Despite being full of blooms, this book of floral illustrations marks an autumn in aesthetic history: it was composed during “‘the last flowering’ of northern European manuscript illumination in the medieval tradition”, write curators at the MET. Created in the workshop of the Master of Claude de France, one of the most renowned ateliers in Tours during the early sixteenth century, it takes the form of a model book — and indeed several subsequent commissions linked to Queen Claude drew inspiration from this work. Yet its relative lack of wear and tear has led historians like Jörn Günther to wonder if the manuscript was primarily intended by the Master of Claude de France to be a collection of botanical art in its own right. Having trained with Jean Bourdichon and possibly Jean Poyer, the Master’s true identity remains anonymous in art history, but he and his workshop have been credited with books of hours and books of prayers — generally employing extremely small formats, which fit comfortably into the palm of a hand.

Unlike earlier works of botanical illustration in the vade mecum mode, which contained educational inscriptions, no descriptive text is present here and the flowers seem less like supportive stakes for medicinal learning or arcane symbolism, more like freestanding objects of beauty. The chosen plants are of European origin. They tend to skew away from ornamental flowers and toward crops and medicinal herbs. Opaque watercolors, organic glazes, and gold and silver paint come together to create a startling play of perspective, as the plants appear to grow outward from the paper toward the beholder’s gaze. Experimentations in scale delight: a jaybird perches on the leaf of a giant blackberry, as if waiting for the fruit to ripen; a long-eared owl looks confused by the enormity of a succulent unfurling above its head. Toward the end of the manuscript, the alphabet is reproduced across recto and verso, imposed over an apothecary rose and a white rose of York by means of the parchment’s translucence. Is this a cryptic nod toward the language of flowers? A hint that God spelled out his intentions across the phonemes of stamen and stigma? The latter flower is approached by a stag beetle — a symbol of evil in this period and perhaps a reminder that grace flourishes against all odds.

The manuscript itself was acquired by the MET Cloisters in 2019. Visit the institution when Manhattan is in full bloom and watch as art seems to creep off the page: each specimen from the Master of Claude de France’s manuscript has been planted in the Cloisters’ gardens.