SEEING THE LIGHT
Bruegel’s Conversion of Saul
By Philip McCouat For reader comments on this article see here
What’s happening in this painting
This famous painting, The Conversion of Saul, was created by Pieter Bruegel the Elder in 1567, a time of great turmoil in his homeland, Flanders [1]. It depicts a sizeable army making its way up a precipitous and narrow mountain pass, steadily climbing up towards a clearing and then filing along the track on the other side of the mountain. On the right of the painting, three mounted observers, including a man clad entirely in black, are watching the troop’s progress. A soldier has turned around toward them – he shouts something, and flings out an arm to point to a tiny, strange scene that is unfolding under the dark green trees, where a plainly-clad man has fallen off his horse. Both he and his startled companions are lit by a strange beam of light seeming to come from the clouds.
The painting is incredibly detailed -- it’s possible to count over 100 individual people, including tiny images of far-distant people on other peaks in the background. One almost expects to be able to be able to count the leaves on the trees.
The painting is incredibly detailed -- it’s possible to count over 100 individual people, including tiny images of far-distant people on other peaks in the background. One almost expects to be able to be able to count the leaves on the trees.
Fig 1: Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Conversion of Saul (aka St Paul), 1567; Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, 108 x 156 cm (43 x 61 inches)
You can judge how steep the mountain is by contrasting it with the hazy flat countryside at the left of the painting, where a river runs out to the coast (Fig 2).
Fig 2: Detail of distant coastline
Initially, this painting may look fairly straightforward, but it contains some intriguing mysteries which have provoked considerable disagreement for decades. In this article we’ll see if we can make some sense of them.
A journey to suppress dissidents
Let us set the scene. Imagine we are in the Biblical Jerusalem of 2,000 years ago, in the early years of the spread of Christianity. At that time, practising or preaching the new faith was being fiercely resisted by the Jewish Council of Priests, the Sanhedrin. One of its enforcers was a man called Saul of Tarsus. Saul was young, but he already had a reputation as a passionate zealot.
According to the Biblical account, Saul had previously witnessed and approved of the stoning of Stephen, the first Christian martyr [2], and had created “havoc” among the Christians in Jerusalem, going “into house after house, carrying men and women off and committing them to prison.”
The Bible recounts how “with every breath he drew” he still threatened the Christians with massacre [3], and he decided that he should spread his area of operations to target Christians living in Damascus. He went to the high priest of the Council to obtain letters of commendation to the synagogues in that town. His mission was to hunt down and arrest any Christians he found there, and bring them back to Jerusalem for punishment [4].
Reaching Damascus involved a long journey of about six days. On the way there, just as Saul was approaching the town, he was suddenly blinded by an intense “light from heaven” that “fell suddenly about him”. He was knocked off his horse onto the ground. This was the dramatic moment that is depicted in Bruegel’s painting (Fig 3). The artist, in accordance with his common practice, has depicted this crucial event in an inconspicuous vignette, with the fallen Saul wearing a simple blue smock, right in the centre of the painting, and a little off to the left of the main procession of soldiers.
According to the Biblical account, Saul had previously witnessed and approved of the stoning of Stephen, the first Christian martyr [2], and had created “havoc” among the Christians in Jerusalem, going “into house after house, carrying men and women off and committing them to prison.”
The Bible recounts how “with every breath he drew” he still threatened the Christians with massacre [3], and he decided that he should spread his area of operations to target Christians living in Damascus. He went to the high priest of the Council to obtain letters of commendation to the synagogues in that town. His mission was to hunt down and arrest any Christians he found there, and bring them back to Jerusalem for punishment [4].
Reaching Damascus involved a long journey of about six days. On the way there, just as Saul was approaching the town, he was suddenly blinded by an intense “light from heaven” that “fell suddenly about him”. He was knocked off his horse onto the ground. This was the dramatic moment that is depicted in Bruegel’s painting (Fig 3). The artist, in accordance with his common practice, has depicted this crucial event in an inconspicuous vignette, with the fallen Saul wearing a simple blue smock, right in the centre of the painting, and a little off to the left of the main procession of soldiers.
Fig 3: Detail of a blinded Saul falling off his horse
In the painting the only evidence of the source of the light are the faint indications on the rock (Fig 4) but originally, there was a more obvious glowing light-source in the sky. This was a casualty of a slight retrimming of the original canvas that was done at some stage during its history [5].
Fig 4: Detail of passage of heavenly light
Saul’s companions were also stunned and bewildered by what had happened. And they could now hear a voice speaking, but could not see where it was coming from. According to the Biblical account, the voice said, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” And Saul said, “Who are You, Lord?” Then the Lord said, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. It is hard for you to kick against the goads.” Saul, still trembling and astonished, said, “Lord, what do you want me to do?” Then the Lord said to him, “Arise and go into the city, and you will be told what you must do” [6].
Saul eventually rose to his feet, but his companions had to lead him by the hand to get him into Damascus. There, he eventually recovered his sight, thanks to a minor miracle, and was converted to Christianity. Eventually, under his alternative name Paul, he went on to become one of the leaders of the Christian movement [7].
Saul eventually rose to his feet, but his companions had to lead him by the hand to get him into Damascus. There, he eventually recovered his sight, thanks to a minor miracle, and was converted to Christianity. Eventually, under his alternative name Paul, he went on to become one of the leaders of the Christian movement [7].
Mystery #1: the foreign mountain setting
So what are the mysteries that we mentioned earlier?
The first of these is the precipitous mountain setting. In other paintings depicting Biblical events, Bruegel commonly sought to make the event more relatable for his viewers by updating the dress of the participants to 16th century fashions, and relocating the incident to the incorrect but familiar environment of Flanders (as in The Census at Bethlehem, or The Way to Calvary). But it is one thing to relocate a painting to Flanders to make it more relatable to its viewers; it is quite another to relocate it to an unfamiliar, dominating and completely foreign alpine environment. So what inspired him to choose this? Here are some of the possible reasons.
(1) Bruegel just loved mountains. Bruegel was apparently very impressed by the Alps when he visited them early in his career, to such an extent that an early biographer asserted that he “had swallowed all the mountains and rocks and spat them out again, after his return, on to his canvases and panels” [8]. Certainly, Bruegel had depicted mountains or rocky outcrops in earlier paintings such as Return of the Hunters, but they were are set far distant in the background, far from the action, and seem to emerge from a setting that is otherwise recognisable as Flanders. They are therefore far removed from the central and dominant role of the mountains in his Conversion.
(2) Earlier artistic influences. Many commentators have also suggested that Bruegel may have been influenced to give the painting an alpine setting by Lucas van Leyden’s engraving The Conversion of St Paul (Fig 5). But in that engraving, the mountain is again in the background, and Saul and his followers are proceeding on a relatively easy path. In contrast, the mountains in Bruegel’s Conversion are not just background, but play a crucial part in the painting.
The first of these is the precipitous mountain setting. In other paintings depicting Biblical events, Bruegel commonly sought to make the event more relatable for his viewers by updating the dress of the participants to 16th century fashions, and relocating the incident to the incorrect but familiar environment of Flanders (as in The Census at Bethlehem, or The Way to Calvary). But it is one thing to relocate a painting to Flanders to make it more relatable to its viewers; it is quite another to relocate it to an unfamiliar, dominating and completely foreign alpine environment. So what inspired him to choose this? Here are some of the possible reasons.
(1) Bruegel just loved mountains. Bruegel was apparently very impressed by the Alps when he visited them early in his career, to such an extent that an early biographer asserted that he “had swallowed all the mountains and rocks and spat them out again, after his return, on to his canvases and panels” [8]. Certainly, Bruegel had depicted mountains or rocky outcrops in earlier paintings such as Return of the Hunters, but they were are set far distant in the background, far from the action, and seem to emerge from a setting that is otherwise recognisable as Flanders. They are therefore far removed from the central and dominant role of the mountains in his Conversion.
(2) Earlier artistic influences. Many commentators have also suggested that Bruegel may have been influenced to give the painting an alpine setting by Lucas van Leyden’s engraving The Conversion of St Paul (Fig 5). But in that engraving, the mountain is again in the background, and Saul and his followers are proceeding on a relatively easy path. In contrast, the mountains in Bruegel’s Conversion are not just background, but play a crucial part in the painting.
Fig 5: Lucas van Leyden, The Conversion of Saint Paul, engraving (1509)
(3) The mountains had a special psychological significance. Commentator Wilfried Seipel has suggested that Bruegel chose a precipitous mountain setting because it demonstrated the impossibility of the whole venture and was therefore a powerful metaphor of pride going before a fall. He continues, “The painting is therefore – and this alone explains the choice of the Alpine setting – the symbolic illustration of humanity losing its way, of mankind stuck in the impossible and meaningless”[9]. Similarly, Klaus Demus has asserted that the “only explanation” for the painter’s choice of the Alps is that it provides a symbolic visualisation of men going astray, losing their way and trapping themselves in plans that are absurd as they are impossible. It is a metaphor for crisis, for wandering about aimlessly” [10].
Unfortunately, however, I simply can’t agree that the mountain setting somehow “demonstrates the impossibility of the whole venture”, nor that the setting provides a metaphor of pride going before a fall, or that people are wandering about aimlessly. On the contrary, the soldiers in the Conversion appear to be well organised and determined to tackle their challenging task, and are well on their way to achieving their aim of crossing the mountain. There is little aimless wandering or men losing their way. And the only one we could say illustrates pride going before a fall is Saul himself, and this has really nothing to do with the mountain setting.
Unfortunately, however, I simply can’t agree that the mountain setting somehow “demonstrates the impossibility of the whole venture”, nor that the setting provides a metaphor of pride going before a fall, or that people are wandering about aimlessly. On the contrary, the soldiers in the Conversion appear to be well organised and determined to tackle their challenging task, and are well on their way to achieving their aim of crossing the mountain. There is little aimless wandering or men losing their way. And the only one we could say illustrates pride going before a fall is Saul himself, and this has really nothing to do with the mountain setting.
Mystery #2: the size of the army
The second mystery about the painting is the enormous size of the army that it depicts. In the Biblical account, there’s no mention of Saul even having an army at all – he is just described as having “companions”. But the army we see in the painting looks more like an invasion force. There are literally hundreds of armed soldiers depicted, and it’s evidently intended that we should assume that there are many more we can’t see, as they enter from bottom left (Fig 6) and disappear round a corner on the far right.
Fig 6: Detail of soldiers at bottom of climb
This massive size of the force, often unremarked in the literature, is strange -- after all, Saul was intending to round up Christians in Damascus, not invade Syria.
It’s interesting too that earlier paintings of Saul’s conversion do not show Saul as having a large army, but simply depict him as either being alone or having a small entourage of up to about 20 [11]. At first sight, Lucas van Leyden’s engraving of the conversion (Fig 6) appears to show a larger force, but this is due to the fact that the work is a composite of two incidents – the first when Saul is struck by the heavenly light (at left) and the second at a later moment when he is being escorted by his entourage into Damascus (at right).
Even more fundamentally, Bruegel does not portray Saul as a leader of anything, let alone an army. Saul is wearing a simple unadorned smock, hardly indicative of military leadership, and he was obviously not in any physically strategic position to command the soldiers, even before he fell down. The people who are far more likely to be leaders are instead the splendidly-outfitted men mounted on horses at the right (Fig 7). These men are positioned at the crucial mountain pass where the climbing finishes, the trail turns and the downward march begins. And, significantly, it is to these men that the soldier at right has turned to in order to alert them to the dramatic disturbance that has just occurred.
It’s interesting too that earlier paintings of Saul’s conversion do not show Saul as having a large army, but simply depict him as either being alone or having a small entourage of up to about 20 [11]. At first sight, Lucas van Leyden’s engraving of the conversion (Fig 6) appears to show a larger force, but this is due to the fact that the work is a composite of two incidents – the first when Saul is struck by the heavenly light (at left) and the second at a later moment when he is being escorted by his entourage into Damascus (at right).
Even more fundamentally, Bruegel does not portray Saul as a leader of anything, let alone an army. Saul is wearing a simple unadorned smock, hardly indicative of military leadership, and he was obviously not in any physically strategic position to command the soldiers, even before he fell down. The people who are far more likely to be leaders are instead the splendidly-outfitted men mounted on horses at the right (Fig 7). These men are positioned at the crucial mountain pass where the climbing finishes, the trail turns and the downward march begins. And, significantly, it is to these men that the soldier at right has turned to in order to alert them to the dramatic disturbance that has just occurred.
Fig 7: Detail of horsemen at right of the painting
In the absence of any compelling explanation of these curious aspects, we need to consider a different line of inquiry – one which turns on the possible significance of a quite separate major journey of a large armed force that took place in the very same year in which Bruegel created his painting.
The man in black crosses the Alps
In Bruegel’s time, Flanders was ruled by Spain, and there was a long, bloody history of conflict between its predominantly Protestant populace and the firmly Catholic Hapsburg government of Spain. In 1567 the situation reached crisis point. The feared Spanish military commander, the Duke of Alba, agreed to assume the governorship of Flanders and, with the help of a 10,000 man army, to forcibly suppress the Protestant revolt. Alba, who was well-known for wearing black armour, had a notable history of dealing with matters such as this. He had unlimited powers to force the “rebellious and heretical country”’ into submission, and “to punish the guilty with unbending severity” [12], and his fearsome reputation went before him, causing panic.
His army's 700 mile journey from Spain to Flanders followed the so-called “Spanish Road” -- after sailing to Genoa, the army travelled through Piedmont and Savoy, skirting hostile France, and crossed the Alps at the precipitous Mont Cenis Pass [13].
His army's 700 mile journey from Spain to Flanders followed the so-called “Spanish Road” -- after sailing to Genoa, the army travelled through Piedmont and Savoy, skirting hostile France, and crossed the Alps at the precipitous Mont Cenis Pass [13].
Fig 8: Map of Duke of Alba’s route (source: Geoffrey Parker: see end note [13]
Bruegel, and his other countrymen, would of course have been aware of this ominous mission, and the thought of it must have great fear among the Protestants. These fears were bloodily realised when Alba arrived and began a ruthless suppression.
For our purposes, the significant aspect of Alba’s mission is that it has striking parallels with Saul’s journey some 1,500 years before. Both men were ruthless and dedicated religious zealots, both travelled a long distance to a foreign land, and both had the resolve and power to forcibly supress religious renegades there. Furthermore, each of those journeys had a significantly important outcome – in Saul’s case, because as a convert he would go on to be a major force in the growth of Christianity, and in Alba’s case, because his subsequent actions would have such a major impact in Flanders. Of course, their precise targets were different -- Saul’s targets were Christians, whereas Alba’s were specifically Protestants. And of course, Saul saw the light and had a dramatic change of heart, which Alba certainly did not.
One can readily imagine that Bruegel’s undoubted awareness of both journeys may have inspired him to come up with the novel idea of combining both narratives in the one painting. This could readily resolve the two mysteries that we have mentioned. If, say, the army which Bruegel depicts in the painting was not Saul’s, as is commonly assumed, but instead was Alba’s army, this would explain the army’s otherwise-puzzling large size. Some support for this is provided by the looming presence of the centrally-positioned horseman who, extraordinarily, is clad from head to foot in an all-enveloping black, literally from top to toe, with even the back of his neck covered (Fig 9); this colour was strongly associated with Alba, who himself always wore black (Fig 10).
For our purposes, the significant aspect of Alba’s mission is that it has striking parallels with Saul’s journey some 1,500 years before. Both men were ruthless and dedicated religious zealots, both travelled a long distance to a foreign land, and both had the resolve and power to forcibly supress religious renegades there. Furthermore, each of those journeys had a significantly important outcome – in Saul’s case, because as a convert he would go on to be a major force in the growth of Christianity, and in Alba’s case, because his subsequent actions would have such a major impact in Flanders. Of course, their precise targets were different -- Saul’s targets were Christians, whereas Alba’s were specifically Protestants. And of course, Saul saw the light and had a dramatic change of heart, which Alba certainly did not.
One can readily imagine that Bruegel’s undoubted awareness of both journeys may have inspired him to come up with the novel idea of combining both narratives in the one painting. This could readily resolve the two mysteries that we have mentioned. If, say, the army which Bruegel depicts in the painting was not Saul’s, as is commonly assumed, but instead was Alba’s army, this would explain the army’s otherwise-puzzling large size. Some support for this is provided by the looming presence of the centrally-positioned horseman who, extraordinarily, is clad from head to foot in an all-enveloping black, literally from top to toe, with even the back of his neck covered (Fig 9); this colour was strongly associated with Alba, who himself always wore black (Fig 10).
Fig 9: detail of man in black
Fig 10: Portrait of Duke of Alba, in characteristic black armour (attributed to Willem Key)
It is also interesting that the extraordinary black-feathered headdress worn by the mounted figure holding the pennant at far right has a striking similarity to the feathers of the eagle in the Habsburg coat of arms, the symbol of Spanish control [14].
Fig 11: Hapsburg coat of arms
Fig 12: Distinctive headdress of rider
Identifying the army as Alba’s would also explain why the action takes place on a precipitous mountain pass, not a dusty road to Damascus (or Flanders), because that type of pass is exactly what Alba’s army encountered when it had to cross the Mount Cenis Pass on its way to Flanders (Fig 12A). Bruegel may also have favoured the mountain setting because of the ancient association of the Deity with high places – Moses spoke with the Lord on Mt Sinai, and it was on a high mountain that several disciples saw Christ transfigured and heard the voice of God [15].
Fig 12A; Scenery at Mt Cenis (1820) https://world4.eu/bramante/
Don’t mention the war! (or Alba)
Unfortunately, however, many commentators in recent years have rejected outright the relevance of any allusions to the Duke of Alba in interpreting the painting. Seipel, for example, is quite emphatic. He notes that “some scholars have insisted that Bruegel was alluding to the Duke of Alba’s troops’ procession over the Savoy Alps, piously hoping that he would not turn out to be Saul, the prosecutor of the Christians in the Netherlands. Preposterous!” [16].
Fritz Grossmann also rejects a “political interpretation” and simply concludes that “the painting is rather to be understood as an exhortation to follow God, to be converted to the true faith” [17]. Roberts-Jones, too, considers that any interpretation which depends on allusions to contemporary events is “a mistake, reducing a profound and powerful work to the level of a mere topical picture. If creativity is to retain its resonance it must be transcendent. The painting exists in its own right outside any temporal context” [18].
I admit to having trouble in following any of this reasoning. Why does an allusion to a recent event prevent that painting from being timeless or transcendent? Is Picasso’s Guernica not timeless or transcendent simply because it was specifically inspired by a recent bombing raid? Surely the test of whether a painting is timeless is whether it continues to speak to us over the generations. The Conversion, like Guernica, certainly fits that description – we’re still arguing over it almost 500 years after it was painted.
Fritz Grossmann also rejects a “political interpretation” and simply concludes that “the painting is rather to be understood as an exhortation to follow God, to be converted to the true faith” [17]. Roberts-Jones, too, considers that any interpretation which depends on allusions to contemporary events is “a mistake, reducing a profound and powerful work to the level of a mere topical picture. If creativity is to retain its resonance it must be transcendent. The painting exists in its own right outside any temporal context” [18].
I admit to having trouble in following any of this reasoning. Why does an allusion to a recent event prevent that painting from being timeless or transcendent? Is Picasso’s Guernica not timeless or transcendent simply because it was specifically inspired by a recent bombing raid? Surely the test of whether a painting is timeless is whether it continues to speak to us over the generations. The Conversion, like Guernica, certainly fits that description – we’re still arguing over it almost 500 years after it was painted.
So what was Bruegel trying to say?
If we accept that Bruegel was using the painting to depict both Alba’s and Saul’s journeys, does that mean that he was therefore trying to make some political, religious or moral point based on their different outcomes? In other words, was he taking sides?
In this context, it is extremely difficult, and maybe even impossible, for anyone to pin down what Bruegel thought about things, or what he was trying to do in his art, particularly given that many centuries have passed since he was alive [19]. On so many issues, there appear to be a wide range of opinions about him or where he stood, and these are often quite contradictory. As Grossman wryly observes, Bruegel presents a bewildering spectacle -- he has been viewed simultaneously as peasant and a townsman, a Catholic, a libertine and a humanist, a laughing or a pessimistic philosopher, a follower of Bosch and a continuator of the Flemish tradition, a genre painter, a landscape painter, a realist and a transformer of reality [20].
The existence of all these contradictions and uncertainties suggests that Bruegel kept his own opinions and preferences close to his chest, preferring to present his work in a way that, at times, boldly draws attention to issues, yet cautiously avoids drawing conclusions. Instead of himself taking sides, he leaves it up to his viewers to consider and decide for themselves what to think. As Zupnick has suggested, Bruegel presumably was engaged by dramatic events, but also had no wish to suffer martyrdom for his convictions [21]. In this context, I‘m reminded of Barbara Kaminska’s view of Bruegel’s Tower of Babel, where she suggests that the painting simply served as an active backdrop which would stimulate discussion among engaged citizens, or “an open-ended visual argument which stimulated discussion and self-examination” [22].
In this context, it is extremely difficult, and maybe even impossible, for anyone to pin down what Bruegel thought about things, or what he was trying to do in his art, particularly given that many centuries have passed since he was alive [19]. On so many issues, there appear to be a wide range of opinions about him or where he stood, and these are often quite contradictory. As Grossman wryly observes, Bruegel presents a bewildering spectacle -- he has been viewed simultaneously as peasant and a townsman, a Catholic, a libertine and a humanist, a laughing or a pessimistic philosopher, a follower of Bosch and a continuator of the Flemish tradition, a genre painter, a landscape painter, a realist and a transformer of reality [20].
The existence of all these contradictions and uncertainties suggests that Bruegel kept his own opinions and preferences close to his chest, preferring to present his work in a way that, at times, boldly draws attention to issues, yet cautiously avoids drawing conclusions. Instead of himself taking sides, he leaves it up to his viewers to consider and decide for themselves what to think. As Zupnick has suggested, Bruegel presumably was engaged by dramatic events, but also had no wish to suffer martyrdom for his convictions [21]. In this context, I‘m reminded of Barbara Kaminska’s view of Bruegel’s Tower of Babel, where she suggests that the painting simply served as an active backdrop which would stimulate discussion among engaged citizens, or “an open-ended visual argument which stimulated discussion and self-examination” [22].
Conclusion
To sum up -- in my own view, for what it’s worth, it is entirely understandable that in composing the Conversion, it would have been natural for Bruegel to include a reference to a recent event -- Aba's mission -- that had strong parallels to the event that comprised the main subject of the painting, and which at the same time was a major event that affected many people in his homeland. I don’t believe at all that any reference to a contemporary event such as this must necessarily reduce the timelessness of the work, as has been claimed.
I'd also suggest that Bruegel was not trying to make a point or express a personal view by including this allusion to Alba, other than to present the similar purposes of the two journeys and encourage civilised debate on the significance or otherwise of their different outcomes. It follows that I wouldn’t necessarily agree with any interpretation that concludes that Bruegel was directly expressing or encouraging a view that Alba might learn a lesson or emulate Saul’s conversion [23].
© Philip McCouat 2025.
First published December 2025
We encourage your comments on this article.
This article may be cited as Philip McCouat, "Seeing the Light: Bruegel's Conversion of Saul", Journal of Art in Society 2025 https://www.artinsociety.com/seeing-the-light-bruegels-conversion-of-saul.html
For our other articles on Bruegel see here
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I'd also suggest that Bruegel was not trying to make a point or express a personal view by including this allusion to Alba, other than to present the similar purposes of the two journeys and encourage civilised debate on the significance or otherwise of their different outcomes. It follows that I wouldn’t necessarily agree with any interpretation that concludes that Bruegel was directly expressing or encouraging a view that Alba might learn a lesson or emulate Saul’s conversion [23].
© Philip McCouat 2025.
First published December 2025
We encourage your comments on this article.
This article may be cited as Philip McCouat, "Seeing the Light: Bruegel's Conversion of Saul", Journal of Art in Society 2025 https://www.artinsociety.com/seeing-the-light-bruegels-conversion-of-saul.html
For our other articles on Bruegel see here
Return to Home
End Notes
[1] Flanders is historically the northern Dutch-speaking region of Belgium
[2] Bible, Acts 7:59
[3] Bible, Acts 9:1
[4] Bible, Acts 9:2
[5] Christina Currie and Dominique Allart, “Observations on the Genesis of Pieter Bruegel’s The Conversion of Saul and the Examination of Two Copies”, in Alice Hoppe-Harnoncourt et al (eds), Bruegel: The Hand of the Master: Essays in Context, 2019
[6] Bible, Acts 9; 3-8
[7] It’s interesting to note that, contrary to an often-expressed view, Saul was not actually converted by the blinding flash of light, but only a while later
[8] Karel Van Mander’s 1604 biography, cited in Fritz Grossmann, Bruegel, the Paintings, London, Phaidon Press, 1955
[9] Wilfried Seipel (ed), Pieter Bruegel the Elder at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna (Skira, 1998) at 114, 115
[10] Cited in Philippe and François Roberts-Jones, Bruegel, Flammarion, Paris, 2012 at 141
[11] Conveniently collected at Hoakley, “The Story in Paintings: The Road to Damascus and the Conversion of Saint Paul” https://eclecticlight.co/2016/08/06/the-story-in-paintings-the-road-to-damascus-and-the-conversion-of-saint-paul/
[12] Quoted by S G Hitchins, “Art as history, history as art: Jheronimus Bosch and Pieter Bruegel the Elder, assembling knowledge not setting puzzles”, Dissertation, at 241 https://hdl.handle.net/2066/132856
[13] The elevation of Mount Cenis is 2,085 meters / 6,841 feet. For a detailed account of Alba’s expedition, see Geoffrey Parker, “The Spanish Road to the Netherlands”, HistoryNet, 28 September 2012 https://www.historynet.com/the-spanish-road-to-the-netherlands/
[14] See generally Timothy Foote, The World of Bruegel, Time-Life International (Nederland), 1971 at 98; Stanley Ferber, “Peter Bruegel and the Duke of Alba”, Renaissance News vol 19, No 3, 1966, though note that some of Ferber’s claims have been found to be flawed.
[15] Walter S Gibson, Bruegel, Oxford University Press, New York, 1977 at 182
[16] Seipel. op cit
[17] Grossmann, op cit at 201
[18] Roberts-Jones, op cit at 141
[19] He died in 1569
[20] Grossmann, op cit at 37
[21] Irving L. Zupnick, “Bruegel and the Revolt of the Netherlands”, Art Journal, Vol 23, No 4 (Summer 1964), 283
[22] Barbara A Kaminska, “Come, let us make a city and a tower: Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s Tower of Babel and the Creation of a Harmonious Community in Antwerp”, Journal of Historians and Netherlandish Art, Vol 6, issue 2 (Summer 2014); see also Todd Marlin Richardson, “Pieter Bruegel the Elder: Art Discourse in the Sixteenth Century Netherlands", at 69ff https://maypoleofwisdom.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/thesis.pdf
[23] Such an interpretation was raised in Ferber, op cit, and Foote, op cit. See end note [14].
© Copyright Philip McCouat 2025.
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[2] Bible, Acts 7:59
[3] Bible, Acts 9:1
[4] Bible, Acts 9:2
[5] Christina Currie and Dominique Allart, “Observations on the Genesis of Pieter Bruegel’s The Conversion of Saul and the Examination of Two Copies”, in Alice Hoppe-Harnoncourt et al (eds), Bruegel: The Hand of the Master: Essays in Context, 2019
[6] Bible, Acts 9; 3-8
[7] It’s interesting to note that, contrary to an often-expressed view, Saul was not actually converted by the blinding flash of light, but only a while later
[8] Karel Van Mander’s 1604 biography, cited in Fritz Grossmann, Bruegel, the Paintings, London, Phaidon Press, 1955
[9] Wilfried Seipel (ed), Pieter Bruegel the Elder at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna (Skira, 1998) at 114, 115
[10] Cited in Philippe and François Roberts-Jones, Bruegel, Flammarion, Paris, 2012 at 141
[11] Conveniently collected at Hoakley, “The Story in Paintings: The Road to Damascus and the Conversion of Saint Paul” https://eclecticlight.co/2016/08/06/the-story-in-paintings-the-road-to-damascus-and-the-conversion-of-saint-paul/
[12] Quoted by S G Hitchins, “Art as history, history as art: Jheronimus Bosch and Pieter Bruegel the Elder, assembling knowledge not setting puzzles”, Dissertation, at 241 https://hdl.handle.net/2066/132856
[13] The elevation of Mount Cenis is 2,085 meters / 6,841 feet. For a detailed account of Alba’s expedition, see Geoffrey Parker, “The Spanish Road to the Netherlands”, HistoryNet, 28 September 2012 https://www.historynet.com/the-spanish-road-to-the-netherlands/
[14] See generally Timothy Foote, The World of Bruegel, Time-Life International (Nederland), 1971 at 98; Stanley Ferber, “Peter Bruegel and the Duke of Alba”, Renaissance News vol 19, No 3, 1966, though note that some of Ferber’s claims have been found to be flawed.
[15] Walter S Gibson, Bruegel, Oxford University Press, New York, 1977 at 182
[16] Seipel. op cit
[17] Grossmann, op cit at 201
[18] Roberts-Jones, op cit at 141
[19] He died in 1569
[20] Grossmann, op cit at 37
[21] Irving L. Zupnick, “Bruegel and the Revolt of the Netherlands”, Art Journal, Vol 23, No 4 (Summer 1964), 283
[22] Barbara A Kaminska, “Come, let us make a city and a tower: Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s Tower of Babel and the Creation of a Harmonious Community in Antwerp”, Journal of Historians and Netherlandish Art, Vol 6, issue 2 (Summer 2014); see also Todd Marlin Richardson, “Pieter Bruegel the Elder: Art Discourse in the Sixteenth Century Netherlands", at 69ff https://maypoleofwisdom.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/thesis.pdf
[23] Such an interpretation was raised in Ferber, op cit, and Foote, op cit. See end note [14].
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