Playing the Margin: Animals Behaving Badly in MS. Pierpont Morgan Library. M. 358




For a full table of manuscript facsimile images please visit the Pierpont Morgan Library Corsaire Website 


   …by the later Middle Ages … the paradigm of separation of species was breaking        down. It was harder to determine what defined an animal and what was definitively human. … During that time, thinkers moved from the idea that humans and animals are qualitively different (Augustine’s view) to a notion that we have more in common with animals than we might like to admit. [1]


Like many problems of attribution characterizing scholarship of the medieval period, the precise identification of the canon of the Netherlandish painter Barthélemy d’Eyck, is a puzzle which will probably never be resolved. However, this essay will precede with the assumption that Ms. Pierpont Morgan Library, M. 358 is indeed the work of this artist, and mainly of this artist, (evidence for which has been provided elsewhere)[2],  and that the date most likely for its conception is around 1444 when Barthélemy is documented as a witness with Enguerran Quarton, with whom he collaborated on the project.  If we also attribute the celebrated Annunciation triptych in Aix-en-Provence and the illustrations of the Livre du cueur d’amour esprit to Barthélemy [3],  then we are likewise provided with valuable clues and interpretative frameworks for helping us approach this earlier, unfinished Book of Hours. It is clear from the Annunciation that we are dealing with an artist interested in the creative dynamics of borders and frames and self-refelctive notions of how to perceive and consume texts. It is also clear from the Livre that we are dealing with an artist not without humour and a desire to subvert – using visual opportunities and more particularly animals themselves, to offer a transgressive paratextual commentary on the text, possibly going against the wishes of his patron [4].  This essay will extend these conclusions into an analysis of the marginal detail of animals in Barthélemy’s Book of Hours. Beginning by placing discourses about humans and animals within a broader historical context and drawing upon Camille’s and others’ valuable insights into images ‘on the edge’; this essay will argue that the Book of Hours presents a climax of traditions associated with marginal illustration and depictions of the animal world in art. Barthélemy combines these praxes in such a way as to produce a devotional and human world which is not only besieged but overreached and controlled by animals. Using tactics such as literalisation, inversion, parody, satire and appropriation, Barthélemy’s margins enact a radical confrontation with the centre, which destabilises and reverses conventional hierarchies, repudiating the authority of Logos and thereby calls into question the legitimacy of the centre as ‘man’ itself. In this sense he remains true to the multiple and conflicted meanings of the word ‘margin’ which the OED defines both as ‘a point of transition between states’ and also as a ‘permissible or tolerable degree of deviation from a correct or exact value or target.’[5]  As Meyer Schapiro suggests, by reinstating animals at the centre of the human world, Barthélemy ‘strips man of his privilege and supremacy; we see him in these strange re-embodiments as a being among the others in nature…’ [6]


   Barthélemy d’Eyck’s iconographic programme of animals is very different in type both from the dainty creatures which placidly inhabit the spidery foliate decoration of earlier manuscripts such as Pucelle’s Belleville Breviary and the larger ‘naturalistic’ taxonomies that illuminators like Bourdichon created after him, in which individual specimens are drawn with an almost scientific attention to detail. Though Barthélemy’s menagerie is categorically playful they should also be differentiated from the ‘ribald images’ [7] and purely lewd and scatological functions to which animal marginalia is ascribed in The Rutland or Ormesby Psalter. Equally, Barthélemy’s broad, bold hand, the unusually large size of these creatures and the often clamorous presentation of them (in some cases four figures are squeezed about a miniature) does not truly account for how eye-catching and immanent they seem to be. Indeed rather than any formal trick or sleight-of-hand, Barthélemy’s marginal depictions owe their exceptional status to his decision to animate them, to literalize them – to give them personality, agency, even wit. This is a humorous and perhaps fanciful conceit on the part of Barthélemy, who is playfully exploiting the tradition of incorporating naturalistic detail in the margins of illuminated manuscripts, primarily (we might speculate) for his amusement, but also for that of his male patron ‘John’[8].  In this sense Barthélemy’s animals are not merely decorative appendages to the text, but assume a life of their own – they demonstrate intentionality and emotional range. Such a presentation of animals is clearly carried over in the Livre where the knight’s horse, rather than acting as a mere accessory to the action, directs knowing and incredulous looks to the viewer, counterpointing the course of the story. Similarly, just as the horse in the Livre demonstrates a sustained intervention in the text, Barthélemy’s use of animal marginalia is not merely frivolous or inconsequential, presenting an irregular and grotesque pageant of forms which merely distract, but form a cognate paratext which obeys its own internal logic and even narratological laws [9].  This not only establishes their uniqueness, but suggests that such animal archetypes are not actually drawn from visual precedents at all, but literary ones.


    That Barthélemy seeks to anthropomorphize his creatures is clear: let us turn, for example, to a marginal detail depicting a bird of prey standing astride the breast of a dove (fig.1). Here the eagle stares down at his vanquished foe with a nefarious, almost human-like intensity of expression. As well as the comic, anthropomorphic looks of haughtiness, pride, contempt and glee that Barthélemy endows his menagerie with; the humanness of these animals is also evoked by his recurrent depiction of them as bipeds rather than quadrupeds and as recognizable human types – costumed to resemble figures of authority. The most common cases involve animals portrayed as clerical figures: bishops and cardinals. This clear parody of the church obviously owes something to Reynard. Thus in the left hand corner of fol. 13r a cockerel waves a sceptre in his left claw in a display of mock authority, possibly censuring the chicken and squirrel who are misbehaving before him, and a boar arrayed as a mitred bishop sits astride a dromedary who is rudely butting into the text-frame (fig 2.). This is further reminiscent of fol. 4v illustrating the zodiac sign Taurus, in which a world in the left margin, dressed as a cardinal, reads from a lectern or fol. 110r where a beaver dressed in a pink cloak in the right-hand margin stands in a pulpit preaching to a congregation of chickens and cocks. It is astonishing to reflect that such blasphemous and irreverent images appear, in the former case, in the sequences of the gospels and in the latter case, in the course of the seven penitential psalms [10].


    As well as presenting his creatures as human ‘types’ he also imbues them with a human-like degree of rationality, agency and intentionality. This humorous conceit extends throughout the manuscript: animals do not only up-end the balance by actively demonstrating control over their human keepers, but implicitly undermine them by showing themselves to be comically fit for purpose in the human world. Thus animals do not only engage in recreational human activities (for example donkeys or dragons are able to play the lute or bagpipes in fol.32r, and bears and griffins can engage in combat in the upper margins of fol. 13r, but they competently perform useful activities as well. Thus there are particularly interesting dialectics that occur across the margins of the work in the calendar sections depicting human ‘Occupations’ In fol. 7r, for example, while the medallion in the bas-de-page describes a bucolic scene in which two agricultural workers collect and bundle up faggots of wheat from the field, in the very same page in the upper margins, two geese are presented as pulling forward a plough in a decidedly laissez-faire manner and a bull on his hind legs in the right margin, puffs away on the bagpipes (fig.3). Barthélemy’s innovation and whimsy, therefore, is to adapt and develop the terms of this literary and cultural debate between the animal and human world, stemming from literary antecedents like bestiaries and Aesop’s and Marie de France’s fables, as well as the work of English scriptors like Chaucer, Henryson and The Owl and the Nightingale-poet – whose avian protagonists exist on the very margins of the human/animal dichotomy, ventriloquizing as they do, human concerns with human manners – onto the margins of his Book of Hours. In this sense Barthélemy represents the culmination of literary, social and historical discourses about the animal world ongoing from 1200. This discourse marked a gradual relocation of the animal world from outside the parameters of social, cultural and religious life, to a new appreciation of their metaphoric, literary and exegetical usefulness, developing from an assertion of the difference between rational man and irrational animal established by the church to a perception of the congruity between them.


    That animals could be made spiritually and morally pertinent to the human world was exacerbated by wide circulation of fables, scientific treatises like Aristotle’s De Partibus Animalibus and the Physiologus and finally the use of animal example by the church in public sermons. Indeed, the Franciscans and Dominicans drew heavily on animal exempla and anecdote in their homilies, hoping to engage their audience by couching human quandaries in animal terms. In France especially, the popularity of fables, fabliaux and beast epics such as Fournival’s Bestiare d’Amour and Reynard the Fox, grew very pronounced. Barthélemy draws playfully on this growing tendency to see the animal and human world as interlinked. Indeed by the fourteenth century, a scholar could write that ‘all saw animals as exhibiting human traits, as having conscious motives or even moral standards.’ [11]


   If it is true that Barthélemy introduces animal types familiar in vernacular and proverbial usage into the devotional content of his Book of Hours, endowing it with a fablesque force o life and agency – and in this sense going far beyond what other illuminators had done before him – then it is also true that he extends the ambiguity surrounding the animal and human binary, in a way that goes beyond the remit of the fable. The cynical and perhaps sacrilegious observation that he makes in the Book of Hours is that if animals can be like humans, then humans can be like animals too. This in fact, draws close to a tendency that Salisbury sees as emerging from animal-saturated culture (derived from ‘safe’ clerical usage but developed by literary traditions), in which the special and scared status of man was increasingly held in doubt. Thus ‘human parodies’ started emerging in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries and significantly ‘animal hybrids’ rather than simply ‘human hybrids’ began appearing in the margins of illuminated manuscripts – redressing the balance of power. Though Schapiro’s appraisal of the life of the margin as a ‘boundless reservoir of humour, spirited play and untamed visuality’ [12],  applies at one level to Barthélemy’s work, it could be said that something darker emerges in the margins of the manuscript manifesting these later, cynical tendencies of the fifteenth century. Though the ‘take over’ of the human by the animal world is presented in the spirit of carnivalesque inversion and drôlerie, there is also a more sinister message implied by the usurpation o human control by animals, who are no longer helpful to man (as in the fables), nor merely disobedient within their own communities, as it is in Reynard), but defiant and unruly in the human world as well. In a peculiar volt-face of fable tradition, the animals often exercise control over, and humiliate their so-called masters, whose claims to dominance have become rather superficial. Symptomatic of this, is the December illustration in Barthélemy’s manuscript (fig.4) picturing agricultural workers bleeding oxen. Significantly, he deviates from Bourdichon’s treatment of this material by casting it in terms of a struggle. The pig if not dead, like Bourdichon’s pig-carcass, but leers up threateningly into the face o the human protagonist, while it takes four manual labourers to restrain him. The look in his eyes seems to suggest ‘it’s not over yet’—a sentiment fully borne out in the marginal sections of the manuscript which follows the calendrical cycle. War has been declared – but it is not quite clear who has won. It is exactly the antagonism that Barthélemy so provokingly sets up in the calendar (in which animal ‘zodiac’ signs and human ‘Occupations’ do not occupy the same leaf as they do with other Books of Hours but are polarised between the rectos and versos of facing sides), which accounts for the peculiarity of his margin detail.


   Images of animal misconduct, flagrant disrespect for their human masters or even clear exploitation of them, continue to characterize the pages of this Book of Hours, in which the question of who has mastery over whom is critically called into question. This explains the frequent appearance of the ‘leash’ or bridle motif in the manuscript, a symbol synonymous with the idea of power and control. In the right margin of fol. 2r for example, a pig with a switch held aloft in his right hood, standing on his hind les, controls the foot of a man crawling before him who seems to be reaching towards the neutral ground o the text-box area (fig.5). The pig himself, seems rather content with the situation and his pot-bellied laughs may be aimed at the pompous and conventional image of a knight riding his horse in the upper margin of the same page, as they may also be indirectly appointed to the figure in the medallion beneath sitting at a table laid with meat. Another notable use of the leash-device, occurs in fol. 15r, (fig.6), where a peasant holds a rope attached to the right foot of a goose on the opposite corner of the upper margin. Though the human is ostensibly in charge, both his loose, reluctant handling of the rope, his frightened use of the miniature frame as a sort o shield, and the goose’s imperious gaze, belies the reality of the situation. Similarly, there are instances where animals are depicted as reclaiming the cultural and social practices in which they have traditionally been exploited or excluded and reversing the terms o these on their human keepers. Thus in fol. 27r it is the human figures that are belittled, absurdly and laboriously hammering a shoe into the unturned foot of a goose, while she dreamily reads the text before her (fig.7). In the margins of this Book of Hours, power is inverted and animals seem to have the upper hand. The complemtary face of such power-play is, of course, the attendant weakness and disempowerment of human life. As Barthélemy’s experimental zeal for depicting animals arrested in strange states of anthropomorphic triumph and activity seems to wane [13],  what is repeatedly emphasized is the facile, pusillanimous and degraded reality of man. This is achieved either through a portrayal of him as essentially animal (hence the multiplicity of beast-man hybrids) or mammal and defenceless, since images of man as vulnerable and improperly naked frequently recur (e.g. fol. 32r, 20r, 34r, 42r, 108r), as do depictions of him as a jongleur or fool (fol. 209v, 16r). Humanity in the margins of this manuscript is always presented as harried, timid or frightened, engaged in futile activities such as carrying the stalks of foliate extensions in the margins or presented in a state o desperate struggle against the plant-life and foliate extensions which increasingly threaten to swallow them up fol. 202v, (fig.8). Indeed hybrid man-beasts also frequently have foliate tails, as if the process of reincorporating them back into nature, by sucking them into the background and dispersing their human identities, has already begun. If this is not the case, then conventional Romance depictions suggest man’s venality and his connection to sin, or alternatively atrophy human body parts in a blazon suggestive of Aristotle’s treatise. Indeed, Barthélemy’s depiction of disembodied hands resting in an attitude of repose on foliage in folio. 13v strongly recalls the Physiologia, in medieval illustrations for which, human body parts are often scattered about the margins [14].  One senses that the true nature of human identity is being questioned through these acts of sabotage, inversion and regression. This of course, reaches its most palpable expression in the artist portraits themselves which dangle from the acanthus and spiked-ivy leaves in bemused, disembodied suspension fol. 108r 9 (fig.9). Here Barthélemy, the artist-creator-puppeteer par excellence watches the bizarre acrobatic inversions of his carnivalesque universe in an attitude of resigned, amused, acceptance.


    Camille and Randall’s valuable studies throw into relief important questions regarding the status of the ‘margin’ viz. the centre, and the historical traditions associated with its development. Camille perceived in the structural makeup of the ‘margin’, inherent and enduring contradictions between inside and outside, reflecting the ‘two lives’ of ‘The men of the Middle Ages … the official and the carnival life.’[15]  She emphasizes that the margin was also a feared and ambiguous space in Medieval thought, representing ‘outskirts … infected zones, where all kinds of monstrosities are possible…’ [16]  But, as Camille suggests, ‘If these edges were dangerous, they were also powerful places. In folklore, betwixt and between are important zones of transformation’ [17].  The transformation, magic and inversion perceived to inhabit the fringe, border or edge, is particularly pertinent to manuscripts where the margins lies beyond the word of God, and are therefore unprotected, and potentially perverse and exciting places. Enshrined, therefore, in the master binary of margin and centre, emerge a subcategory of other binaries: profane/sacred, pictor/scriptor, formless/ordered which have particular relevance to the spatial field of the illuminated manuscript.


   However, it is possible to content that Camille’s accreditation of the margin, her repeated claim that this ‘dividing line’ cannot be breached and that the sacred and profane ‘exist side by side but never merge’ [18]  and that the margin ultimately serves to ‘legitimate the status quo’ [19],  does not sufficiently account for the margin’s power to subvert when we take this Book of Hours into hand. For what Barthélemy’s manuscript really enacts – probably arising from his ennui as marginal illustrator and ceaseless desire to experiment and develop new conceits, is a wholesale assault on the centre. The margin and marginal are never content to inhabit their fringe position, but are constantly presented as impinging upon the action of the fenced-off central frame, text, text-frames and miniatures. The premise set up in the opening folio of the manuscript detailing ‘January’ and the fenced-off interior of a bourgeois merchant’s house in the medallion in the bas-de-page, where he warms his feet cosily by the sire while chatting to his friend – and the animal forms in the margin continue their surreal antics indifferent to the human action at the kernel of their world – is in fact challenged in almost every subsequent page of the manuscript. This is manifested by an ongoing dialectic between margin and the ‘geometrical centre of the frame’ [20] in which borders, boxes and divisions are not conceived as absolute; shutting down channels of communication, but as semi-permeable, fluid and leaky. Thus even the hallowed devotional world at the centre of the Book of Hours – normally so hermetically sealed – is presented as being interrupted and aware o the action occurring on its periphery.


    Thus in fol. 2r, though the burgher seated at the table seems to turn away from the monstrosities on his left, his eyes are directed apprehensively towards them (fig. 10). Similarly, the venerable Evangelist Mark depicted in the miniature of fol. 15r is visibly interrupted in his study: one eye is fixed on the devotional text before him, the other is directed towards the goose just in his field behind the Virgin and Child in fol. 20v at the outset of the ‘Obsecro te’ section of the manuscript, seem more motivated by a desire to protect their mistress from the onslaught of animals above and below than for formal ‘framing’ reasons (fig. 12). It is clear that even the lives of the usually enclosed, venerable saints, in their stuccoes, tooled, close-off world, are not exempt from the assaults of the margins and their animal antagonists. It is noticeable that even in the miniatures themselves, animals have managed to creep into the frame. Thus the aforementioned Evangelist Mark, has a little golden lion by his side, his symbol, his directs a knowing glance at the viewer, and even in the conventionalized visualization of the ‘Visitation’ scene occurring at fol. 40r a little pony, for no reason whatever, prances about in the background. In the miniature of folio. 19r , Luke may be hard at work on his scroll and ignorant of his environs, but his symbol, the ox who lies beside him, certainly isn’t. His gaze is directed up towards the unfinished under-drawing of a putto in the margin above. Barthélemy’s world is not one which respects the ‘dividing line’ that Camille talks about.


    Here, in fact, everybody is on war-footing, and literalizing the language of violence in the manuscript, images of assault pepper the folios: weapons are not only turned against man and beast but at the margin itself – at the condition of their difference. Hence in fol. 15r two men pull and tug the coiled baguettes of the miniature frame: the figure on the right uses the baguette as an arrow for his tautly held bow, pointed at the miniature above him. The margin has become a weapon. Similarly in fol. 25r the infant Christ sitting in the lap of his mother in the miniature points to the facing leaf on his right where she also directs her attention. What Christ points at is the figure of an archer on the other side of the folio who is shooting his ‘arrow’ (in fact a broomstick) into the text-border itself and partly diffusing it (fig. 13). This foolish figure (with a bushy tail and red tunic suggestive of a clown), has in fact created a hole, an opening onto the text. Who knows, perhaps his ultimate target it Christ himself! If the animals, humans and foliage of the Book of Hours has been literalised then so too has the border, frame and the page’s spatial organisation. Frames have become fences or walls to be breached. The humans, humorously trapped in the liminal zone, cut off from the safety of the central page do all they can to avoid the indecorous fate of the man in fol. 153r, who has been completely transformed into a foliate, primordial beast. Thus, barely human creatures scramble desperately up swirling acanthus leaves, trying to avoid a predatory and carnivorous natural world that has become hostile to them. This panorama presenting a human world at war, besieged by the forces of an antagonistic natural world is graphically illustrated by the lower margin of fol. 194r, in which a man hacks away angrily at the foliate extensions which surround him (fig. 14). The desire to elide the margin with the ‘central’ page and attack the notions of boundaries, is so pronounced in this manuscript that rather than using Camille’[s model as a paradigm for viewing Barthélemy’s Hours, we should turn to Gérard Genette’s account of the ‘paratext’, described as:

    The boundary itself, the screen which is a permeable membrane connecting inside and outside. It confuses them with one another, allowing the outside in, making the inside out, dividing them and joining them [21].


    Barthélemy’s work is placed at an interesting historical moment so far as traditions associated with marginalia and animal literature us concerned. At one level he had the advantage that other medieval illuminators did not in the rich literary heritage that he inherited and knew how to manipulate, and he placed it ingenuously on the edge of what he knew was a dying form. Not only was printing technology in full swing by the end of the fifteenth century but the golden age of the margin would also come to its end, as the size of miniatures expanded to encompass the whole page, and artists dispelled with fanciful marginalia in favour of more approximate and illusionistic margin decoration, (if they used it at all). As the Renaissance drew near, artists gained a new sense of confidence in their enterprise, (signalled by the practice of putting individual names to work).


    Barthélemy is a product of all this. He was not afraid of stamping his own personal style on things or letting even the most trivial assignment (decorating the borders of manuscript pages), assume the status of works of art. However, I would suggest that the curious and extreme results achieved by Barthélemy’s flair for experimentation in this context, may also have been built into the conditions of its creation. Since, I doubt that if it had been up to Barthélemy he would have chosen such lifeless, dull and sober subjects for his miniature illuminations as saints at work, it is probable that there was an external authority dictating the nature of the miniatures. Perhaps in response to this curtailment of his artistic freedom, Barthélemy took full advantage of his free-hand when it came to the margins of his book. It is this determination to enliven his commission and undermine the restraints that were placed upon him, natural in a young, gifted artist like Barthélemy, assuaging the tedium of his project, which might account for the exceptional nature of the margins which rival the authority o the centre and perhaps overawe it as well. It is the conditions of freedom and restraint, therefore, built into the nature of this commission, combined with Barthélemy’s verve, wit and taste for the subversive and his insatiable appetite for experimentation which create the compelling conditions for the truly revolutionary innovations which take place within its pages. Like the Wife of Bath who cheerfully launders and ransacks the ‘auctours’ (and etymologically associated) ‘auctorite’ who oppress her, Barthélemy’s attack (pronounced in visual and spatial terms), plays with and exploits traditions, authorities and aesthetic conventions.


    By allowing his animals to dance circles round their human masters, he sets up a model of dichotomy inversion (drawing upon the idioms of beast and animal literature) that challenge the very pith of medieval and Christian ideas about the sacredness of man and his natural position as leader and centre of the universe. ‘Animals behaving badly’ act as the prime vehicle for this message, as they challenge, harass and intimidate their peevish human masters, revealing them to be not above, but beneath them in the natural order of things. Thus the margin is not content with remaining marginalised but is humorously literalised – it assaults and impinges upon the centre – the centre as incarnate word, the centre as God, the centre as man. The very integrity of man and faith is at stake in this iconoclastic manuscript. Man as he is presented in this text is not sacred or superior but deluded, venial and low, like the peasants, fool and promiscuous denizens who populate its pages – or like the naked men, or bestial mermaids which swing in its margins – he is presented as essentially animal. Such a radically decoporealized vision of man, situates this work then, not as another quiet reinforcement of hierarchy or the status quo, but as a deeply radical, cynical and perhaps even pessimistic vision of man as the anti-imago, as tragic-comic.




1. Salisbury 1994, 2.

2. For the authorship problem and the extent of Quarton’s influence, please refer to the work of library curators in the Pierpont Morgan Library collection and the sscholarship of Tom Tolley (see Bibliography).

3. See Oxford Art Online, Tom Tolley

4. Tom Tolley has suggested that this may have been the reason for a fall out between 5. 5. King René and Barthelemy explaining the sudden disappearance of illustrations.

6. OED

7. Schapiro 1980, 197-8

8. Nishimura 2009, 3.

9. See the curator of the Pierpont Morgan’s notes on this.

10. For an example of this see fol. 18v-18r, where turning the page allows us to see a mermaid from behind as well as from in front.

11. See curatorial notes (1,2,3) on the Pierpont Moran Library website for details about the structure of the manuscript.

12. Ibid

13. Schapiro 1980, 198.

14. This is noticeable from abour folio 60 onwards: creative ideas peter out and increasingly reverse sides of folios are merely the mirror opposites of their converse, with no attempts to differentiate them. Further, the animal component of the margin space is increasingly filled with stock marginalia such as snails.

15. Cleaver 2009, 15.

16. Camille 1992, 12.

17. Camille 1992, 14.

18. Camille 1992, 16.

19. Ibid, 10.

20. Ibid, 143.

21. Arnheim 1982, 63.







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Bartlett, Robert. 2008. The Natural and the Supernatural in the Middle Ages, (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press).

Camille, Michael.1989. The Gothic Idol: Ideology and Image-making in Medieval Art, (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press).

Camille, Michael. 1992. Image on the Edge, The Margins of Medieval Art, (Massachusetts, Harvard University Press).

Cleaver, Laura., Gerry, Kathryn ed. 2009. Art and Nature: Studies in Medieval Art and Architecture, (London, The Courtauld Institute of Art).

Crombie, A.C. 1996. Science, Art and Nature in Medieval and Modern Thought, (London, Hambledon Press).

Dougals, Mary. 1975. Implicit Meanings: Essays in Anthropology, (London, Routledge & Keegan Paul).

Freud, Sigmund. 1960. Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious, (London, Routeledge & Keegan Paul).

Genette, Gérard. 1997. Paratexts: thresholds of Interpretation, (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press).

Hassig, Debra ed. 1999. The Mark of the Beast: The Medieval Bestiary in Art, Life and Literature (London, Garland Publishing).

Klingenbder, Francis. 1971. Animals in Art and Thought to the End of the Middle Ages, (London, Routledge & Keegan Paul).

MacGibbon, David. 1933. Jean Bourdichon: A Court Painter of the Fifteenth Century, (Glasgow, The University Press).

Newman, William., Bensaude-Vincent, Bernadette., ed. 2007. The Artificial and the Natural: An Evolving Polarity, (Massachussettes, Masachussettes Institute of Technology Press).

Nirshimura, Mcilwain. 2009. The Medieval Imagination:Images in the Margins, (California, Margot Getty Publications).

Peck, L., trans. 1965. Aristotle Historia Animalium,(Massachusetts, Harvard University Press).

Randall, Lillian. 1966. Images in the Margins of Gothic Manuscripts, (Berkley, University o California Press).

Salisabury, Joyce. 1994. The Beast Within: Animals in the Middle Ages, (Abingdon, Routledge).

Steel, Carlos., Guldentops, Guy., Beullens, Pieter., ed. 1999. Aristotle’s Animals in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, (Belgium, Leuven University Press).

Schapiro, Meyer. 1980. Late Antique, Early Christian and Medieval Art, (London, Chatto & Windus, London).

Telesko, Walter. 2001. The Wisdom of Nature: The Healing Powers and Symbolism of Plants and Animals in the Middle Ages, (Munich, Prestel).

Weick, Roger. 1988. The Book of Hours in Medieval Art and Life, (Great Britain, Philip Wilson Publishers Ltd).

White, T.H. 1954. The Book of Beasts, (London, Jonathan Cape).




OED online; entry for ‘margin’, 5.12.11.

Oxford Art Online: Helen Geddes entry on Eyck, Barthelemy d’. Grove Art Online, and Tom Tolley’s entry for Eyck, Barthelemy d’, The Oxford Companion to Western Art, 5.12.11.

Pierpont Morgan Library, Corsair service. Extensive use of their digital image archive for Ms. 358 and much use of curatorial notes. Root,, but chief use of pages: 1, 2,3 ( 5.12.11.






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