Acknowledging Albert Ganado’s exhaustive research and writings on Giovanni Schranz, this third in John Schranz’s series of articles leading to the 2018 Schranz Bicentenary celebrations adopts a particular viewpoint: it invites readers to see the artist by scrutinising what his eyes scrutinised: five of his works... and their contexts.

There is a general impression that Anton and Giovanni Schranz only painted harbours, with naval war ships portrayed prominently in the foreground. Giovanni painted many such works but he also painted many different ones, such as the works discussed in this article, which focus on events, atmospheric conditions or simply views. Only in one is there a dominant ship; the subject, however, is not the ship, but an important historical event.

Lord Elgin’s treasures

A one-page, 20-line online docu­ment I chanced upon intrigued me; “Lusieri”, “Elgin”, “Malta”, “shipped in the Levant”, “cargoes”... These words promised a comment on the interesting Malta connection.

Lord Elgin engaged Giovanni Battista Lusieri to create paintings of the Acropolis treasures; that was his original intention. Stopping in Malta en route, Lusieri obtained a freedom-of-movement decree from Civil Commisioner of Malta Alexander Ball and painted a superb topographic portfolio. Once in Greece, however, he spurred Elgin to ship Greece’s treasures to England, with Malta stops resulting in plaster casts of them remaining here, gracing our heritage.

I started reading – only to stop dead, floored by an incompre­hensible passage:

“I am indebted to Mr. G. W. Perrin, the based on a sketch by Admiral Spratt, which Admiralty Librarian, for these details. Also formed the basis for the lithograph (after 241a The fortress of Karabusa crowns the Schranz) in Spratt’s Travels in Crete, II., pi. high cliff on the left. The view by Schranz is facing p. 222.”

Next came two headings: “Appendix to Parts II and III” and “List of Transports.” That was it; nothing else.

Determined to find its source, I started from Travels in Crete’s lithographs, some from Spratt’s sketches. View of Grabusa faces p.222. Another one, Sponge Divers at Work, was among five litho­graphs I studied at Athens’ Benaki Museum; their breathtaking, rare­fied distances support the Giuseppe attribution.

Spratt’s book says “by J. Schranz” – the usual problem: John/Juan/Giovanni? Or Joseph/ Josep/Giuseppe? The book was published in 1865, Giuseppe is thought to have died in 1863, so... Giovanni, perhaps?

At any rate, Elgin and Lusieri don’t feature in the book... and as for “crowning the Schranz” it wasn’t the source.

Countless online searches later, an 1848 book discussing eastern Mediterranean shipwrecks appear­ed, commending as insightful a Grabusa lithograph by Antonio in Pashley’s 1837 Travels in Crete.

Unrelated though it seemed to my inquiry, I somehow added “wreck” to my keywords: wreck+Grabusa+Elgin+Schranz+Lusieri. The im­poss­ible happened: “...proceeded instead to Karabusa (Grabusa) Island at... The wreck of the Cambrian is shown in Fig. 9... executed by J. Schranz, of Malta... Lusieri during his 21 years... a permanent place in Lord Elgin’s...”.

A click later – the 500-page, 1916 Journal of Hellenic Studies, Vol. XXXVI appeared. That was it: the source.

One lithograph shows the January 31, 1828, shipwreck of the Cambrian, from a watercolour that First Lieu­tenant (later Admiral) Robert Smart commissioned from “J. Schranz” – perhaps for the March 1828 court martial?

An HMS Cambrian oil-painting, attributed by a verso note to Giovanni’s son Costantino (1839-1865), and exhibited in Mdina in 1987, has not been offered for the 2018 exhi­bition... another ‘lost’ work?

Watercolours of Malta and Greece from Smart’s collection, sold recently by a prominent London firm, had detailed inscriptions on their verso. All three specify Giovanni as the artist.

An 1843 Schranz Brothers litho­graph of HMS Howe bears Smart’s name as captain. Smart’s connection with Giovanni is clearly strong. Things start coming together.

Featuring Lusieri, Elgin and the Parthenon, the Cambrian story is extremely interesting.

March 1, 1821, Greece: Lusieri dies. The British Consul seals Lusieri’s 21 years of Parthenon watercolours in a huge box, awaiting Elgin’s instructions;

March 6: The Greek revolution breaks out. Shifted whenever danger threatens, the box even reaches Istanbul;

Late January, 1828: It is loaded on the Cambrian, destined for Elgin in England, via Malta.

Giovanni’s watercolour (owned, in 1916, by Smart’s daughter, Lady Wilson) records the total erasure of Lusieri’s last 20 years of paintings commissioned by Elgin. “Athena had her revenge”, it is said – for even he, Lusieri, bagged a “decent” collection from the pillage!

Three Schranz works rendered this seascape: one is Antonio’s, for Pashley’s book. Of the “J. Schranz” duo, only that for Spratt’s 1865 book is based on Spratt’s sketch – when the Cambrian sank, Spratt was only 16.

What about that incompre­hensible passage? The Hellenic Studies journal footnotes are printed in two columns separated by a narrow space (see picture on bottom left). Whoever typed them into that document ineptly read across the columns! The Karabusa fortress crowns the island, not “the Schranz”.

One lost painting, one exhibited in Paris – a turning point?

The following article appeared in the newspaper La Fenice of January 5, 1874:

“Lovers of the fine arts are invited to see a beautiful painting which the artist, Signor Giovanni Schranz, finished working upon recently.

“Its subject is very interesting: in the poetic beauty of a pleasant landscape, against a crystalline sky the likes of which only he can render, a setting sun’s last rays caress distant hills, coppices, cliffs and fields with a suffused glow. That idyllic setting, however, contrasts sharply with a treacherous aggression poised to strike.

“A peaceful group of travellers proceeds unaware of a hidden gang of bandits studying them, gauging the right moment to strike. The imagery is disturbing: faces with evil written upon them, seasoned criminals ready for anything, armed to the teeth.

“Surveying the scene, one desperately yearns for help to intervene. A few steps and those travellers will be prey to their aggressors. I caught myself count­ing: the travellers are outnumbered, the aggressors, armed... some travellers are women... the struggle will be uneven, bloody, too, probably... and futile.

“The painting is still on the easel in Signor Schranz’s studio, at No. 6, St Ursula Street, Valletta.”

This painting, perhaps lost, must have been unlike anything Giovanni ever made.

Granted, in his major storms at sea, human beings doggedly challenge more terrible elements: one example is his 1867 Paris Exhibition painting, one he prized dearly, never parting with it, bequeathing it to his artist daughter, Melita. In it, warships are little things tossed in the background. The foreground sees simple boat hands, fishermen and stevedores in Herculean struggles against pound­ing waves, striving to salvage things, their boats capsized and smashed – flotsam and jetsam.

That violence he did portray. Never before, however, did Giovanni tackle human aggressiveness towards fellow humans. Surprisingly he does it when he was 80 years old.

One year later, in August 1875, La Fenice shows him being innovative again. Describing his new watercolour teaching method, the writer calls it a surprising, extremely useful inno­vation that facilitates teaching, “based strictly on the theory of colour”.

Three years later, in 1878, Giovanni is reduced to penury, dying penniless in 1882. Photography drained him of his clients, writes Professor Nicola Zammit, his daughter’s husband.

This painting’s description inevitably recalls that non­conformist, rebellious, baroque, Neapolitan artist, Salvator Rosa, whose landscapes teem with violent bandits and soldiers – very real, ominous figures in the forests and countryside of Rosa’s time. The Dulwich Gallery, London, titled its 2010 exhibition ‘Salvator Rosa – Bandits, Wilderness and Magic’.

Romanticism’s days were over; Giovanni’s heyday too, as photo­graphy’s stark reality cut deep. Realism, building up since 1840, established itself. The reviewer’s self-analysis as an observer is indicative: he “surveys the scene”, not the painting. The depiction is in time, present and/or future: he “yearns (present) for help to intervene” (future); “the travellers are (present) outnumbered”; “the struggle will be (future) uneven”.

Could this atypical painting (and the new watercolour method) signal a Giovanni striving to break the topographic strictures he had long espoused? In the exhibition, this could be a very important work.

A unique commission?

Last January, while rewording the description of a Greenwich Royal Museums painting attributed to Anton Schranz, art historian Briony Llewellyn and curator Pieter Van Der Merwe realised it represented an event in the 1833 balance of power game that nominated Otto of Bavaria King of Greece, then emerging from 400 years of Ottoman rule.

Vast, formerly Greek territories remained Ottoman, however. That empire thus remained a buffer to Russian expansionism, as European powers wanted. Expansionist Russia wanted the opposite. Landlocked Bavaria having no navy, Otto’s nomination suited both: Europe had a European in Greece; Russia secured agreement that his offspring would be brought up Orthodox.

Asked whether I thought the Anton attribution improbable, I agreed – for one thing, nothing shows Anton ever left Malta. Insufficiently mature for Giovanni, the work could be the younger Antonio’s. I started rechecking archives to see whether they had been in Greece.

Otto reached Brindisi overland, sailed on the British frigate Madagascar to Corfu for celebrations and landed formally at Nafplio, Greece’s capital, on February 5. The Greenwich painting depicts hundreds of ships celebrating in Nafplio Harbour on February 6. However the dates are unclear – international newspapers disagreed considerably.

Malta, as Britain’s Mediterranean operations base, was directly involved: Governor Sir Frederick Ponsonby represented William IV.

Our National Archives provided key dates:

■ January 27 – the Governor leaves on the steamship Meteor.

■ January 30/31 – Meteor reaches Corfu from Brindisi.

■ February 2 – Meteor and Madagascar reach Nafplio.

■ February 3/4 – Meteor leaves for Malta, missing Otto’s ceremonial landing.

■ February 7 – Meteor reaches Malta.

■ February 10 – Meteor leaves Malta for Nafplio to bring back the Governor.

■ February 16 – Meteor leaves Nafplio, reaching Malta on the 22nd.

Why all that toing and froing by Meteor?

While perusing a private collection of paintings for the exhibition, I suddenly espied Otto’s flag on a British frigate towed by a British steamship – unmistakable: Meteor and Madagascar... a sister painting to the Greenwich museum’s, recording a departure from some harbour!

The story started emerging when a passport register revealed its secret: on January 22, five days before Meteor’s departure, Giovanni obtained a passport and visa. Mundane information, perhaps, but highly revealing, considering he stopped travelling in 1830, was getting married on February 15, and he was not charged for the documents.

With Giovanni on it, Meteor’s movements become meaningful:

■ January 27: Departure from Malta.

■ January 30/31: Arrival at Corfu via Brindisi; Giovanni starts painting one of Otto’s departures.

■ February 2: Governor Ponsonby reaches Nafplio.

■ February 3: Leaves for Malta, bringing Giovanni for his marriage.

■ February 10: Leaves Malta for Nafplio, to bring the Governor back.

A question arises – if Giovanni left after painting a Brindisi or Corfu departure, who painted the grand February 6 display in Nafplio harbour?

A shipping arrivals register has a cryptic June 3 entry: the Czar’s brig of war Telemaco entered harbour hurried­ly, was straightaway admitted to pratique, it discharged one passenger and left immediately. That passenger was Antonio Schranz.

No register shows either brother leaving Malta. Possibly, they may have proposed that, as a solution to Giovanni’s problem, both would work on the commission, one at the beginning stage, the other at the conclusion... with Meteor doing the rest.

Both paintings lack provenance. We might never discover how things went, but the conjecture is interesting... and possible.

Meanwhile, the Greenwich Maritime Museum’s catalogue entry says its painting may be by Antonio or his older brother Giovanni, “since there is circumstantial evidence that one of them may have been present at the Nafplio events in 1833”.

Demolished windows – A lost point of view

The Schranzes’ homes and bottega at 4/5/6 Strada Sant’Ursola, Valletta, bombed in the war, are captured in an 1875 photo, taken when Giovanni and his family were still alive.

Giovanni and his daughter, Melita, showed us precisely where one house stood: facing the Strada Saluto harbour view – even their view from their second floor windows. Giovanni painted it in watercolour, Melita in gouache.

Giovanni’s is a daytime painting, facing southeast, morning mists veiling the sun, spelling ix-Xlokk (southern wind). Melita’s is a night-time rendering, a full moon gleaming in a limpid sky, spelling il-Majistral (northwesterly wind). Bare trees evoke winter in one; the other abounds with summer foliage. Giovanni’s painting is vertical, Melita’s horizontal.

In both, the enormous Napoleonic Wars flagship Hibernia seems small, ‘parked’ in the Grand Harbour as a depot ship, till it was scrapped in 1903.

Only one of these works has been offered for the exhibition, till now – Melita’s. Is Giovanni’s lost, perhaps?

Looking at these works, we would also look through the eyes of two artists who have passed away, and through a window of their home... which no longer stands... an encounter beyond space and time.

Three of the works discussed in this article – the HMS Cambrian oil-painting, the one of the travellers about to be ambushed, and Giovanni’s daytime watercolour of the view from the Schranzes’ homes in Strada Sant’Ursola, with the Grand Harbour and the Hibernia in view – may be lost. They may either have been badly damaged or their owners may be unaware they are by Giovanni Schranz.

Readers who believe they own any of these works are kindly re­quested to e-mail Heritage Malta on schranz@heritagemalta.org.