# Cave of Dreams (Hieronymus Bosch)

Eduard Dolgunov

Immerse yourself in the mysteries of the inflamed imagination of the Dutch master. Hieronymus Bosch explores the abyss of human sins and secret nightmares, transferring fantastic visions of his time to a tree.

The Cave of Dreams

The Cave of Dreams "In my opinion, the differences between the paintings of this artist and the paintings of everyone else are that the rest strive to depict a person as he looks from the outside, while he alone had the courage to depict a person from the inside." José de Sigüenza - historian, abbot of the El Escorial monastery. 16th century.

— Aleyt, my dear! (Aleyt Goyaerts van de Meervenne), — Bosch hugged his wife, — please, do not worry. You know I am an honorary member of the Brotherhood of Our Lady of our city of 's-Hertogenbosch and our order is engaged in charity, and as a painter, I am entrusted with decorating festive processions and various ritual sacraments of the Brotherhood.... Reference. The Brotherhood of the Virgin is a religious association of laypeople that finances aid to the poor, organizes festivities, Easter psalm readings, and other charity. ...moreover, — he looked at his wife's face, — I have an order for a large canvas and I need to gather material, find nature, landscapes, models, think over the theme.

— But, right now St. Anthony's fire is raging in the villages, — Aleyt said fearfully, — which takes the lives of many people and, according to eyewitnesses, "entire villages are going mad, they are cursed with visions of hell and die in a fire visible only to themselves!", — she crossed herself.

— Yes, it is true, — the artist sighed, — but, healers claim: "the curse does not apply to those who came from outside and strangers can only observe what is happening without sharing this horror." So nothing threatens me, — Jheronimus smiled, — and, with God's help, I will return home safe and sound... Reference. At the described times, a terrible disease was raging in Europe, which, depending on the stage and severity of the disease, was popularly called "Fire plague", "Witch's curse", "St. Vitus' Dance". Today, medicine knows the causes of this disease under the name "Ergotism". This is severe poisoning resulting from eating rye bread infected with ergot fungus and often leading to a painful death. But, if there is ergot in the bread, and the "deadly critical amount" of the alkaloid is not reached, the hallucinogenic effect of the fungus comes into play. Often, these visions were provoked by upbringing in a religious society: instead of a kind neighbor - a witch, in a friend, they suddenly recognized a devil, saw widespread demonic possession. Such images surfaced in the drugged brains of the peasants. The Middle Ages nourished an incredible passion for demonology, the possessed, encounters with evil spirits, and visions of the "end of the world." The psychedelic effects of ergot can cause vivid hallucinations, bizarre sensations of knowing the world, and this is the basis of "divine ecstasy" and religious fanaticism. Infected people slandered themselves, as they were sincerely convinced that they had personally met demons, witches, and communicated with the devil. ..... So nothing threatens me, — Jheronimus smiled, — and, with God's help, I will return home safe and sound. Moreover, my faithful assistants are traveling with me - Petros and the monk brothers from the Brotherhood of Our Lady - Sven and Lars. Reference. Petros - a short, middle-aged man, permanently resided in Bosch's house and was his personal and indispensable assistant. Many years ago, Jheronimus met Petros in the shelter of the Order of St. Anthony, which he visited on a charitable mission from the Brotherhood of Our Lady. The unfortunate, suffering from this terrible disease, found shelter in this monastery. The young man appealed to the artist with his quick-wittedness, agility, and thirst for life. Bosch took him under his patronage and thanks to enhanced nutrition and the exclusion of rye bread infected with the fungus from the diet, the patient's condition improved and he began to recover, but, nevertheless, lost all the toes on one foot, two on the other, and one on each hand. However, this did not affect his agility and diligence at all. Jheronimus took the youth with him and since then he lived in his house, becoming an indispensable assistant in the artist's life and work. Petros ground colors for the artist (for example, to prepare white lead, one must sweat profusely over flasks and test tubes), prepared the board so that it was suitable for painting, and this is a whole science, a very laborious and very expensive task. Reference. Yes, painting, for that period of time, was an extremely expensive business. But, this bothered Bosch little, since he came from a fairly wealthy family. His grandfather, at one time, bought a house on the market square in the center of the city (which was not cheap), his father and brother were very popular artists (his father left Jheronimus a very solid studio), and Bosch in 1480 successfully married Aleyt Goyaerts van de Meervenne, the daughter of the city's burgomaster, a wealthy heiress and owner of real estate of almost half the city. So, he did not need funds, was an independent artist and painted for himself as he wanted. Although, he was very popular among wealthy people and among his clients were such celebrities as King Philip of Spain, Margaret of Austria, and others. Bosch was an honorary member of the Brotherhood of Our Lady and his duties included conducting various festive processions and religious rites outside the city, and for his personal safety and necessary assistance in trips, the order assigned monks Sven and Lars to him, strong men who constantly accompanied the artist on "business trips". Additionally, as necessary, the required number of laypeople from the members of the Brotherhood were allocated to help him.

— And so, Petros!

— Bosch looked at his assistant questioningly, — have you fulfilled all my errands?

— Mijnheer (Dutch master) Bosch, — he nodded his head, — do not worry, I did everything as agreed. I updated your wagon, packed the easel, sheets of paper, goose quills, took the necessary costumes and wigs, a set of all our musical instruments - flute, drum, lute, hurdy-gurdy, bagpipe, harp, trumpet, everything that you call the "Musical Hell", so the musicians and artists are equipped. The carpenter made a large box where we put provisions - wheat flour, nuts, dried vegetables, dried fruits, honey, dried berries, kegs of wine, a bottle of "Aquavitae", and everything that I received on your request at the Church of St. John (in the Middle Ages alcohol was called "Aquavitae", translated from Latin "Water of Life". It was given to patients to "preserve health and prolong life, cure many diseases from paralysis to smallpox"). The animal feed is prepared, — he continued, — the copper vats for cooking are packed in the carts, so the convoy is completely ready.

— Good, — the artist nodded his head, — we set off tomorrow at dawn. Reference. Sometimes, while working in the studio, Bosch needed a special musical background understandable only to him, for which he maintained a small group of "musicians", moreover, without demanding professional mastery of instruments and coordinated performance from them. Sitting in the room next to the "Cave of Dreams", the musicians simply created a cacophony of sounds for the host's creative inspiration. The artist called such "concerts" "Musical Hell" and one can assume that each of the "orchestra musicians" simply improvised on his instrument a musical piece known only to him, paying no attention to the playing of his colleagues. Why this "Musical Hell" was needed was incomprehensible, and nobody was really interested in the host's whims. The convoy moved slowly along the dusty road. Ahead went a mule dragging a long wooden platform on wheels, with a tarp-covered box and utensils, then a horse with a wagon in which rode Bosch, Petros, and the monk brothers, and last trailed another mule pulling a cart with the other members of the team. A small village met the convoy with the barking of dogs and the shouting of quarreling peasants. Reference. A description of the life of medieval villages, affected to one degree or another by "St. Anthony's Fire," from the historian Lawrence Stone: "This is a place full of hatred and malice; the only thing that connected its inhabitants were episodes of mass hysteria, which temporarily united the majority to persecute and torture the local witch. Even on the level of everyday life, half-starved, bad-smelling people are predisposed to all the wanderings of the mind: dreams, hallucinations, visions. And these 'wanderings of the mind' could not but affect even the image of Christ Himself." Small wooden houses were arranged in a semicircle near a small lake, on the shore of which several cows, goats, and some other livestock grazed, between which skinny dogs lay basking in the sun. Beyond the lake began a forest, along which ran a dirt road.

— What a pastoral scene, — the artist sighed and smiled, — a real paradise, only the shepherds are missing. Several women, having tucked the hems of their dresses into their belts, were washing clothes in the lake, while continuously swearing at each other. Near one of the houses, some man, waving a stick, was chasing a boy with a shout. The convoy drove up to the lake. The cows lazily turned their heads and continued their meal. The women looked angrily at the arrivals, gathered the laundry and, without stopping their cursing, went towards the houses. Bosch ordered his people to unharness the animals and settle on the shore. The team was not out on such events for the first time, so everyone knew their duties and everyone worked smoothly. Some, on Petros's orders, drew water from the lake into the vats and lit fires under them, others cast nets into the lake to catch fish, and a third group pitched a tent. Several men armed with sticks came out of the village and approached the convoy. The negotiations between Petros and the monks Sven and Lars standing near him with the angry, stick-waving peasants ended quickly, and the villagers turned towards their houses with curses.

— "St. Anthony's Fire" has reached the village, — Petros reported to his master, — and the villagers are already infected, I know it for sure, — he sighed, — I was sick myself. True, here it is only the very beginning of the disease, — he added, — so far only aggression and visions, but we need to be careful, they will soon return with the whole village. It's best to get them drunk on wine, and give the most violent ones "Aquavitae", — he said thoughtfully, — that's how we were treated in the monastery. Otherwise, it will be bad. Bosch nodded his head affirmatively and ordered to open a keg of wine.

— Petros!

— he said, — take the monks and monitor the situation. Those sick with "St. Anthony's Fire" are very aggressive and hysterical, so act, — and he added, — you know what to do, but be careful. And I will have my own work. After a while, the territory where the convoy was located filled with villagers. The people were cursing each other, shouting, aggressively sorting out relationships, pushing, waving their hands, looking for someone. Between them, with mugs in their hands, walked the convoy members in carnival costumes and offered the villagers wine. Petros, dressed in a jester's costume, was especially active. In the wagon, with the top folded back, sat Bosch, in front of whom stood an easel with a sheet of paper, on which he was quickly drawing something with a goose quill (Bosch was the first artist in Holland to draw with a goose quill). Near the artist already lay several sheets with drawings. No one paid attention to him, but the faithful monk brothers were always nearby. By evening, the drunken crowd became somewhat tired; some, both men and women, began to undress naked, swim in the lake, some, publicly, not being shy at all, indulged in fornication, some laughed, some howled, some barked like a dog. By night, the people dispersed, though some remained and slept right on the ground. Tired Bosch called Petros, still dressed in the jester's costume, and talked with him about something for a long time.

— I understand, master, — Petros nodded, — I'll do everything, — and went to the tent where the convoy members were. Jheronimus closed the wagon fabric and settled down for the night. Next to him, right on the ground, lay the monks, his faithful guards. In the morning, under the command of the ubiquitous Petros, the box storing provisions and wine barrels was removed from the wooden platform and covered with cloth, turning it into a small stage. Bosch approved the work and while food was being prepared, he went to the lake, sat in a broken boat standing on the shore, looked for a long time at the water with wild ducks swimming, at his musicians pulling fish out of the nets cast the night before, then again discussed something with his assistant.

— I am somewhat worried, — Petros said and nodded towards the village, from which shouts and curses were coming, — they are very aggressive. I'm afraid that "St. Anthony's Fire" is progressing quickly. Master!

— he turned to Jheronimus, — be careful and don't get out of your wagon. I'll do everything myself. The "performance" was coming to an end. On the makeshift stage stood an exhausted "Jesus", with a crown of thorns on his head, next to him the "high priest and Pontius Pilate". Below, in front of the stage, raged a motley crowd of villagers, whose faces showed malice and cruelty.

— What should be done with him?

— addressing the audience, the Procurator of Judea asked theatrically, — what do you say, brothers?

— Crucifige eum! (crucify him), — angry shouts rang out, — crucify!

— Give them more wine, — Petros scooped straight from the barrel and handed out mugs to his assistants, — do not spare it. See how aggressive they are, — he pointed to men fighting nearby and a woman running towards the lake, chased by a few villagers screaming: "Catch the witch"!

— Their fingers are already turning black, — he shook his head dejectedly, — the "St. Anthony's Fire" is flaring up too fast, — he sighed, — very quickly! Sven, Lars, — he called the monks, — take the "Aquavitae" and pour some for your brethren, — he handed them a bottle and waved towards the lake, — they are completely insane already. They need to be calmed down, or they will cause more trouble. On the shore, in the broken boat, sat a nun with a lute in her hands, opposite her a monk. The woman hit the strings with her hand and under the groaning sounds of the instrument, they sang something in wild voices. Next to the boat lay some more screaming and groaning people. Bosch sat in his wagon behind the easel and drew continuously. He forgot about food and only periodically took a sip from his mug. On the floor next to him lay a large stack of covered sheets and a mass of broken, worn-out quills. He watched the surroundings carefully, trying to depict everything on paper as authentically as possible.

— Master!

— Petros approached the wagon, — you see what is happening, they are turning into beasts right before our eyes. Our wine and "Aquavitae" won't last long, and if the neighboring villages find out about us, even more so. I feel sorry for these people, — he sighed, — they won't hold out long and unfortunately, they are doomed. The "St. Anthony's Fire" is progressing rapidly, the psychosis is intensifying and the people are becoming truly dangerous. We need to decide something.

— Okay, — Bosch shook his head, — we'll hold the "Way of the Cross of Christ" and pack up, moreover, of material for work, — he pointed to a solid stack of covered paper, — I've gathered enough. Go and prepare for tomorrow's act, be careful and don't spare the wine. Take my drawings, he handed the assistant a large packet with sheets of paper, — and hide them securely. This is material for my work for several years. Sven, Lars, — he called the guards, — go and help Petros. Don't worry about me, I can manage. It grew dark. Bosch sat thoughtfully in the wagon and looked at the groaning, yelling, cursing drunken people wandering along the lake shore, between whom ran skinny dogs, some of which dragged lizards and rats caught in their teeth, darting in large numbers along the lake shore and eating the food leftovers after the people. A multitude of crows flew over the drinking and chewing people, brazenly and fearlessly pecking at everything the rodents hadn't managed to drag away... He looked sadly at what was happening, and realizing that he could not help these people, his heart sank with melancholy. Unnoticeably he fell asleep...

— Drag him, — the artist's body was shackled by the mass of people, — caught the cursed demon!

— the noise of the crowd and the crack of a sleeve torn from a shirt, — to the stake with him! To the stake!! Nightmarish, monstrous faces. Bosch looked with horror at the disgusting mugs of the crowding people dragging him somewhere - terrible freaks...

— Now we'll roast you on the fire!

— a triumphant and malicious roar, — caught the demon! The triumph of malice, hatred, petty, miserable and insignificant feelings... On the makeshift stage lay a cross, prepared by his team for the planned "Way of the Cross of Christ to Golgotha", next to which, with a rope in their hands, stood two grinning peasants. Suddenly, somewhere from the side of the lake, familiar terrifying sounds of his orchestra were heard and someone's shout, in which he recognized Petros's voice: "People! We caught a witch! Look people, what horns she has! Everyone here! Drop the demon, we'll burn him later! Run here, everyone!" The crowd rushed toward the voice. Bosch felt some hands grab him, lift him and... squeeze him into a barrel with a nauseating smell of wine inside.

— Forgive us, Master Artist, — he saw the tense faces of the monk brothers, — but you'll have to sit here a little while. The crowd is aggressive and very dangerous, they could kill you. The lid closed and absolute darkness set in.

— Where is the devil?

— the roar of the returning crowd, — look for the devil!

— Brothers!

— Petros's loud voice rang out again, — rejoice, brothers and sisters! We have won! The devil fled and ascended to where he belongs - into the fiery Gehenna, into hell!

— Air! There is no air here, — Bosch wheezed, — what will I breathe? — ... and opened his eyes.

— Thank God, he woke up, — Aleyt looked at her husband in fright, — how you frightened us. Shouting, calling someone, trying to get up. The artist looked around for a long time and frowned, trying to remember something, then in a quiet voice asked: — Am I at home?

— Yes, master, at home, — Petros stood by the bed, — you made us worry. You're coming to your senses for the second day.

— My dear!

— Bosch turned his face to his wife, — I am very thirsty. Be so kind, brew me some Mulled wine (a decoction cooked on the basis of wine with the addition of herbs).

— Petros!

— when his spouse left, Jheronimus turned to the assistant, — tell me, what happened? How long did I sit in the barrel?

— In a barrel?

— the assistant shrugged his shoulders, — you didn't sit in any barrel, master, it all seemed to you. It's the drink's fault, the one I brewed according to your recipe. Lately you've been drinking too much of it, well, and..., — he shook his hand near his head, — so you hallucinated it.

— It all seemed to me?

— Bosch exclaimed, — so, the village, the sick peasants, the lake, the theater with Jesus, the crowd... none of this happened? Are these my hallucinations? Did I imagine all this?

— No, master, — Petros smiled, — the village, the peasants with "St. Anthony's Fire" — all this was... but, your drink... Remember, — he switched to a whisper, — on the second day of our stay in the village, we were sitting with you in a broken boat on the shore of the lake.... By the lake.

— Petros!

— Bosch turned to his assistant, — I have very serious plans for this trip. I have conceived a large and complex work, with a huge number of characters. The nature, — he smoothly moved his hand in a circle, — suits me here, but I need people, a lot of people, and this will be your task. You see Petros, — he squinted, — the theme of my ideas is very unusual. For such a work, I need to see the surrounding reality not as ordinary people see it, but in a special way, and for this I need your help. You know what Kykeon is, — and having received an affirmative nod from Petros, continued, — you have brewed it for me more than once. But, it was a one-time thing, and now, to obtain the necessary vision of the surrounding world, I need to be in a somewhat altered state, into which a person falls after consuming this decoction, for a long time. However, this drink is very insidious and dangerous, therefore, I entrust this only to you. You must not only brew this decoction, but also carefully ensure that I do not get poisoned and do not do anything foolish. I rely heavily on you. Kykeon. An intoxicating drink, which is a mixture of wine, onions, cheese, honey, salt, roots, flowers and barley flour infected with ergot spores. An ancient Greek recipe for a drink that the ancient Greeks drank before the initiation began, falling into a deep trance. To obtain a hallucinogenic effect, the drink was brewed with maximum precautions and strict control of the dosage of the ingredients.

— In connection with the developing events, — Petros said, — it was very difficult for me to keep track of you, and you somewhat abused the amount consumed. Over time, you began to see everything in a different, distorted form, it was already becoming dangerous, and the monk brothers and I had no choice but to force you to return home.

— My God, — the artist fell back on the pillows, — I remember everything somehow vaguely. Allow me, — he suddenly exclaimed in fright, — does this mean my drawings are gone too? Did I not draw anything?

— No, no, — Petros reassured him, — your sketches are with me, there are very many of them. Do not worry, master, you worked all this time and I am sure that you will restore everything in your memory from your drawings. I saved all your papers.

— Thank God, — Bosch sighed, — I must, I am simply obliged to remember everything. Ah, and here is my dear wife, — he smiled at the sight of Aleyt entering, with a mug on a tray, — how good it is that I am already at home. Having drunk the wine, the artist fell asleep.

— Madam!

— Petros said when they left the room, — please don't tell the master that the monks and I took him out in a wine barrel. Believe me, — he sighed, — the situation was very dangerous and we had no other way out, but, I said that he imagined it.

— Thank you, Petros, — Aleyt smiled, — you did everything right and I am very grateful to you. Go, rest.

— Petros!

— Bosch said irritably, — for half a year I have been struggling to sort out my drawings, but, I cannot restore in my memory our journey and the characters met there. Sometimes, I get the impression that these are not my sketches at all. I am wasting a lot of time, I cannot tune into the right wavelength and I understood that to restore memory, I need to return to the state I was in while drawing the sketches.

— I understand you, master, — Petros shook his head, — I am going to brew the decoction.

— Master!

— Petros handed Bosch a mug with the decoction, — you've been working like a man possessed for the second year and hardly leave the studio. You could get sick this way.

— I must finish the triptych, and this, my friend, is a very big job, — Jheronimus put the mug aside and after a pause, said, — listen, I have a serious talk with you. But, first go and brew another mug of the decoction, — and seeing the assistant's questioning face, added, — I will explain everything later. Petros returned with the mug and looked questioningly at the artist.

— My friend, — looking into his eyes, Bosch said, — you have served me for many years, helped with the work, ground colors for me, prepared and polished boards for paintings, but, you have never been in my studio and never asked what I do there. I highly value your modesty and devotion, but now the time has come for you to see my "Cave of Dreams". Besides me, only one person has access to the studio, my servant Dorian, you know him, who for me, as a painter, has a number of undeniable advantages - physically strong, diligent, and, most importantly, he is mute from birth, and for me it is very important that everything that happens in the "Cave of Dreams" does not leave the walls of the studio... Reference. Being on a charitable mission from the Brotherhood of the Virgin in one of the monastery shelters, Bosch saw a youth sitting lonely on the floor near the church altar.

— A feeble-minded boy, — the monk sighed, — mute from birth. The artist sighed, understanding that, with such data, it was impossible to survive at that time, suddenly, he saw the eyes of the youth looking at him... and took him in. Since then, Dorian lived in a small closet attached to the studio and was an indispensable assistant to the artist. What Bosch saw in the eyes of the feeble-minded mute youth remains a mystery. Perhaps devotion and purity of thoughts? ...Now, — the artist shook his head, — the time has come for you to see everything with your own eyes, however you will be able to enter there only after having first tasted the potion you brewed. If you accept my conditions, — Bosch raised the mug, — welcome to the "Cave of Dreams". "The Cave of Dreams". The studio, inherited from his father, consisted of three large halls. In one - assistants ground colors, polished and prepared boards for paintings, another was used as a storage for finished works, in the third the artist created. But, this did not suit Bosch, as while working on a painting, he went into his own inner world understandable only to him and could not bear being disturbed. Therefore, he remodeled the studio according to his project, connecting two halls into one, completely isolating it from the third, made a separate entrance and called it the "Cave of Dreams". It was a long room with a vaulted ceiling and uneven walls with many protrusions. At the end of the hall, from ceiling to floor, hung large Venetian mirrors, made to his order on the island of Murano, and some were ordinary, others, due to special grinding, gave a deformed and distorted image. In the side walls, right under the ceiling, there were windows with wooden blinds, with the help of which one could regulate the lighting and air movement. In front of the mirrors stood a huge wooden tripod on wheels, capable of holding a painting of any size. The secret of the "Cave of Dreams" was that the sketches hung on the uneven walls and freely hanging on strings, from the slightest breath of wind (which was easily achieved by a draft) moved and reflecting in the mirrors, created the illusion of movement, and in each of the mirrors a different one. And the main thing. Bosch painted large-sized paintings on wood, with a huge number of characters, a multitude of details, fantastic structures, monsters and much more, in which there was a lot of movement, composition and action. Keeping the entire volume of the conceived work in his head for a long time was very difficult, and here, in the "Cave of Dreams", the entire panorama of the painting was reflected for him as long as he needed. Moving the tripod with the painting along the walls, he could change some details, make additions and corrections, remove unnecessary characters, add new ones, and, even change the originally conceived plot. Sometimes Bosch worked late into the night, and moreover, he painted many scenes specifically by the flickering light of candles, mystically reflected in the mirrors and casting mysterious shadows on the walls of the "Cave of Dreams". Petros walked around the hall and looked around in amazement. On the uneven walls hung and mysteriously moved Bosch's familiar drawings, burning candles created mysterious shadows on the vaulted ceiling. The entire end of the hall was covered by mirrors, with the reflections of burning candles. In front of the mirrors stood a huge tripod on wheels, covered with a large bedspread. Bosch took the assistant by the hand and told him to stand between the mirrors and the tripod. Petros felt dizzy.

— And now, my friend, — from somewhere on the side he heard the artist's voice, — you have an interesting journey ahead, a journey into the "looking-glass". Do not be surprised at anything, I will be nearby all the time and explain what is happening, but you will not see me. And now, — Bosch shouted piercingly, — look in the mirrors, — and tearing the cover off the tripod, he shouted again, — look!

— How beautiful, — Petros sighed, — sheer bliss. In the mirrors appeared the Lord in pink garments, holding a naked girl by the hand, Adam sitting on the ground with trepidation looking at the Creator.

— Are we in paradise?

— Petros whispered, — how beautiful it is here. And why are there so many strange animals here, some elephants, giraffes, unknown birds and some other incomprehensible creatures?

— This is the reincarnation of all living things, the immortal essence of any creature reincarnating into a new guise, — the voice explained, — earlier this creature was, for example, a giraffe, or an elephant, and today it became a rat, or a hare.

— Does that mean we too used to be different?

— Petros said, spellbound, — and in a different guise?

— In each life, a new personality of the individual develops, but a certain part remains unchanged, moving from body to body in a series of reincarnations, — the voice prompted, — look further... The window blinds opened, it became very bright, it seemed to Petros that the picture was moving and a huge clearing appeared in the mirrors, several lakes, with naked men and women swimming in them, a multitude of singing, dancing and simply running naked people, outlandish animals wandered everywhere, some strange huge birds and a multitude of incomprehensible objects.

— What is this?

— he exclaimed, — where am I?

— This is our life, — the voice answered, — life, in all its diversity and manifestation, and you are in the "Garden of Earthly Delights" and will see how man lives! The entire space was filled with naked men and women feasting on gigantic berries and fruits, playing with birds and animals, splashing in the water, openly and shamelessly indulging in carnal pleasures in all their diversity.

— Who are these people?

— Petros asked, stunned, — why are they all naked?

— These people are not in their physical guise, — the voice explained, — these are their souls, and a soul has no need for clothes. Over the years, a person's shell changes, it ages and becomes decrepit, but the soul always remains young. Pay attention to the shell on the man's back, you see, from which legs stick out. This is the birth of a miracle, when from a dirty shell, overgrown with silt and algae, a beautiful pearl is born! Amazing, isn't it? Petros stood and with bated breath watched what was happening.

— Go to them, — the voice whispered, — and you will see all the diversity of life, joy and disappointment, envy and generosity, every human vice - drunkenness, gluttony, debauchery, adultery, the triumph of lust. Each person sees here what he wants to see, what is closest to him, you just have to look closely. Petros did not notice how he found himself in the meadow. He wandered among men and women moaning from lust, drinking, singing and dancing, with people sitting on huge outlandish birds and strange animals, a round dance of men riding unusual animals around naked girls swimming in the lake...

— Do you see?

— Petros heard the voice, — but, unfortunately, life is fleeting and does not consist only of earthly delights. Many await another place...

— Hell!

— Petros exclaimed, — I know, this is HELL! The window blinds closed, the mirrors darkened. A cacophony of terrible sounds was heard from somewhere.

— This is the "Musical Hell", — the voice said, — now you know what it is. Look around, you see, musical instruments are scattered here and some musicians from my orchestra are found, these "fiends of hell" who have plagued me with their music for many years, and to one, the most stupid of them, I even wrote notes on his buttocks to show his attitude to the musical alphabet. Here you can see all human vices - drunkenness, gambling, all kinds of crimes, impossible to list everything. Look, here on a high chair sits a fantastic creature and devours sinners, turning their bodies into excrement. This is the "orderly" of humanity and he has a difficult, but very important and, most importantly, necessary mission. Do you remember, Petros, — the voice pronounced with a sigh, — when we were in the village and the enraged crowd wanted to burn me at the stake, and you shouted that the devil, that is, me, ascended into the fiery Gehenna? You were not far from the truth, — he grinned, — look closely, here I am, with a bagpipe on my head, sitting in the underworld and watching everyone..

— I feel somewhat unwell, — Petros groaned, — my head is spinning badly.

— That's it, my friend, — Bosch appeared from the darkness and took his assistant by the arm, — the effect of the Kykeon is ending, you are coming to your senses and we are leaving the "Cave of Dreams".

— Master!

— Petros said excitedly, — I had such a dream, — he smiled broadly, — an amazing dream! I must tell you about it. I dreamed...

— That you were in the "Cave of Dreams", — Bosch said calmly, — saw PARADISE, walked in the "Garden of Earthly Delights", then visited HELL, — he looked at his assistant, — isn't that so?

— How do you know all this?

— Petros muttered, stunned, — I didn't tell anyone about this.

— My friend, — Bosch smiled, — do you know what the Rite of Initiation is? Seeing the incomprehensible look of Petros, he said:

— In the opinion of the ancient Greeks, the Rite of Initiation is the union of man with God, up to immortality and the possession of divine power in the afterlife. And to achieve this unification and know the secrets hidden from ordinary people, the decoction known to you helps - Kykeon.

— I don't understand anything, — Petros exclaimed, stunned, — so all this was real or did I dream it?

— My friend!

— the artist put his hand on his assistant's shoulder, — I will explain everything now. I am an artist, but my manner of painting is very specific and understandable far from everyone. For me it was important to see how an ordinary person perceives and, most importantly, understands my creativity. I chose you, a person close to me, whom I have known for many years, and there can be no better censor. And the decoction was needed to tune us to one wavelength and help you understand my thoughts and the essence of my creativity.

— Master!

— Petros said with excitement, — you are a genius artist, not just a great man, but an initiate. I understood everything you wanted to say, the essence of your creativity and if descendants do not understand you, I sincerely pity them.

— Thank you, Petros, — Bosch smiled, — you helped me a lot and I am very grateful to you. Yes, by the way, I want to show you something, — and he took the cover off the painting standing in the corner of the studio. Do you recognize it?

— This is the same broken boat on the shore of the lake where we talked and you told me to brew Kykeon.

— Yes, — Bosch smiled, — that's right. You see, I depicted here a nun with a lute and a monk, yelling songs. And now look at the jester drinking from a cup, sitting on a tree branch, do you recognize him?

— But that's me!

— Petros exclaimed, — only I had a jester's costume.

— And that's not all, — Bosch continued, — do you recognize the monk and the boatman with a huge scoop in the form of an oar in the background?

— Sven and Lars, — the assistant laughed, — the monk brothers!

— Although I called this painting "The Ship of Fools", — the artist shook his head, — you and the monks have nothing to do with fools. The role of the jester in the painting is a satirical denunciation of the customs and morals of our time, and the monks are simply cheerful guys.

— Yes, — Petros shook his head, — so the monk brothers and I went down in the history of art. You see, my friend, — Bosch looked into the distance, — I have always painted all my pictures from real people, but, I was interested not so much in their physical forms as in their inner world, which is much richer and more diverse than their appearance, which I tried to understand and bring to the canvases of my paintings. And, when I need to depict the malice and aggression of a crowd, their mocking, stupid faces, I expose them with garments, strange and bizarre headdresses, thereby enhancing the hopeless gloom of reality. You have been near me for many years, — Bosch put his hand on his assistant's shoulder, — seen the people I depict in my paintings with the colors you prepare for me, on the boards you polish for me, drink the magic decoction you prepare for me and now, you know all my secrets. Thank you, Petros, for everything, — Bosch hugged him, looked straight into his eyes and said, — and I very much hope that exactly you, as a direct accomplice of my creativity, will be that thread that will connect me with future generations and convey my thoughts to them.

— I heard you, — a quiet voice from heaven, — and I promise to extend this thread to descendants, and whether they will pull it, time will tell.

— Oh, wake up already, — Wilson shook the colleague sitting next to him, — Professor Furman, wake up, well, it's awkward, really. With your snoring you interfere with the speaker and he has already looked at you several times.

— Oh, to hell with him, — the elderly man shook his head, — what can interfere with this mediocrity? I am sitting for the hundredth time at a meeting of the academic council of our Academy, where Bosch's work is endlessly discussed and, for the umpteenth time, our learned men are trying to understand what is behind his creativity and what the artist meant. Just listen to what he is saying, — he said irritably, — yes, and with such a smart look...

— Some scientists, — the speaker thoughtfully looked at those sitting, — see in Bosch's works a depiction of human life through the prism of its vanity and images of earthly love, others - the triumph of lust. However, — he solemnly raised a finger, — the simplicity and some detachment with which individual figures are treated make us doubt that its content could be the glorification of carnal pleasures...

— Does he himself understand what he is saying?

— Furman said irritably, — well, the devil with him. Listen, Professor Wilson, — he leaned towards his neighbor, — spit on the speaker. Better listen to me, — he whispered mysteriously, — I want to reveal a secret to you, — and looking around added, — I know whom Bosch depicted in his painting "The Ship of Fools"!

— You have lost your mind!

— Wilson was amazed when the professor finished his story, — where did you get this from? And who are these Petros, Sven, Lars?

— I had a vision, — Professor Furman sighed, — believe it or not, had a vision in a dream. I dreamed of some man in a black cloak with a sword who told me an incredibly interesting story from the life of Bosch and his assistant Petros. Where he got this information from I do not know, but, for some reason I believe him. It was exactly Petros, in jester's clothes, that the Master depicted in the painting "The Ship of Fools", and the singing monk and the boatman with a scoop in the background, are Sven and Lars - monks whom the Brotherhood of Our Lady assigned to the artist as guards. Well, how about that? And he told me a lot of other interesting things, I just didn't want to wake up. Listen, professor, — Furman whispered conspiratorially, — I now know who can help us understand Bosch. Petros, his assistant! We need to pull on this thread and investigate those who were close to the artist. But, — he waved his hand, — this is a utopia, who will believe me? All the learned men are convinced dogmatists, wearing out the seats of their pants in offices, from where they try to understand the great Master. Do as you wish, — the professor said resolutely, — but I will develop this direction and I will start, perhaps, with Kykeon. I will find the recipe according to which Petros brewed the decoction and, maybe, then it will become clearer what Bosch, this "Honorary Professor of Nightmares", wanted to tell us! PS.

— Well, enough dreaming, — Bosch looked at Petros, — take Dorian and put things in order in the studio. By the way, gather all my drawings, I have already used them in the work and they are no longer needed. They are of no value, so burn them in the backyard. Dorian took several drawings for himself and kept them under his bed. Sitting in the evenings in his closet, he really liked to look at these incomprehensible, but very entertaining pictures. Humanity is grateful to him for this!