of a total of 25 engravings, approximately half of which include scenes of these apparitions, always linked to specific people: They are the confirmation of the reality of the evoked world. We will now focus on a few of them. The first one (Francisco de la Cruz 1724, p. 52) (Figure 13) responds to “las revelaciones de la Venerable Madre Francisca del Santissimo Sacramento”81* (Francisco de la Cruz 1724, p. 53), an example of the forgetfulness of the children towards their parents, who, suffering in Purgatory, appear to this religious to ask her to have masses said for them, which the children do not favour: error of those parents for not having thought of their own salvation, while they were alive, by leaving suffrages for those masses. This can be observed in the scene marked with the letter C in the engraving we are studying; in the scene identified with the letter B, the Venerable Mother Catalina de Cristo also appears to Mother Francisca, promising her help for her blessedness. These are the two upper scenes whose theme contrasts the souls of those who await prayers and suffrages to be able to leave Purgatory, suffering in the flames, and the appearance of the Carmelite Mother Catalina, happy and without suffering, from a cloud and pointing to blessedness. These two scenes appear in smaller squares placed in the upper part of the engraving, reproducing the small cell of Mother Francisca; in the one shared with the apparition of Mother Catalina, she is praying kneeling at the foot of her bed with a cross. In the one which she receives the numerous souls from Purgatory, she is kneeling in front of the door through which they enter, giving them the cross to be kissed.

The figures that occupy most of the engraving correspond to the letters A and D; they are María de la Encarnación, in the civil sphere called Violante de Salazar, and Juana Evangelista, in the civil sphere called Juana de Roph, both ladies of the Empress Isabel of Portugal, who leave their lives in the palace to enter the Discalced Carmelites and free themselves from Purgatory. With them, the closeness of the royalty to the convent in Madrid at the beginning of its foundation is evidenced at the same time that several other women of the nobility are mentioned (such as Doña Francisca de Mendoza; daughter of the Marquises of Almazán, Francisca de las Llagas de Cristo; the daughter of the Counts of Miranda and Valdonquillo, etc.). It is curious how Juana directs her gaze to the scenes of apparitions located at the upper part, examples of which cause her entry into the order. The latter and Encarnación, with the Carmelite habit and bare feet, flank an architecture that opens right between them through an arch that begins a vaulted corridor, at the end of which, and with greater illumination, other architectures can be seen flanking what must be a church—the one of their convent—crowned by a dome and a cross. In the background is the countryside with small hills and buildings in the distance. It is a symbolic way of representing the beginning of her journey towards her new life in that convent and of pointing out the help that such kind of life favours to avoid or minimize the pains of Purgatory.

The following engraving (Francisco de la Cruz 1724, p. 64) (Figure 14) also refers to the apparitions that Mother Francisca had. It is represented in scene C, where this Mother has a vision of a bishop in Purgatory, with his corresponding vestments and surrounded by flames, who, without the help of his relatives, asks her for suffrages to be able to leave, since, in life, he had not responded well to the demands of his position, which, as such, “dignidad… si es bien servida, tendrán supremas coronas [quienes la ejerzan]; si mal servida, terribles tormentos”82* (Francisco de la Cruz 1724, p. 71). Formally, the entire engraving is structured like the previous one: smaller scenes on the upper level, and a larger scene shared by the characters on the lower level. The second engraving is subdivided by a large column in the foreground, of Tuscan order, whose capital supports two large arches that open two vaulted spaces with a perspective absolutely forced and contradictory to other spaces that are integrated into the same scene. In the one on the left, identified by the letter A, Father Gabriel de la Asunción appears surrounded by flames, from Purgatory, to Mother Ana de San Agustín—whom he catches praying—and asks her for suffrages to be able to leave that state; the area on the right, identified by the letter B, is a temporal continuation of the previous one: Mother Ana herself is again surprised by an apparition of the Father Gabriel but now glorious—he is even wearing a crown—and accompanied by Saint Teresa—who had been her friend—now from a cloud. From the texts we know that the sin leading to Purgatory had been “aver interpretado una obediencia”83*; Saint Teresa of Jesus, also with crown and luminous halo, explains that “de esta manera son premiadas las Almas que con perfección guardan la regla”84*, in an explicit lesson of the obligatory obedience. If in the first scene the space opens to an undefined exterior through a door, in the second, a porticoed gallery with arcades, through which a landscape of distant hills can be seen, which would evoke an upper gallery of the conventual cloister. On the upper level, and behind three arches that are opened on the described architecture, three scenes are developed. The two scenes at the ends are identified with the letter D, since they are two sequences of the same story: In the first one, a sick man in bed receives the apparition of an angel who proposes him to exchange two years of his illness for three days of Purgatory, and he accepts. In the second, this character in Purgatory, amidst flames, regrets his choice, since a simple hour in Purgatory seems like years to him: “Ignoramos los que vivimos la terribilidad de aquellas penas, y son tales y tantas, que todos los que han venido del otro mundo a solicitar salir dellas dixeron que es mas un día del Purgatorio que mil años deste mundo…”85* (Francisco de la Cruz 1724, p. 67). The central scene is the one described, identified by the letter C.

The following engraving (Francisco de la Cruz 1724, p. 76) (Figure 15) is structured in three levels. The lower one, with the two larger scenes identified with the letter A, depicts Carmelite friars, surrounded by flames, in two apparitions, asking for suffrages. In the scene on the left, they appear to the Carmelite Pedro de la Madre de Dios, who is praying in his cell. The one on the right represents a Carmelite who died shortly before appearing to two brothers of the order, whom he had asked to say masses for him; they fall asleep tired and the deceased wakes them up, as can be seen in the engraving, surrounded by flames, to remind them their promise. On the second level, two other scenes, both identified by the letter B, again represent Mother Frances to whom, while she is praying in her cell, “a Regent and a Judge” appear, on two different occasions, surrounded by flames; the request they make is similar to the ones seen, and their faults are referred to the mismanagement of their positions. In the upper level, there are three scenes, the ones at the ends identified with the letter D, and the central scene with the letter C. The first of those labelled with the letter D depicts the apparition of a woman from Purgatory, amidst flames, to another woman, her neighbour, asking for masses to be said in the convent of the Discalced Carmelites in Puebla de los Ángeles; the neighbour thought she would not be believed, and the deceased stamped her hand on a wooden box—“arquilla de labor”86* (Francisco de la Cruz 1724, p. 86), represented in the engraving—of the said neighbour, marking her hand with the extreme heat that fire produced as a proof of certainty; when the masses were over, she appeared again in blessedness: “Muchas personas hizieron copiar la mano para tenerla en sus casas, en memoria del sucesso y en testimonio de la fuerça que… las oraciones… tienen para librar las Animas del Purgatorio”87* (Francisco de la Cruz 1724, p. 87). In the second scene labelled with the letter D, another apparition to Mother Francisca of a religious surrounded by flames is shown, also asking for suffrages.

Although it is advised that it is better to rely on oneself than on one’s successors for possible help to alleviate the rigors of Purgatory, in general, the emphasis is on the compassionate memory and even the gratitude due and translated into suffrages, to those who, by leaving their goods to their heirs and trusting in them, did not take care of themselves, forgetting their own need and did not pay masses for their own and prompt relief from such possible sorrows; on the day of the souls, they should be prayed for. Thus, in the central scene, C, it is narrated how the desire to pray for the animas, of the woman who was called Aldonça de la Madre de Dios, makes her enter the order. She was the daughter of Mr. Rodrigo Niño and Mrs. Teresa de Guevara, Counts of Añover, sister of Mr. Fernando Niño de Guevara, Cardinal and Archbishop of Seville. She entered the order after being widowed by Garcilaso de la Vega y Guzmán and being the mother of many children, some of them advisors of Philip II of Spain. She was an example for her granddaughter, Mother Leonor of the Blessed Sacrament, who was also very devoted to the souls in Purgatory. In the engraving, Aldonça says goodbye to the children. In the background of this engraving, as if it was a different moment, Francisco de Mendoza, the Bishop of Pamplona, and Leonor’s uncle, put the habit on Leonor.

3. Conclusions

To conclude, in all the images analysed, the starting point is a significant reference in the empirical reality, this first reference leads us to a supposed “reality” of a superior nature. The “reality” provides a situation which, if it was not real, it should have been. It even represents a more “real” “reality”, the one that is only evoked from the material world, or almost a reality whose material would be a shadow: a metaphysical “reality” whose vision is only provided by the image. It is an image carefully chosen for what best suits the purpose: elaborated following the decorum. We return to Plato: In this game of the evocation of transcendence, of the metaphorical evocation of what he, perhaps, could consider “reality”, and he would not qualify the authors of such images as tricksters but as educators. We, and not Plato, look at images that play with truth and lies—by referring with these concepts merely to the narrated event—that include the lie in the truth or the truth in the lie. These images form another pretended “reality”, the “reality” that they believe it should be, and in any case, the “reality” that should be believed and that they try to make it be believed. Bacon and Descartes, already in the 17th century, place art in the realm of imagination; this is known by the creator—in the case of engraving: the “inventor”--. However, the one who contemplates the image does not know it. In short, no image is innocent: It is always an evocation, an interested, suggestive, and even dangerous game.