Lions, Lilies and Mousetraps

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Since the beginning of Christianity, symbols and metaphors have been broadly used and understood by believers. Throughout the Middle Ages, everyday objects were interpreted in religious terms. A cluster of grapes could stand for the Eucharistic wine and the blood of Jesus; the cross or almost anything cruciform could symbolize the Crucifixion of Christ and the promise of salvation; palm branches symbolized martyrdom; a dove, the Holy Spirit.

Perhaps the most innovative and beautiful example of the use of this disguised symbolism is the so-called Merode Altarpiece (above), painted around 1425 and named for a former owner. The painting is a triptych with folding wings. The central panel (25 by 25 inches) depicts the Annunciation; the side panels (25 by 10 inches each) show the patrons who commissioned the work (left) and Joseph working in his workshop (right). Although the artist was 041long identified only as the Master of Flemalle (after the abbey of Flemalle, which owned one of his paintings), most scholars today agree that this is the work of Robert Campin (d. 1444), who served as dean of the painter’s guild in Tournai (in modern Belgium). Today, the painting hangs in the Cloisters, a simulated medieval monastery (and a branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art) containing five painstakingly reconstructed French cloisters overlooking the Hudson River in Upper Manhattan. John D. Rockefeller, Jr., was responsible for financing this medieval jewel. In the Cloisters’ hushed dark halls, the painting’s rich colors seem to glow—thanks to Campin’s innovative use of translucent glazes over thin layers of opaque oil paint (instead of traditional egg-white-based tempera paint). As with many of the Annunciation paintings discussed in the preceding article, Mary is interrupted by Gabriel while she is 042reading Hebrew scriptures, supposedly the passage in which Isaiah prophesies that a virgin would bear a child. The event takes place in Joseph’s house. The setting is depicted with great realism; it looks like an ordinary, 15th-century, middle-class living room, well furnished with decorative and utilitarian items. This is the first time the scene was depicted in such a setting.

A brass basin hangs in a niche in the back wall. A white cloth or prayer shawl hangs on a rack nearby. The central, polygonal table supports a candle in a candle holder, a porcelain pitcher holding lilies, and an open volume of the Hebrew scriptures. On the right, in front of the fireplace, stands a wooden bench with a movable backrest that could be easily changed to face the opposite direction. (Such convertible benches were invented in the Netherlands in the early 15th century.)¹ The wooden bench is decorated with Gothic trefoil arches and, at the top corners, four small carved lions. Around the fireplace are candleholders, marble carved figures and a fire screen. The light coming from the two circular windows in the upper left wall creates realistic double shadows behind the objects. But despite the naturalism with which these objects are rendered, nearly every detail in the painting has some hidden symbolic meaning.

It’s no coincidence, for example, that Mary is sitting on the footrest of the bench.² This symbolizes her humility. The light reflections on Mary’s bright gold-trimmed red robe form a star—probably referring to the Star of Bethlehem and possibly also to a cross combined with the greek letter Chi (the first initial of Christ’s title), a combination that was popular from early Christian times.

The lions on the bench undoubtedly refer in an abbreviated form to the elaborate Throne of Solomon with its 14 lions, as described in 1 Kings 10:19–20. In religious and profane literature of the period, Mary was referred to allegorically as the living Throne of the New Solomon, that is, Jesus Christ. (In countless medieval and Renaissance portraits of the Virgin and Child, Jesus sits on Mary’s very solid-looking lap as if on a throne; he often holds a scepter and orb.) The copper ewer with water symbolizes Mary as the “vessel most clean” or the “well of living waters”—both common descriptions of Mary’s purity. White lilies like those in the pitcher were also commonly used to symbolize Mary’s purity in Annunciation paintings (such as Fra Filippo Lippi’s). The spotless prayer shawl could again symbolize the holy and pure nature of the virgin.

The cryptic inscription on the side of the pitcher may be a reference to the artist of this otherwise unsigned work. One scholar has suggested that the letters are a combination of Greek and Hebrew that, when transliterated, spell DVPAYMKN, which when unscrambled could be read as du Kampyn or van der Kampyn (modern Campin).³

The symbolism of the candle appears to be borrowed from an encyclopedic treatise of canon law written in the 13th-century by a jurist named William Durandus. Durandus stated that the wax of a candle produced by virginal bees represents the humanity or the flesh of Jesus, that the wick represents his soul and that the light of the candle represents his divinity. Why then has the candle just gone out? (It’s still smoking.) Because Jesus has just appeared in the room in human (rather than divine) form: If you look closely you will see a tiny infant Christ, carrying a cross, descending on seven golden rays (representing seven gifts of the Holy Spirit) through one of the circular windows on the left. Or perhaps, as some suggest, the candle was snuffed out because all natural lights succumbed to the divine radiance of the babe—a theory made popular by the 14th-century Swedish mystic St. Bridget.

The most intriguing (and controversial) symbolism is found in the right-hand panel of the altarpiece, where we see Joseph at work in his carpentry shop. Never before had Joseph received such prominent treatment in an Annunciation picture; his presence here reflects the growing importance of his figure during the 15th century.

On Joseph’s work bench is a wooden contraption, a duplicate of which has been placed on the ledge 056outside his window. It is, in fact, a mousetrap—seemingly a rather mundane object to require Joseph’s expertise in carpentry (not to mention Campin’s artistic skills). In Campin’s time, there was a well-known doctrine (based on the writings of Augustine) called the muscipula diaboli, which stated that the marriage of Mary to Joseph and the Incarnation of Jesus were devised by Providence to fool the devil—just as mice are fooled by bait. It also states that “the cross of the Lord is the Devil’s mousetrap and Christ the bait to catch the Devil.”⁴ The other tools scattered about in a haphazard manner on the bench and floor may refer to Isaiah 10:15: “Shall the ax vaunt itself over him who hews with it, or the saw magnify itself against him who wields it? As if a rod should wield him who lifts it, or as if a staff should lift him who is not wood!” All the tools mentioned by the prophet appear in the painting.

Joseph’s current project, however—carefully drilling rows of parallel holes in a square board—has puzzled many art historians, who have proposed a variety of interpretations. It has been suggested that Joseph is making a footwarmer⁵ or spiked blocks—a torture device shown hanging from Jesus’ waist in many Flemish depictions of Jesus carrying the cross. It has also been suggested that Joseph is working on a fire screen similar to the one in the central panel; thus, the protective screen might symbolize his purity and his ability to distance himself from the fire of lust with the burning love for God.⁶ But one art historian, after observing winemaking procedures on an Italian farm, noticed that the strainer for extracting the juice from grapes was very similar to Joseph’s wooden square with regular rows of drilled holes; so Joseph could be making a grape strainer used to produce wine—specifically, wine of the Eucharist, the blood of Jesus that was shed for the salvation of mankind. As farfetched as such an interpretation may seem, the theme of Christ in the Wine Press (drawing on Isaiah 63:1–3, “I have trodden the wine press alone”) does crop up elsewhere in art (specifically, German woodcuts from the same period as the Merode Altarpiece).

Is this type of detective work legitimate? Can we be at all certain that our modern interpretations are correct or even probable? Yes and no. I am certain there is meaning hidden in this painting. In the Merode Altarpiece, commonplace objects become, as Thomas Aquinas put it, “corporeal metaphors of things spiritual.”⁷ Some of the symbols are harder to interpret than others, and some have multiple layers of meanings that continue to challenge modern scholars. The most legitimate approach must consider the familiarity of the symbolic interpretation in contemporary customs and/or literature. The religious traditions of the period have significant bearing on possible symbolic meanings. We have discussed the most pertinent and controversial symbols in one of the great Flemish paintings of the period. In all probability even more symbolic interpretations of the Merode Altarpiece will be discovered in the future.

40 Since the beginning of Christianity, symbols and metaphors have been broadly used and understood by believers. Throughout the Middle Ages, everyday objects were interpreted in religious terms. A cluster of grapes could stand for the Eucharistic wine and the blood of Jesus; the cross or almost anything cruciform could symbolize the Crucifixion of Christ and the promise of salvation; palm branches symbolized martyrdom; a dove, the Holy Spirit. Perhaps the most innovative and beautiful example of the use of this disguised symbolism is the so-called Merode Altarpiece (above), painted around 1425 and named for a former owner. The […]