Iconology of the Wayfarer Triptych

En 1937, Tolnay [de Tolnay, 1937, 27-28, 64, note 6] se rallie aux thèses de Demonts sans toutefois admettre l’explication du mât comme arbre symbolique du bien et du mal. (p.23)

Le sens amer de l’œuvre est mis en relief par Brion [Brion, 1938, 24], qui, replaçant la Nef des Fous dans l’ensemble de l’œuvre de Bosch, y reconnaît _ un résumé de toute l’humanité. Une société d’insensés embarqués dans une barque imbécile, sans voile et sans gouvernail. Une barque qui porte en elle le naufrage; avec ses passagers buvants et hurlants, affairés à des sottises, perdus dans leurs bruyantes querelles. Jamais le pessimisme des satiristes les plus douloureux n’aurait inventé cette synthèse de l’absurdité de la vie _. De même, pour van den Bossche [van den Bossche, 1944, 14, 17, pl. III], le tableau est la stigmatisation de la sottise, cause unique du mal et que Bosch décèle partout. (p.23)

Mosmans [Mosmans, 1947, 70, note 30] pense que le tableau est plutôt une illustration d’une _ kermesse _ que du carnaval. Celle de Bois-le-Duc avait lieu le 24 juin, date qui convient mieux à la richesse du feuillage de l’arrière-plan. Elle donnait lieu à des excès dans le boire et le manger et à des déguisements, réprouvés par les bons catholiques. Or plusieurs auteurs ont l’impression que les passagers de la Nef des Fous sont déguisés. De Boschère [de Boschère, 1947, 19-20] parle des passagers comme _ d’exceptionnelles figurations de déséquilibre mental _ tandis que Fierens [Fierens, 1947, 54-55, pl. X IX] y voit _ une allégorie de la vie des insouciants qui n’ont ni boussole ni gouvernail et qui fatalement se briseront un jour sur l’écueil de la male mort _, opinion partagée par Leymarie [Leymarie, 1949, VIII-IX, pl 21]. (p.24)

Bax [Bax, 1949, 189-196] préfère donner à l’œuvre une explication symbolique. Chacun des personnages, qui sont stéréotypés, et des éléments du décor, serait un emblème de la folie, de l’intempérance, de la débauche; l’auteur justifie ses assertions par des références à la littérature populaire flamande. De même la barque pourrait ne pas être une embarcation plus réelle que l’écaillc de moule ou la coquille d’œuf de certaines autres compositions. Selon lui, l’artiste n’aurait pas eu en vue une fête détermine. (p.24)

Nous aurions donc ici non pas un sujet fantastique mais un sujet moral : l’ivrognerie menant les moines à leur perte et, plus généralement, le clergé dissolu laissant la barque de l’Eglise aller à la dérive et négligeant le salut des âmes (allusion à l’homme qui s’accroche à la barque; Devoghelaere [Devoghelaere, 1937, 46]). Ce sujet est bien significatif de l’esprit du début de la Réforme. (p. 29)

He [Demonts, 1919, 4] considered the mast a tree symbolic of good and evil, of the Tree of Knowledge, and considered the owl, which he called a skull, to be the serpent. (p. 272)

One may view the work in the same light as Bosch’s Lisbon triptych of the Temptation of St. Anthony, to which it may be reated in time and style. As the Lisbon triptych presents a synthesis of medieval belief and the several themes of St. Anthony’s temptations, so the Louvre work forms a whole in which the monk and his companions are, according to Bosch, fools like those who go on musical boating parties, which lead the participants into sinful behavior. A conclusion that Bosch was a fifteenth-century Anthony Comstock seems particularly apt at this point [Panofsky, 1953, 357]. (p.274)

Viewed in this light, the association of the appurtenances of knighthood with the main theme of Avarice becomes understandable. This is not a social satire of the nobility, as Tolnay [de Tolnay, 1965, 25] thought, but a satire on the greed of false knights; it is also a statement of Bosch’s inherent pessimism. That all life leads to death is a truism, he seems to say, but men’s actions, because of the enormity of their sins, lead to an everlasting death without hope of resurrection to a new and better life. The baleful little man on the far side of the cloth hung over the low wall (a visual anticipation of the mounted skull-topped armored figure trailing a long cloth in the Lisbon panel) is a pictorial exposition of Bosch’s meaning, for in his thinking all the things of this world are permeated with evil. (p.276)

His symbolism has received many interpretations including psychoanalytic explanations for the erotic images. Yet a simpler and perhaps more reliable approach to understanding Bosch’s imagery is offered by Sebastian Brant’s Das Narrenschiff (Ship of Fools) [Bax, 1948, 199]. (p.18)

Surmounted by the sign of a cleft hoof, the pink tent represents a house of drink and lust. The fragile decoration tracing the edges of the roof, the square hole in the roof and absence of a door suggest the impermanence of the dwelling in which the couple carelessly celebrates. Brant describes a similar abandonment to pleasure in Of the Power of Fools [Winkler, 1951, 13; Brant, 1962, 169]. (p.23)

The tent of mirth and the train of clothes leading up to it allude to a seduction. (p.23)

Their drinking removes all barriers to the onslaught [Brant, 1962, 97]. (p.23)

Bosch implies a connection between drinking and love-making in the tent o mirth through the erotic symbol of a jug upon the table. Framed by the door, the whispering couple stands alone in the tent’s dim interior, involved in a private tête-à-tête. Light fails to pierce the black-reddish depths of the murky space behind the lovers, enhancing the sense of forbidden mystery within. Yet the couple does not appear to enjoy their moment of secret passion. The onslaught bold and blind remains more blind than bold, for the lovers appear sightless, their eyes blurred by shadow. Though the woman makes a small gesture towards the man (or towards the cup of wine) , she turns her face away and avoids looking at him. (p.23)

Clearly, the principal deathbed temptation here is avarice, although pride might also be suggested by the foreground trappings of status and power, in the form of knightly jousting equipment (hardly of any use to such an old man) and the official, seal-marked documents that demons display along with moneybags in the strongbox at the foot of the bed [vandenbroeck, 1987, 96-97.]. What this painting makes clear is that the issue of choice, expressed in the form of right seeing, is still being offered to this dying man, who opts in the (very) end for the sinful temptations of a demon rather than the way of the cross and the light urged by the angel. (p.630)

… worldly vice of luxury…show the combination of lust and indulgence known among the Seven Sins as luxuria. We can easily compare the scene of Luxuria from the Seven Deadly Sins panel, which displays a similar combination of rich costume, taste, and eros [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510]. (p.630)

… worldly vice of luxury…show the combination of lust and indulgence known among the Seven Sins as luxuria. We can easily compare the scene of Luxuria from the Seven Deadly Sins panel [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510], which displays a similar combination of rich costume, taste, and eros…we find there some of the same costly foodstuffs (especially cherries and roast fowl) and wine flasks, as well as a fool in his standard costume. (p.630)

The presence of monks and nuns in the Ship of Fools further underscores the hypocrisy and folly of wrong behavior and personal indulgence (emblematized in the center of the boat by the giant hanging pancake, the traditional indulgence food of carnival). (p.630)

…the Paris-New Haven wing embodies a deadly sin here, luxury, both of gourmandise (rather than the sin of gluttony, with its own segment on the circle of sins) and of sexuality (note that the scene of the punishment for luxury in the Hell roundel of the Prado sins consists of a fornicating couple in bed with demons[Bosch, ca. 1505-1510, “The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things”]). (p.630)

…unchaste love, as represented by the couple in the tent. This couple could be regarded as the core from which all sins derive, hence this wing could aptly be titled Luxuria…(pp.31-32)

The Pedlar does not have a Jewish physiognomy, but a number of features may allude to Judaism, such as the ostentatiously displayed money pouch (the attribute of Judas), the shoemaker’s awl in the hat (Ahasuerus was originally a cobbler) [Le Juif errant: un témoin du temps, 2001], and perhaps also the trotter, incongruously protruding from his waistcoat. It recalls miniatures showing Jews gnawing on a paw, here it is a lamb’s hoof, slaughtered in the kosher manner for Passah [The eating of the passover lamb, from Historia Scholastica, ca. 1450-1455; Calkins, 1978, 140]. The leg wound is significant since it represents moral reprobation. (pp. 40-41)

M. Camille Benoit, à Paris, possède un panneau en hauteur, peutêtre unvolet de triptyque, qui figure une barque voguant sur l’eau, pleine de passagers, incontestablement un souvenir de la Nef des fous de Sébastien Brandt [Brant, 1962]… grimpé sur une branche de cet arbre, absorbe gloutonnement le contenu… (pp. 79-80)

On the board between them, which does duty for a table, is a dish of cheeries (symbol of sensual pleasure). (p. 31)

Surrounded by a shipload of grotesque characters plainly the worse for drink, they sit face to face, singing lustily to the sound of a lute (which at the time had erotic associations). (p. 31)

A man, brandishing a knife (sexual symbol or emblem of anger?) is climbing the mast, so as to cut down a toast chicken attached to it. (p. 32)

Demonts [Demonts, 1919, 1 ff.] interprets the maypole as the biblical tree of knowledge, and thinks he recognises a skull in the carnival mask that hangs from it. He links the work by Jodocus Badius [Josse Bade], Stultiferae naviculae seu scaphae fatuarum mulierum, circa sensus quinque exteriors fraude navigentiumn (1498). But here the symbolic tree is characterized as such by the snake and the proximity of Adam and Ever; Bosch, on the other hand, refrains from any biblical allusion. (p. 348)

According to her [Adhémar, 1962, 20ff..] this is a satire on drunkards and monks, showing how dissolute clergy let the ship of the Church drift and neglected the salvation of souls. (p. 348)

houten schietjen van de blaeuwe schuyt [Middelnederlandsch woordenboek XIV, 1170], lichte schuytens gast [Middelnederlandsch woordenboek XIV, 1170], lichte schuit [Middelnederlandsch woordenboek XIV, 1173] en gesel vander blauwer schuit [Kruyskamp, 1940, 212], altemaal lieden van losse of lichte zeden (p. 191)

In de 16de eeuw betekent ,,in de hazelaar klimmen ook toornig worden [Woordenboek der Nederlandsche Taal IV, 1916, 162; Lyna & van Eeghem, 1932, r. XVI, 31]. Nu blijkt uit een 16de-eeuws referein, waarin o.m. zot genoemd wordt ,,Tvolck dat duer berespen in dhazeler clemt, dat ook zij die oplopend van aard zijn, door de 16de-eeuwers tot de zotten gerekend werden [Heremans, 1877, 64]. In bet genoemde Vastenavondlied betekent de uitdrukking ,,lopen inden top (nl. van de hazelaar) [Heremans, 1877, Verse 2:5 acc] dan ook: zot worden, dwaze dingen gaan doen, doordat men toornig is, en de uitdrukking ,,in den haselaer sijn [Heremans, 1877, Verse 7:5 acc]: zot zijn, dwaze dingen doen, doordat men toornig is. Elders in bet lied betekenen dergelijke gezegden met hazelaar eenvoudig: zot, dwaas zijn, soms met onkuise bijbetekenis. (p. 192)

De plaats, die de laatste auteur uit Colijn van Rijssele’s Spiegel der Minnen verklaart: „nu craectse haesnoten Juyst met haer teenen In een cleen bosselken [de Tollenaere, 1941, 128], komt overeen met het gezegde uit het toneelstuk van Leander ende Hero: „In prieelen en bosschen de rijpe haselnoten metten teenen kraecken [Kalff, 1907, 214]. Een voorbeeld van „die nootkens craken vindt men in Brands:900 Brands, 1921, 900]. Het bosje waarin op Jeroens Hooiwagen een minnend paar half schuilgaat, lijkt een hazelaarsbosje [Bosch, ca. 1512-1515]. (p. 196, note 74)

De bedoelde ontwikkeling kan zich aldus hebben voorgedaan: in de hazelaar klimmen = het spel der minne spelen >zot zijn (vgl. dat sotte ghewerc dat sotte dinc = bijslaap, [Verwijs & Verdam, 1885-1929, 1589])> wild, opvliegend, toornig zijn. Men denke aan vechten in onkuise zin [Bax, 1952, 65]. Op de overgang naar ,,zot zijn kan het woord „haas als symbool van de dwaasheid (vgl. Hgd. Hase = gek, zot: [Enklaar, 1937, 71]; betekent „haze [Lyna & van Eeghem, 1932, r. XC, 46] ook „zot?) van invloed zijn geweest. (p. 196, note 74)

Men moet in de kers een zinnebeeld zien van het vrouwelijk geslachtsdeel, dat in geheel Europa vaak met vruchtennamen aangeduid wordt. De vruchten op het schilderij hebben ook dubbelzinnige betekenis, want kersen eten is het minnespel spelen. (p. 193)

De luit waarop de non tokkelt, steunt deze veronderstelling [het minnespel spelen]. Dit instrument komt in onze 16de-eeuwse taal en beeldende kunst nl. in erotische zin voor. Zo betekende „spelen met der luten hetzelfde als kersen eten [Leuvense bijdragen, 1990, 331] en schilderde Cornelis Metsys vrouwen, die luiten aan een luitensteller brengen [Massys, 16th century] (p. 193)

De twee kersen aan één steel, welke de harpenaar op de naar een compositie van Bosch vervaardigde gravure van die blau schuyte in zijn hand houdt [van der Heyden, 1559], hebben waarschijnlijk dezelfde functie als de vruchten op het paneeltje. (p. 193)

Zeer zeker traden in de 15de en 16de eeuw in de Nederlanden mannen en vrouwen naakt voor het pubhek op, ook met Vastenavond [Bax, 1949, 116], maar van naakte zwemmers bij het Carnavalsfeest schijnt nergens sprake te zijn. Men kan ook deze figuren, waarvan één een drinkschaal opheft — het was in de 16de eeuw niets ongewoons, dat men de wijn uit een schaal dronk — symbolisch verklaren. Op een schilderij met pretmakers duwen naakte mannen over het water een wijn- of bierton voort [Bosch, ca. 1495–1500]. Nu betekenen de 16de-eeuwse uitdrukkingen „gheerne int natte sijn [Meyling, 1946, 45:344] en „gaeren bijden watere sijn, evenals de 17de-eeuwse gezegden „wel te Waater willen, „wel onder Waater willen, „gaarn met sijn neus in het nat sijn [Stoett, 1932, 10:202, 107] een liefhebber zijn van de drank. Dat „zwemmen ook in onkuise zin voor kan komen, is reeds aangetoond [Bax, 1949, 102]. Bij de naaktheid der dranklustigen kan men denken aan „naakt en „bloot in de betekenis van berooid [Bax, 1949, 116]. (p. 193)

…de pollepel die als stuurriem dient, symboliseert onmatigheid, verkwisting, dwaasheid en losbandigheid [Bax, 1949, 165] (p. 193)

Men meent de meesten terug te vinden in de bemanning van de Blauwe Schuit van Jacop van Oestvoren[van Oestvoren, 1413; Brant, 1962; Badius, 1498; Maeterlinck, 1907, 219; Gossart, 1907, 191; Demonts, 1919, 6 ff.; de Tolnay, 1937, 28, 64, note 65; van der Heyden, 1562; van der Heyden, 1559; Combe, 1946, 36, 66, note 128]… De nar en de naakte kerels ontbreken echter. Reeds bleek ons, dat vele leden van de bemanning, die volgens Jacops gedicht de Blauwe Schuit vullen moet, nooit tot het Brabantse Carnavalsgezelschap behoord zullen hebben, maar dat zij genoemd worden om de sfeer van losheid en dwaasheid weer te geven, welke de club nastreefde. Zij zijn geijkte typen, die voor de 15de-eeuwers zinnebeelden waren van het lichte en losse leven, en ook de sujetten van Bosch lijken zulke stereotiepe figuren. De vent „inden haselare, de nar met zijn marot, de zijn maag legende vraat, de man die de grote pollepel hanteert, zuster Lute en haar verlopen monnik, de jolige drinkebroer met de op een stok gestoken kan, de drank- en minlustige bagijn, de neergevallen dronkaard en de twee naakte boeven, die gaarne bij het nat zijn, zij allen waren voor van Akens tijdgenoten symbolen. Zo’n stelletje heeft men in werkelijkheid nooit te zamen gezien, evenmin als de bemanning van de Blauwe Schuit uit het gedicht, behalve dan wellicht in een schuit als die te Nijmegen of Bergen-op-Zoom, waarin men hen kan nagebootst en gehekeld hebben. Maar indien ooit echte fuifnummers in een schuit door een stad getrokken zijn, waren zij niet zulke symbolen als de pretmakers van Jeroen [Bax, 1949, 196:note 112]. (p. 194)

De non, die op het schilderij dezen monnik tot partner dient, wordt ook in het gedicht beschreven. Zij is één… Voert vanden gueden vroukijns fijn, Die gaern bi die guede ghesellen sijn, Ende die Venus dwinghet, die goddinne, Ende garen draghen verholen minne, Ist abdisse ofte nonne [Verwijs, 1871, 98:vs. 125-129] (p. 147)

Dus zouden wij de Blauwe Schuit, zooals wij haar op het schilderij van Bosch zien, als een reëele weergave hebben te aanvaarden; ook de beide zwemmers op den voorgrond. Voor de authenticiteit van dergelijke groteske figuren bij vertooningen van dezen aard hebben wij een bewijs in het in 1445 uitgevaardigde verbod van den aartsbisschop van Sens, waarbij de lieden veroordeeld werden, die min of meer naakt — „sine verendorum tegmine” — met hun wagenspelen door de stad trokken, „in curribus et vehiculis sordidis” [de Julleville, 1889, 40]. In hun naaktheid heeft men slechts een uiting van de naieve, populaire zinnelijkheid te zien, die een zonderlinge tegenstrijdigheid vormt met het sterke schaamtegevoel, dat het tijdvak overigens vertoont. Professor Huizinga, die deze eigenaardigheid bij veel tableaux-vivants der teneinde loopende Middeleeuwen gesignaleerd heeft, wees er tevens op, dat zij niets te maken heeft met Griekschen schoonheidszin of platte onbeschaamdheid [Huizinga, 1919, 521 ff.]. (p. 155-156)

De non, die op het schilderij dezen monnik tot partner dient, wordt ook in het gedicht beschreven. Zij is één… Voert vanden gueden vroukijns fijn, Die gaern bi die guede ghesellen sijn, Ende die Venus dwinghet, die goddinne, Ende garen draghen verholen minne, Ist abdisse ofte nonne [Verwijs, 1871, 98:vs. 125-129] (p. 68)

Dus zouden wij de Blauwe Schuit, zooals wij haar op het schilderij van Bosch zien, als een reëele weergave hebben te aanvaarden; ook de beide zwemmers op den voorgrond. Voor de authenticiteit van dergelijke groteske figuren bij vertooningen van dezen aard hebben wij een bewijs in het in 1445 uitgevaardigde verbod van den aartsbisschop van Sens, waarbij de lieden veroordeeld werden, die min of meer naakt — „sine verendorum tegmine” — met hun wagenspelen door de stad trokken, „in curribus et vehiculis sordidis” [de Julleville, 1889, 40]. In hun naaktheid heeft men slechts een uiting van de naieve, populaire zinnelijkheid te zien, die een zonderlinge tegenstrijdigheid vormt met het sterke schaamtegevoel, dat het tijdvak overigens vertoont. Professor Huizinga, die deze eigenaardigheid bij veel tableaux-vivants der teneinde loopende Middeleeuwen gesignaleerd heeft, wees er tevens op, dat zij niets te maken heeft met Griekschen schoonheidszin of platte onbeschaamdheid [Huizinga, 1919, 521 ff.]. (p. 77-78)

It is a pedlar who, likely enough, had killed the cat and stolen the skin, for I am sorry to say that he was a thief, and is painted at a moment of crime. What is he doing with two hats? The one in his hand has just been stolen from the hatless and otherwise occupied individual in the background. It is, indeed, a fisherman’s hat and has his float and cast pinned on to it. The very long fishing-rod leans up against the Swan Inn in the background. The thief is hurrying away unobserved, for the barmaid is being kissed by a soldier and the old woman in the kitchen is probably poor-sighted. An owl and a dog alone take notice of the crime. Inexplicable by me is the curious fact that Bosch has given to his thief the most refined face he ever painted… A thief-pedlar, however, might have been something less of an aristocrat. (pp. 341-342)

Die Baumgabelung auf dem Bild mit dem Hausierer findit sich beim Verlorenen Sohn” wieder. Schreitet ersterer auf eine Brücke zu, so stößt der Weg des letzteren auf ein Gatter… Nach Fraenger ist dieses Gatter die Grenzscheide des guten und bösen Weges; die sechs Felder des Gatters sinnbilden des Sechstagewerk; im sechsten Feld, dem Geviert der Erschaffung des Menschen, sitzt eine Elster; derschwarzweiße Vogel ist bereits in Wolfram von Eschenbachs Parzival [von Eschenbach, ca. 1200-1210] ein Symbol des zwîfel, das heißt des Menschen, der vor die Entscheidung zwischen Schwarz und Weiß, zwischen dem Bösen und dem Guten, zwischen dem Weg zur Hölle und dem Weg zum Himmelsteht [Fraenger, 1950, 109] (p. 108)

…more likely a fragment of a representation of two of the Deadly Sins, Lust and Intemperance, and thinks it might have belonged to a painting cited in the inventory of the collection of Marghareta Boge in Antwerp in 1574 [Baldass, 1943, 22, 235; Baldass, 1959, 26, 229; de Tolnay, 1937, 90, no. 9; Bosch, ca. 1505-1510, “The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things”] (p.207)

…more likely a fragment of a representation of two of the Deadly Sins, Lust and Intemperance, and thinks it might have belonged to a painting cited in the inventory of the collection of Marghareta Boge in Antwerp in 1574 [Baldass, 1943, 22, 235; Baldass, 1959, 26, 229; de Tolnay, 1937, 90, no. 9; Bosch, ca. 1505-1510, “The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things”] (p.207)

… show people wasting their lives on pleasure and wealth. (p. 24)

… show people wasting their lives on pleasure and wealth. (p. 24)

Nuns and monk were not always as pious as they promised to be. These two are having more fun than people then thought they should. (p. 24)

…the peddler walks past a house of prostitution, with a man urinating against the building. The wanderer seems untouched by what the others are doing. Like the men and women in The Garden of Delights [Bosch, ca. 1490-1500, “The Garden of Earthly Delights Triptych”], he has a kind of quiet dignity. He is one of the figures that leaves us in doubt concerning Bosch’s attitude toward his fellow men. Some sinners he treated with nothing but scorn, while others he depicted with sad sympathy. Perhaps this displays Bosch’s feeling that not all people destined for hell are bad. Some victims of circumstance or misunderstanding. (pp. 83-84)

The traveling man in The Wayfarer is passing through a country of sin. (p. 85)

… a house of prostitution (p. 85)

De chaque côté d’une planche, placée en travers de la barque, sont assis, se faisant face, deux de nos quatre figures, un homme et une femme desserrent legerement les levres pour chanter, braire ou happer une bouchee de la tarte suspendue h son fil. La femme, peut-etre une religieuse, inspirée par le chant ou par la gourmandise, ou par les deux, montre en tout cas plus d’ardeur que le pâle franciscain vêtu de gris qui lui fait face, de I’autre côté de la planche. Ici sont disposes, non sans danger, un gobelet et une assiette de groseilles à maquereaux ou groseilles vertes et rouges. La religieuse s’accompagne d’une guitare, le franciscain semble chanter d’une voix aigre, oh pent supposer que seul un mince filet de voix peut s’échapper de cette momie au nex rouge, on peut aussi imaginer que Bosch, en concevant cet individu, lui voulut une gravité grotesque de variiteux lunatique. (p. 2-3)

Si lepanneauavait la propriété d’émettre des sons, entendrionsnous des cris désordonnés, apanage d’une telle societe ? Sauf nos quatre bouches ouvertes, rien ne fait supposer que soit rompu le triste silence. Bosch a-t-il voulu nous faire entendre que, entre deux bouchees arrachées a la tarte, ces bouches chanteraient avec accoinpagnement de guitare ? L’une des figures lève haut la main comme pour-accueillir d’autres fous, mais, comme il s’agit de I’un de ceux qui convoitent la tarte, de sa bouche ouverte ne sortiront peut-etre que de sottes revendications. C’est encore la tarte suspendue comme un appat qui distrait le seul de tous ces nautes eberlues qui se soit inquiete de la navigation. Une palette de boulanger, dans ses mains, a d’abord servi de rame. II la laisse maintenant trainer dans I’eau sombre, humiliee de porter cette potee d’ignorants qui bafouent la poesie des flots. Les seuls de ces desequilibres dont on atten-, dait des cris, se disputent en silence. Les levres trop serrees meme pour que s’en echappe un murmure, une femme menace d’une enorme cniche de gres un lourdaud, accroupi, qui projetait de s’attaquer a une grosse fiasque de gervoise, boisson de I’epoque, ou de vin, moins probablement. La bouteille trempe dans I’onde que l’on suppose fralche, malgrd la fievre bouillante qui s’agite dans I’esquif voguant à la déive. (p. 3)

Ces miserables ont dépassé les maniaques de la sottise. On pourrait les nommer des spécialistes ou des récidivistes. En tout cas, Jérôme nous donne ici d’exceptionnelles figurations de déséquilibre mental. Des abandonnés de Dieu oti des sots qui ont perdu le souci de leur salut. (p. 3)

Cette page magnifique de la peinture nous offre un spectacle triste où rien ne soUrit. Si pourtant, nous sourions de plaisir en pensant à la longue allegresse du peintre pendant qu’il inventait ces fous, les agglom^rait successivement et avec malice sur line barque pleine de perils, au mat dangereusement chargé, pendant qu’il vouait ces fous, ces fous si semblables aux sages, à une exhibition honteuse de leur folie, à une mort ridicule. (pp. 3- 4)

Si nous voyons là le Fils prodigue, j’imagine qu’après une vie difficile et souvent cruelle de nomade, de paria peut-être, il s’est approche de sa maison natale. Or, ce qu’il volt lui conseille de rebrousser chemin, de reprendre les routes où partout le meme spectacle surgira de, toutes les perspectives : I’amère et quotidien désordre des hommes qui ont perdu l’honneur ou simplement la dignité. (p. 5)

Dans I’encadrement de la porte, Scène décevante de frivolité, un soldat de passage, un traînard isolé lutine une pauvre servante de I’Auberge du Cygne. Par le monde entier, l’Enfant a vu l’horrible séduction, I’innocence toujours condamnée. Si au cours de ses voyages pédestres il est devenu poète et philosophe, Bosch nous montre qu’il n’y a pas perdu les sentiments qui se groupent entre et avec la pitié et la charité. Peut-être le soudard aura-t-il moins de scrupules parce que la maison est pauvre, ou qu’elle est de celles où depuis Iongtemps l’innocence est inconnue. Le toit est défoncé, les carreaux cassés, un volet détaché de ses gonds. Un homme, qui connaît le désordre de la place, s’est à peine éloigné pour satisfaire un besoin naturel. A deux pas de la porte, une truie et ses porcelets vident une auge, ‘ deux poules picorent sur un tas d’ordures. (p. 5)

Jacques Combe [Combe, 1946] interprête autrement le sujet du tableau, «L’Enfant prodigue a choisi sa voie et quitte I’auberge délabrée, lieu de ses débauches, dont I’enseigne porte le cygne, image selon Ruysbroek, du jeune homme qui, ne craignant pas Dieu, se laisse mener par ses penchants naturels et mène une vie de plaisirs et de luxures et qui chante avec joie tandis qu’il meurten maint peche grave; le prodigue a choisi et il echappera d cettemort impie tahdis qu’il en est temps encore. Ce n’est plus letheme de I’immanquable chute de, I’humanité aveugle, maiscelui du libre arbitre, attribut.de la nature divine de I’homme. » (p. 5)

… a brothel in a dilapidated house (p. 191)

The profligacy and lust featured on the left were traits especially associated to youth. (p. 191)

A pewter beaker and a plate of cherries, symbols of carnal lust [Vandenbroeck, 1989, 162f], stand between them (the friar and nun) on a plank that projects out over the side of the boat like a springboard. (p. 191).

…a barrel in the boat, a fish dangling from the right branch and a jug hanging upside down at the end of a long branch rising diagonally upwards on the left: a symbol of Lust. (p. 191)

…a barrel in the boat, a fish dangling from the right branch and a jug hanging upside down at the end of a long branch rising diagonally upwards on the left: a symbol of Lust. (p. 191)

…a barrel in the boat, a fish dangling from the right branch and a jug hanging upside down at the end of a long branch rising diagonally upwards on the left: a symbol of Lust. (pp. 191-192)

The foreground scene at the bottom of the panel treats the theme of Lust in a manner similar to that of the exemplum in The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things. On the bank near the water a man and woman, whose style of dress suggests that they belong to the middle classes, have withdrawn into a furnished, pale red tent for a tête-à-tête. On the ground in front of the tent entrance are wooden clogs, a hat in the Burgundian style on top of a belt, and a section of trumpet. Further items of clothing, probably belonging to the swimmers, are draped over the withered half of an otherwise leafy tree and scattered on the ground nearby. (p. 192)

Here, too, a jug is hooked upside down over a branch. The association of drinking, eating, music-making and lust is one we have already encountered in the Garden of Earthly Delights [Bosch, ca. 1490-1500]. Here, as there, flourishing nature becomes a symbol of the uncurbed human instincts that seek only sensual pleasure. (p. 192)

Bosch includes, in the lower right corner, a group of weapons and pieces of armour arranged like a still life. These are the symbols of the Christian soldier, the means with which the faithful can arm themselves against Evil. The conflict of Good and Evil, eternal life and eternal damnation, arc clearly represented in the picture, both sides present in equal measure. (p. 192)

The left exterior shutter shows the life of excess, and above all lechery, associated with youth… (p. 192)

Various material analyses have proved that this small oak panel, depicting allegories of the deadly sins of Gluttony (gula) and Lust (luxuria) (p. 256)

Various material analyses have proved that this small oak panel, depicting allegories of the deadly sins of Gluttony (gula) and Lust (luxuria) (p. 256)

By around 1500 the motif and theme of the evil inn, encountered repeatedly in the late Middle Ages, had condensed into a symbol of all that was bad for the civic elite and the aristocracy… The evil inn motif is also found in… the Pedlar… (p. 114)

He explored the connection between vice or evil behaviour and folly or stupidity specifically in such paintings as Extracting the stone of madness [Bosch, ca. 1501-1505], The blind leading the blind (known through an engraving by Pieter van der Heyden) [van der Heyden, ca. 1551-1570] and The Ship of Fools, but it is also present in countless symbolic details in other works. (p. 96)

Following another tradition, the poor, wandering itinerant, who likewise a social outcast, is also – as presented on the outside of The Haywain [Bosch, ca. 1512-1515] or on the Rotterdam Pedlar – a metaphor for the good, repentant sinner… Bosch was absorbed with the notion of standing ‘out-side society’. He regarded it as an extraordinary position, either for better or for worse. To Bosch, life in the fringes was folly, negative in the case of riffraff but positive in the case of the ‘fools in God’, the hermits he depicted as holy ascetics in the Byzantine tradition – and perhaps there was folly also in the ‘madness’ of the artist, madness sublimated in his fanciful creations. There is an intriguing paradox in Bosch’s view of mankind and society. He condemns outsiders on the one hand but also praises and promotes a ‘sublimated’ marginality under the character of the most austere, ‘extremist’ anchorites from early Christianity, who are seen as self-maintaining (not dependent upon others, unlike beggars), wise, virtuous, ascetic and courageous against the devil’s violence and sexual assaults. The constant presence of threats in Bosch’s worldview goes some way to explaining the contradiction: the moral and spiritual integrity of the individual was liable to attack by his own impulses, rooted in sensuality, by the external world and by supernatural forces of evil. Fear both of material ruin and of spiritual damage was a basic element of bourgeois culture around 1500. The ideal of utilitarian wisdom became an obsession with self-preservation. The self was regarded as an extremely weak entity, constantly obliged to resist and remain firm. Hence the admiration for stern anchorites who were strong, courageous and self-contained. (p. 98-99)

…work is opposed to idleness, wealth to poverty, thrift to avarice or prodigality. Here Bosch’s position was more moderate: he seems to have condemned the love of gain for its own sake but was even more opposed to extravagance. The poverty of those on the lowest rung of the social ladder was regarded as largely self-inflicted and ascribed to vices from the first two categories – drunkenness, whoring, excessive merrymaking. In contrast, Bosch commended a positive attitude to work and moderation in the spending and acquisition of money and property. All this is reflected in The Haywain [Bosch, ca. 1512-1515]. The Death of the Miser and Scenes of Idleness (known only through sixteenth-century prints). (p. 99)

Bosch endorsed the ideology of an urban middle class of craftsmen and small producers, for whom ‘economy’ was also a moral issue. This was certainly not a capitalist vision, although the emphasis on reason and work (expressed inversely by Bosch – the rejection of laziness and wastefulness) and the denial of prodigality and other forms of impulsive behaviour were helping to prepare the way for capitalist discourse. Bosch’s moderate view is manifest in his depictions of the pedlar on the outer wings of The Haywain [Bosch, ca. 1512-1515] and in another, dismembered triptych [Hartau, 2005, 305-338] on the front side of which were The Ship of Fools and The Allegory of Intemperance on the left and The Death of the Miser on the right, and the exterior of which was the Rotterdam Pedlar. (p. 99)

Bosch endorsed the ideology of an urban middle class of craftsmen and small producers, for whom ‘economy’ was also a moral issue. This was certainly not a capitalist vision, although the emphasis on reason and work (expressed inversely by Bosch – the rejection of laziness and wastefulness) and the denial of prodigality and other forms of impulsive behaviour were helping to prepare the way for capitalist discourse. Bosch’s moderate view is manifest in his depictions of the pedlar on the outer wings of The Haywain [Bosch, ca. 1512-1515, “The Haywain Triptych”] and in another, dismembered triptych [Hartau, 2005, 305-338] on the front side of which were The Ship of Fools and The Allegory of Intemperance on the left and The Death of the Miser on the right, and the exterior of which was the Rotterdam Pedlar. (p. 99)

Bosch endorsed the ideology of an urban middle class of craftsmen and small producers, for whom ‘economy’ was also a moral issue. This was certainly not a capitalist vision, although the emphasis on reason and work (expressed inversely by Bosch – the rejection of laziness and wastefulness) and the denial of prodigality and other forms of impulsive behaviour were helping to prepare the way for capitalist discourse. Bosch’s moderate view is manifest in his depictions of the pedlar on the outer wings of The Haywain [Bosch, ca. 1512-1515, “The Haywain Triptych”] and in another, dismembered triptych [Hartau, 2005, 305-338] on the front side of which were The Ship of Fools and The Allegory of Intemperance on the left and The Death of the Miser on the right, and the exterior of which was the Rotterdam Pedlar. (p. 99)

Bosch endorsed the ideology of an urban middle class of craftsmen and small producers, for whom ‘economy’ was also a moral issue. This was certainly not a capitalist vision, although the emphasis on reason and work (expressed inversely by Bosch – the rejection of laziness and wastefulness) and the denial of prodigality and other forms of impulsive behaviour were helping to prepare the way for capitalist discourse. Bosch’s moderate view is manifest in his depictions of the pedlar on the outer wings of The Haywain [Bosch, ca. 1512-1515, “The Haywain Triptych”] and in another, dismembered triptych [Hartau, 2005, 305-338] on the front side of which were The Ship of Fools and The Allegory of Intemperance on the left and The Death of the Miser on the right, and the exterior of which was the Rotterdam Pedlar. (p. 99)

The pedlar is an exceptional figure in Bosch’s oeuvre. Whereas with Bosch almost all poor people are good-for-nothings, he is a good man. He is a poor vagrant (with ragged clothing), but he is repentant: at the end of his life (his hair is white) he looks back, as if to judge his own life path. He sees robbery and revelry, and the punishment of crime (reverse of The Haywain [Bosch, ca. 1512-1515, “The Haywain Triptych”]); in the Rotterdam version, he leaves sinful lust (the brothel) and is about to open a gate towards better times. In his oeuvre, the pedlar is the only good common man, the only secular moral example, witness to another paradox in Bosch: in his view the popular classes consist of sinners and fools, but at the same time his most striking exemplary moral figure is a poor vagabond. (pp. 99-100)

Bosch also did not ignore the worldly side of the temptation to commit deadly sins. For avarice, he depicted The Death of a Miser on a panel that was surely the shutter of a triptych configuration, viewed obliquely leftwards in terms of its perspective [Marijnissen, 2007, 320-324]. The dying man lies in his bed amidst a cluttered room of stored legal papers with seals, knightly armour and bags of money in locked chests, Demons hover around all of these worldly trophies, and a second standing old figure, despite a rosary at his waist, holds a coin in his hand above a moneybag. One other demon at this last moment still offers the dying old man a moneybag, to which he reaches even now. At the same time, he stares obsessively at the shrouded, skeletal figure of Death in the open doorway, who bears a mortal arrow aimed at him. Consequently both of these conflicting preoccupations preclude the old man from seeing what viewers can – namely, a guardian angel behind him, who attempts to redirect his vision upwards to the window above that doorway, where divine light enters the room across a hanging crucifix. Even at the very last moment, demons and worldly temptations can distract errant humanity into deadly sin, here avarice. Scholars have rightly invoked the fifteenth-century text Ars moriendi (How to die) [Ars moriendi, ca. 1415-1450], where a Christian on his deathbed is tempted to sin by demons but is ultimately consoled and saved by Christ and his angelic forces [Tentler, 2005; Olds, 1966; Ariès, 1981, 107-110]. (p. 129)

Here, as in The Death of a Miser, Bosch uses daily life events with ordinary figures to convey his moral instruction, but he frames these actions within the all-seeing eye of God (just as he uses demons, Death and an angel in the Miser). (p. 130)

The caged magpie, the jug on the stick al the top of the roof, the dovecote and the sign with a swan are all clues – one by itself would suffice, but taken altogether they leave no room for doubt – that this is a brothel. A woman standing in the doorway is embraced by a soldier or Landsknecht, of the type who featured in the visual art of this period as regular visitors to this kind of establishment [Lammertse & van der Coelen, 2015, 118-122, 141-144]. His gigantic pike – they could be up to five or six metres long – stands against the façade. (p. 294)

The bird cage also occurs in brothel scenes depicted by Jan Sanders van Hemessen and the Brunswick Monogrammist (see Lammertse and van der Coelen [Lammertse & van der Coelen, 2015, 143, 159]; the jug on a stick and the dovecote can be interpreted as symbols of copulation [Bax, 1949; de Bruyn, 2001]; in a painting of ca. 1480 by an anonymous Brussels artist, a sign with a swan hangs outside a brothel to which Saint Lucy is being led [Bücken & Steyaert, 2013, 277]. (p. 301, note 11)

The most recent interpretations sec the greybeard in the Rotterdam painting as a symbol of man, who, on his path through life, must constantly decide whether or not to give in to the temptations he encounters along the way [Marijnissen, 1987, 410-415; de Bruyn, 2001]. (p. 294)

That these temptations – in this case mainly carnal lust – are the work of the Devil is possibly illustrated by the owl in the tree, which seems to be luring a titmouse. In the central panel of The Haywain Triptych [Bosch, ca. 1512-1515], an owl – a decoy, as suggested by the rope on its leg, which is perched on a branch above the monster on top of the hay – seems to fulfil a similar function. It is noteworthy that around the same time, Jan Gossaert depicted in his Malvagna Triptych a small owl surrounded by birds in the tree beneath Adam and Eve committing the original sin [ Gossaert, ca. 1513-1515, “Malvagna Triptych”; Ainsworth et al., 2012, 134]. (p. 294)

Bosch endorsed the ideology of an urban middle class of craftsmen and small producers, for whom ‘economy’ was also a moral issue. This was certainly not a capitalist vision, although the emphasis on reason and work (expressed inversely by Bosch – the rejection of laziness and wastefulness) and the denial of prodigality and other forms of impulsive behaviour were helping to prepare the way for capitalist discourse. Bosch’s moderate view is manifest in his depictions of the pedlar on the outer wings of The Haywain [Bosch, ca. 1512-1515, “The Haywain Triptych”] and in another, dismembered triptych [Hartau, 2005, 305-338] on the front side of which were The Ship of Fools and The Allegory of Intemperance on the left and The Death of the Miser on the right, and the exterior of which was the Rotterdam Pedlar. (p. 99)

In the upper part of the New Haven panel, a man is seated on a Floating barrel, which is being pushed along by several men. The dish on a swimmer’s head holds a meat pie decorated wiith a bird’s head. The bathers have left their clothes on the shore. These figures demonstrate an interest not only in singing, eating and drinking but also in love, as is evident from the couple in the tent, seated snugly at the table. (p. 298)

Attached to a stick stuck through the roof of the tent is a wreath with a pig’s trotter, signalling yet again that this is a celebration of debauchery [Lammertse, 2017, 301, note 20]. (p. 298)

Two traditions are of importance in interpreting the merrymakers in the boat in particular. First of all, the branches, as well as the cherries on the plank that serves as a makeshift table, clearly show that these people have set out on a pleasure trip. Especially in the spring, highborn youngsters amused themselves by flirting and making music while sailing around in boats decorated with foliage. This happened in real life, but it was also portrayed in numerous book of hours as illustrations of the month of May. Those depictions, however, invariably show elegantly dressed boys and girls, whose polished manners cannot be compared with the debauched doings of Bosch’s figures. Merrymaking monks and nuns never appear in such scenes [Bax, 1949, 194; de Bruyn, 2001, 80-83; Silver, 2006, 243-252; Ilsink et al., 2016, 212] yet they are part of the other tradition from which this painting seems to derive. Revellers in boats or barges who flout the norms and values of society are known from countless sixteenth-century poems, prints and religious processions. Again and again, social norms were ridiculed by displays of dissolute behaviour, by showing how not to do it, by acting out the topsy-turvy world. For those receptive to the message, it was immediately clear where such behaviour would finally lead – to perdition [Pleij, 1979; Lammertse & van der Coelen, 2015, 62]. (p. 298)

Another figure, possibly the old man’s alter ego, stands at the foot of the bed. With one hand he puts coins into a chest, where a rat-faced creature collects them in a large pot; in the other hand he holds a rosary. Here, too, the scene seems to revolve around religious faith versus material possessions. (p. 298)

The composition recalls illustrations in the Ars moriendi manuals – popular in Bosch’s day- which taught readers the art of dying. A typical illustration in such a book presented a man on his deathbed, with a devil tempting him into choosing material things and an angel pointing out that there is still time to repent and that the dying man’s eternal salvation is much more important than his worldly goods. The Washington panel can be compared to the depiction of a dying man with both a devil and an angel sitting on the headboard of his bed on The Table of the Seven Deadly Sins [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510; Hand & Wolff, 1986; Lammertse & van der Coelen, 2015, 62; Ilsink et al., 2016, 212-215]. (p. 298)

Whereas the left wing seems to depict mainly the sins of gluttony (gula) and lust (luxuria)… (p. 298)

In the upper part of the New Haven panel, a man is seated on a Floating barrel, which is being pushed along by several men. The dish on a swimmer’s head holds a meat pie decorated wiith a bird’s head. The bathers have left their clothes on the shore. These figures demonstrate an interest not only in singing, eating and drinking but also in love, as is evident from the couple in the tent, seated snugly at the table. (p. 298)

“Whereas the left wing seems to depict mainly the sins of gluttony (gula) and lust (luxuria)… (p. 298)”

… the right wing features avarice (avaritia). (p. 298)

It is possible that the pieces of knightly armour lying in the foreground stand for vainglory or pride (superbia) or alternatively anger (ira). (p. 298)

Remarkably, the underdrawing of the painting in Washington reveals that the dying man had originally accepted the money pouch from the devil and was holding in his other hand a costly goblet. At first, therefore, Bosch had spelled out the old man’s ill-advised decision. Evidently the artist found this too obvious, though, and changed the composition in such a way as to leave his fate up in the air [Hand & Wolff, 1986, 19]. (p. 298)

… the sinful behaviour of the menymakers… (p. 299)

“Whereas the left wing seems to depict mainly the sins of gluttony (gula) and lust (luxuria)… (p. 298)”

… the sinful behaviour of the merrymakers… (p. 299)

… the sinful behaviour of the merrymakers… (p. 299)

… the choices made by the dying man… (p.299)

The scene in the Death tondo [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510] closely resembles that depicted in Death and the Miser in Washington, but here the protagonist is receiving the last rites, and the angel has clearly won the contest. (p. 302)

The rejection of enjoyment and lust is expressed in Bosch’s work in themes like the Allegory of Gluttony (and Lechery) and the Ship of Fools (originally together on one panel); Shrove Tuesday, Singers in an Egg [Follower of Jheronimus Bosch, ca. 1561], Mock Tournament on the Ice [Follower of Pieter Huys, ca. 1560] and Tavern Scene – all of which only survive in the form of copies; the drawings of the Tree-Man [Bosch, ca. 1505] and the Witches [Bosch, 15th century] (who may also represent people celebrating Shrove Tuesday); and the Blue Ship [van der Heyden, 1559] and Merrymakers Sailing in a Mussel Shell [van der Heyden, 1562], which survive in the form of prints… They tell us how human beings fall into such misbehaviour when they fail to resist the blandishments of their senses [Badius, 1502; Follower of Jheronimus Bosch, ca. 1555-1575]. (p. 123ff)

The rejection of enjoyment and lust is expressed in Bosch’s work in themes like the Allegory of Gluttony (and Lechery) and the Ship of Fools (originally together on one panel); Shrove Tuesday, Singers in an Egg [Follower of Jheronimus Bosch, ca. 1561, “Concert in the egg”], Mock Tournament on the Ice [Follower of Pieter Huys, ca. 1560, “Grotesque Duel on the Ice”] and Tavern Scene – all of which only survive in the form of copies; the drawings of the Tree-Man [Bosch, ca. 1505, “The Tree man”] and the Witches [Bosch, 15th century, “Sorcières et monstres (Witches and monsters)”] (who may also represent people celebrating Shrove Tuesday); and the Blue Ship [van der Heyden, 1559, “Die Blau Schuyte (Ship of Fools)”] and Merrymakers Sailing in a Mussel Shell [van der Heyden, 1562, “Merrymakers in a mussel shell”], which survive in the form of prints… They tell us how human beings fall into such misbehaviour when they fail to resist the blandishments of their senses [Badius, 1502; Follower of Jheronimus Bosch, ca. 1555-1575, “Shrovetide and Lent”]. (p. 123ff)

The rejection of enjoyment and lust is expressed in Bosch’s work in themes like the Allegory of Gluttony (and Lechery) and the Ship of Fools (originally together on one panel); Shrove Tuesday, Singers in an Egg [Follower of Jheronimus Bosch, ca. 1561], Mock Tournament on the Ice [Follower of Pieter Huys, ca. 1560] and Tavern Scene – all of which only survive in the form of copies; the drawings of the Tree-Man [Bosch, ca. 1505] and the Witches [Bosch, 15th century] (who may also represent people celebrating Shrove Tuesday); and the Blue Ship [van der Heyden, 1559] and Merrymakers Sailing in a Mussel Shell [van der Heyden, 1562], which survive in the form of prints… They tell us how human beings fall into such misbehaviour when they fail to resist the blandishments of their senses [Badius, 1502; Follower of Jheronimus Bosch, ca. 1555-1575]. (p. 123ff)

Death and the Usurer and the Ship of Fools focus on two extremes – miserliness and usury versus prodigality. Bosch rejects both, as he does in countless details of his hell and temptation scenes. (p. 133)

Death and the Usurer and the Ship of Fools focus on two extremes – miserliness and usury versus prodigality. Bosch rejects both, as he does in countless details of his hell and temptation scenes. (p. 133)

Bosch champions a quietist attitude: do nor pursue the things of this world – money, possessions and pleasure because the reward will be eternal damnation. A similar idea is expressed in Death and the Usurer… The dying man originally clutched a precious chalice, which was only executed in the underdrawing. The chalice and the money-bags recall a passage from the Middle Dutch ‘Book of God’s Providence’ [Faris, 1914], in which a section with ‘instructive examples’ refers to a rich man who speaks the following words on his deathbed: Fetch my money and see if it can help me, as I hope. The money was duly brought to him and the rich man spoke again: Oh, my money, can ‘t you help me not to die, for you know how much I love you in order to get you, and I took great care of you, wherever I was.’ When his money proves unable to help him, he has ‘all of his jewels and silver dishes’ brought to him. And these cannot save him either, he bites a dish and dies. (p. 136)

Various 15th-century Ars moriendi books ( on the subject of dying and death) describe how the devil encourages dying people to worry about their money. Similar deathbed images occur very frequently in 15th-century Books of Hours, such as the Hours of Catherine of Cleves (which also has a man placing something in or removing something from a treasure-chest in the foreground) [”Deathbed, from The Hours of Catherine of Cleves”, ca. 1440], of Rohan (with Death entering a barrel-vaulted room holding an arrow and coffin) [”Death, from Grandes heures de Rohan”, ca. 1401-1500] and the Hours of Margaret of York (with similarities of composition co Bosch’s scene – the four-poster bed and the striking foreshortening of the barrel-vaulted room) [Follower of Dreux Jean, ca. 1468-1477]. Bosch evidently drew inspiration from a miniature of this type. (p. 136)

The general character of the panel has always been understood – the dying man between the angel (pointing towards the crucifix in the window and the ray of light ic emits), Death (entering the room) and demons. One demon offers him a money-bag, another holds up a document, a third disappears beneath the treasure chest, another sits inside it, a fifth leans its head melancholically on the low wall at the front, while a final demon sits on the canopy of the bed with a brazier. The overall theme is plainly avarice. (p. 136)

The different objects, especially the weapons, proved more difficult to identify. Anne Morganstern has demonstrated in a short but persuasive study that the dying man was a pawnbroker [Morganstern, 1982]… A copy (?) after Bosch – the Seven Deadly Sins in a Globe Shell [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510] illustrates Avaritia by means of a pawnbroker, surrounded by clothes, a sword and coins, who is about to take a belt from an old lady. Consequently, the dying miser is not just guilty of avarice in general, but of the specific sub-form of usury, which in Bosch’s time was considered profoundly wicked. Requiring the payment of interest or the pledging of security was contrary to the teachings of the Church. (pp. 137 -138)

… the pendant of Death and the Usurer as a panel that was sawn in two – the Ship of Fools and the Allegory of Gluttony. Together, the two scenes must have constituted a satire of licentious merrymakers, in which Bosch attacked the opposite of avarice – the intoxication of prodigality. (p. 139)

… the pendant of Death and the Usurer as a panel that was sawn in two – the Ship of Fools and the Allegory of Gluttony. Together, the two scenes must have constituted a satire of licentious merrymakers, in which Bosch attacked the opposite of avarice – the intoxication of prodigality. (p. 139)

Bosch was a fierce critic of avarice (the Hay Wain) [Bosch, ca. 1512-1515] and usury (Death and the Usurer), but also of prodigality and impoverishment through one’s own fault (overindulgence, extravagance and laziness). The values and standards that underpin Bosch’s world view are, first and foremost, moderation with respect to money and possessions (neither avarice nor rejection of worldly goods, allied with the condemnation of usury). This is followed by the moderate and rational use of those things (neither miserliness nor squandering) and by the praise of work. (p. 142)

As far as Bosch was concerned, the important aspect was clearly not the classical Last Judgement theme, but the rendering of an inventory of reprehensible behaviour… To clarify this process, we ought to return for a moment to the Ship of Fools. An addendum to the second edition (1498) of Jakob Locher’s Stultifera navis – the Latin translation – contains a ‘new invention’ by Sebastian Brant [Brant, 1498]: ‘Those who are ruined by an erroneous way of life’ reflects on and explains the book as a whole… The people aboard the fools’ fleet have failed to honour the ‘law, moderation and way that are demanded by God and by the decent order of things’. (p. 183)

A soldier who has leaned his over long lance against the wall fondles a woman in the doorway. (p.56)

Wij zien hier als steeds den loszinnigen geestelijke, het minlustige vrouwspersoon, twistende gezellen, watergeesten (verwant aan denWilden Man) en den met bellen versierden Nar, die zich hier wijs afzijdig houdt. (p. 29)

Het schilderij van Bosch wordt geacht het oogenblik voor te stellen, waarop de zondaar, tot inkeer gekomen, het huis, dat het tooneel zijner zonde geweest is, verlaat. Met zijn mand op den rug uitgedoscht als marskramer [Holbein, ca. 1523 – 1525; van Leyden, ca. 1520-1530], draagt hij allerlei kenteekenen, die aan zijn verblijf in het huis der vreugden herinneren. (p. 78)

De pollepel hangt hem op zijde,wat een spreekwoordelijke aanduiding is voor het weelderige leven, dat hij geleid heeft [Harrebomée, 1861, 16]; daarnaast kan de lepel ook beduiden, dat de weelde thans voor den man voorbij is en hij tot het uitschot is afgezakt: „al dat lepel lect”, was reeds in de veertiende eeuw een vaste uitdrukking voor Jan en Alleman [Verwijs, 1860, 37; van Dis & Erné, 1939, 235]. (p. 78)

Op het eerste gezicht lijkt het schoeisel van den vagebond de verbeelding van de uitdrukking: op een schoen en een slof, die het tegenovergestelde van welvaart aanduidt [Koomen, 1932, 48]. Maar daargelaten, of die uitdrukking al zoo oud is, dat ze tot de dagen van Bosch opklimt, zij lijkt wel gegroeid uit een andere, die reeds bij Oats voorkomt: de netste schoen wordt eens een slof [4]. Aangezien daarmede vooral een zedelijk verval bedoeld wordt, is die spreekwijze hier wel zeer toepasselijk. (p. 79)

De hoed, dien de man in de hand houdt, lijkt tamelijk overbodig, nu hij zich het hoofd met een lap gedekt heeft. Er bestaat een reeds in de eerste helft der zeventiende eeuw geboekstaafd spreekwoord; een nieuwe hoed verdienen, in de beteekenis van: geld verdienen door iemand aan een vrouw te helpen [Harrebomée, 1912, col. 785]. Wil de schilder te kennen geven, dat de zondaar zoo diep gezonken is, dat hij koppelaarsdiensten bewezen heeft? Wellicht heeft het hoofddeksel meer te maken met de beteekenis van verliefdheid, die in de zestiende eeuw aan de muts werd gehecht. In een referein van Jan van Doesborch komt de uitdrukking „metter mutsen doorreden” voor [Kruyskamp, 1940, 31, no. 11], die door den uitgever een wel wat gewaagde beeldspraak wordt gevonden [Kruyskamp, 1940, 10]. Op het schilderij is echter de hoed of muts doorstoken met een schoenmakerspriem, waar de pikdraad nog aanzit. Dergelijke zonderlinge versiersels yan hoofddeksels, als pijlen en messen, komen bij Bosch meer voor [Glück, 1933, 12]. De priem hier zal wel een symbolische beteekenis hebben: ik vermoed, dat wij een zeer platte phallische woordspeling erin moeten zien, in verband met de obscene beteekenis, die het werkwoord: pinnen, dat in eigenlijken zin een schoenmakersbewerking aanduidt, kan hebben [1]. (pp. 79-80)

Het bouwvallige dak wijst op het verloopen karakter van de ingezetenen, zooals de op een stok gezette leege drinkkan, die overeenkomt met die op Bosch’ schilderij van de Blauwe Schuit en de daarbij behoorende teekening in het Louvre [Bosch, ca. 1475-1500; Follower of Jheronimus Bosch, 15th century; Enklaar, 1937, 69, 72] en met die op de boegspriet van het schip van Sinte Reynuyt [van Leyden, ca. 1520-1530; Enklaar, 1940, 53], de oorzaak van dat verval verraadt. (p. 80)

Het bouwvallige dak wijst op het verloopen karakter van de ingezetenen, zooals de op een stok gezette leege drinkkan [Bosch, ca. 1500 (The Pedlar)], die overeenkomt met die op Bosch’ schilderij van de Blauwe Schuit en de daarbij behoorende teekening in het Louvre [Bosch, ca. 1475-1500; Follower of Jheronimus Bosch, 15th century; Enklaar, 1937, 69, 72] en met die op de boegspriet van het schip van Sinte Reynuyt [van Leyden, ca. 1520-1530; Enklaar, 1940, 53], de oorzaak van dat verval verraadt. (p. 80)

Dat de kroeg op het schilderij een verdacht huis is, onthult niet alleen de juffrouw – een kellnerin? —, die in de deur door een landsknecht geknuffeld wordt [Langendijk, 1715, vs. 8; Hildebrand, 1911, 333]… Dat een landsknecht het er eens van nam, zijn speer op zij zette, om een juffer in de bouten te vatten, zal ook in een gewone herberg geen uitzondering geweest zijn. (p. 80-82)

Maar het suspecte karakter van de gelegenheid wordt buiten eiken twijfel gesteld door den mand met den vogel, die naast de deur hangt. Hetzelfde teeken ziet men ook op de schilderijen van Hemessen te Karlsruhe en te Berlijn [Friedländer, 1935, 81; van Hemessen, ca. 1540; Monogrammist, ca. 1530]. Het is mogelijk, dat dit ook in het werkelijke leven het teeken is geweest, waarmede dergelijke huizen zich afficheerden, te vergelijken met het groote huisnummer onzer dagen. Maar dan zit er toch zeker een woordspeling in. In Manken van Nieumeghen insinueert de moeye, dat haar nichtje „yewers in een camer ghemuyt si, daer men sulken tijtkens om een grootken speet”, d.w.z. zulke „kippetjes” voor een gering bedrag aan het spit steekt [Leendertz Jr., 1907, 292]. Hetzelfde beeld „ghemuyt” oftewel gekooid gebruikt Heynken de Luyere, in alle gelegenheden van dit slag thuis, als hij op zoek naar een op het breede pad geraakte „nichte, die schoon van aenschijn was ende van leven lichte” [Crul, 1920, 11]… Ook de duiven, waarvan er een rondvliegt en een ander onder den nok van het huis op til zit, bedoelen aan te duiden, dat in de kroeg gelegenheid tot het plegen van ontucht wordt gegeven; duiven op zolder houden, is tot den huidigen dag een euphemisme voor: een publiek huis houden [Woordenboek der Nederlandsche Taal III, 1912, col. 3561; Harrebomée, 1858, 159] (p. 82)

Wat in het gedicht uitgedrukt wordt door het beeld van den roodgekamden haan, verbeeldt ook wel het dier op het schilderij, dat daar bovenop den mesthoop prijkt [Bisschop & Verwijs, 1870, 173]. (p. 83)

De uil in den boom symboliseert gewoonlijk, zooals bij de behandeling van Uilenspiegel gebleken is [Enklaar, 1940, 19], den nachtvogelaard in dubbelen zin; zoowel het scherpe zien, waaruit zelfcritiek en zelfinkeer kan voortvloeien, als de loszinnigheid. Mogelijk heeft het beeld ook hier beide beteekenissen, loert het nachtdier op het kantelende meesje en verbeeldt dat de wankele zwakheid, belaagd door de verlokkingen van het nachtleven; doch daarnaast mag men in den uil ook de verbeelding van het doorbrekend zelfbesef van den zondaar zien. (p. 84)

Stelt het schilderij nu werkelijk den Verloren Zoon voor? Men heeft het betwijfeld en zelfs radicaal ontkend [Sudeck, 1931, 18; Vermeylen, 1939, 49]. Het grijze haar vooral zou niet passen en de andere détails, ook de zwijnen, kunnen wel als simpele milieuschildering opgevat worden… Maar de verbeelding is meer dan een simpele weergave van den parabel; zij legt den nadruk op het algemeen-menschelijke van het thema… Dat de schilder het menschelijke door het persoonlijke weergegeven heeft, staat voor mij vast. Wie, de middaghoogte des levens overschreden „en tot zichzelven gekomen zijnde” [Luke, 15:17], ontkomt aan stemmingen als van den Verloren Zoon? Al proef ik het subjectieve in het schilderij, toch zou ik niet zoo ver willen gaan als sommigen, die er een zelfportret van Bosch in zien [de Tolnay, 1937, 46ff.; Hannema, 1931, 10; Romein & Romein, 1938, 81; Lafond, 1914, 24]. Men heeft zelfs in den ronden vorm van het schilderij een spiegel meenen te herkennen, „miroir de la r alit ”, die den mensch het ware en goede moet openbaren [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Luke, 15:17; de Tolnay, 1937, 46ff]. Dat zou wel passen bij mijn opvatting van de voorstelling, want, naar Huizinga’s woord, „er was geen groote waarheid, die de middeleeuwsche geest stelliger wist, dan die van het woord aan de Corinthen: „Videmus nunc per speculum in aenigmate, tune autem facie ad faciem” [Huizinga, 1919, 337; English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Corinthians. 13:12]. Wie het algemeenmenschelijke, tegelijk het diepst-eigene, wilde verbeelden, kan zeker naar den spiegelvorm gegrepen hebben. Doch ook de achterzijde van Bosch’ Johannes op Patmos te Berlijn [Bosch, ca. 1500 (Johannes auf Patmos)] en zijn Doornenkroning in het Escuriaal [Bosch, ca. 1510] zijn rond! Het lijkt mij gevaarlijk, schoon verleidelijk, in den ronden vorm een spiegel te willen zien en daaraan geestelijke bedoelingen te verbinden. Liever wil ik de verklaring van Glück aanvaarden, die het ronde proc d waarschijnlijk ontleend acht aan ontwerpen voor glasschilderingen [Glück, 1933, 11; Romein & Romein, 1938, 93]; dus zou het hoogst nuchter een kwestie van techniek zijn, overgehouden uit het vroeger beoefende glazeniersvak. Doch dat vermindert volstrekt niet de subjectieve visie van den kunstenaar op den Verloren Zoon. (pp. 84-85)

La mort de l’avare (p. 70)

The monk and one of the nuns are singing lustily, the latter accompanying herself on a lute; they resemble the amorous couples depicted in medieval love gardens, who make music as a prelude to making love. (p. 41)

The allusion to the sin of Lust is reinforced by other details drawn from the traditional Garden of Love – the plate of cherries and the metal wine jug suspended over the side of the boat – which Bosch had employed for the same sin in the Prado Tabletop [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510]. (p. 41)

The allusion to the sin of Lust is reinforced by other details drawn from the traditional Garden of Love – the plate of cherries and the metal wine jug suspended over the side of the boat – which Bosch had employed for the same sin in the Prado Tabletop [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510]. (p. 41)

Gluttony is undoubtedly represented not only by the peasant cutting down the roast goose tied to the mast… (p. 41)

Gluttony is undoubtedly represented… by the man who vomits over the side of the boat at the right… (p. 41)

Gluttony is undoubtedly represented… by the giant ladle which another member of the merry party wields as an oar. (p. 41)

Folly herself describes human weakness and stupidity with a delicate irony, often implying that folly, after all, is the natural and note entirely undesirable conidtion of mankind. This tolerant approach is absent in the blunter, more caustic verses of the Ship of Fools. For Brant [Brant, 1944; Brant, 1962], folly is not amusing, but equated with sin and punished in Hell, a harsher attitude which also characterizes Bosch’s castigation of the loose morals of monks and nuns. (p. 44)

… the pendant of Death and the Usurer as a panel that was sawn in two – the Ship of Fools and the Allegory of Gluttony. Together, the two scenes must have constituted a satire of licentious merrymakers, in which Bosch attacked the opposite of avarice – the intoxication of prodigality. (p. 139)

The intimate association between Gluttony and Lust in the medieval moral system was expressed by Bosch… (p. 44)

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. (pp. 44-46)

…on the right, by a pair of lovers in a tent, another motif reminiscent of the Lust scene in the Prado Tabletop [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510, “The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things”]. That they should be engaged in drinking wine is entirely appropriate: Sine Cerere et Liberto friget Venue (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. (p. 46)

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 of 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 [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510], the Ars moriendi or Craft of Dying [Ars moriendi, ca. 1415-1450], which was printed many times in Germany and the Netherlands. (p. 46)

…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. In representing the money chest so prominently, Bosch may have been thinking of the passage in Matthew 6:21, ‘For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also’ [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Matthew, 6:21], and of the quaint’ but edifying legend, common in medieval sermons, of the miser who dies unrepentant and whose heart is found buried in his strong-box. (p. 47)

… in the tavern at the left, whose ruinous condition echoes the ragged clothes of the wayfarer. As in Bosch earlier Marriage Feast at Cana [Follower of Jheronimus Bosch, ca. 1560], the tavern symbolizes the World and the Devil in general, its dubious nature revealed by man urinating at the night at the right, and by the couple embracing in the doorway. Another inmate of the house peers curiously through one of the dilapidated windows. (p. 104)

The customer for whom the second woman waits may very well be traveller himself. As Bax [Bax, 1949] has perceptively observed, he has not just emerged from the tavern, but has passed it in his journey and now halts on the road, as if allured by its promise of pleasure. Bax further suggests that the garments of the traveller and the various articles he carries are a symbolic commentary of his poverty, the sinful tendencies which led to his present condition, and his readiness to succumb to temptation once more. (p. 105)

In the Rotterdam panel Bosch does not make the moral alternatives quite explicit, but they can be discerned nonetheless. If the wayfarer looks back in the direction of the tavern, his path leads towards a gate and the tranquil Dutch countryside beyond. (p. 106)

Bosch made the image more profound by showing the pilgrim in the grip of a spiritual crisis. But whether the pilgrim will turn away from the tavern to pass through the gate is as doubtful as the issue of the struggle between angel and devils in the Death of the Miser… This ambiguity of the Rotterdam Wayfarer exemplifies perfectly the pessimism of Bosch’s age concerning the human condition (p. 106)

Chailley [Chailley, 1978, 106-108] sees the painting as representing the unjust steward of Luke 16:9 [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Luke, 16:9]. However, his arguments are not convincing. (p. 21, note 6)

The relationship of Death and the Miser to the Ars moriendi is less direct than that of the Prado Tabletop [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510, “The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things”]. In place of discrete, opposing images Bosch seems to have conflated scenes of the temptation by and triumph over avarice and introduced an element of suspense. The miser seems to ignore both the guardian angel who offers salvation and the toadlike demon who pops through the bed-curtain with a sack that almost certainly contains either money or gold. Instead, the dying man is transfixed by the figure of Death who, as in the Prado Tabletop, is represented as a shrouded skeleton holding an arrow. As with the Ars moriendi images [Ars moriendi, ca. 1415-1450], demons scurry under the furniture or peer down at the dying man from the bed canopy. While the outcome of the struggle may not be immediately apparent, other elements in the scene show the dying man to be guilty of the sin of avarice, the last temptation mentioned in the Ars moriendi. (p. 18)

The figure at the foot of the bed has been identified by some authors as the dying man himself in an earlier manifestation, as in the kind of “simultaneous narrative” found in medieval art [Baldass, 1943; Elst, 1944; Reuterswärd, 1970] Whether intentional or not, the figure seems to function as a personification of the dying man. There is virtual agreement that the standing figure is presented as evil and hypocritical; with one hand he puts coins into the strongbox where they are collected by a rat-faced demon and with the other he fingers a rosary, attempting to serve God and Mammon at the same time, so to speak. The lid of the chest is held open with a knife, a symbol of anger, another of the Seven Deadly Sins. (p. 18)

A winged and ratheaded demon emerging from underneath the chest holds up a paper sealed with red wax. It has been suggested that the paper is a letter of indulgence, a mortgage, a paper of false legitimacy, or a promissory note [Cuttler, 1968, 202; Cuttler, 1969, 275] Although there are no markings on the paper that would identify it as a specific type of document, it would seem likely that it refers to the money-making activities of misers, such as lending money at high rates of interest. Capitalism in the Netherlands of the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries resulted in an increasing use of paper credit as a substitute for hard currency. (p. 18)

The objects in the foreground—the heap of armor and weapons, the cloak, and the sleeved garment— have not been satisfactorily explained. The interpretations put forward are diverse, though many can be divided into two large groups: those that see the objects as referring to the previous life of the miser and those that see the objects as imbued with moral or allegorical significance. (p. 18)

Cuttler found in the foreground objects a veiled disparagement of knights and chivalry, similar to that found in Sebastian Brant’s Narrenschiff [Brant, 1944; Brant, 1962], and viewed the entire painting as a satire on the greed of false knights [Cuttler, 1969, 275]. (p. 18)

The monk and one of the nuns are singing lustily, the latter accompanying herself on a lute; they resemble the amorous couples depicted in medieval love gardens, who make music as a prelude to making love. (p. 30)

The allusion to the sin of Lust is reinforced by other details drawn from the traditional Garden of Love – the plate of cherries and the metal wine jug suspended over the side of the boat – which Bosch had employed for the same sin in the Prado Tabletop [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510]. (p. 30)

The allusion to the sin of Lust is reinforced by other details drawn from the traditional Garden of Love – the plate of cherries and the metal wine jug suspended over the side of the boat – which Bosch had employed for the same sin in the Prado Tabletop [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510, “The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things”]. (p. 30)

Gluttony is undoubtedly represented not only by the peasant cutting down the roast goose tied to the mast… (p. 30)

Gluttony is undoubtedly represented… by the man who vomits over the side of the boat at the right… (p. 30)

Gluttony is undoubtedly represented… by the giant ladle which another member of the merry party wields as an oar. (p. 30)

The disreputable nature of the boat is conveyed, finally, by the guzzling fool in the rigging. For centuries the court jester or fool had been permitted to satirize the morals and manners of the society, and it is in this capacity that he appears in prints and paintings from the midfifteenth century on, distinguished by his cap adorned with ass’s ears and carrying a baton topped with a small replica of his own vacantly grinning features. He frequently cavorts among the revellers and lovers, as in Lust scene of the Prado “Tabletop” [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510], pointing to the folly of the lewd behaviour. (p. 30)

The intimate association between Gluttony and Lust in the medieval moral system was expressed by Bosch… (p. 44)

The intimate association between Gluttony and Lust in the medieval moral system was expressed by Bosch… (p. 32)

The intimate association between Gluttony and Lust in the medieval moral system was expressed by Bosch… (p. 32)

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. (p. 32)

…on the right, by a pair of lovers in a tent, another motif reminiscent of the Lust scene in the Prado Tabletop [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510, “The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things”]. That they should be engaged in drinking wine is entirely appropriate: Sine Cerere et Liberto friget Venue (Without Ceres and Bacchus, Venus freezes); this tag from Terene 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. (p. 32)

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 of 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 [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510], the Ars moriendi or Craft of Dying [Ars moriendi, ca. 1415-1450], which was printed many times in Germany and the Netherlands. (p. 32)

…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. (p. 32)

… in the tavern at the left, whose ruinous condition echoes the ragged clothes of the wayfarer. As in Bosch earlier Marriage Feast at Cana [Follower of Jheronimus Bosch, ca. 1560], the tavern symbolizes the World and the Devil in general, its dubious nature revealed by man urinating at the night at the right, and by the couple embracing in the doorway. Another inmate of the house peers curiously through one of the dilapidated windows. (p. 63)

The customer for whom the second woman waits may very well be traveller himself. As Bax [Bax, 1949] has perceptively observed, he has not just emerged from the tavern, but has passed it in his journey and now halts on the road, as if allured by its promise of pleasure. Bax further suggests that the garments of the traveller and the various articles he carries are a symbolic commentary of his poverty, the sinful tendencies which led to his present condition, and his readiness to succumb to temptation once more. (p. 63)

In the Rotterdam panel Bosch does not make the moral alternatives quite explicit, but they can be discerned nonetheless. If the wayfarer looks back in the direction of the tavern, his path leads towards a gate and the tranquil Dutch countryside beyond. (p. 63)

Bosch made the image more profound by showing the pilgrim in the grip of a spiritual crisis. But whether the pilgrim will turn away from the tavern to pass through the gate is as doubtful as the issue of the struggle between angel and devils in the Death of the Miser [Bosch, ca. 1485-1490]… This ambiguity of the Rotterdam Wayfarer exemplifies perfectly the pessimism of Bosch’s age concerning the human condition (p. 63)

…the dying man and the one rummaging in his strongbox are one and the same person, in either guise, oscillates between sanctimoniousness and avarice without noticing the bloated monsters lurking in every corner (pp. 18-19)

Is the subject gluttony or lunacy? Certainly the small handful of cherries is more likely to exasperate the already desperate desire of these madmen than to satisfy their stomachs, as Cinotti [Cinotti, 1966] points out. (p. 66)

That even this highly eccentric-seeming Ship of Fools has to do with some activity connected with either the deadly sins or the seasons is suggested by an exploration of the new iconography of the Months introduced at the end of the fourteenth century. As Pächt shows, depictions of the activities of each month had been done mostly in the form of wall paintings until the fifteenth century, when they began to appear in manuscript miniatures [Pächt, 1948]. There are Books of Hours from the time when Bosch began his career in which, as Cuttler found, the month of May was generally illustrated with a boating party [Cuttler, 1969]. From the same period there are also pictures of groups of monks in boats, and since the devils always busy themselves with such lusty companies, these would appear to be meant as disreputable. It is a safe assumption that, in Bosch’s time, such an association of boat trips with sinful monks was widespread. Nevertheless much remains to be explained here, especially since in another source one finds a monk and nun cooperating (or worse) in some blasphemous action. In which case the cake suspended from above would be the host and the board between the two an altar table set with chalice and paten. Yet there are others in the picture, and their only message seems to be that “where ignorance is bliss, ‘Tis folly to be wise.” (p. 66)

At the supreme moment. the miser – a noble knight. judging by the armour at lower right – Is unable to make the choice between the Crucifix, pointed out to him by the angel and the money purse brought by a devil. (no. 15)

The scene of the inner struggle between good and evil is repeated at the foot of the bed. where the miser (according to Tolnay, the, figure embodies indecision [de Tolnay, 1937]) tells his beads with one hand while with the other he throws coins into a bag held by a devil inside the coffer. (no. 92)

The panel may have been part of a diptych or triptych dedicated to the theme of folly [Demonts, 1919; de Tolnay, 1937]: represented here is the rudderless boat drifting perhaps towards fools’ paradise, Brant’s Narragonia [Brant, 1944; Brant, 1962]; Helene Adhémar [Adhémar, 1962] thinks it is the Ship of the Church, and on the point of being wrecked. Attempts have been made to interpret the painting in a psychoanalytic key by identifying the erotic symbols [Solier, 1961]; but the various elements are better explained in the climate of the period, as a satire on one of the seven sins or of the five senses. Represented here are ‘Gula’ and ‘Luxuria’; most of the characters are intent on food and drink- one has had too much and is vomiting over the boat’s side. (p. 93)

The monk and the nun, as well as being obviously foolish characters, evidently have a sinful relationship (cherries, according to Bax, have erotic connotations); they are indulging in profane music-making too. (p. 93)

… was first published by Tolnay [de Tolnay, 1937], who suggested it might depict an episode concerning the Prodigal Son… Adhémar… believed it to have been a whole symbolising May or Spring) [Adhémar, 1962; Bosch, ca. 1475-1500, “La Nef des fous (The Ship of Fools)”]… Baldass believed it, instead, to be part of a panel illustrating the Deadly Sins [Baldass, 1959]. Bax (1949) viewed it as the summer feast of a merry party, and interpreted the various objects as symbols of forbidden love. The fragment depicts in a lively style akin to that of The Ship of Fools [Bosch, ca. 1475-1500, “La Nef des fous (The Ship of Fools)”] and with a delightful lightness of touch, Lust (a couple of lovers under a tent) and Gluttony, in the shape of a sort of Flemish Silenus [Seymour, 1961] bestriding a floating cask from which wine spills: this figure inspired the ‘Carnival’ of Bruegel’s Carnival and Lent in Vienna [Bruegel, 1559, “The Fight between Carnival and Lent”]. (p. 93)

… was first published by Tolnay [de Tolnay, 1937], who suggested it might depict an episode concerning the Prodigal Son… Adhémar… believed it to have been a whole symbolising May or Spring) [Adhémar, 1962; Bosch, ca. 1475-1500]… Baldass believed it, instead, to be part of a panel illustrating the Deadly Sins [Baldass, 1959]. Bax (1949) viewed it as the summer feast of a merry party, and interpreted the various objects as symbols of forbidden love. The fragment depicts in a lively style akin to that of The Ship of Fools [Bosch, ca. 1475-1500] and with a delightful lightness of touch, Lust (a couple of lovers under a tent) and Gluttony, in the shape of a sort of Flemish Silenus [Seymour, 1961] bestriding a floating cask from which wine spills: this figure inspired the ‘Carnival’ of Bruegel’s Carnival and Lent in Vienna [Bruegel, 1559 (The Fight between Carnival and Lent)]. (p. 93)

Bosch did not just take influences from Leonardo. He also gave some back. There is a good likelihood that the Italian artist based his undated drawing at Windsor called Allegory with a Wolf and Eagle [da Vinci, ca. 1591-1624] on an early version of Bosch’s frequently depicted Ship of Fools. In the painting at the Louvre, which is the best known best example of Bosch’s depictions of the Ship of Fools, the gluttonous and lustful figures ride on a boat which has a tree for a mast. Leonardo’s wolflike creature, which represent humanity;s animal side, rides on a similar boat. Leonardo’s version of the scene is more optimistic than Bosch’s, however. Bosch’s fools are determinedly unaware, but Leonardo’s animal steers its way by an eagle, a symbol of the higher self. (p. 79)

This negative image of the swan appears in many Bosch’s works. The tavern/brothels in his paintings, for examples, are identified more than once by a white swan on a flag or signboard. We see one example of this in the background of the central panel of the Prado Adoration of the Magi [Bosch, ca. 1494 (Triptych of Adoration of the Magi)], where the couple stands arm in arm, looking at a tavern whose sign is decorated with a white swan. The pigeons which fly in and out of the attic if this building identify it as a brothel. We know this because, as Bax has pointed out, the Netherlanders of the fifteenth century referred to a house of ill repute as a place which had pigeons in its loft. The same tavern/brothel, characterized by the same pigeons and swan on a signboard, appears again in Bosch’s so called ‘Prodigal Son’ at Rotterdam. Bax has shown that the swan could be an image of immorality, as well as an image of purity during the Middle Ages [Bax, 1979, 120, 295]. But surely it is unlikely that a devoted member of the Brotherhood of the Swan would have gone against his confraternity’s traditional symbolism, and chosen to depict the group’s namesake as a symbol of depravity. (p. 89).

The inn which he [the peddler] finds so tempting is obviously a place of sin and corruption. Its swan signboard, its pigeons in the loft, its jug, and its women all show that it is a house of prostitution. It also a place of drunkenness and intoxication. Symbols of drink include the leaking barrel and the man who urinates at the side of the wall. Bosch’s inn can be interpreted as a conventional Christian image of temptation, but it corresponds even more closely with a metaphor in the Manichean-related Hymn of the Pearl. In this poem, the Saviour who has come to rescue the fallen soul goes to stay in a similar inn. Symbolically, this is a temporary dwelling, which represents the earth [Jonas, 1963, 55f.]. Like the tavern/brothel in the painting at Rotterdam, it is a place where corruption and drunkenness are rife. (pp. 163-164)

The physical body in which the soul is entrapped is often called an ‘impure garment’ in Gnostic and Manichean literature [Jonas, 1963, 115]. This same concept is also hinted at in Bosch’s painting, where the peddler’s ragged and unkempt clothes symbolize the corruption of his body. (p. 165)

The wanderer’s bandaged leg left leg is also significant from the Cathar point of view. It indicates that he is wounded…. the wound means that he is subject to sin, and its location on the left foot or leg identifies his sin as lust. The wayfarer is not shown as undeemably wicked, however. (p. 165)

The dual nature of the Hearer, which contains both darkness and light, is also symbolized by the black and white plumage of the two magpies in the painting. One of these is trapped in a cage next to the door of the inn, and the other stands on a bar of the gate in front of the peddler. (p. 164)

The dual nature of the Hearer, which contains both darkness and light, is also symbolized by the black and white plumage of the two magpies in the painting. One of these is trapped in a cage next to the door of the inn, and the other stands on a bar of the gate in front of the peddler. (p. 164)

The spinder in the hat held out by the Hearer in the panel at Rotterdam is a traditional symbol of the weaving of the thread of physical life. Only one small strand remains on it, and as Wertheim says, this is probably a sign that the peddler has very little left on earth. Alternatively, in the interpretation of Stein Schneider, the spindle itself is an image of continuing death and rebirth, which implies reincarnation [Wertheim Aymès, 1957, 39; Schneider, 1984, 59f.; Cooper, 1982, 170]. Perhaps Bosch is expressing both ideas. In any case, the gallows on the hill behind the gate and spindle warns us that the pilgrim will suffer spiritual death if his desires lead to his rebirth in the physical world. the gallows on the hill behind the gate and spindle warns us that the pilgrim will suffer spiritual death if his desires lead to his rebirth in the physical world. (p. 165)

… the gallows on the hill behind the gate… warns us that the pilgrim will suffer spiritual death if his desires lead to his rebirth in the physical world. (p. 165)

… the gallows on the hill behind the gate… warns us that the pilgrim will suffer spiritual death if his desires lead to his rebirth in the physical world. In the Haywain panels [Bosch, ca. 1512-1515], the same danger is suggested by the crack, implying the possibility of breakage, on the stone bridge which the wayfarer is about to cross. Even the stone gateposts in the painting at Rotterdam repeat the message. Close examination reveals that one of these is cracked and crumbling, while the other is firm and unblemished. (p. 165)

The spinder in the hat held out by the Hearer in the panel at Rotterdam is a traditional symbol of the weaving of the thread of physical life. Only one small strand remains on it, and as Wertheim says, this is probably a sign that the peddler has very little left on earth. Alternatively, in the interpretation of Stein Schneider, the spindle itself is an image of continuing death and rebirth, which implies reincarnation [Wertheim Aymès, 1957, 39; Stein-Schneider, 1984, 59f.; Cooper, 1982, 170]. Perhaps Boseh is expressing both ideas. In any case, the gallows on the hill behind the gate and spindle warns us that the pilgrim will suffer spiritual death if his desires lead to his rebirth in the physical world. the gallows on the hill behind the gate and spindle warns us that the pilgrim will suffer spiritual death if his desires lead to his rebirth in the physical world. In any case, the gallows on the hill behind the gate and spindle warns us that the pilgrim will suffer spiritual death if his desires lead to his rebirth in the physical world. In the Haywain panels [Bosch, ca. 1512-1515], the same danger is suggested by the crack, implying the possibility of breakage, on the stone bridge which the wayfarer is about to cross. Even the stone gateposts in the painting at Rotterdam repeat the message. Close examination reveals that one of these is cracked and crumbling, while the other is firm and unblemished. This contrast symbolizes the peddler’s choice between salvation in the world of light, and rebirth into hell (the Cathar name for the earth). (p. 165)

Here everything once thought to be honey has turned to bitter gall [von der Vogelweide, ca. 12-13th century]; all that remains is remorse and contrition. Nevertheless this man is standing at a turning point. His feet – do they not move of their own accord? – are already ahead of his backward-looking eyes. His left hand, holding his hat, seems to be in a hurry to bid the wicked, cruel world adieu. Bosch has mirrored the moment when he suddenly pulls himself together, when the realization of a wasted life becomes a decision to turn back. (pp. 257-258)

Only a painter to whom the parable of Jesus was more than just a theme could have done this. Only a man with first-hand knowledge of the labyrinth of remorse, a man personally tested by temptation, could have caught that facial expression and concentrated it into such a state of spiritual shock that we feel as though, in the Prodigal Son’s backward look, all the woes of mankind had laid hold of us. The picture is, then, not an illustration but the religious witness of a man who, recognizing himself in the parable, felt called upon to capture exactly that remorseful look. Many painters have treated this theme. Bosch’s Dutch contemporaries usually travestied it in genre scenes of dissolute life in bawdyhouses. Either they showed the good-for-nothing living riotously or they played up the fatted calf as the highlight of his homecoming [Fraenger, 1999, 430, 102; van Hemessen, ca. 1540]. Bosch’s austerely interiorized painting, in which the spiritual happening is the only thing that counts, is the very opposite of those superficial genre paintings. This is a pictorial “metanoeite !”-a penitential picture that seeks not only to depict conversion but to inspire it. The hitherto accepted classification of this work as “a genre painting with a moral message” does not begin to do justice to its penitential energy. Genre paintings exploit the sensuous appeal of full, burgeoning life; Bosch is trying to render the ideal transparency of each and every factor of reality. His “moralizing” has the lofty intention of widening the pictorial stage into a moral institution [Fraenger, 1999, 430, note 103; Glück, 1904; Friedländer, 1927, 102; Hannema, 1931; de Tolnay, 1937, 46; Combe, 1946, 46-47; Benesch, 1957; Baldass, 1943, 62; Philip, 1958]. (p. 258)

The principal figure dominates the middle distance, striding across it from left to right. The left is the side of evil, the right of good. (p. 258)

The circle of the absolute One, who “maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Matthew, 5:45] encloses the coincidentia oppositorum and breaks it by pointing to the right road leading out of the dissolute playground of the “world” through the narrow gate, into “life” (p. 258)

The outward characterization of the Prodigal Son [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Luke, 15:11-32] stresses his degradation in order to bring out the more strikingly the signs of his inner resurgence. His haggard face looks too old for his age; his hair, sticking up through the holes in his hood, is prematurely gray. His coat, worn as it is, cannot quite hide its once stylish cut. The cobbler’s thread and awl stuck in his hat stand for drudgery, for shoddy patchwork and futile toil. In his Eulenspigel engraving of 1520 Lucas van Leyden also shows a hank of yarn and a darning needle stuck in the father’s hat, as well as a spoon like the one the Prodigal carries in his back pack-proof that the spoon is a symbol of vagabondage [van Leyden, 1520]. (p. 259)

But an even more incisive mark of the Prodigal’s inner turnaround is his gait: a loose-kneed falling forward, a shuffle in which the soles of the feet barely leave the ground, a limp sagging at the knees as though an insupportable burden were crushing him as he staggers on his way. This expressive movement, characteristic of Bosch, has the effect of a definition, which, like Seneca’s “errare humanum est” or the Demosthenian “it is only the gods who never err,” sees human journeying as endless stumbling; God’s steadfastness alone offers a firm footing. We recall the words of the Psalmist: “My foot slippeth; thy mercy, O Lord, held me up” [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Psalm, 94:18]. Does not the puppetlike movement of the Prodigal’s limbs suggest that he is being drawn along by a higher hand? [Fraenger, 1999, 431, note 104; Baldass, 1943, 232; Bax, 1948] (p. 259)

But an even more incisive mark of the Prodigal’s inner turnaround is his gait: a loose-kneed falling forward, a shuffle in which the soles of the feet barely leave the ground, a limp sagging at the knees as though an insupportable burden were crushing him as he staggers on his way. This expressive movement, characteristic of Bosch, has the effect of a definition, which, like Seneca’s “errare humanum est” or the Demosthenian “it is only the gods who never err,” sees human journeying as endless stumbling; God’s steadfastness alone offers a firm footing. We recall the words of the Psalmist: “My foot slippeth; thy mercy, O Lord, held me up” [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Psalm, 94:18]. Does not the puppetlike movement of the Prodigal’s limbs suggest that he is being drawn along by a higher hand? [Fraenger, 1999, 431, note 104; Baldass, 1943, 232; Bax, 1948] (p. 259)

In the hand, gestures, irresolute despondency is about to be dispelled by a rallying of new energy. Instead of being used to scare off the vicious dog, the clubbed stick in the man’s right hand trails behind him like a slack rudder. (pp. 259-260)

The left hand, however, flourishes the old hat, seeks a new direction, and moves toward a goal-a symbolic movement that Bosch’s contemporaries would immediately have understood. Berthold von Regensburg attests to the medieval craftsman’s tradition of ceremoniously removing his hat when requesting lodging; here, among the trees, towers a house that we feel lo be the homecomer’s distant goal. His hat, raised as if in greeting, is obviously linked with the house. The gesture of greeting, framed by the tree trunk on the left and a tall pole on the right, is tied to the faraway house by a vertical central axis. This produces a field of purposeful vertical thrusts within which the doffed hat must be taken to symbolize a fervent longing for a fulfillment that beckons from afar-a longing to return home. Thest are the stages the Epistle to the Hebrews cites a: evidence of moral resurgence [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Hebrews, 12:12-13]. (p. 260)

It represents the spiritual conversion of the Prodigal, and is therefore to be regarded as his soul-bird. We see it first in a cage outside the sinister house, representing the hero’s past entanglement in the evil world. In those days a birdcage hanging at the door was the sign of a brothel. Then the bird escapes and, like the birds that so often show people the way in fairy tales, flutters ahead of the fugitive and perches on the bottom bar of the gate-the direction his feet must take. Finally it soars to the top of a high pole from where it can see his father’s house rising out of the trees… Bosch borrowed the magpie symbol from a medieval world poem, Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival, to which the famous magpie paradigm serves as an introduction [von Eschenbach, ca. 1200-1210]. For him the black-and-white magpie colors stand for zwivel (doubt), not in the present-day sense of vacillating faith or conscience but in the original sense of “zwie-fall” (duality), i.e., the fundamentally given polarity of cosmic, moral, and metaphysical powers. (p. 260)

It represents the spiritual conversion of the Prodigal, and is therefore to be regarded as his soul-bird. We see it first in a cage outside the sinister house, representing the hero’s past entanglement in the evil world. In those days a birdcage hanging at the door was the sign of a brothel. Then the bird escapes and, like the birds that so often show people the way in fairy tales, flutters ahead of the fugitive and perches on the bottom bar of the gate-the direction his feet must take. Finally it soars to the top of a high pole from where it can see his father’s house rising out of the trees. (p. 260)

It represents the spiritual conversion of the Prodigal, and is therefore to be regarded as his soul-bird. We see it first in a cage outside the sinister house, representing the hero’s past entanglement in the evil world. In those days a birdcage hanging at the door was the sign of a brothel. Then the bird escapes and, like the birds that so often show people the way in fairy tales, flutters ahead of the fugitive and perches on the bottom bar of the gate-the direction his feet must take. Finally it soars to the top of a high pole from where it can see his father’s house rising out of the trees. (p. 260)

At the very center of the tondo the eye is caught by a pig’s trotter hanging from the man’s coat. The clover hoof occurs frequently in Bosch as a symbol of base urge and lusts. Up to now the man has kept it hidden in his bosom, but now, in this decisive hour of his life, what he has had a heart comes to light. To make the meaning of the crux of his meditational picture as clear as possible, Bosch has indicated the exact moment in time when the spiritual event occurs. From the front opening of the man’s coat, in a strongly accented vertical, hanged a white string. The pig’s foot was tied to this string. But as the repentant Prodigal hunches forward to jerk himself free once and for all from his corrupt ways, the tie to the “swine within” breaks and he drops the emblem of evil pursuits – which jauntily continue in the open doorway across the road, where the soldier and pot girl meet… The pig’s trotter is the devil’s cloven hoof, lurking behind the story Bosch tells. (pp. 260-265)

To make the meaning of the crux of his meditational picture as clear as possible, Bosch has indicated the exact moment in time when the spiritual event occurs. From the front opening of the man’s coat, in a strongly accented vertical, hanged a white string. The pig’s foot was tied to this string. But as the repentant Prodigal hunches forward to jerk himself free once and for all from his corrupt ways, the tie to the “swine within” breaks and he drops the emblem of evil pursuits – which jauntily continue in the open doorway across the road, where the soldier and pot girl meet. (pp. 260-265)

… the spit and image of the Prodigal Son [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Luke, 15:11-32] makes a temporary appearance under the “White Swan” sign. Hunched forward with knees bent, like his double, he is engaged in repaying the sinister house in its own coin for pleasure it has afforded him. (p. 265)

Seen as a hieratic figure, the Trinity symbol of the equilateral triangle dominates the layout of the six-day work of Creation [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Genesis, 1:24–31], penetrating it from top to bottom. The sturdy diagional drives into the sixth panel – the creation of man, who is represented by the piebald magpie standing for the Son of Adam facing the choice between black and white, Hell and Heaven. (p. 265)

The spiritual analogy with the Prodigal Son [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Luke, 15:11-32] is obvious: Here a son has been lost to God (just as Adam was) because in the idleness of his dissolute life he totally forgot that the six days of Creation should be the model for man’s creative daily work. Instead, he lived his lives according to the “six things the Lord doth hate,” which are likewise enumerated in Proverbs [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Proverbs, 6:9-19]. (p. 265)

From the “vanity” of the foreground an axis cuts obliquely across the picture, leading from the evil cleric to the little devil peering down from the bed canopy with the curiosity and agility of a monkey, and to the tall emblem he brandishes. This threateningly unstable diagonal disturbs the eye, which, however, finds a firmer hold in the narrow column on the left and in the clean right angles of its base. Thus the optical contrast leads directly into the deeper moral one: instability as opposed to steadfastness. (p. 298)

…the treasure chest into which a gaunt, housebound old man, leaning on his stick and smiling a wornout smile, drops the guilder he has managed to save. This touching figure might have stepped straight from the pages of Jacob Grimm’s Rede über das Alter where Grimm, then an old man of seventy-five himself expatiates soberly on the vexations of avaritia senilis, the avarice of old age [Grimm, 1911, 137]. Despite its austere economy the figure is boldly drawn; all the signs of decrepitude have been intimately experienced: the sunken temples, the toothless mouth and the already Hippocratic nose the exaggeratedly careful movement of the hand, and the shuffling, crooked stance. This old man is a pictorial rendering of the “vain show” of the Psalmist: “Surely every man walketh in a vain show; surely they are disquieted in vain: he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them” [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Psalm, 39:6]. (pp. 298-299)

This old man is a pictorial rendering of the “vain show” of the Psalmist: “Surely every man walketh in a vain show; surely they are disquieted in vain: he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them” [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Psalm, 39:6]… On his belt the old man wears the finely chased key to the treasure chest, along with a rosary, which is wound around the stick handle and held in his left hand . With his right hand he reaches into the chest, without even noticing the ratlike creatures lurking inside and underneath it. Even in the penultimate hour of his life he thus reveals his heart-divided between God and mammon. Once again the little crucifix on the rosary is conspicuously turned toward the viewer… This unquiet specter of an old man will end up like the dying man… (p. 299)

…the dying man staring at the arrow of death and fulfilling the words of Solomon: “And he came forth of his mother’s womb, naked shall he return to go as he came, and shall take nothing of his labor, which he may carry away in his hand” [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Ecclesiastes, 5:15]. Even as he draws his last breath, he is assailed by doubt. Should he reach for the moneybag held out to him by the tempter on the left or entrust himself to the mediation of the angel on the good side? (p. 299)

The deadly archer, entering the room directly below the feet of the crucified Christ, marks the transcendental crossroads of the painting. He has nothing to do with the treasure chest or with the already abandoned possessions in the foreground. He takes his stand well behind those trifling objects. (p. 299)

The thyrsus-pinecones, symbolizing vegetative life, and those multiple dividing lines, which recall the sunrays of The Table of Wisdom [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510], point to the deeper meaning of the vault. This meaning eludes the old man, greedily intent upon his earthly possessions and therefore never looking up to Heaven, and the dying man, who cannot see what is above because the bed canopy blocks his view. But Death is well aware of what this division of the sphere of life into four sections means. (p. 299)

The title by which this painting has traditionally been known, “The Death of the Miser,” does not do justice to this vast concept. The figure of the old man represents man pure and simple. He is portrayed as a miser only because that notorious vice of old age is a hopeless worldly delusion. As Cicero observes in De Senectute, what indeed could be more foolish than to provide an ever-larger viaticum as the way ahead gets shorter and shorter? [Ciceron, 1938] And in the words of I Timothy 6:10: “Love of money is the root of all evil.” [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, 1 Timothy, 6:10] (pp. 299-300)

For the devil, peering down from the bed canopy at the dying man directly beneath him, brandishes an infernal trophy: the cloven foot of a pig, the phallic hoof of the devil, which Bosch regularly uses to symbolize base desires. Representing the pleasure principle of incessantly self-begetting evil, this pig’s foot is the penultimate object our eye encounters. Set against the full-moon circle symbolizing divine perfection, it epitomizes all the pernicious growths that stem from avarice, the “root of all evil.” [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, 1 Timothy, 6:10] (p. 300)

Together, the three scenes [Bosch, ca. 1500 (The Pedlar); Bosch, ca. 1475-1500; Bosch, ca. 1485-1490] in these panels form an image addressing the course of human life. Human beings act and make choices. They often misbehave and choose wrongly. The question here seems ultimately to be what choice will they make in the course of their lives in the face of death? Will they succeed in turning to God and letting go of their urge for material things? Will the sinner – for that is what the human being is, by definition – repent or not? The answer to that question is crucial, because nothing less is at stake than the salvation of his or her soul. (p. 318)

Together, the three scenes [Bosch, ca. 1500 (The Pedlar); Bosch, ca. 1475-1500; Bosch, ca. 1485-1490] in these panels form an image addressing the course of human life. Human beings act and make choices. They often misbehave and choose wrongly. The question here seems ultimately to be what choice will they make in the course of their lives in the face of death? Will they succeed in turning to God and letting go of their urge for material things? Will the sinner – for that is what the human being is, by definition – repent or not? The answer to that question is crucial, because nothing less is at stake than the salvation of his or her soul. (p. 318)

Together, the three scenes [Bosch, ca. 1500 (The Pedlar); Bosch, ca. 1475-1500; Bosch, ca. 1485-1490] in these panels form an image addressing the course of human life. Human beings act and make choices. They often misbehave and choose wrongly. The question here seems ultimately to be what choice will they make in the course of their lives in the face of death? Will they succeed in turning to God and letting go of their urge for material things? Will the sinner – for that is what the human being is, by definition – repent or not? The answer to that question is crucial, because nothing less is at stake than the salvation of his or her soul. (p. 318)

The pack is first and foremost a large basket. There is no way for the viewer to know what it contains or whether those things are for sale as they would be in a pedlar’s pack. Small late-fifteenth-century prints are known in which Christ is shown as a child with a pack on his back. This can contain virtues, but also the weight of the world [Schreiber, 1926, 32-33, no. 820-825]. (p. 334, note 10)

Homo viator, the travelling man, might be an even more neutral and universal description for him. Calling the wayfarer ‘Everyman’ would also seem apt, with the proviso that – like ‘Prodigal Son’ – it risks reducing the figure to the illustration of a text [Zupnick, 1968]. As an ‘everyman’ with a lower-case ‘e’, by contrast, he makes this painting a mirror, just as the Everyman text itself does. The full title of Elckerlijc – in translation of the Middle Dutch version of Everyman – reads: ‘The Mirror of Everyman’s Salvation. How every man is summoned to give reckoning to God.’ Text and painting are linked by the notion that at the end of each human life, a balance sheet must be drawn up and an accounting given to God. However, where Everyman/Elckerlijc is a morality tale with an extremely clear progression from sin and repentance to salvation, the situation in Bosch remains unspecified. The outcome of the wayfarer’s life is unclear; we cannot say with any certainty whether he has truly repented. It looks like he is passing an inn with loose women. This gives the impression that he is leaving that world behind him, yet it is far from obvious where he is headed [ Lammertse, 1994, 95]. What is plain is that life’s road is beset with temptations and dangers, and that it does not leave those who travel it unscathed. (p. 320)

A reprint of a sixteenth-century engraving which, according to an inscription, was made after an invention by Bosch, states above the image where a boat like this, full of good-for-nothings, is headed. The boat is named the Blau Schuyte (‘blue barge’), referring to a tradition of worldturned- upside-down festivities and literature; as if that were not enough, inscriptions in Latin, French and Dutch specify that the boat is heading ad perditionem (to perdition) [van Oestvoren, 1413; Pleij, 1983; Bass & Wyckoff, 2015, 158-163; Ilsink, 2013, 250-251].Many viewers of the Ship of Fools will also have made the association, lastly, with the story of the satirical ‘Sint Reynuut’ and his boat [van Leyden, ca. 1520-1530]. Reynuut – a contraction of the words rein uit, meaning wholly empty – is a fictional saint, the patron of all those whose drunkenness leaves them destitute. His shrine is located on the island of the same name, to which he sails on his ship the Quat Regement (Bad Government). The drunkards in Bosch’s painting are certainly devoted to this saint. Sebastian Brant pithily sums up the moral of all these images in his Ship of Fools: ‘Who takes his place on the ship of fools sails laughing and singing to hell.’ [Brant, 1500, fol. p. iiii, cap. 109] (p. 328)

‘Who dieth well, his grave’s the best/ The sinner’s death is never blest’ is another fine couplet from Brant’s Ship of Fools [Brant, 1962, 283]. It offers a nice introduction to the dilemma facing the protagonist of the right wing of the Wayfarer Triptych. A man sits up in bed, looking into the eyes of Death, who appears from behind the door. Death points an oversized arrow directly at him. It is time. The final hour has come. The question now is whether the dying man will grasp the bag held out to him by a demon from beneath the curtain of the bed. The answer to this question will determine the man’s fate: is it to be heaven or hell? An angel behind him tries to draw his attention to the image of a crucifix that appears in the window in the upper left corner. The rays of light that enter the room via the crucified Christ do not (yet) extend, however, as far as the dying man. The struggle between the angel and the devil, who has positioned himself on the canopy of the bed in the hope that the man will make the wrong choice, has not been settled. The wing encourages us to think about what we would do in the face of death: hold on or let go. (p. 328)

The little demon in the foreground looks out of the picture plane, making contact with the viewer and leading him or her into the image. Its pose, with its head resting on one hand, is a common gesture of contemplation that we also find, for instance, in John the Baptist [Bosch, ca. 1490-1495]… It is clear from the action going on between the thoughtful demon and the scene in the bed that we cannot have faith in the happy outcome of the struggle between good and evil. (p. 328)

The elderly man we see there leans on a walking stick as he drops money into a sack. The moneybag and the chest in which it is kept are surrounded by three demons. Although the man wears a rosary, his money is not blessed. We cannot say for certain whether this is the same man who is also shown dying in his bed; he might also be a more emblematic image of avarice, intended to emphasize that too strong a desire for earthly goods helps pave the road to hell. Whatever the case, the figure in green serves to amplify the tension evoked by the dilemma facing the man in the bed. We find a similar composition in an amusing illuminated page in the Hours of Catherine of Cleves, in the margin of which a young man is depicted rummaging in a money-chest [”Deathbed, from The Hours of Catherine of Cleves”, ca. 1440]. The same youth appears in the main miniature at the deathbed of what is probably his father. He seems to be allowing his finely-dressed friend to talk him into taking an advance on his inheritance. The combination of the money-chest in the margin and its relationship to the principal scene has a striking, though somewhat enigmatic similarity to Bosch’s Death and the Miser; it is hardly likely, after all, that Bosch ever saw this exclusive manuscript, which was made for the Duchess of Guelders, probably in Utrecht, over half a century before he produced his painting. On the other hand, this is not a common juxtaposition of motifs [Koldeweij, vandenbroeck & Vermet, 2001, 137]. (pp. 328-330)

Bosch’s artistic challenge was to express the dying man’s dilemma in a single image rather than a series of illustrations. He places greater responsibility than the Ars moriendi does, moreover, on the man himself. It is up to him to choose. The choice between moneybag and crucifix has not yet been made: Bosch leaves the viewer with a cliff-hanger. It is evident from the painting’s underdrawing that the artist initially had a simpler image in mind. The man’s hand was originally clamped around the moneybag, and he also held a costly jar in his left hand. The painter evidently decided that this solution was too one-dimensional, as he ultimately omitted the jar, while the dying man in the painting has not yet grabbed the bag. This makes the miser slightly less miserly, while introducing an element of suspense to the struggle for the man’s salvation. In the earlier configuration, the demon looking down from the canopy of the bed would have got its way, and the dying man’s soul would have been lost. In the current form of the painting, by contrast, there is still some hope for the man in the bed. The decision has yet to be taken. (p. 330)

The figure that is a both an apt translation of the text and a subtle tribute to Brant’s supplementary woodcut is Bosch’s image of the gluttonous man. This man reflects the qualities Brant describes in his chapter “Gluttony and Feasting,” where he addresses the issue of consuming wine in excess [Brant, 2011, 97]… The resulting character is not simply a glutton, but is commonly understood as an allegory of Gluttony itself [Morganstern, 1984, 300]. Here, Gluttony appears as an overweight man who is observably “round and staunch,” yet must be deduced to be one who “neglects his friends” through his expressed ignorance to those swimming beneath him. In a subtle dissonance of word against image, Gluttony recalls the “silly swine” through his pink garments and pig-like facial structure, yet fails to embody the literal visual translation for Brant’s line of text as he is not an actual swine [Brant, 2011, 97]. In further referential detail, Gluttony rides aboard a leaking barrel in a sea of wine, honoring Brant’s earlier description of the “wise man” Noah. Conversely to the sober Noah, this gluttonous man is entirely obedient to wine’s wiles, and is slowly sinking to his death in the very thing he desires, unable to navigate the wine-filled “ocean deep” [ [Brant, 2011, 97]]. In the hands of Bosch as mediator, Gluttony is at the complex intersection of a well-divined metaphor and a veritably human fool, the latter expected by the viewer, having read Brant. (pp. 29-30)

In Bosch’s only other fully complete panel of this triptych, entitled “Death and the Miser”, the scene depicted has long been considered an allegory for Avarice [Morganstern, 1984, 301]… Preoccupied towards using “the traditional imagery for the Sins as a point of departure for his ruminations on the human condition,” Bosch’s whole oeuvre is eminent for his depictions of allegorical sin [Morganstern, 1984, 302]. (p. 36)

As the counterpart to the allegory of Avarice [Bosch, ca. 1485-1490], Bosch’s inclusion of The Ship of Fools [Bosch, ca. 1475-1500] places final emphasis on the allegory of Gluttony represented by the overweight barrel-rider. (p. 36)

The gemini of Bruegel are an amorous couple. They are nude in accordance with the idealizing tendencies of the Renaissance reviving antiquity, but they otherwise resemble the profane couple represented by Bosch in the doorway of the tavern. This amorous couple by Bosch may very well have the same meaning as Bruegel’s couple and may represent one of the signs of the zodiacs [Philip, 1958, 19:note 38; Panofsky, 1939, pl. XXXVI:fig. 62; Essling & Müntz, 1902, 212-213]. (pp. 17-19)

A sin characteristic of the peddler’s profession seems to be indicated by the second figure representation at the tavern, the amorous couple. The connection of this representation to the main figure of the painting has given rise to various speculations [Pigler, 1950, 135; Philip, 1958, 68:note 143]. I think, that this connection, too, is a professional one, and that the peddler was the one who brought the two people together. That would mean, that the side-line of the peddler is procuring [Bosch, ca. 1512-1515; Philip, 1958, 54: note 115-116] (pp. 68-69)

The peddler’s most prominent attribute is the hat which is so ostentatiously displayed by his outstretched arm. That this hat is the proverbial “new hat earned by a person who made a match” has already been assumed by Enklaar. I think that Enklaar’s idea, although overlooked or rejected by others, is nevertheless correct [Enklaar, 1940, 79, note 5; Philip, 1958, 69:note 145]. The peddler is a procurer, the hat is the emblem for this. The way the two objects, the awl and the pitched thread, are pinned to the felt makes it perfectly clear that the hat is a symbol carrying sexual implications [Enklaar, 1940, 79f.; Philip, 1958, 69:note 146; Meijer, 1946, 4f.; Bax, 1949, 50, 99, 223, 229, note 60; Valentiner & Suida, 1949, 105, no. 71; Anthonisz, 1541; Seligmann, 1953, 101] (p. 69:note 146)

The rooster which occurs near the inn in Bosch’s painting [Philip, 1958, 6: note 14] is a symbol of lust and unchastity and is also connected with the procuring activities of the peddler. The rooster originally signified fertility and was therefore an attribute of the god Mercury. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the cock frequently appears on the caps of fools in representations in which the fool is the entertainer and procurer. Cf., for instance, the fool as the maître de plaisir in the woodcut by Cornelis Teunissen, repr. in Hampe [Anthonisz, 1541]. There are innumerable examples of fools, prostitutes, procures, go-betweens and match-makers with the rooster [Bax, 1949]. (p. 69:note 146)

The swine, the counterparts of the rooster in Bosch’s representation [Philip, 1958, 4:note 10]), also point to unchastity and prostitution when seen in the story-telling context of the painting [Seligmann, 1953, 101; Bax, 1949, 50, 99, 223]. (p. 69:note 146)

Procuring probably was the most lucrative part of the peddler’s activities. Bosch apparently meant to reveal this point above all. The procuring in his Peddler corresponds to the stealing of the purse in his Conjurer [Bosch, ca. 1475]…Bosch also had shown that not the official professional work of a dubious character but his concealed sideline is the real money-making proposition of his trade. (p. 69)

Despite his drinking in the tavern, the peddler cannot be regarded as the “victim” of this evil house, where his drinks were probably even free of charge. All writers who had taken this figure for the Prodigal Son, assumed that the peddler was the victim of the evil. But the peddler is by no means and in no respect the victim of the evil tavern. Quite to the contrary, according to the practices in low-class brothels in the middle ages, the girls were held like slaves by keeping them in debt and vagrant traders working in collusion with the inn-keepers were part of a scheme for the exploitation of the of the prostitutes [Philip, 1958, 70:note 150; Avé-Lallemant, 1858, 334f.; Bloch, 1912, 724f., 767, 769]. To the middle ages it was not so much the prostitutes themselves but the people taking advantage of prostitution who were utterly detested [Philip, 1958, 71:note 151; Bloch, 1912, 632f., 645, 818f.; Rabutaux, 1881, 22f.; Sanger, 1897, 97f.]. A figure like the peddling drunkard who probably cheated and over- charged the girls in their purchases and whose side-line it was to procure customers for them, was an odious person to the public of the time. (pp. 70-71)

The entire right side of the composition of the Peddler represents the future punishment of the wicked man… [Philip, 1958, 75:note 160; Bosch, ca. 1475; Bruegel, 1574; Bruegel, 1568; Vinken, 1958, 3f.]. (p. 75)

…whereas the left represents the past and his sins [Philip, 1958, 75:note 160; Bosch, ca. 1475; Bruegel, 1574; Bruegel, 1568; Vinken, 1958, 3f.] (p. 75)

The entire right side of the composition of the Peddler represents the future punishment of the wicked man, whereas the left represents the past and his sins [Philip, 1958, 75:note 160; Bosch, ca. 1475; Bruegel, 1574; Bruegel, 1568; Vinken, 1958, 3f.]. There is no contrast between a “good” and an “evil” side in the painting. There is no choice represented which the peddler may have to make. There is no development shown from a former bad life to a better life in the future. What actually is shown is a rogue’s progress, his sins, his evil character and the punishment to which this finally leads. (p. 75)

Bosch’s painting of the Peddler is a representation of the Melancholic which is firmly based on the traditional negative concept of this humor in the middle ages [Panofsky, Giehlow & Saxl, 1923, 21f., 27]… Bosch’s lonely Melancholic shown in his life-journey leading to disgraceful death, is the personification of the Saturnian vices of lethargy and misanthropy. To the middle ages these were the two deadly sins of acedia and invidia, concepts which were not only closely connected with the idea of melancholia but partly even identical with it [Panofsky, Giehlow & Saxl, 1923, 30f.; Bloomfield, 1952, 428, note 30; Philip, 1953, 289, note 95; Philip, 1958, 51:note 115, 75:note 163]. (p. 75)

Mit den «Müßiggängerschiffen» (heißen sie nun «Narrenschiff»,«Leichtschiff», «Schluraffen Schiff», «Sint Reynuut» oder «Blauwe Schuit»)sollen die Müßiggänger satirisiert werden, die sich von der übrigen Gesellschaftabsondern. Das «Narrenschiff» wurde hauptsächlich gegen die Müßiggänger aufgerichtet. Die Passagiere dieser Fahrzeuge streben ein irdisches Paradies an, sie leben ms «Blaue» hinem [Leeber, 1939-1940; Enklaar, 1937, 35-85; Enklaar, 1940, 111], achten Jedoch nicht aufden «gemeinen Nutz» (res publica) und vergessen vor allem das Himmelreich. Sie ahnen nicht, daß die dünne Schale ihres Gefährtes sie nur wenigeZentimeter vom Tode trennt. Ihr sinnliches Treiben 1st Selbstbetrug, da ihr Ende naht. Diese – nach Meinung der Humanisten um 1500 – gottlosen Prasser und Schlemmer segeln ohne Steuer und Kompaß auf dem «Meerder Welt» ihrem sicheren Untergang entgegen. Die «Müßiggängerschiffe» sollen in satirisch-didaktischer Absicht sowohl vor dem persönlichenSchiffbruch wie vor dem «Schiffbruch» der Gemeinschaft und des Staateswarnen. Sie enthalten ein Gleichnis für «jedermann», um sich selbst zu erkennenund Maß zu halten. Diesem Impetus folgt auch Boschs «Narrenschiffo,das zu einem Laster-Triptychon gehört, das vor gefährlicher Armutund übertriebenem Reichtum warnen will. (pp. 167-168)

Der Einfluß Brants auf Bosch ist im satirischen Ton spürbar, in der närrischen Freude dieser weltlichen und geistlichen Mai-Kahnfahrer… «Avaritia» und «Luxuria» sind bei Bosch wie bei Brant die zwei Hauptlaster, die den Ordo verkehren [Bohnert, 1985]. Eine wichtige Anregung konnte auch von Badius’ «Narrenschiff» mit weiblichen Närrinnen ausgegangen sein. (p. 168)

In der Zeit der Erweiterung des Horizonts mittels seetüchtiger Schiffe(Entdeckung Amerikas) [Wilhelm, 1990, 241:no. 589; Brant, 1494, 66:v. 53-56;] rüsteten Brant und Bosch ihre Flotte der «Narrenschiffe» auf. Erst durch den Zusammenhang mit den «Faulen» bekommendiese leichten Gefährte der «Narrenschiffe» ihren eigentlichen Tiefgang. Hinter dieser Satire wird ein Begriff des Menschen sichtbar, der das «leichte Lebern» der Müßiggänger nicht als Schicksal begreift, sondern in den Zusammenhang von Arbeit und Leistung stellt [Heimann, 1990]. Auf dem Weg zurmodernen Leistungsgesellschaft wollten sich die Frühhumanisten und (Vor-)Reformatoren von den Müßiggängern (falschen Bettlern, unkeuschen Beginen, faulen Studenten usw.) trennen, deren Glück als «zu leicht» empfunden wurde. Die Ausgangsfrage «Wie kommt der Narr aufs Schiff?» ist damit beantwortbar, denn der Narr bildet gleichsam den Hiatus zwischen «Otium» und «Negotium» (Müßiggang und Handel). Eine aktive Gesellschaftmarginalisierte ihre sich treiben lassenden, vagabundierenden«Nichtsnutze», setzte sie (literarisch) auf die «Narrenschiffe der Müßiggängern(«naves pereuntis») [Kasten, 1992]. Dabei sollte jedoch nicht vergessen werden, daßdie Vorreformatoren die Habgier genauso kritisierten wie den Müßiggang;Gewinn sollte nicht von gemeinschaftlichen Verpflichtungen und von Gottlosgelöst sein. (pp.168-169)

Hieronymus Bosch’s narrow panel of Death and the Miser (c. 1490-1516) in the National Gallery is generally understood today as a warning against greed. With Death at the door, the miser seems to waver between the money bag offered by a devil and the pleas of the angel at his shoulder who points with an imploring gesture to a small crucifix that embellishes the room’s only window. This, at least, has been the interpretation most often followed since Tolnay proposed it in 1937, in relation to Ars Moriendi illustrations [de Tolnay, 1937, 27; de Tolnay, 1966, 25; Combe, 1957, 24; Philip, 1969, 34; Gibson, 1983, 46; Eisler, 1977, 67; Fraenger, 1975, 297; Reuterswärd, 1970, 266]. Tolnay’s interpretation of the bedside scene will be reconsidered after we have examined the rest of the painting. (p. 33)

The old man with a cane at the foot of the bed, generally thought to be the miser in an earlier moment, confirms the devilish nature of his activities, as he drops coins into a bag held by a demon. (p. 33)

…the objects strewn in the foreground, notably articles of clothing and weaponry, have lacked a convincing explanation. They have generally been considered as either allusions to the miser’s earlier life or as somehow related to the sin of avarice [Eisler, 1977, 66-69]. Tolnay suggested that the weaponry was included as a social satire against the nobility, while various other authors thought it simply alluded to an earlier time of rank and power in his life [de Tolnay, 1937, 27; Elst, 1946, 104; Combe, 1957, 24; Baldass, 1968, 41; Reuterswärd, 1970, 266; Gibson, 1983, 46; de Tervarent, 1945, 45]. Philip interpreted the coat as an allusion to Saint Martin’s generosity, in contrast to the miser’s greed [Philip, 1969, 34]. None of these explanations consider the objects indispensable to the central meaning of the painting. Yet their prominent position and their very nature suggest that they provide the clue to the specific economic abuse practiced by the miser. Bosch’s comment would hardly have been lost on his contemporaries. It has been misunderstood by the modern viewer since the economic conditions that evoked it are obsolete, in spite of currently escalating interest rates. For the objects suggest that Bosch’s miser was guilty of the sin of usury [Walker, 1975, 127] (p. 33).

… all of these articles were among those commonly pawned by people in need of cash in the late Middle Ages [Morganstern, 1982, 39:note 9]. Jewelry and plate were among the most common articles pawned by the nobility; the tournament knights were prone to pawn their jousting equipment; but clothing, kitchenware, and even bedding were commonly pawned by the poor [Bigwood, 1921, 479-506; de Roover, 1948, 114, 121; Cartellieri, 1929, 90]… There is a striking resemblance between his hoard and that of a proven usurer. The inventory made in 1368 of the household of Hugues du Chataignier, recently deceased canon at Rouen, mentions a collection of goods curious in the possession of a venerable canon, but similar in nature to the miser’s [Bishop, 1918, 423-425]… he had stored many belongings for which he could have no obvious use. The nature of this dubious assemblage was explained, however, by little labels found on some of the plate and jewelry, inscribed “put on pawn” by so and so. Hugues du Chataignier, canon at Rouen, was a clandestine usurer, an undeniable violator of the law of his church concerning lending at a profit. The position of the medieval church on the question of usury was unequivocal. It rested on the combined weight of the Bible, the patristic writings, and the councils [Noonan, 1957, 11, 14, 19-20, 30, 294-303; Postan, 1963, 564-570; de Roover, 1967, 28; Le Goff, 1979, 27-29]. (pp. 33-35)

…like the Rouen canon, his activities were clandestine… suggested by the behavior of the figure at the foot of the bed, if he was actually meant to represent the miser himself, as is generally thought, or perhaps his partner [Baldass, 1943, 236; Baldass, 1968, 41; Combe, 1957, 24; Reuterswärd, 1970, 266; Gibson, 1983, 47; Fraenger, 1975, 297; Eisler, 1977, 66]. This old man fingers a rosary as he drops coins into a money bag in the chest, the supposed key to which dangles from his belt. The prayer beads suggest that his activities were overlaid with a veneer of piety, a degree of hypocrisy hardly to be expected from the lombards, who were excommunicated, denied the sacraments and Christian burial, and lived in the eyes of the church, with few exceptions, as notorious public sinners [de Roover, 1948, 151; Laenen, 1904; Morganstern, 1982, 40:note 24]. (p. 36)

There was hope, however, for all usurers, licensed and clandestine, and it is within the context of the Church’s doctrine of forgiveness that we must look for the ultimate meaning of Bosch’s portrayal. As mentioned earlier, usury was regarded as a sin against justice. In contrast to avarice, a sin against charity that required only internal sorrow for forgiveness, absolution for usury required the reparation of damage done or the restitution of loss, conditions difficult for a man on his deathbed to meet [Noonan, 1957, 30]. It could be obtained, however, even in articulo mortis, provided that the sinner repented his sins and made restitution in his will [Noonan, 1957, 78; de Roover, 1948, 151; Le Goff, 1979, 43-52]. (p. 36)

In light of contemporary doctrine, the moment chosen by Bosch to portray the miser is even more critical, and his predicament more serious than had he been merely avaricious. He is placed between Death at the door, the devil with the money bag, and the angel at his side. His eye is fixed on the figure of Death [de Tolnay, 1937, 27; de Tolnay, 1966], whose arrow he seems to ward off with his left hand, while gesturing toward the money bag held by the devil with his right [Eisler, 1977, 68]. (pp. 36-37)

An infrared photograph of the painting shows a change in the area of the left hand [Eisler, 1977, 66; “Detail, infrared reflectogram image of Death and the Miser”, 1982]. In the underdrawing, the hand was extended further and held a covered goblet, as if offering it to Death [Morganstern, 1982, 40:note 30; Frankfurter, 1952, 114; Friedländer, 1969, 33; Master of the Virgin among Virgins, ca. 1490; van Oostsanen, 1517; Kohlhaussen, 1968, pp. 348f., no. 386]. The gesture toward the money bag accompanied this present and was thus also probably originally intended as an offering to Death. By painting out the goblet and shortening Death’s arrow, Bosch increased the tension between the miser and the figure of Death. Death. But did he intend to change the meaning? I think not. The gesture toward the money bag remains a gesture of offering. Our miser may be like the dying man cited by Tervarent, who showed Death his treasures, requesting that he take them with him [de Tervarent, 1945, 44f.].Or he may be offering Death a ransom. In either case, he seems preoccupied with the approach of Death on the one hand and with his gold on the other. There is no indication that he has thought of making restitution to the debtors whose pawns litter courtyard, and he seems totally unaware of the beam of light streaming through the window. No wonder the angel’s gesture is so urgent. He can only plead for mercy for this helpless sinner, who even at the moment of death seems unable to extricate himself from his possessions. (p. 37)

…the objects strewn in the foreground of Bosch’s Death and the Miser are directly related to its main theme, the death of an avaricious old man. (p. 37)

Understood as pawns, they suggest that the dying miser was not just guilty of the sin of avarice, but of one of its graver consequences. In showing the results of avarice in a contemporary situation, Bosch was using the same didactic principle employed in his Table of the Seven Deadly Sins in the Prado, where each sin is illustrated by a scene from contemporary life [Baldass, 1968; Gibson, 1973 (Hieronymus Bosch and the Mirror of Man); Gerlach, 1978; Gerlach, 1979]… The small Sins panel corroborates the evidence presented above for identifying the dying miser as a usurer. It also shows that Bosch regarded usury as an obvious manifestation of the sin of avarice. In doing so, he followed a well-established cultural tradition, for usury was commonly associated with the sin of avarice in the literature of the period [Bloomfield, 1952, 183, 197, 231, 237, 242; Antoninus, 1449, Theol., II, tit. I, cap. VI-X; Noonan, 1957, 77; Lottin, 1950, 43; Långfors, 1921, 519f.; Långfors, 1924, 16; Bayot, 1929, 195; Tinbergen, 1907, 89f., 258-260; Francis, 1942, xxxi, 30-32; Gerlach, 1979, 195; Cuttler, 1969, 274f.; Stürzinger, 1893, 298-302; Le Goff, 1979, 30-43]. (pp. 37-38)

…Ship of Fools is a companion piece to the Miser ; it could have covered two additional sins, gluttony and lust [Benesch, 1957, 33f.; Baldass, 1943, 235; Baldass, 1968, 621; Gerlach, 1979, 14; Morganstern, 1982, 41:note 41-42]. (p. 38)

…Ship of Fools is a companion piece to the Miser; it could have covered two additional sins, gluttony and lust [Benesch, 1957, 33f.; Baldass, 1943, 235; Baldass, 1968, 621; Gerlach, 1979, 14; Morganstern, 1982, 41:note 41-42]. (p. 38)

…Ship of Fools is a companion piece to the Miser ; it could have covered two additional sins, gluttony and lust [Benesch, 1957, 33f.; Baldass, 1943, 235; Baldass, 1968, 621; Gerlach, 1979, 14; Morganstern, 1982, 41:note 41-42]. (p. 38)

Otto Benesch suggested that the Ship of Fools could have been part of a series of the Seven Deadly Sins and signify Gluttony [Benesch, 1957, 33f]. Baldass [Baldass, 1943, 235; Baldass, 1968, 621] has suggested that the Yale panel, represents Lust and Gluttony from a similar series, and this idea has been recently endorsed by Gerlach [Gerlach, 1979, 14]. (p. 41:note 41)

Otto Benesch suggested that the Ship of Fools could have been part of a series of the Seven Deadly Sins and signify Gluttony [Benesch, 1957, 33f]. Baldass [Baldass, 1943, 235; Baldass, 1968, 621] has suggested that the Yale panel, represents Lust and Gluttony from a similar series, and this idea has been recently endorsed by Gerlach [Gerlach, 1979, 14]. (p. 41:note 41)

Otto Benesch suggested that the Ship of Fools could have been part of a series of the Seven Deadly Sins and signify Gluttony [Benesch, 1957, 33f]. Baldass [Baldass, 1943, 235; Baldass, 1968, 621] has suggested that the Yale panel, represents Lust and Gluttony from a similar series, and this idea has been recently endorsed by Gerlach [Gerlach, 1979, 14]. (p. 41:note 41)

The panels appear to depict allegories of three of the Seven Deadly Sins [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510]. Both the Louvre and the Yale paintings have often been associated with Gluttony and Lust [Morganstern, 1984, 300:note 30; Benesch, 1957, 33-34; Adhémar, 1962, 28-29; de Mirimonde, 1971, 34-35; Cuttler, 1969, 274-275], and the reconstruction of these panels strengthens that association. (p. 300)

The panels appear to depict allegories of three of the Seven Deadly Sins [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510]. Both the Louvre and the Yale paintings have often been associated with Gluttony and Lust [Morganstern, 1984, 300:note 30; Benesch, 1957, 33-34; Adhémar, 1962, 28-29; de Mirimonde, 1971, 34-35; Cuttler, 1969, 274-275], and the reconstruction of these panels strengthens that association. (p. 300)

The panels appear to depict allegories of three of the Seven Deadly Sins [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510]. Both the Louvre and the Yale paintings have often been associated with Gluttony and Lust [Morganstern, 1984, 300:note 30; Benesch, 1957, 33-34; Adhémar, 1962, 28-29; de Mirimonde, 1971, 34-35; Cuttler, 1969, 274-275], and the reconstruction of these panels strengthens that association. (p. 300)

Otto Benesch suggested that the Ship of Fools could have been part of a series of the Seven Deadly Sins and signify Gluttony [Benesch, 1957, 33-34]. His suggestion was supported by Adhémar’s analysis of the theme [Adhémar, 1962, 28-29], and has been echoed recently by A. P. de Mirimonde [Mirimonde, 1971, 34-35]. Cuttler interpreted the Ship of Fools as a moralizing satire on Gluttony, with Lust possibly a subtheme [Cuttler, 1969, 274-275]. (p. 300:note 30)

The ship with its merrymakers remains the principal motif, but its theme is amplified by the glutton astride a barrel who seems to herald the vessel’s approach to those ashore, some of whom have already abandoned their clothing and taken to the water. Although the situation of the ship’s occupants seems less precarious when now seen close to land, the presence of the knight in the water adds a new threat to their security. In this panel, Bosch represents Gluttony and Lust as dangerous and also foolish, for an indifferent jester presides over all. That he chose to combine the two sins in one panel need not surprise us. Gregory the Great had put Gluttony and Lust at the end of his list of the Seven Cardinal Sins and labeled them carnal [Bloomfield, 1952, 72]. His example was followed by a frequent association of them in subsequent medieval commentary [Bloomfield, 1952, 73, 89, 140, 174f, 197, 215], and Bosch included allusions to gluttony in his illustration of Lust in the Prado Tabletop [Morganstern, 1984, 301:note 34; Baldass, 1968; Bosch, ca. 1505-1510]. (pp. 300-301)

A flask is placed beside the inscription in the foreground of the scene, and the gallant who sprawls on the skirts of the seated lady offers her a drinking cup. (p. 301:note 34)

A flask is placed beside the inscription in the foreground of the scene, and the gallant who sprawls on the skirts of the seated lady offers her a drinking cup. (p. 301:note 34)

Death and the Miser has long been considered an illustration of Avarice [Cuttler, 1969, 272; Morganstern, 1982, 33-42]. (p. 301)

“Narrenschiff” und “Gula”-Fragment ergeben übereinander die Innenseite eines linken Flügels (hier “Luxuria”-Tafel genannt). Die dazugehörige Innenseite des rechten Flügels bildet der “Tod des Geizigen”. Zu diesen Innentafeln gehört der “Hausierer” in Rotterdam als Außentafel, dafür sprechen das Format, die Malweise und die Holzanalyse… Damit gleicht das neue Triptychon inhaltlich und funktional Boschs “Heuwagen”-Triptychon in Madrid: In beiden Fällen ist ein Hausierer Ausgangspunkt für die Darstellung eines Weltzustandes, der durch Sinnenlust und Habgier gekennzeichnet ist. (p. 182)

Das “Narrenschiff” schildert ein sehr “irdisches Paradies” mit allen Elementen der Ausschweifung und deutlichen Hinweisen auf närrisches und gottloses Treiben. (p. 182)

Das “Gula”-Fragment schildert Szenen von Lebenslust und Zügellosigkeit. (p. 182)

Der “Tod des Geizigen” schließlich zeigt einen alten Mann (als Sinnbild der “avaritia”), der sich von seinen Reichtümern löst. Mehrere Stufen des Seelenkampfes werden geschildert, teufl ische Dämonen umgeben sein Sterbebett, und ein Engel weist auf das Kreuz Christi hin. (p. 182)

Renger believes that the figure in the Rotterdam tondo is an impoverished peddler and swindler [Renger, 1969, 66-67]. This interpretation of the Rotterdam figure agrees on some points with that offered in the second part of this paper. Seligman and Renger call the backpack a peddler’s basket, but although peddlers did use such baskets they were not carried only by peddlers [Seligmann, 1953, 104; Renger, 1969, 66-67]. Anyone traveling by foot who had to carry something would be likely to have some sort of a pack on his back, especially if he was a vagrant poor man who had to keep his few belongings with him. Michel Mollat describes the typical medieval poor man as a vagrant who carries a pack on his back and a walking stick in his hand [Mollat, 1966, 17]. A basket similar to those in the Haywain and the Rotterdam tondo is used by a demon for carrying damned souls in the center panel of Bosch’s Last Judgment triptych [Bosch, ca. 1504-1508; de Tolnay, 1966, 179] (p. 88:note 6)

…the Rotterdam tondo represents a second and very different way in which poverty was conceived by the medieval mind: involuntary poverty, the affliction meted out to those who waste their substance in sinful indulgence. indulgence. Throughout medieval literature there are references to poverty as one of the wages of sin. In the Carmina Burana songs, for example, poverty is the typical fate of drunkards and profligates [Hilka, Schumann & Meyer, 1970]. One entire section of the Speculum Laicorum was devoted to drunkenness and its consequences, which included poverty [Owst, 1953, 426-427]. Sebastian Brant opens his chapter “On Gluttony and Feasting” in the Ship of Fools with: “He merits future poverty/ Who always lives in luxury/ And joins the spendthrift’s revelry.” [Brant, 1962, 96] The spendthrift’s ruination in the tavern was a favorite theme of popular literature and art in the sixteenth century, as Konrad Renger has shown in his book Lockerer Gesellschaft [Renger, 1970]. (p. 93)

The poor man in the Rotterdam tondo is about to pass through a gate… bridge. The gate and the bridge may symbolically represent the transition between this world and the next and thus emphasize the moralizing aspect of these paintings. Zupnick discusses the allegorical meaning of the gate [Zupnick, 1968, 131-132] (p. 93:note 46)

In the section depicting Ira in Bosch’s Seven Deadly Sins tabletop [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510], there is a tavern behind the scene of the men fighting. There is a demonic tavern in the center panel of the Vienna Last Judgment [Bosch, ca. 1504-1508; de Tolnay, 1966, 174] with gluttons and drunkards around it and lechers on the roof. There are also taverns, with lechers on the roofs, in the Bruges Last Judgment and in the Hell panel of the Garden of Earthly Delights [Bosch, ca. 1500; Bosch, ca. 1490-1500]. In the Bruges painting sinners who were apparently guilty of excessive drinking are gathered around a barrel in front of the tavern. A similar tavern that is in even worse condition than that of the Rotterdam tondo appears in the background of a scene of revelry in a 16th-century woodcut by Sebald Beham [Beham, 1535]. (p. 93:note 47)

The sore on the man’s leg is a symptom of an affliction that has stricken several characters in Bosch’s works. These characters are often associated with taverns and brothels. The Tree-Man in the Hell panel of the Garden of Earthly Delights, for example, has a bandaged carbuncle on his leg [Bosch, ca. 1490-1500; de Tolnay, 1966, 240]…. A similarly stricken figure, whose body seems to serve the same function as the Tree-Man’s, can be seen in the left panel of Bosch’s Saint Anthony triptych [Bosch, ca. 1500 (Temptations of St. Anthony)]… The man who empties the contents of a jug into his mouth in the illustration of Gluttony on Bosch’s Seven Deadly Sins tabletop also has a bandaged sore on his ankle [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510; de Tolnay, 1966, 66]. (p. 93-94)

The fact that the Rotterdam poor man has lost a shoe leads to the same conclusion. Drunkenness and consorting with prostitutes were condemned for being extravagant as well as sinful pastimes in the Middle Ages. They were denounced by moralists who formulated bleak descriptions of the consequences of such unseemly, immoderate activities [Owst, 1953, 425-441; Renger, 1970]. The loss of one’s clothing and particularly one’s shoes as a result of gambling and other forms of prodigality in the taverns was a familiar topos in such literature throughout the Middle Ages [Renger, 1970, 20; Tuttle, 1981, 94:note 60]. Popular texts that elaborated upon the parable of the Prodigal Son were convenient vehicles for the expression of these moralizations [Renger, 1970, 23-70]. One of the most poignant depictions of the Prodigal Son in poverty appears in a series of tondos, today in Basel, that illustrates the various episodes of the parable [Der verlorene Sohn beim Spiel im Freudenhaus, ca. 1520]. The Prodigal Son is shown in wretched poverty, seated before a meager fire. One of his shoes is missing. (p. 94)

The hoof appears to be associated with gluttony and lust – sins that were known to prosper in public houses. Within Bosch’s own oeuvre, hooves are shown in contexts that seem to establish this association. A hoof is portrayed on a banner flying above a tent that serves as a tavern and brothel in the fragment of a painting at Yale, Allegory of Gluttony and Lust [Bosch, ca. 1495–1500; de Tolnay, 1966, 94]. Another hoof is shown clutched in the greedy hand of the jug-holding glutton in the Seven Deadly Sins tabletop [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510; de Tolnay, 1966, 66]. The Rotterdam poor man’s hoof would thus suggest that he is guilty of similar carnal indulgences. (pp. 94-95)

The meaning of the catskin hanging on the poor man’s basket is more enigmatic. However, some popular association between dead cats and dissipation may be suggested by the appearance of another dead cat in the Basel tondo of the Prodigal Son in poverty. This popular association may have been current in Italy as well. Condivi’s explanation of the panther skin that Michelangelo’s figure of Bacchus holds states that the cat is dead because it is meant to symbolize the fatal consequences of dissolute living [Condivi, 1927, 28]. (p. 95)

…lively nudes (and clothed figures) indulging their appetites for food and luxury with the implication of sex) also appear in a divided wing, shared by the Ship of Fools (Musee du Louvre, Paris) and Allegory of Gluttony (Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven) [Bosch, ca. 1495–1500] from a dismembered triptych [Morganstern, 1984, 295-302]. (p. 28)

…lively nudes (and clothed figures) indulging their appetites for food and luxury with the implication of sex) also appear in a divided wing, shared by the Ship of Fools (Musee du Louvre, Paris) [Bosch, ca. 1475-1500] and Allegory of Gluttony (Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven) from a dismembered triptych [Morganstern, 1984, 295-302]. (p. 28)

…lively nudes (and clothed figures) indulging their appetites for food and luxury with the implication of sex) also appear in a divided wing, shared by the Ship of Fools (Musee du Louvre, Paris) [Bosch, ca. 1475-1500] and Allegory of Gluttony (Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven) from a dismembered triptych [Morganstern, 1984, 295-302]. (p. 28)

… Ship of Fools might well carry a humorous critique of folly along with a sterner moral indictment… (p. 29)

The Allegory of Gluttony… might well carry a humorous critique of folly along with a sterner moral indictment… (p. 29)

The Allegory of Gluttony… might well carry a humorous critique of folly along with a sterner moral indictment… (p. 29)

Certainly images of courtly love bowers figure prominently within calendar page illustrations, particularly for the lusty spring months of April and May. Half a century after Bosch, Pieter Bruegel’s drawing design for a print of Spring [Bruegel, 1565 (Der Frühling)] still features not only the preparation of a formal garden under a matron’s careful supervision in the foreground but also, at its vanishing point, a love bower, where feasting, drinking, and music as well as boating provide conducive conditions for lovemaking. [Silver, 2006, 400:note 37; van der Heyden, 1570; Bening, ca. 1515; Orenstein, 2001, 236-238: no. 105-106; Wieck, 1988, 45-54]… Once more, it should be recalled that these are precisely the kinds of activities condemned elsewhere by Bosch as the sin of luxuria in his Prado table tabletop [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510] and in his wing panel of the Ship of Fools… Indeed, such activities mark gardens of love (sometimes with added ascetic figures to be discovered) in later Flemish and Dutch painting, from Pieter Pourbus, Allegory of True Love [Pourbus, c. 1547] to a nascent seventeenth-century genre of “merry companies,’ where well-dressed young aristocrats feast and flirt in outdoor garden settings [Silver, 2006, 400:note 38; Huvenne, 1979; Nevitt, 2003, 21-98; de Bruyn, 1604; de Bruyn, 1601; Hellerstedt, 1986, 42-44, no. 16; Renger, 1976, 190-203; Nichols, 1992, 32-42]. (pp. 52-53)

Certainly images of courtly love bowers figure prominently within calendar page illustrations, particularly for the lusty spring months of April and May. Half a century after Bosch, Pieter Bruegel’s drawing design for a print of Spring [Bruegel, 1565 (Der Frühling)] still features not only the preparation of a formal garden under a matron’s careful supervision in the foreground but also, at its vanishing point, a love bower, where feasting, drinking, and music as well as boating provide conducive conditions for lovemaking. [Silver, 2006, 400:note 37; van der Heyden, 1570; Bening, ca. 1515; Orenstein, 2001, 236-238: no. 105-106; Wieck, 1988, 45-54]… Once more, it should be recalled that these are precisely the kinds of activities condemned elsewhere by Bosch as the sin of luxuria in his Prado table tabletop [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510] and in his wing panel of… an Allegory of Gluttony. Indeed, such activities mark gardens of love (sometimes with added ascetic figures to be discovered) in later Flemish and Dutch painting, from Pieter Pourbus, Allegory of True Love [Pourbus, c. 1547] to a nascent seventeenth-century genre of “merry companies,’ where well-dressed young aristocrats feast and flirt in outdoor garden settings [Silver, 2006, 400:note 38; Huvenne, 1979; Nevitt, 2003, 21-98; de Bruyn, 1604; de Bruyn, 1601; Hellerstedt, 1986, 42-44, no. 16; Renger, 1976, 190-203; Nichols, 1992, 32-42]. (pp. 52-53)

Certainly images of courtly love bowers figure prominently within calendar page illustrations, particularly for the lusty spring months of April and May. Half a century after Bosch, Pieter Bruegel’s drawing design for a print of Spring [Bruegel, 1565 (Der Frühling)] still features not only the preparation of a formal garden under a matron’s careful supervision in the foreground but also, at its vanishing point, a love bower, where feasting, drinking, and music as well as boating provide conducive conditions for lovemaking. [Silver, 2006, 400:note 37; van der Heyden, 1570; Bening, ca. 1515; Orenstein, 2001, 236-238: no. 105-106; Wieck, 1988, 45-54]… Once more, it should be recalled that these are precisely the kinds of activities condemned elsewhere by Bosch as the sin of luxuria in his Prado table tabletop [Bosch, ca. 1505-1510] and in his wing panel of… an Allegory of Gluttony. Indeed, such activities mark gardens of love (sometimes with added ascetic figures to be discovered) in later Flemish and Dutch painting, from Pieter Pourbus, Allegory of True Love [Pourbus, c. 1547] to a nascent seventeenth-century genre of “merry companies,’ where well-dressed young aristocrats feast and flirt in outdoor garden settings [Silver, 2006, 400:note 38; Huvenne, 1979; Nevitt, 2003, 21-98; de Bruyn, 1604; de Bruyn, 1601; Hellerstedt, 1986, 42-44, no. 16; Renger, 1976, 190-203; Nichols, 1992, 32-42]. (pp. 52-53)

In the right front corner of the setting lie the trappings of nobility – the armor sword lance and shield of the toutnament joust. Since’ these objects seem out of place in a chamber like this, Vandenbroeck hypothesizes that such objects are being held in pawn for acrual noblemen by tthe old man who would thus be identifiable as a usurer [Vandenbroeck, 2002, 104-107; Morganstern, 1982, 33-42]. Certainly in late-medieval canon law, usury was a mortal sin, one that prevented the taking of interest and acted as a brake on early economic development [Nelson, 1969; Noonan, 1957; Kaye, 1998, 79-87]. (pp. 240-242)

… this image by Bosch renders the happy ending of the text and its illustrations problematic at best. Whereas only a single angel appears in the panel, and his message is being ignored by its target recipient, devils abound – as is usual in the painted settings of Bosch. Upon the canopy above the bed, another toadlike demon hovers with a flaming torch, counterpoint to the rays of natural light coming through the window at the same level. This imp stands ready to negate the ministrations should the demon with the money bags fail to distract the dying man from the front. At the crucial final moments of his life, the dying man’s salvation hangs tenuously in the balance, with the forces and the message of Christian salvation dangerously outnumbered and drowned out in terms of volume… This same danger for a pawnbroker reappears during Bosch’s own lifetime in the exterior panels of a triptych by the Bruges painter Jan Provoost (c. 1465-1529: The Miser and Death… Morality matters so much in Christianity because the belief in the soul’s immortality resulted in a preoccupation with guilt and punishment – once more a preoccupation of Bosch, particularly in his Last Judgments [Silver, 2006, 305-360] (p. 241)

… the presence of demons in Bosch’s deathbed setting underscores the possibility of eternal damnation for the sin of avarice… Bosch formed a turning point in the invention of pictorial genres, since he elevated the moral concerns of the Ars moriendi temptation series to the full-scale painted subject, excerpting the temptation by avarice to an independent image, even within a larger triptych structure traditionally reserved for church or chapel altarpieces in Netherlandish art of the fifteenth century. (pp, 242-243)

…the Paris-New Haven wing presents a consistent enactment of another deadly sin: luxuria, sensuous self-indulgence featuring lust and gluttony in combination. In some respects, this fleshly weakness can be seen as the same kind of product of prosperity that provoked the image of Death and the Usurer [Bosch, ca. 1485-1490]… Bosch exploring such lustful and gluttonous impulses in me central panel of his Garden of Earthly Delights [Bosch, ca. 1490-1500]… its giant fruits and sexually cavorting nudes display a more extreme form of the same behavior as Bosch represents in his Ship of Fools and Allegory of Gluttony wing. (p. 245)

…the Paris-New Haven wing presents a consistent enactment of another deadly sin: luxuria, sensuous self-indulgence featuring lust and gluttony in combination. In some respects, this fleshly weakness can be seen as the same kind of product of prosperity that provoked the image of Death and the Usurer [Bosch, ca. 1485-1490]… Bosch exploring such lustful and gluttonous impulses in me central panel of his Garden of Earthly Delights [Bosch, ca. 1490-1500]… its giant fruits and sexually cavorting nudes display a more extreme form of the same behavior as Bosch represents in his Ship of Fools and Allegory of Gluttony wing. (p. 245)

…the Paris-New Haven wing presents a consistent enactment of another deadly sin: luxuria, sensuous self-indulgence featuring lust and gluttony in combination. In some respects, this fleshly weakness can be seen as the same kind of product of prosperity that provoked the image of Death and the Usurer [Bosch, ca. 1485-1490]… Bosch exploring such lustful and gluttonous impulses in me central panel of his Garden of Earthly Delights [Bosch, ca. 1490-1500]… its giant fruits and sexually cavorting nudes display a more extreme form of the same behavior as Bosch represents in his Ship of Fools and Allegory of Gluttony wing. (p. 245)

…the Paris-New Haven wing [Bosch, ca. 1475-1500; Bosch, ca. 1495–1500] presents a consistent enactment of another deadly sin: luxuria, sensuous self-indulgence featuring lust and gluttony in combination. In some respects, this fleshly weakness can be seen as the same kind of product of prosperity that provoked the image of Death and the Usurer. Yet instead of the middle-class money economy of the cities that shapes the Washington panel, this imagery emerges from a court culture, whose private pleasures remained potentially unchecked. (p. 245)

… the New Haven fragment, we find mere a mixture of both gluttony and lust [Eisler, 1961, 44-48]. (p. 245)

… the New Haven fragment, we find mere a mixture of both gluttony and lust [Eisler, 1961, 44-48]. (p. 245)

No one could view the Bosch panels without realizing that this indulgence is sinful. But the Louvre panel contains explicit labels that mark the scene as evil. For one thing, the banner fluttering from the tree-mast bears the crescent moon of Islam, no longer associated with turbaned figures in exotic dress but now atop a boat with Christian monastics in the midst of their pleasures. (p. 252)

The more specific identity of this figure as a peddler can be determined by observing that he carries a rncksack for his goods [Renger, 1969; de Bruyn, 2001 (Hieronymous Bosch’s So-Called Prodigal Son Tondo); de Bruyn, 2001]. His poverty is obvious from his scruffy costume with holes in the knee and from his bandaged leg with unmatched footwear. But he does have a small coin purse with a knife at his waist. He passes by a country inn that obviously doubles as a brothel, as the caged bird under the cave makes explicit… Earlier scholars attempted to interpret the main figure as the Prodigal Son of the gospel parable [English Standard Version Bible, 2001, Luke, 15:11-32], who is reduced to repentant poverty by wine, women, and song in taverns, and forced to dwell among swine. But this figure is grey-haired rather than youthful, and there is no reason in the parable for him to carry a peddler’s pack, either before he squanders his patrimony or afterwards. (p. 254)

…de Bruyn considers that the heavy pack on his back contains not just the stuff of the peddler’s trade but rather his burden of sins another common metaphor, then and now [Zupnick, 1968, 121-122, no. 25]. The presence on his pack of a prominent large spoon (or ladle) of self-indulgence as well as a cat skin ensures that this peddler is neither without desires nor an innocent [Silver, 2006, 410-411:note 30; Bax, 1979, 216-217; Renger, 1970, 129-142; Bruegel, 1568 (Les Mendiants ou Les Culs-de-jatte); Tóth-Ubbens, 1987, 73-76]. (p. 256-257)

The presence on his pack of a prominent large spoon (or ladle) of self-indulgence as well as a cat skin ensures that this peddler is neither without desires nor an innocent [Silver, 2006, 410-411:note 30; Bax, 1979, 216-217; Zupnick, 1968, 115-132; Renger, 1970, 129-142; Bruegel, 1568 (Les Mendiants ou Les Culs-de-jatte); Tóth-Ubbens, 1987, 73-76]. (p. 256-257)

The presence on his pack of a prominent large spoon (or ladle) of self-indulgence as well as a cat skin ensures that this peddler is neither without desires nor an innocent [Silver, 2006, 410-411:note 30; Bax, 1979, 216-217; Zupnick, 1968, 115-132; Renger, 1970, 129-142; Bruegel, 1568 (Les Mendiants ou Les Culs-de-jatte); Tóth-Ubbens, 1987, 73-76]. For example, a cat stealing a squab from a plate appears prominently within the painting of a brothel by Jan van Hemessen [van Hemessen, 1543], in which another older traveler, still wearing his hat, is being accosted, despite his feeble resistance, by a group of young harlots as well as an old bawd; meanwhile a dog crouches beneath the table. The cat, then, should be construed as an image of these loose women, and wearing a cat skin could show (like the bandage on his leg) that the peddler has a past in the taverns as a “skirt chaser” or “cat hunter” (katsjager). Hemessen’s image… offers the equivalent of an interior view of the tavern-brothel of Bosch’s background, complete with drink and women plus tavern cats and dogs.(p. 256-257)

…wearing a cat skin could show (like the bandage on his leg) that the peddler has a past in the taverns as a “skirt chaser” or “cat hunter” (katsjager). (p. 257)

In his Eulenspigel engraving of 1520 Lucas van Leyden also shows… a spoon like the one the Prodigal carries in his back pack-proof that the spoon is a symbol of vagabondage [van Leyden, 1520]. Bosch also uses the spoon with which the homeless man eats the soup he begs to convey a moral idea. In the common speech of his time the spoon symbolized wanton lovemaking. In his Spinnerin, the popular preacher Geiler von Kaisersberg derides “unclean love, like that of a spoon for a foolish woman” and “the spoon (who) sets his cap for the harlots and runs after them like the bull after the cow,” to say nothing of the extravagant spoon litany in Johannes Fischart’s Gargantua (Chapter 8) [von Kaysersberg, 1510; Fischart, 1969]. (p. 259)