Klein 2015
Jeroen Bosch – Hemel, hel (Johanna Klein) 2015
[Lecturis, s.l. (Eindhoven), 2015, 240 pages]
Someone writes an ‘academic exposé’ on Bosch that ‘will not be appreciated by the general reader’ and then someone else rewrites that book for the ‘more generally interested lay public’. This has never occurred in the world of Bosch exegesis. Until now: Klein 2015 is a text adapted to the general reader and largely based on the ideas developped in Falkenburg 2011 (see elsewhere in ‘my reviews’). Its primary focus is the Garden of Delights but attention is also spent on Dutch-Burgundian culture circa 1500 (because the triptych is believed to echo this culture in many ways). The first topic is dealt with in 17 chapters. In between these chapters are 15 short entremets dealing with the second topic.
In order to absorb and digest Falkenburg 2011, I needed a whole year. Because of its fluent and pleasant style, Klein 2015 is far more accessible, so the main objective of the writer can be considered successful.
Chapter 1 is about the patron of the Garden of Delights [from now on: Garden]. It is correctly stated that in 1517 the triptych was seen in the Brussels palace of Henry III of Nassau, but the claims that the patron was Henry’s uncle Engelbert II of Nassau and that the triptych was painted in Brussels in 1498, are sheer hypotheses. Chapter 2 introduces the Confraternity of Our Lady, of which Bosch was a respected member. That Bosch’s workshop produced painted canvases and settings for the confraternity’s processions, has not been confirmed by any archival source. Chapter 3 focuses on the Burgundian and Habsburg leaders during Bosch’s life: Philip the Good, Charles the Bold, Mary of Burgundy and Maximilian I, Philip the Fair, Charles V and Margaret of Austria. Count Engelbert II of Nassau and his nephew and heir Henry III of Nassau are also mentioned here. That Mencia de Mendoza, Henry III’s third wife, owned a ‘Haywain’ is correct, but I would like to know which source supports the claim that this painting was lost ‘in a fire’. Chapter 4 deals with the extravagant festive and literary culture of the Burgundian court: if we were able to find out which books were read by Engelbert II (according to Klein the Garden’s patron) and his circle, this would give us an important key to gain access to the Garden’s message. Apparently, one of Engelbert’s favourite books was the Roman de la Rose. Klein agrees with Falkenburg’s statements that the Burgundian court accomodated some sort of literary circle, that the Garden was not meant to be understood by everybody and that the spectacular world of Burgundian culture shows a lot of affinities with the Garden.
Not much is said about the Garden in the first four chapters. This changes from chapter 5 on. The Garden is a triptych but not an altarpiece (mainly because of the numerous nude people in the central panel). The central panel does not represent a holy scene nor a biblical topic (unless of course predeluvian mankind is being represented, but in 2017 this is still a matter of debate). That according to Antonio de Beatis the triptych was placed ‘in front of the hearth in the gallery’ in Henry III’s Brussels palace in 1517, is not correct: here De Beatis’s text is being confused with a later 16th-century source. The exterior panels with God the Father and the quotation from the Psalms are an optimistic introduction to the triptych as a whole, but already we can hear a few false notes: the unnatural shapes at the edge of the flat earth. ‘Facta sunt’ and ‘creata sunt’ from the Biblical quote are erroneously translated as ‘they were made’ and ‘they were created’. Facta and creata are neutral plurals and should be translated as ‘it was made/created’. The left interior panel represents Earthly Paradise, the right interior panel represents Hell. The central panel seems to be a continuation of Eden. Two motifs pervade all panels: weird rocks and fountains (in the right interior panel the central fountain of the left interior and central panels has turned into the Treeman). In chapter 6 the Garden is being compared to the Haywain triptych. Any interpretation of the Garden’s interior panels should begin with motifs ‘that can easily be understood’: the Creation scene and the pink fountain in the left interior panel and the blue fountain in the central panel. Klein copies Falkenburg’s idea that some works of Bosch followers, which seem to summarize the Garden and are more explicit than what Bosch painted, can help our understanding of the triptych.
Chapter 7 explains this. In the wake of Falkenburg, Klein refers to two Eden panels by Bosch followers (Vienna and Chicago) that absorb the Garden’s basic idea in a less sophisticated and therefore more accessible way: in each panel we see a fountain whose surface shows a paradisiacal world but underneath Evil is lurking and sometimes this Evil force can also be seen above the surface. This is also true for the fountain in the Garden’s left interior panel. It seems nice and attractive enough, but it at the same time it is standing on a black rock that looks like the head of a monster with an open mouth and a red carbuncle for an eye, the owl is a decoy bird and the lower part of the fountain has the shape of a grinning monster. This fountain can be associated with the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. The pink fountain is echoed by the blue sphere-fountain in the central panel. Thís fountain has the shape of a globe (usually with a cross on top of it), the figures standing upside down remind us of the ‘topsy-turvy world’ theme. A lot of things in the Garden seem to play this memory game of ‘reminding the viewer of other things’. In the middle of the right interior panel we see, not a fountain, but the Treeman who reminds us of the ‘babewyns’ (figures with only a head and buttocks in the margins of manuscripts). He is looking over his shoulder to his own distorted body that accomodates a brothel. Just as the fountains in the left interior and central panels this Treeman has a hollow hiding a dark motif. According to Klein (and Falkenburg) these are ‘double images’ reminding us of the Mouth of Hell.
In chapter 8 the two fountains and the Treeman are considered Mouths of Hell. Bosch and his followers often place the Mouth of Hell in the normal world thus creating the awkward feeling with the viewer that Hell can be everywhere. Sometimes the Mouth of Hell is hard to recognise in the double images created by Bosch but involving the viewer was one of his main objectives. According to me, Klein and Falkenburg are guilty of some ‘Hineininterpretierung’ here, at least as far as the Garden is concerned. After the two fountains and the Treeman have been introduced as ‘reliable anchors’ of the triptych, chapter 9 introduces the Creation scene in the left interior panel as a scene crucial for the understanding of the triptych as a whole. This scene is given a typological interpretation: Adam’s crossed feet, touching Christ’s feet, anticipate the Death at the Cross (when Christ’s feet are also crossed). Adam’s open eyes point out that here Bosch wanted to refer to Adam’s dream vision (in which he foresaw the Death at the Cross). Eve is interpreted as a typological anticipation of the Church. More than probably, many Bosch experts will find this interpretation of the Creation scene hard to swallow. In chapter 10 the rock-face in the left interior panel is considered the face of Adam after the Fall of Man: the Adam figure to Christ’s right is sleeping with open eyes and experiencing a vision whereas the ‘old’ Adam is sleeping with closed eyes and turning a blind eye on the treacherous ‘fountain of life’ in front of him. Again, many will find this (Falkenburg’s) interpretation hard to accept.
According to chapter 11 the evil force that is present in Eden (left interior panel), is already lurking in the exterior panels. The threatening clouds suggest the separation of light from darkness and in the Middle Ages this was interpreted as the separation of the good from the bad angels. The unnatural, aggressive forms at the earth’s edges point out that Evil is perverting the order, measure and number of God’s creation (in the Augustinian sense). That Evil has already pervaded Eden (left interior panel) is further confirmed by the aggressiveness among the animals and by the ominous mountains at the horizon, which seem to have developped from the unnatural forms at the earth’s edge in the exterior panels. Then it is argued that the Roman de la Rose has been a source of inspiration for the Garden: dreams (deceiving and revealing ones) and mirrors play a part in this (somewhat confusing) argument and lead to the conclusion that the Garden is also a dream vision of volatile character, which can deceive or reveal, depending on the viewer. I am not sure whether it is correct that Engelbert II’s copy of the Roman de la Rose has been lost. Chapter 12 argues that the landscape in the central panel is a continuation of Eden in the left interior panel and that this central panel is a vision dreamt by the ‘old’ Adam (the rock-face): the large birds, situated at the same level of the rock-face in the left interior panel, lead the viewer into the central panel where Adam’s ‘children’, clouded and mentally confused humanity, are/is indulging their/its bestial lusts and urges. The men who are riding animals around a pond with females, look like a parody on knights parading on horseback and remind us not only of morris dances but also of sinful knights riding symbolical animals of lust and sin in encyclopaedic works. The following claims are debatable: that the large owl is being ‘embraced’ by a man, that the goldfinch is offering ‘a branch of grapes’ and that some women are carrying ‘apples’ on their head. The second man in the comb of the hoopoo reminds Klein of ‘a crucified person’, to which I agree, but Klein does not explain the detail. The link between the rock-face and the large birds as suggested by Klein (Falkenburg) is not really obvious.
Chapter 13 argues that the garden in the central panel reflects the Garden of Eden in the left interior panel. The central blue fountain dominates the garden in the central panel together with the four strange towers that are guarding the four streams. These towers are natural and architectural wonders disagreeing with the order, measure and number of God’s creation. But the fakeness of their shapes is obvious to those who know to watch carefully. Parts of these towers remind us of war machines from Bellifortis manuscripts and from the War Elephant engraving by Duhameel. The towers are further developments of the weird growths in the exterior panels and in the background of the left interior panel and anticipate the burning background of the right interior panel. All this gives the viewer the impression that a mysterious force is active under the surface of the earth, steadily growing and swelling and finally distorting and destroying God’s creation. This idea, the ‘towers’ in the central panel as tumors of Evil that pop up from under the earth’s surface and keep growing, is quite convincing, at least in my opinion. Chapter 14 begins with the remark that it is uncertain whether the (Burgundian) Hesdin Park (only known from contemporary descriptions anyway) has been the direct source of inspiration for the garden in the central panel. Probably the central panel was influenced by gardens of ‘courtly love’ in general and by descriptions of gardens from the East. Falkenburg and Klein also notice influences of the entremets at Burgundian festive occasions (people leaving fruits, airborne travellers, monsters, acrobats, mermaids, sea-knights). In this chapter Klein also focuses on the erotic (unchaste) meaning of some scenes in the foreground of the central panel. She does this with a more open mind than many authors before her and says a number of things that sound very appropriate to me.
In chapter 15 the hirsute people in the lower right corner of the central panel are interpreted as ‘wild people’ symbolising uncivilized manners and uncontrolled lust. Not a word about Adam and Eve, not a word about the ‘pointing’ gesture. The numerous fruits remind us of the metaphorical fruits of (spiritual) love in courtly and religious texts, but Bosch’s fruits are hollow, stingy and dry, not ripe and juicy suggesting a hollow world that intoxicates the senses. According to medieval notions demons could not penetrate the human soul but they could affect the intestines and intoxicate the mind by doing so: this explains the focus on the behind (and on the intestines) in the Garden. The fruits, flowers and birds carried on the head by some persons refer to what is going on in their mind and to the evil erotic thoughts by which they are possessed. The intestines of the earth (where Evil is hiding) and the intestines of man (the lower body, the seat of sexual desires) are comparable dark underworlds, far removed from the head and the brain. This is a topsy-turvy world: the body rules the mind, the underworld rules the surface, the intestines rule the brain. The idea of an underworld manifesting itself in the world above was widespread in the Middle Ages (nevertheless, only one example is given: an illumination from ‘Le Miroir de Vie et Mort’). Bosch agrees with the traditional idea of an underworld lurking under the face of the earth and creating a treacherous vision such as the false paradise of love in the central panel.
Chapter 16 deals with the right interior panel, Hell. The different parts of the Treeman can be read as some sort of ‘mnemonic device’ summarizing a number of the triptych’s ideas (associations concerning the ‘tree’ motif). The Treeman parodies man who has been created to God’s image and likeness: the divine likeness has been transformed into a demonic parody. This focus on the ‘tree’ motif seems somewhat exaggerated: the Treeman is not a tree, only his ‘legs’ are trees. On page 199 we read that the Treeman is looking back at his own body. But on page 189 it is said that the Treeman is looking at the viewer (which is obviously not the case). And moreover: is the Treeman human or a monster (demon)? Bosch’s Hell is the opposite of God’s world, it is a ‘regio dissimilitudinis’, a ‘land of unlikeness’ (a medieval theological notion coined by St Augustine). This process of increasing ‘unlikeness’ had already begun in the exterior panels. The devil sitting on a potty chair is called Lucifer but also Satan. The tortures in this panel have a mental rather than a physical character, the souls keep on doing what they were doing in the central panel and the punishments seem to be adapted to a public of noblemen. I disagree with the first statement, the second and the third statement are only partially true. Nothing is said about the question why there are black people in the central panel but not in the right interior panel. The diabolical hunter is not a rabbit, but a hare. The scene in the lower right corner refers to the pact with the devil. The sign on the giant knives should be read as a B, the B of Burgundy (since Lucas van Dijck’s archival discovery in 2016, we know that the sign is an M). The knive and the two ears are interpreted as a rebus referring to the (Dutch) word ‘oor-log’ (war, ‘oor’ = ear) (not very convincing and equally unconvincing is the reference to the supposed rebus ‘hoort-ogen-bosch = ’s-Hertogenbosch’ in the ‘The Field has Eyes’ drawing – the name ’s-Hoortogenbosch never occurs). Under the horse’s skull with the giant key the entrance of Hell is hidden (not very obvious). The harnassed soul with a chalice and a host is said to refer to a story about the Holy Grail (is this not a soldier that has committed sacrilege: church robbery?). Because of the debatable interpretations of particular scenes this chapter is one of the weakest in the book: too much ‘Hineininterpretierung’ here.
Chapter 17 is the final chapter. The most appropriate word to summarize the Garden is: ‘mirror’, in its different meanings: a didactic mirror, a laughing mirror, a topsy-turvy mirror. The face of the Treeman is said to mirror the face of Christ in the left interior panel: the latter refers to man’s divine likeness, the former points out that sinful man is hollow, unnatural and unstable. The Garden can also be seen as a ‘princely mirror’, intended for the Burgundian noblemen at the court of Philip the Fair. The Burgundian court is said to have hosted some kind of ‘literary circle’ where literary texts were read, discussed and debated on. The Garden had a similar purpose: to stimulate debate and discussion, as a pleasant passtime for noblemen. In 1498 Bosch is said to have temporarily moved to Brussels in order to paint the Garden for Engelbert II. The triptych was meant as some sort of devotional princely mirror for Engelbert’s nephew Henry III and Philip the Fair. Joris van Halewijn, the court’s intellectual, may have been Bosch’s advisor. It will be admitted that here the hypothetical level is reaching serious heights. Being ‘didactic material’ the Garden is anything but boring, but at the same time it carries a serious message. But a ‘judgmental eye’ (such as the Christ figure in the central panel of the Haywain) is lacking: this means that the viewer himself has to provide this ‘judgmental eye’. Christ’s gaze (left interior panel) invites the viewer to ‘judge’ with his inner eye, to avoid mental ‘blindness’ and to understand that the vanities of this world are the devil’s misleading work.
Although most of the ideas in this monograph are borrowed from Falkenburg [2011], Klein has to be given the highest credit for having tried to make Falkenburg’s (indeed rather high-brow and difficult book) more easily accessible. Moreover, she does not shy away from following her own opinion every now and then (a simple example of this being that fact that she calls the mammal with a prey in its mouth in the left interior panel a ‘cat’, as opposed to Falkenburg). I suppose that some of Falkenburg’s interpretations that have been rewritten here, will not meet with a cordial reception on the part of some Bosch experts, but at least one of Falkenburg’s (and Klein’s) keynote ideas (the steadily increasing influence of Evil that can already be noticed in the exterior panels, continues to proliferate in the left interior and central panels and finally culminates in the right interior panel) is – in my opinion – quite convincing. It has to be admitted, though, that Falkenburg’s and Klein’s approach of the Garden of Delights is largely based on (often too sharp and far-fetched) hypotheses, which is why only few readers will feel inclined to embrace their approach as a whole. It is also interesting to observe that a number of issues are not discussed by Falkenburg and Klein at all (the glass tubes under the fountain in Eden, the black men and women in the central panel, the accusing finger in the lower right corner of the central panel…)
A final remark: Klein’s book has been edited in a nice way with many clever illustrations (clever because they always support the text). It is all the more unfortunate therefore that the text is partially marred by quite a number of printing errors, spelling mistakes and even bad grammar. The text also has a small number of incorrect statements (compare our remarks in italics above).
[explicit 15th January 2017]
