BOSCH, Hieronymus

The central panel of the Triptych represents the Adoration of the Magi. Several copies of the panel exist in various museums (Philadelphia, Amsterdam, Bonn, Avignon etc.).

The panel displays the adoration of the Christ Child by the three Kings or Magi. The Infant Christ sits solemnly enthroned on his mother’s lap. The Virgin and Child resemble a cult statue beneath its baldachin, and the Magi approach with all the gravity of priests in a religious ceremony. The splendid crimson mantle of the kneeling King echoes the monumental figure of the Virgin. That Bosch intended to show a parallel between the homage of the Magi and the celebration of the Mass is clearly indicated by the gift which the oldest King has placed at the feet of the Virgin: it is a small sculptured image of the Sacrifice of Isaac, a prefiguration of Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross. Other Old Testament episodes appear on the elaborate collar of the second King, representing the visit of the Queen of Sheba to Solomon, and on the Moorish King’s silver orb, depicting Abner offering homage to David.

A group of peasants have gathered around the stable at the right. They peer from behind the wall with lively curiosity and scramble up to the roof in order to get a better view of the exotic strangers. The Shepherds had seen Christ on Christmas Eve, but they frequently reappear as spectators in fifteenth-century Epiphany scenes. Generally, however, they display much more reverence than do Bosch’s peasants, whose boisterous behaviour contrasts strongly with the dignified bearing of the Magi.

The most curious detail of Bosch’s Epiphany is the man standing just inside the stable behind the Magi. Naked except for a thin shirt and a crimson robe gathered around his loins, he wears a bulbous crown; a gold bracelet encircles one arm, and a transparent cylinder covers a sore on his ankle. He regards the Christ Child with an ambiguous smile, but the faces of several of his companions appear distinctly hostile.

Because they stand within the dilapidated stable, time-honoured symbol of the Synagogue, these grotesque figures have been identified as Herod and his spies, or Antichrist and his counsellors. Although neither identification is quite convincing, the association of the chief figure with the powers of darkness is clearly suggested by the demons embroidered on the strip of cloth hanging between his legs. A row of similar forms can be seen on the large object which he holds in one hand; surprisingly, this can only be the helmet of the second King, and still other monsters decorate the robes of the Moorish King and his servant. These demonic elements undoubtedly refer to the pagan past of the Magi.

Behind the stable in the centre, the followers of two of the Magi rush towards each other like opposing armies; the host of the third King appears beyond the sand dunes. The gently rolling countryside contains, in addition, an abandoned tavern and a pagan idol. Even the distant grey-blue walls of Jerusalem, one of Bosch’s most evocative renderings of the Holy City, appear vaguely sinister.

The picture shows a detail of the central panel of the Triptych of the Adoration of the Magi.

The Infant Christ sits solemnly enthroned on his mother’s lap. The Virgin and Child resemble a cult statue beneath its baldachin, and the Magi approach with all the gravity of priests in a religious ceremony. The splendid crimson mantle of the kneeling King echoes the monumental figure of the Virgin. That Bosch intended to show a parallel between the homage of the Magi and the celebration of the Mass is clearly indicated by the gift which the oldest King has placed at the feet of the Virgin: it is a small sculptured image of the Sacrifice of Isaac, a prefiguration of Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross. Other Old Testament episodes appear on the elaborate collar of the second King, representing the visit of the Queen of Sheba to Solomon, and on the Moorish King’s silver orb, depicting Abner offering homage to David.

The most curious detail of Bosch’s Epiphany is the man standing just inside the stable behind the Magi. Naked except for a thin shirt and a crimson robe gathered around his loins, he wears a bulbous crown; a gold bracelet encircles one arm, and a transparent cylinder covers a sore on his ankle. He regards the Christ Child with an ambiguous smile, but the faces of several of his companions appear distinctly hostile.

The picture shows a detail of the central panel of the Triptych of the Adoration of the Magi.

A group of peasants have gathered around the stable at the right. They peer from behind the wall with lively curiosity and scramble up to the roof in order to get a better view of the exotic strangers. The Shepherds had seen Christ on Christmas Eve, but they frequently reappear as spectators in fifteenth-century Epiphany scenes. Generally, however, they display much more reverence than do Bosch’s peasants, whose boisterous behaviour contrasts strongly with the dignified bearing of the Magi.

The picture shows a detail of the central panel of the Triptych of the Adoration of the Magi.

The picture shows a detail of the central panel of the Triptych of the Adoration of the Magi.

A group of peasants have gathered around the stable at the right. They peer from behind the wall with lively curiosity and scramble up to the roof in order to get a better view of the exotic strangers.

The picture shows a detail of the central panel of the Triptych of the Adoration of the Magi.

The host of the third King appears beyond the sand dunes. The gently rolling countryside contains, in addition, an abandoned tavern and a pagan idol. Even the distant grey-blue walls of Jerusalem, one of Bosch’s most evocative renderings of the Holy City, appear vaguely sinister.

The picture shows a detail of the central panel of the Triptych of the Adoration of the Magi: the City of Jerusalem.

The intimate association between Gluttony and Lust in the medieval moral system was expressed by Bosch in this fragment of a painting at Yale University. Gluttony is personified by the swimmers at the upper left who have gathered around a large wine barrel straddled by a pot-bellied peasant. Another man swims closer to shore, his vision obscured by the meat pie balanced on his head. This scene is followed, on the right, by a pair of lovers in a tent, another motif reminiscent of the Lust scene in the Prado “Tabletop”. That they should be engaged in drinking wine is entirely appropriate: “Sine Cerere et Libero friget Venus” (Without Ceres and Bacchus, Venus freezes); this tag from Terence was well known to the Middle Ages, and that Gluttony and Drunkenness lead to Lust was a lesson that the moralizers never tired of driving home to their audiences.

The drawing is also attributed to Pieter Bruegel the Elder.

The drawing is also attributed to Pieter Bruegel the Elder.

In the Christ Carrying the Cross, the head of Christ is silhouetted against a dense mass of grimacing soldiers and ill-wishers, one of them bearing the familiar toad on his shield. Christ’s physical agony is heightened by the spike-studded wooden blocks which dangle fore and aft from his waist, lacerating his feet and ankles with every step. This cruel device was frequently represented by Dutch artists well into the sixteenth century. The high horizon is old-fashioned, as is the lack of spatial recession in the middle distance. In the foreground, soldiers torment the bad thief while the good thief kneels before a priest. The almost frantic intensity of his confession, well-expressed by the open-mouthed profile, contrasts vividly with the passive response of the priest who seems to suppress a yawn. The very presence of the priest is, of course, an anachronism, probably inspired by what Bosch had witnessed at contemporary executions; the same motif appears in the great multi-figure Christ Carrying the Cross which Pieter Bruegel the Elder was to paint almost a century later.

Christ Carrying the Cross is an exceptionally dramatic painting, with a bold composition made up of closely packed heads for which no parallel exists in the art of the period around 1500. It is generally considered to be a late work and one of Bosch’s greatest creations. The antithesis between good and evil, which was so crucial to Christian belief in Bosch’s time, is raised to a climax. The painting is a peerless study of human facial expressions and demonic visages. Yet the chaotic and caricatured elements are never overwhelming and the painting seems to observe a complex balance of parallels and contrasts that emphasizes the serenity of Christ’s gently modelled face in the centre. Amid all the tumult, we make out the clear profile of St Veronica withdrawing from the mob, the image of Christ’s face - the ‘vera icon’ on her cloth.

The iconography of the Passion scenes which Bosch painted during his middle and later years are simpler than that of his earlier paintings, their imagery more easily grasped by the viewer. One such work is the Christ Carrying the Cross in the Palacio Real, Madrid. Christ dominates the foreground, almost crushed beneath the heavy Cross which the elderly Simon of Cyrene struggles to lift from his back. The ugly heads of his executioners rise steeply in a mass towards the left; in the distance, the sorrowing Virgin collapses into the arms of John the Evangelist. Whereas Bosch’s earlier composition of this subject in Vienna had been diffuse and primarily narrative, the Madrid version is concentrated, and the way that Christ ignores his captors to look directly at the spectator gives it the quality of a timeless devotional image.

This rather unusual painting on the reverse of the Christ Carrying the Cross depicts a naked child pushing a walking-frame. This is the Christ Child, whose first halting steps clearly parallel Christ struggling with his Cross on the obverse, while the toy windmill or whirligig clutched in his hand probably alludes to the Cross itself. Thus Bosch gives us a touching picture of Christ in all his human frailty as he begins the road to his Passion.

Bosch’s interpretation of the Passion scenes must have appealed to his contemporaries, for he reworked the London composition (Mocking of Christ) into a second version of the subject. Although the original painting is lost, it survives in no less than seven copies, a testimony to its popularity. This second composition, in turn, seems to have inspired the large, imposing Christ Crowned with Thorns in the Escorial, in which the figures have been adjusted to a circular field and placed against a gold ground.

Christ sits on a ledge in the immediate foreground, and, as before, his eyes engage the viewer. This time, however, his furrowed brow clearly expresses his suffering, and the static gestures of his captors in the earlier versions have been transformed into violent actions. A snarling rat-faced man rips off Christ’s robe with a mailed fist; his smirking companion has placed one foot on the ledge in order to push the crown of thorns more tightly on his head, while a third man watches intently from behind the other two. In contrast, the two spectators on the left look on with cool detachment. This torment of Christ is given cosmic meaning in the grisaille border, where angels and devils are locked in unending conflict.

Bosch painted a group of half-length Passion scenes. The earliest example most probably is the Christ Crowned with Thorns in London. The large, firmly modelled figures are composed against the plain, grey-blue background with the utmost simplicity, the white-robed Christ surrounded by his four tormentors. One soldier holds a crown of thorns above his head, another tugs at his robe, and a third touches his hand with a mocking gesture. Their actions, however, seem curiously ineffectual and Christ ignores his persecutors to look calmly, even gently, at the spectator.

The half-length format and the tendency to crowd the figures against the picture plane with little indication of space, are characteristics which reflect a Flemish devotional type popularized by Hugo van der Goes and Hans Memling. Like its Flemish models, the London Christ Crowned with Thorns presents the sacred scene not in its historical actuality but in its timeless aspect.

Hieronymus Bosch lived and worked at ’s-Hertogenbosch where he was born into a family of artists coming originally from Aachen. He was introduced into high society, where he received commissions from prestigious persons. He is known for his works peopled with demonic beings, revealing an exceptional independence from the pictorial tradition of his time. However,the Crucifixion with a Donor, which is attributed to him, is perfectly in line with the iconographic tradition of the 15th century.

The composition shows a sort of hierarchical intercession procedure. The kneeling donor is praying for his salvation. He is accompanied by his patron, St Peter, identified by the key in his hand. Turning towards St John the Evangelist, St Peter presents his prot�g�. St John then looks towards the Virgin, asking her to intercede with her Son, which she does by praying. Christ figures on the cross as a sign of redemption, his sacrifice having made possible the salvation of the human race. The scene is portrayed in the place reserved for the torture of condemned criminals, on the edge of a Brabant city which is visible in the distance. Midway, a broken gibbet lies on the ground, surrounded by scattered bones and crows. Some figures are walking along the paths leading towards a mill to the left and a castle to the right.

The donor’s identity is not known. Only his first name, Peter, is indicated by the presence of his patron saint. He is dressed in a white shirt and a brown pourpoint. Over this he wears a black cape and a hat on his head. His legs are dressed in striped black and red breeches and stockings decorated with the same motif. A sword shows out from under the cape. This costume, which was worn in the Low Countries during the last 20 years of the 15th century, could indicate that the donor was in a lord’s service.

We do not know whether this panel originally had wings. No other crucifixion by Hieronymus Bosch is known, although the theme returns as a secondary motif in others of his paintings. It is also one of the master’s few works containing a donor portrait. The style displays a striking balance and serenity. The flesh colours of Christ’s body are softened and the draperies sober. The countryside shows a very gentle gradation of greens, producing a successful effect of depth.

Suggested listening (streaming mp3, 22 minutes):

Heinrich Sch�tz: Die sieben Worte am Kreuz SWV 478

That man persists in his folly even at the moment of death, when the eternities of Heaven and Hell hang in the balance, is the subject of the Death and the Miser. The dying man lies in a high, narrow bedchamber, into which Death has already entered at the left. His guardian angel supports him and attempts to draw his attention to the crucifix in the window above, but he is still distracted by the earthly possessions he must leave behind; one hand reaches out almost automatically to clutch the bag of gold offered by a demon through the curtain. Another demon, delicately winged, leans on the ledge in the foreground, where the rich robes and knightly equipment probably allude to the worldly rank and power which the miser must also abandon.

The battle of angels and devils for the soul of the dying man occurs also in the Prado “Tabletop” (where the traditional figure of Death armed with an arrow likewise appears), and both scenes reflect a popular fifteenth-century devotional work, the Ars Moriendi or Craft of Dying, which was printed many times in Germany and the Netherlands. This curious little handbook describes how the dying man is exposed to a series of temptations by the demons clustered around his bed and how, each time, an angel consoles him and strengthens him in his final agony. In this book, the angel is ultimately successful and the soul is carried victoriously to Heaven as the devils howl in despair below. In Bosch’s painting, however, the issue of the struggle is far from certain. An opened money chest can be seen at the foot of the bed, where an elderly man, perhaps the miser shown a second time, places a gold piece into a bag held by a demon. He seems little concerned with the rosary hanging from his waist.

This is a study for the panel painting in the National Gallery of Art in Washington.

Among the works generally ascribed to Bosch’s first period of activity (c. 1470-85) may be included several small biblical scenes: the Epiphany (Adoration of the Magi) in Philadelphia, the Ecce Homo in Frankfurt (with a related version in Boston, Museum of Fine Arts) and an altar wing in Vienna, the Christ Carrying the Cross. Their early date is suggested by their relatively simple compositions and their adherence to traditional compositional types.

In the Ecce Homo, crowned with thorns and his flesh beaten raw by the scourge, Christ stands with Pilate and his companions before the angry mob. The dialogue between Pilate and the crowd is indicated by the Gothic inscriptions. From the mouth of Pilate issue the words Ecce Homo (Behold the Man). There is no need to decipher the inscription Crufige Eum (Crucify Him), the cry which rises from the people below; their animosity is unmistakably conveyed by their facial expressions and threatening gestures. The third inscription Salve nos Christe redemptor (Save us, Christ Redeemer) once emerged from two donors at lower left, but their figures have been painted over. The heathen character of the men surrounding Christ is suggested by their strange dress and headgear, including pseudo-oriental turbans. The scene’s essential wickedness is further indicated by such traditional emblems of evil as the owl in the niche above Pilate and the giant toad sprawled on the back of a shield carried by one of the soldiers. In the background appears a city square, the Turkish crescent fluttering from one of its towers. The enemies of Christ have been identified with the power of Islam which in Bosch’s day, and long afterwards, controlled the most holy places of Christendom. The buildings, however, are late Gothic; only the oddly bulging tower in the distance evokes a feeling of far-off places.

The Dutch character of this early work is unmistakable. The homely faces and animated gestures of Christ’s tormentors recall Passion scenes in Dutch manuscripts of the second and third quarters of the fifteenth century, where we encounter similar physical types, slight in proportion, flatly modelled and often unsubstantial beneath their heavy robes.

Among the works generally ascribed to Bosch’s first period of activity (c. 1470-85) may be included several small biblical scenes: the Epiphany (Adoration of the Magi) in Philadelphia, the Ecce Homo in Frankfurt (with a related version in Boston, Museum of Fine Arts) and an altar wing in Vienna, the Christ Carrying the Cross. Their early date is suggested by their relatively simple compositions and their adherence to traditional compositional types.

This early style is especially well exemplified in the charming Epiphany« in Philadelphia. The dignified comportment of the Kings is set off by the impulsive gesture of the Christ Child, while the aged Joseph stands discreetly to one side, removing his hood as if abashed by the presence of the splendidly dressed strangers. From behind the shed two shepherds look on with shy curiosity. At this early date, Bosch’s grasp of perspective was apparently none too firm; particularly ambiguous is the spatial relationship of the stable to the figures in the foreground, although the crumbling walls and thatched roof have been painted with a loving attention to detail. In the distance at the upper right can be seen a pasture filled with grazing cattle and the shimmering towers of a city.

The Dutch character of this early work is unmistakable. The Epiphany represents a reworking of a composition which had long been used by the Dutch manuscript illuminators.

This drawing is a study for an early painting.

In the final panel, Purgatory, a craggy mountain belches forth flames against a fiery sky, while the souls struggle helplessly in the water below. Not all the torments are physical: oblivious to the bat-winged devil tugging at him, one soul sits on the shore in a pensive attitude, seemingly overwhelmed by remorse. Hell, no less than Heaven, has been interpreted in the spiritual sense of the mystics.

The marked contrasts between light and shade, with sudden flashes in the sky at the top of the painting, heighten the dense and dismal atmosphere of hell, which contrasts with the serene light and colour in the two panels of paradise.

The ascent of the blessed into Heaven is balanced in the third panel by the descent of the damned into the pit of Hell. The damned hurtle past in the darkness, seized upon by devils and scorched by Hellfire spitting through fissures in the rocks.

The Hermit Saints Triptych was painted towards the middle of Bosch’s career. It is perhaps the most important results of Bosch’s stay in Venice. Here he enlarged the view of the landscape and sought to capture atmospheric effects. The painting is full of those bizarre and disquieting apparitions that are a distinctive feature of his works.

In the centre St Jerome fastens his gaze on a crucifix, secure against the evil world symbolized by the remains of a pagan temple scattered around him on the ground and by two monstrous animals engaged in a death struggle below. On the left, St Anthony the Hermit resists the amorous advances of the Devil-Queen. Snugly ensconced in a cave chapel on the right wing, St Giles prays before an altar, the arrow piercing his breast commemorating the time when he was shot accidentally by a passing hunter. All three saints reflect the monastic ideal: a life spent in mortification of the flesh and in continuous prayer and meditation.

In the central panel of the triptych St Jerome fastens his gaze on a crucifix, secure against the evil world symbolized by the remains of a pagan temple scattered around him on the ground and by two monstrous animals engaged in a death struggle below.

In the left panel of the triptych, St Anthony is in a nocturnal landscape lit by fires and Satan-inspired visions.

In the right panel of the triptych, St Giles is praying in his cave with his symbol, the doe.

The triptych of the Last Judgment is a fascinating work of art which comes surprisingly close to the unmistakable style of the strange moralist from ’s-Hertogenbosch. The emphasis in the development of the theme is on the all-besetting evil and perennial human stupidity that render the world a hell even before the day of divine jjudgment. The extraordinary combination of motifs is often derived from vernacular symbolism and imagery: The inventive use of colours and the sharp, supple brushwork have persuaded many critics that Bosch himself was the author of this painting. In spite of the work’s pictorial qualities, several factors seem to undermine this attribution. Nevertheless, the triptych remains an important example of Boschian invention. It dates from the early sixteenth century.

At the time of his death, Bosch was internationally celebrated as an eccentric painter of religious visions who dealt in particular with the torments of hell. During his lifetime Bosch’s works were in the inventories of noble families of the Netherlands, Austria, and Spain, and they were imitated in a number of paintings and prints throughout the 16th century, especially in the works of Pieter Bruegel the Elder.

Suggested listening (streaming mp3, 8 minutes):

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Requiem K 626: Dies irae

There exists two fragments of a lost Last Judgment triptych, attributed to Bosch. The central panel of the triptych represented the Last Judgment while the left and right tables showed scenes of the Paradise and Hell, respectively. A copy of the triptych, attributed to Herri Met de Bles is known.

The fragment of the Hell panel represents the Death of the Reprobate.

There exists two fragments of a lost Last Judgment triptych, attributed to Bosch. The central panel of the triptych represented the Last Judgment while the left and right tables showed scenes of the Paradise and Hell, respectively. A copy of the triptych, attributed to Herri Met de Bles is known.

The fragment of the Paradise panel represents the Salvation of the Blessed.

This is a damaged fragment which was later heavily repainted. The repaint was removed in 1936.

The central panel of the triptych represents the Last Judgment and the Seven Deadly Sins. The interior view of the left wing depicts the Fall of the Rebel Angels, Creation of Eve, Fall of Man and Expulsion, while the interior view of the right wing shows Hell and the Prince of Darkness.

The inclusion of the Fall of Adam and Eve in a representation of the Last Judgment is unusual; the other two panels of the Vienna triptych depart even more from traditional iconography. Generally Heaven was allotted the chief role in the eschatological drama. As in the altarpiece by Roger van der Weyden, it is the act of judgment which is stressed; the judged are relegated to positions of secondary importance, and the felicity of the saved is described as fully as the pains of the lost. In Bosch’s version, however, the divine court appears small and insignificant at the top of the central panel, and very few souls are numbered among the elect. The majority of mankind has been engulfed in the universal cataclysm which rages throughout the deep, murky landscape below.

This vast panoramic nightmare represents the earth in her final death throes, destroyed not by water as D�rer and Leonardo were to envision it, but by the fire foretold in a thirteenth-century hymn, the sombre Dies Irae: “Day of Wrath, that day when the world dissolves in glowing ashes”. Bosch was probably also influenced by the account of the last days given in the Revelation of St John, a book which enjoyed renewed popularity in the late fifteenth century, when it was illustrated by D�rer in his famous Apocalypse woodcuts of 1497-98. The wide valley dominating the central panel may represent the Valley of Jehoshaphat, which, on the basis of several Old Testament references (Joel 4:2,12), was traditionally thought to be the site of the Last Judgment, with the walls of the earthly Jerusalem blazing in the background. In any event, earth has become indistinguishable from Hell, depicted on the right wing, out of which the army of Satan swarms to attack the damned; the eternity of torment has begun.

The Hell scene in the Prado Tabletop had paired off each punishment with one of the Deadly Sins. In the Last Judgment it would be difficult to identify the punishments with specific sins. The avaricious are boiled in the great cauldron just visible beneath one of the buildings in the central panel. Around the corner, a fat glutton is forced to drink from a barrel held by two devils; the source of his dubious refreshment can be seen squatting in the window overhead. The lascivious woman on the roof above suffers the attentions of a lizard-like monster slithering across her loins, while being serenaded by two musical demons. On the cliffs to the right, across the river, blacksmith-devils hammer other victims on anvils, and one is being shod like a horse; these unfortunate souls are guilty of the sin of anger.

This vast panoramic nightmare represents the earth in her final death throes, destroyed not by water as D�rer and Leonardo were to envision it, but by the fire foretold in a thirteenth-century hymn, the sombre Dies Irae: “Day of Wrath, that day when the world dissolves in glowing ashes”. Bosch was probably also influenced by the account of the last days given in the Revelation of St John, a book which enjoyed renewed popularity in the late fifteenth century, when it was illustrated by D�rer in his famous Apocalypse woodcuts of 1497-98. The wide valley dominating the central panel may represent the Valley of Jehoshaphat, which, on the basis of several Old Testament references (Joel 4:2,12), was traditionally thought to be the site of the Last Judgment, with the walls of the earthly Jerusalem blazing in the background. In any event, earth has become indistinguishable from Hell, depicted on the right wing, out of which the army of Satan swarms to attack the damned; the eternity of torment has begun.

The Hell scene in the Prado Tabletop had paired off each punishment with one of the Deadly Sins. In the Last Judgment it would be difficult to identify the punishments with specific sins. The avaricious are boiled in the great cauldron just visible beneath one of the buildings in the central panel. Around the corner, a fat glutton is forced to drink from a barrel held by two devils; the source of his dubious refreshment can be seen squatting in the window overhead. The lascivious woman on the roof above suffers the attentions of a lizard-like monster slithering across her loins, while being serenaded by two musical demons. On the cliffs to the right, across the river, blacksmith-devils hammer other victims on anvils, and one is being shod like a horse; these unfortunate souls are guilty of the sin of anger.

This vast panoramic nightmare represents the earth in her final death throes, destroyed not by water as D�rer and Leonardo were to envision it, but by the fire foretold in a thirteenth-century hymn, the sombre Dies Irae: “Day of Wrath, that day when the world dissolves in glowing ashes”. Bosch was probably also influenced by the account of the last days given in the Revelation of St John, a book which enjoyed renewed popularity in the late fifteenth century, when it was illustrated by D�rer in his famous Apocalypse woodcuts of 1497-98. The wide valley dominating the central panel may represent the Valley of Jehoshaphat, which, on the basis of several Old Testament references (Joel 4:2,12), was traditionally thought to be the site of the Last Judgment, with the walls of the earthly Jerusalem blazing in the background. In any event, earth has become indistinguishable from Hell, depicted on the right wing, out of which the army of Satan swarms to attack the damned; the eternity of torment has begun.

The detail from the central panel depicts the sin of Gluttony and its punishment. Around the corner, a fat glutton is forced to drink from a barrel held by two devils; the source of his dubious refreshment can be seen squatting in the window overhead.

The detail from the central panel depicts the sin of Avarice and its punishment. The avaricious are boiled in the great cauldron just visible beneath one of the buildings in the central panel. The cauldron is filled with the molten metal of their money assets.

This detail from the left outer wing of the triptych shows the landscape in which St James is wandering through, dressed as a pilgrim with a staff, and hat. In this landscape background people are inflicting cruel and malicious deeds on each other.

The reverse sides of the wings, painted in grisaille (seen when the triptych is closed) depict St James the Greater on Pilgrimage and St Bavo Giving Alms to the Poor and Sick.

The left outer wing of the triptych represents St James the Greater on Pilgrimage.

The largest of Bosch’s surviving works, the Last Judgment, was executed probably during his middle period. It is prefaced on the outer wings by the figures of St James the Greater and St Bavo, painted in grisaille (left and right).

Despite the gloomy and threatening landscape through which St James moves, neither this panel nor its companion prepares us for the apocalyptic scenes which unfold within. Here, across the three inner panels, appear the First and Last Things, beginning with the Fall of Man on the left wing.

The left wing of the triptych represents the Paradise.

Here, across the three inner panels, appear the First and Last Things, beginning with the Fall of Man on the left wing.

The story recounted in the second and third chapters of Genesis has been placed in a lush garden; in the foreground we see the creation of Eve, followed by the temptation of the First Couple. In the middle distance they are driven from the garden by an angel. The expulsion of Adam and Eve from Eden is paralleled above by the expulsion from Heaven of the Rebel Angels, who are transformed into monsters as they descend to earth. Although the revolt of proud Lucifer and his followers is not mentioned in Genesis, it appears in Jewish legends and entered Christian doctrine at an early age. These were the angels who sinned and whose prince, envying Adam, caused him to sin in turn. It was further believed that Adam and Eve had been created by God in order that their offspring might fill the places left vacant by the fallen angels. In this panel, Bosch thus depicted the entrance of sin into the world and accounted for the necessity of the Last Judgment.

The inclusion of the Fall of Adam and Eve in a representation of the Last Judgment is unusual; the other two panels of the Vienna triptych depart even more from traditional iconography.

The right outer wing of the triptych represents St Bavo Giving Alms to the Poor and Sick.

The largest of Bosch’s surviving works, the Last Judgment, was executed probably during his middle period. It is prefaced on the outer wings by the figures of St James the Greater and St Bavo, painted in grisaille (left and right).

St Bavo was a local saint from the town of Ghent. He devoted himself to a Christian life in humility and distributed his inherited wealth as alms amongst the poor and sick. As a young aristocrat, he is shown in front of a view through to a Netherlandish street as he rummages his purse for coins to give to a leper while at the same time an old woman with her children begs for a charitable gift.

The right wing of the triptych represents the Hell.

Bosch must have been familiar with contemporary texts describing Hell. Their influence can be seen not only in his rendering of specific punishments, but also in the general topography of his Hell, including such features as the burning pits and furnaces, and the lakes and rivers in which the damned are immersed. Some of his monsters are also derived from traditional literary and visual sources. The vaguely anthropomorphic devils occur in many earlier Last Judgment scenes. Traditional, too, are the toads, adders and dragons which crawl over the rocks or gnaw at the vital parts of their victims.

Into this more or less conventional fauna of Hell, however, Bosch introduced new and more frightening species whose complex forms defy precise description. Many display bizarre fusions of animal and human elements, sometimes combined with inanimate objects. To this group belongs the bird-like monster who helps carry a giant knife in the centre panel; his torso develops into a fish tail and two humanoid legs, shod in a pair of jars. To the right an upturned basket darts forward on legs, a sword clutched in its mailed fist. Disembodied heads scuttle about on stubby limbs; others possess bodies and limbs which glow in the darkness. Several fiends blow musical instruments thrust into their hind quarters, bringing to mind the farting devil encountered by Dante (Inferno, XXI, 139).

There are two panels in Rotterdam thought to have belonged to a triptych the central panel of which is lost. The panel are painted both sides, the obverse sides representing the Fall of the Rebel Angels and Noah’s Ark on Mount Ararat, respectively, while on the reverse sides two tondos each representing scenes of Mankind Beset by Devils.

Suggested listening (streaming mp3, 13 minutes):

Luigi Boccherini: Symphony in D minor (The House of the Devil

There are two panels in Rotterdam thought to have belonged to a triptych the central panel of which is lost. The panel are painted both sides, the obverse sides representing the Fall of the Rebel Angels and Noah’s Ark on Mount Ararat, respectively, while on the reverse sides two tondos each representing scenes of Mankind Beset by Devils.

Suggested listening (streaming mp3, 13 minutes):

Luigi Boccherini: Symphony in D minor (The House of the Devil

The Marriage Feast at Cana was painted towards the end of Bosch’s early period. The picture is not in good condition; the upper corners have been cut off, many heads have been repainted, and a pair of dogs at the lower left may have been added as late as the eighteenth century.

The marriage banquet has been placed in a richly furnished interior, most probably a tavern. The miracle of the wine jars takes place at lower right; the guests are seated around an L-shaped table dominated at one end by the figure of Christ, behind whom hangs the brocaded cloth of honour usually reserved for the bride; he is flanked by two male donors in contemporary dress. Next to the Virgin at the centre of the table appear the solemn, austerely clad bridal couple; the bridegroom must be John the Evangelist, for his face closely resembles the type which Bosch employed elsewhere for this saint. Although the bridegroom remains nameless in the New Testament account, he was frequently identified as Christ’s most beloved disciple.

Christ and his friends are pensively absorbed in some inner vision, unaware of the evil enchantment which seems to have fallen upon the banquet hall. The other wedding guests drink or gossip, watched by the bagpiper who leers drunkenly from a platform at the upper left. On the columns flanking the rear portal, two sculptured demons have mysteriously come to life; one aims an arrow at the other who escapes by disappearing through a hole in the wall. From the left, two servants carry in a boar’s head and a swan spitting fire from their mouths; an ancient emblem of Venus, the swan symbolized unchastity. This unholy revelry seems to be directed by the innkeeper or steward who stands with his baton in the rear chamber. On the sideboard next to him are displayed curiously formed vessels, some of which, like the pelican, are symbolic of Christ, while others possess less respectable connotations, such as the three naked dancers on the second shelf.

The precise meaning of all these details remains unclear, as does that of the richly gowned child, his back turned to the viewer, who seems to toast the bridal couple with a chalice. However this may be, Bosch has undoubtedly employed the tavern setting as an image of evil, a comparison popular in medieval sermons, thereby contrasting the chaste marriage feast at Cana with the debauchery of the world.

In its transformation of a biblical story, the Marriage Feast of Cana introduces us for the first time to the complexity of Bosch’s thought. It presents, on the one hand, a moral allegory of man’s pursuit of the flesh at the expense of his spiritual welfare, and on the other, the monastic ideal of a life secure from the world in contemplation of God. These two themes were to dominate almost all Bosch’s later art.

There are two panels in Rotterdam thought to have belonged to a triptych the central panel of which is lost. The panel are painted both sides, the obverse sides representing the Fall of the Rebel Angels and Noah’s Ark on Mount Ararat, respectively, while on the reverse sides two tondos each representing scenes of Mankind Beset by Devils.

The two panels once were the left and right wings of a triptych.

The greatest Netherlandish artist of the period is not found among the adherents of the New Style but among those who, like Grunewald in Germany, refused to be drawn into the modern movement from the South. In the Dutch town of ’s-Hertogenbosch there lived such a painter, who was called Hieronymous Bosch. Very little is known about him. We do not know how old he was when he died in 1516, but he must have been active for a considerable time since he became an independent master in 1486. Like Grunewald, Bosch showed that the traditions and achievements of painting which had been developed to represent reality most convincingly could be turned round, as it were, to give us an equally plausible picture of things no human eye had seen. He became famous for his terrifying representations of the powers of evil. Perhaps it is no accident that the gloomy King Philip II of Spain, later in the century, had a special predilection for this artist, who was so much concerned with man’s wickedness. These two pictures show two wings from one of Bosch’s triptychs Philip bought and which is therefore still in Spain.

On the left we watch evil invading the world. The creation of Eve is followed by the temptation of Adam and both are driven out of Paradise, while high above in the sky we see the fall of the rebellious angels, who are hurled from heaven as a swarm of repulsive insects. On the other wing we are shown a vision of hell. There we see horror piled upon horror, fires and torments and all manner of fearful demons, half animal, half human or half machine, who plague and punish the poor sinful souls for all eternity. For the first and perhaps for the only time, an artist had succeeded in giving concrete and tangible shape to the fears that had haunted the minds of man in the Middle Ages. It was an achievement which was perhaps only possible at this very moment, when the old ideas were still vigorous and yet the modern spirit had provided the artist with methods of representing what he saw. Perhaps Hieronymus Bosch could have written on one of his paintings of hell what Jan van Eyck wrote on his peaceful scene of the Arnolfinis’ betrothal: ‘I was there’.

The actual entry of the saved into Heaven is depicted on a separate panel presenting a vision of celestial joy. Shedding the last vestige of their corporeality, the blessed souls float upwards through the night, scarcely supported by their angelic guides. They gaze with ecstatic yearning towards the great light which bursts through the darkness overhead. This funnel-shaped radiance, with its distinct segments, probably owes much to contemporary zodiacal diagrams, but in Bosch’s hands it has become a shining corridor through which the blessed approach that final and perpetual union of the soul with God which is experienced on earth only in rare moments of spiritual exaltation.

It has been assumed that the Paradise and Hell panels, inspired by a panel of Dirk Bouts, once formed the wings of a Last Judgment altarpiece; more probably, however, they were originally intended as independent works illustrating the rewards and pains of the Particular Judgment. The pictures have been disfigured by heavy overpainting and darkened varnish, and critics are not unanimous in attributing them to Bosch; nevertheless, it would be difficult to ascribe their compositions to anyone else. In the Paradise pair, the left-hand panel depicts the elect shepherded by angels into a rolling landscape from which rises the Fountain of Life; this is the Terrestrial Paradise, a sort of intermediate stage where the saved were cleansed of the last stain of sin before being admitted into the presence of God. Already one group of souls looks expectantly upwards.

The right wing of the of the Adoration of the Magi Triptych represents St Agnes with Agnes Bosshuyse, the wife of the Donor. In the background a wolf and a bear attack the wanders, a scene symbolizing the dangers from which the Saint saves the people.

The picture shows a detail of the right panel of the Triptych of the Adoration of the Magi.

In the background wolves attack a man and a woman on a desolate road.

In this painting St Christopher appears in a landscape charged with evil. His red cloak bunched up behind him, the giant Christopher staggers across the river, with the Christ Child on his back. According to legend, Christopher had served a king and the Devil himself in a search for a powerful and worthy master, a search which ended only when a hermit converted him to Christianity. The hermit stands at the edge of the water at lower right, but his treehouse has been transformed into a broken jug which houses a devilish tavern; above, a naked figure scrambles up a branch towards a beehive, a symbol of drunkenness. Across the river, a dragon emerges from a ruin, frightening a swimmer, while a town blazes in the shadowy distance. These and other sinister details recall the landscape on the exterior of the Haywain triptych, but unlike the Haywain pilgrim, Christopher is well protected by the passenger he bears.

The painting illustrates the contrast between good and evil and between the spirit and the flesh - the principle on which medieval morality was founded. Bosch’s painting contrasts Jerome’s tribulations in the foreground with a serene landscape that flows away into the background and which is handled with great naturalism. The saint has prostrated himself before a crucifix and finds himself in a strange and poetic setting, full of symbols and attributes. The rocks and tree-trunks are threatening and seem to have come to life, yet, even here, the overall impression is of great realism and lively detail.

In this picture Bosch shows St John the Baptist seated in a humid summer landscape. The composition may well have been influenced by a painting done some years earlier by Geertgen tot Sint Jans. Geertgen represented the thoughtful prophet staring abstractedly into space, rubbing one foot against the other, but Bosch shows him pointing purposefully towards the Lamb of God crouching at lower right. This gesture traditionally identifies John as the forerunner of Christ, the ‘precursor Christi’. In this instance however, it also indicates a spiritual alternative to the life of the flesh symbolized in the great pulpy fruits hanging near him on gracefully curving stems, and in the equally ominous forms rising in the background.

St John the Evangelist sits on a hill in the foreground of the painting. He holds an open book in his left hand and a writing quill in his right hand. From the hill the view extends across a river landscape reminiscent of the Lower Rhine, but meant to be the island of Patmos, where John received the Revelation of the Apocalypse. An angel points towards the sky, where the Woman of the Apocalypse has appeared. Since the Middle Ages this heavenly vision has been identified with the Madonna. The bird at the bottom left is a falcon - a reference to the symbolic animal of the Evangelist, the eagle. The bird guards its master’s writing tools, which a demon is trying to steal. Demons also throng the dark reverse of the panel.

Perhaps influenced by earlier representations of this subject, Bosch for once restrained his predilection for demonic spectacles. There are, to be sure, several ships burning in the water at lower left, and a little monster can be seen at lower right, both details probably suggested by St John’s Apocalypse, but neither seriously disturbs the idyllic landscape in which the saint enjoys his vision.

The reverse side of the St John the Evangelist on Patmos panel depicts Scenes from the Passion of Christ and the Pelican with Her Young.

The evil suppressed on the obverse bursts out on the reverse of the panel, painted in grisaille, where monsters swarm like luminous deep-sea fish around a great double circle. Bosch employs the mirror motif, showing a mirror of salvation: the Passion of Christ unfolds within the outer circle, culminating visually in the Crucifixion at the top. The Mount of Golgotha is repeated symbolically in the inner circle, in the form of a high rock surmounted by a pelican in her nest. The pelican, who supposedly fed her young with blood pricked from her own breast, was a traditional symbol of Christ’s sacrifice. She appears very appropriately on the back of this picture devoted to St John, the beloved disciple who had rested his head, as Dante tells us (Paradiso, XXV), on the breast of the Divine Pelican himself.

The picture shows a detail of the left panel of the Triptych of the Adoration of the Magi.

Joseph sits hunched over a fire. The crumbling walls around him are the remains of King David’s palace, near which the Nativity was popularly supposed to have occurred.

The left wing of the of the Adoration of the Magi Triptych represents Pieter Bronckhorst, the donor of the altarpiece. He can be identified from the family coat-of-arms behind St Peter.

The majestic landscape unfolds in the background of all three panels. Demons haunt the ruined portal in the left wing, where Joseph sits hunched over a fire. The crumbling walls around him are the remains of King David’s palace, near which the Nativity was popularly supposed to have occurred; like the stable, it represents the Synagogue, the Old Law collapsing at the advent of the New. In the field beyond, peasants dance to the sound of bagpipes, a familiar symbol of the carnal life.

St Anthony is a recurrent figure in Bosch’s work. This drawing in the Louvre represents studies to the Temptation of St Anthony. The figure of the Hermit Saint appears several times on the drawing.

In a group of drawings attributed to Bosch with reasonable certainty, monsters proliferate in a multitude of shapes, no two exactly alike. Legs sprout from grotesquely grinning heads, obscene bladder-like forms develop snouts and legs; some creatures are all head or rump. This taste for monsters Bosch shared with his age, which was fascinated by the grotesque and the unnatural.

In a group of drawings attributed to Bosch with reasonable certainty, monsters proliferate in a multitude of shapes, no two exactly alike. Legs sprout from grotesquely grinning heads, obscene bladder-like forms develop snouts and legs; some creatures are all head or rump. This taste for monsters Bosch shared with his age, which was fascinated by the grotesque and the unnatural.

In a group of drawings attributed to Bosch with reasonable certainty, monsters proliferate in a multitude of shapes, no two exactly alike. Legs sprout from grotesquely grinning heads, obscene bladder-like forms develop snouts and legs; some creatures are all head or rump. This taste for monsters Bosch shared with his age, which was fascinated by the grotesque and the unnatural.

In a group of drawings attributed to Bosch with reasonable certainty, monsters proliferate in a multitude of shapes, no two exactly alike. Legs sprout from grotesquely grinning heads, obscene bladder-like forms develop snouts and legs; some creatures are all head or rump. This taste for monsters Bosch shared with his age, which was fascinated by the grotesque and the unnatural.

In the midst of a luxuriant summer landscape, a surgeon removes an object from the head of a man tied to a chair; a monk and a nun look on. This little picture may not be entirely by Bosch; the awkward and inexpressive figures are perhaps by an inferior hand, but only Bosch could have been responsible for the landscape background whose delicately painted forms recall the vista in his early Epiphany. The open-air operation, its circular shape suggesting a mirror, is set within a framework of elaborate calligraphical decoration containing the inscription: “Master, cut the stone out, my name is Lubbert Das.”

In Bosch’s day, the stone operation was a piece of quackery in which the patient was supposedly cured of his stupidity through the removal of the stone of folly from his forehead. Fortunately, it was performed only in fiction, not in fact, for in literary examples of this theme it generally left the patient worse off than before. The name “Lubbert”, on the other hand, frequently appears in Dutch literature to designate persons exhibiting an unusually high degree of human stupidity. The stone operation was occasionally represented by later Netherlandish artists, including Pieter Bruegel the Elder. This subject undoubtedly inspired Bosch’s picture, but no extant version of it accounts for the funnel and the book perched on the heads of two of the characters, nor does it explain the presence of the monk and the nun, although their apparent acquiescence in the quackery certainly places them in an unfavourable light. It will be noted, too, that what the surgeon extracts from Lubbert’s head is not a stone, but a flower; another flower of the same species lies on the table at the right. The flowers has identified as tulips and their presence is explained as a play on the Dutch word for tulip which in the sixteenth century also carried the connotation of stupidity and folly.

Suggested listening (streaming mp3, 9 minutes):

Vivaldi: Sonata in D minor RV 62 op. 1 No. 12 (La Follia)

There are two panels in Rotterdam thought to have belonged to a triptych the central panel of which is lost. The panel are painted both sides, the obverse sides representing the Fall of the Rebel Angels and Noah’s Ark on Mount Ararat, respectively, while on the reverse sides two tondos each representing scenes of Mankind Beset by Devils.

The Magician belonging to Bosch’s early paintings is now lost but it is known through a faithful copy at Saint-Germain-en-Laye. A mountebank has set up his table before a crumbling stone wall. His audience watches spellbound as he seems to bring forth a frog from the mouth of an old man in their midst; only one of the crowd, the young man with his hand on the shoulder of his female companion, appears to notice that the old man’s purse is being stolen by the conjuror’s confederate. The myopic gaze of the thief and the stupid amazement of the frog-spitting victim are superbly played off against the amused reactions of the bystanders, while the slyness of the mountebank is well conveyed in his sharp-nosed physiognomy. Bosch exploits the human face in profile for expressive purposes. Although the painting may possess a moralizing significance, it must have been inspired by a real-life situation closely observed. The perceptive, spontaneous humour of this little picture would be difficult to match in contemporary Flemish painting, but parallels can be found among Dutch manuscript illuminators.

This is one of Bosch’s earliest known works and reflects the style and preoccupation which would later come to be considered characteristic of him. It belonged to Philip II King of Spain, who kept it in his apartments at the monastery of the Escorial.

The Seven Deadly Sins is a painted rectangle with a central image of the eye of God with Christ watching the world. The Seven Deadly Sins, depicted through scenes of worldly transgression, are arranged around the circular shape. The circular layout with God in the centre represents God’s all seeing eye: No sin goes unnoticed. In the corners of the image appear the “Four Last Things” (the last four stages of life) mentioned in late medieval spiritual handbooks: Deathbed, Last Judgment, Heaven, and Hell, all of which are favourite themes of separate Bosch panels.

In the centre, fanned out around the figure of Christ, appear seven scenes each illustrating one of the Seven Deadly Sins, bearing the appropriate inscription and composed with the painter’s usual vivacity and sense of the fantastic. (1) Anger presents a scene of jealousy and conflict; (2) in Pride, a demon presents a woman with a mirror; (3) in Lust, two sets of lovers speak within the confines of an open tent, entertained by a buffoon, while on the ground outside lie various musical instruments, including a harp which will reappear in the ‘Garden of Earthly Delights’; (4) Idleness is represented by a woman dressed up for church and trying to wake a man deep in slumber; (5) Gluttony shows a table spread with food and around it figures eating voraciously; (6) Avarice displays a judge allowing himself to be bribed; and (7) Envy depicts the Flemish proverb ‘Two dogs with one bone seldom reach agreement’.

The detail represents the Hell, one of the four tondos.

The detail represents Envy, one of the seven deadly sins. In this scene the husband and wife are compared to the dogs below, who ignore the bones within their reach in favour of another held by the man. Their daughter has a perfectly adequate suitor, to judge by his ample purse; however, the parents look longingly at the stylish gentleman, who has others do his work.

The detail represents Gluttony, one of the seven deadly sins. A father and son satisfy their gluttonous urgings. As they staff themselves, a child defecates in his clothes.

The detail represents Vanity, one of the seven deadly sins. A wealthy woman, surrounded by her abundant material possessions, stares into a mirror as she adjusts her headdress. She fails to recognize that a devil, sporting a similar cloth headpiece, holds her mirror.

In The Ship of Fools “ Bosch is imagining that the whole of mankind is voyaging through the seas of time on a ship, a small ship, that is representative of humanity. Sadly, every one of the representatives is a fool. This is how we live, says Bosch–we eat, dring, flirt, cheat, play silly games, pursue unattainable objectives. Meanwhile our ship drifts aimlessly and we never reach the harbour. The fools are not the irreligious, since promiment among them are a monk and a nun, but they are all those who live ``in stupidity”. Bosch laughs, and it is sad laugh. Which one of us does not sail in the wretched discomfort of the ship of human folly? Eccentric and secret genius that he was, Bosch not only moved the heart but scandalized it into full awareness. The sinister and monstrous things that he brought forth are the hidden creatures of our inward self-love: he externalizes the ugliness within, and so his misshapen demons have an effect beyond curiosity. We feel a hateful kinship with them. “The Ship of Fools” is not about other people, it is about us.

Suggested listening (streaming mp3, 13 minutes):

Arcangelo Corelli: Sonata in D minor (La Follia) op. 5 No. 12

St Anthony is a recurrent figure in Bosch’s work. The small panel in the Prado, showing the saint meditating in a sunny landscape, is also generally attributed to him although many details deviate from his usual style.

In this circular painting Bosch reworked the figure of the wayfarer on the outer wings of the Haywain a decade or so later, this time placing him against one of his most delicately conceived landscapes. The rolling sand dunes at the right and the subdued tonalities of grey und yellow are sensitive transcriptions into paint of the rain-drenched Dutch countryside. The large foreground figure closely recalls the Haywain pilgrim, except that he appears even more haggard and poorly dressed. There are, however, some subtle differences. Except for the snarling dog, with its possible allusion to slander, the dangers of the world are here chiefly spiritual. They are embodied first of all in the tavern at the left, whose ruinous condition echoes the ragged clothes of the wayfarer. The tavern symbolizes the World and the Devil in general, its dubious nature revealed by the man urinating at the right, and by the couple embracing in the doorway. Another inmate of the house peers curiously through one of the dilapidated windows.

The customer for whom the second woman waits may very well be the traveller himself. He has not just emerged from the tavern, but has passed it in his journey and his path leads towards a gate and the tranquil Dutch countryside beyond. Now he halts on the road, as if allured by its promise of pleasure. Whether the pilgrim will turn away from the tavern to pass through the gate is as doubtful.

Some scholars assume that the picture represents an episode from the parable of the Prodigal Son.

In this circular painting Bosch reworked the figure of the wayfarer on the outer wings of the Haywain a decade or so later, this time placing him against one of his most delicately conceived landscapes. The rolling sand dunes at the right and the subdued tonalities of grey und yellow are sensitive transcriptions into paint of the rain-drenched Dutch countryside. The large foreground figure closely recalls the Haywain pilgrim, except that he appears even more haggard and poorly dressed. There are, however, some subtle differences. Except for the snarling dog, with its possible allusion to slander, the dangers of the world are here chiefly spiritual. They are embodied first of all in the tavern at the left, whose ruinous condition echoes the ragged clothes of the wayfarer. The tavern symbolizes the World and the Devil in general, its dubious nature revealed by the man urinating at the right, and by the couple embracing in the doorway. Another inmate of the house peers curiously through one of the dilapidated windows.

The customer for whom the second woman waits may very well be the traveller himself. He has not just emerged from the tavern, but has passed it in his journey and his path leads towards a gate and the tranquil Dutch countryside beyond. Now he halts on the road, as if allured by its promise of pleasure. Whether the pilgrim will turn away from the tavern to pass through the gate is as doubtful.

Some scholars assume that the picture represents an episode from the parable of the Prodigal Son.

The outer wings of the triptych represent the Arrest of Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane (left wing) and Christ Carrying the Cross (right wing).

It is most appropriate, that Anthony’s sufferings are echoed on the exterior of the altarpiece in two grisaille scenes from Christ’s Passion. On the left, soldiers overwhelm Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane as viciously as the devils attack Anthony on the reverse, while Judas hurriedly steals away with his thirty pieces of silver. In the other panel, Christ’s collapse beneath the weight of his Cross has halted the procession to Golgotha, allowing St Veronica to wipe the sweat from the Saviour’s face. The executioners can hardly restrain their impatience at this delay, and the bystanders look on more with idle curiosity than with sympathy Below, the two thieves confess to hooded friars whose disreputable characters have been deftly portrayed.

This Tree-man is similar, though less forcefully conceived, to that depicted in the centre of the Hell panel of the Garden of Earthly Delights triptych.

This painting is one of the most enigmatic pictures ever made, it has captivated and puzzled audiences since its inception. It is a large triptych, yet it was never destined for a religious setting. It is a conversation piece that is it is a picture intended to be closely viewed and its meaning discussed among friends or visitors. It can be read on many levels, from the literal to the allegorical.

The closed position depicts the Earth on the third day of Creation. The muted grey-green of the exterior contrasts vividly with the vibrant colours of the three interior panels. Reading from left to right, the interior begins with paradise. As Christ prepares to wed Adam and Eve, he direct his glance and blessing to the viewer. Bosch’s Garden of Eden is filled with real and fantastic creatures, verdant meadows, anthropomorphic rocks and bizarre hillocks, part pod and part crystal. Above Christ is a fountain of life.

The landscape and perspective schemes of the left and central scenes are identical. The garden is filled with young men and women of many races. There are no children and no older adults. Adam and Eve’s progeny frolic unselfconsciously. Some kiss or engage in more amorous activities, others converse or eat strawberries and various fruits. A cavalcade of male riders encircles a group of bathing women in the middle third of the picture. The lack of a clear focal point or linear narrative makes the central panel the hardest to understand.

By contrast, the right wing is hell, and it finds its counterparts in other Bosch pictures. Divided into three tiers, hell includes a blasted landscape exploding in flames and smoke. A windmill is powered by sails of infernal light.. Great crowds march endlessly. In the middle, some figures skate on thin ice. A bizarre tree-man dominates. His shell-like torso forms a tavern, while couples, each comprised of one human and one demon, dance on his head to a bagpipe’s melody. He looks furtively rather than directly at the viewer. The foreground is cluttered with punishments for the seven deadly sins. The prideful woman will spend eternity staring at her reflection mirrored in the backside of a devil, whose hand-like roots fondle her body. Gluttons are consumed, while a miser excretes gold coins into a cesspool. The hunters are now hunted, as indicated by the rabbit with his quarry, in this world upside down. An amorous sow, wearing the headdress of a Dominican nun, attempts to seduce the man at the lower right into signing the legal document.

At first sight, the central panel confronts us with an idyll unique in Bosch’s work: an extensive park-like landscape teeming with nude men and women who nibble at giant fruits, consort with birds and animals, frolic in the water and, above all, indulge in a variety of amorous sports overtly and without shame. A circle of male riders revolves like a great carousel around a pool of maidens in the centre and several figures soar about in the sky on delicate wings. This triptych is better preserved than most of Bosch’s large altarpieces, and the carefree mood of the central panel is heightened by the clear and even lighting, the absence of shadows, and the bright, high-keyed colours. The pale bodies of the inhabitants, accented by an occasional black-skinned figure, gleam like rare flowers against the grass and foliage. Behind the gaily coloured fountains and pavilions of the background lake, a soft line of hills melts into the distance. The diminutive figures and the large, fanciful vegetable forms seem as harmless as the medieval ornament which undoubtedly inspired them. We might be in the presence of the childhood of the world, when men and beasts dwelt in peace together and the earth yielded her fruit abundantly and without effort.

Nevertheless, this crowd of naked lovers was not intended as an apotheosis of innocent sexuality. The sexual act, which the twentieth century has learned to accept as a normal part of the human condition, was most often seen by the Middle Ages as proof of man’s fall from the state of angels, at best a necessary evil, at worst a deadly sin. That Bosch shared fully in this view is confirmed by the fact that his garden, like the haywain in his other triptych, is situated between Eden and Hell, the origin of sin and its punishment. Hence, just as the Haywain depicts worldly gain or Avarice, so the Garden of Earthly Delights depicts the sensual life, more specifically the deadly sin of Lust.