December 2025

Jacopo Bassano, The Good Samaritan, 1562-63, oil on canvas, 102 x 80cm, National Gallery, London

Bassano took his surname from the small city in northern Italy, on the mainland near Vicenza, where he was born and where he lived and worked all his life apart from a brief sojourn in Venice.  We glimpse it in the background. It is famous for its wooden bridge designed by Palladio and the production of grappa, a ‘digestivo’ that tastes just right in Italy but is never quite as transcendent anywhere else.  The need for mercy and compassion, on the other hand, is universal.

Bassano is probably the first artist to have depicted the story of the Good Samaritan, the parable from the gospel of Luke, Chapter 10.  He made a number of versions, so it was a popular choice; one is in the Royal Collection at Hampton Court.  This one, ours, is in the National Gallery and was once owned by Joshua Reynolds who included it in an exhibition of his own private collection organised in order to raise funds for one of his servants.

 Bodies are heavy and difficult to move, especially if inert, so it’s a good thing that Bassano’s Samaritan has sturdy legs.  He looks down carefully at the poor victim, thin and frail, leaning in and pushing hard to support this man who’s been robbed, beaten and stripped by thieves.  The priest and the Levite who earlier passed him by can be seen in the distance.  The pewter jug in the foreground refers to the wine with which the Samaritan will wash his wounds.  Looking close up you can see blood trickling down his forehead and legs.  In the bottom corner, in a rather gruesome detail, it’s being licked up by two beautifully painted dogs.

 Note how the limbs of both figures are arranged at the same angle, a diagonal thrust from the Samaritan’s ankle across the front of the painting to the edge of the horse’s saddle.  Then there is the silhouetted edge of the hill which seems to spring from directly behind the injured man’s head.  The composition in other words has been carefully constructed.  So too has the lighting and it becomes clear that the bright highlights emphasising the flesh of the victim, his pose, the blood are intended to remind us of Christ being taken down from the Cross.  We’re reminded too, deliberately I’m sure, of Christ’s words from another parable (Matthew, Chapter 25): ‘whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.’