his wife with loving pride. He represented her as a Jewish bride, as
Flora, as an Odalisque, a Judith, a Susanna, and a Bathsheba. There is
one painting of the husband and wife together, Saskia perched like a
child on Rembrandt's knee, as he flourishes a wine-glass in the air.
In another picture (an etching) they sit together at a table about the
evening lamp, the wife with her needle-work, the artist with his
engraving. The love between them is the brightest spot in Rembrandt's
history, clouded as it was with many disappointments and troubles. As
a celebrated writer has expressed it, Saskia was "a ray of sunshine in
the perpetual chiaroscuro of his life."
XI
THE SORTIE OF THE CIVIC GUARD, OR THE NIGHT WATCH
The patriotism of the Dutch is seen through the entire history of
"brave little Holland." Early in the sixteenth century every town of
considerable size had a military company composed of the most
prominent citizens. Each company, or guild, had a place of assembly,
or _doelen_, and a drilling-ground. The officers were chosen for a
year, and the highest appointments were those of captain, lieutenant,
and ensign. Upon these civic guards rested the responsibility of
maintaining the order and safety of the town. Sterner duties than
these were theirs when in the late sixteenth century (1573), at the
call of William of Orange, the various guilds formed themselves into
volunteer companies to resist the Spanish. How well they acquitted
themselves is a matter of history, and Spain recognized the republic
in the treaty of 1609. After the war, many of the corporations were
reorganized and continued to be of great importance in the seventeenth
century.
The picture we have here represents the Civic Guard of Amsterdam
during the captaincy of Frans Banning Cocq in 1642. Cocq was a man of
wealth and influence who had purchased the estate of Purmerland in
1618 and had also been granted a patent of nobility. So it was natural
that Lord Purmerland, one of the most distinguished citizens of the
town, should be called to a term of office as captain of the Civic
Guard. His magnificent stature and manly bearing show him well fitted
for the honor.
The picture represents an occasion when the guard issues from the
assembly hall, or doelen, in a sudden call to action. Captain Cocq
leads the way with Lieutenant Willem van Ruytenberg, of Vlaerdingen,
and as he advances gives orders to his fellow officer. The drum beats,
the ensign unfurls the standard, every man carries a weapon of some
sort. One is priming a musket, another loading his gun, another
firing. A mass of lance-bearers press on from the rear. In the
confusion a dog scampers into the midst and barks furiously at the
drum. A little girl slips into the crowd on the other side, oddly out
of place in such company, but quite fearless. It has been suggested
that she may have been the bearer of the tidings which calls the guard
forth. The quaint figure is clad in a long dress of some shimmering
stuff, and she has the air of a small princess. From her belt hangs a
cock, and she turns her face admiringly towards the great captain.
[Illustration: SORTIE OF THE CIVIC GUARD
_Ryks Museum, Amsterdam_]
We do not know of any historical incident which precisely corresponds
to the action in the picture. Indeed, it is not strictly speaking an
historical picture at all, but rather a portrait group of the Civic
Guard, in attitudes appropriate to their character as a military
body. They may be going out for target practice or for a shooting
match such as was held annually as a trial of skill; it may be a
parade, or it may be, as some have fancied, a call to arms against a
sudden attack from the enemy. In any case the noticeable thing is the
readiness with which all respond to the call--the spirit of patriotism
which animates the body. The Dutch are not naturally warlike, but
rather a peace-loving people; lacking the quick impulsiveness of a
more nervous race, they are of a somewhat heavy and deliberate temper;
yet they have the solid worth which can be counted on in an emergency,
and in love of country they are united to a man. Benjamin Franklin
once said of Holland, "In love of liberty, and bravery in the defense
of it, she has been our great example."
The picture cannot be fully understood without some knowledge of its
history. Painted for the hall of the Amsterdam Musketeers, it was to
take its place among others by contemporary painters, as a portrait
group in honor of the officers of the year, and as a lasting memorial
of their services. The other pictures had been stiff groups about a
table, and the novelty of Rembrandt's composition displeased some of
the members of the guild. Each person who figures in the scene had
subscribed a certain sum towards the cost of the picture for his own
portrait, and was anxious to get his money's worth. Consequently,
there were many who did not at all relish their insignificance in the
background, quite overshadowed by the glory of the captain and
lieutenant. They thought they would have shown to much better
advantage arranged in rows.
It was Rembrandt's way when painting a portrait to give life and
reality to the figure, by showing the leading element in the character
or occupation of the person. Thus his shipbuilder is designing a ship,
the writing master, Coppenol, is mending a pen, the architect has his
drawing utensils, and the preacher his Bible. So in the Civic Guard
each man carries a weapon, and the figures are united in spirited
action. All this artistic motive was lost upon those for whom the
picture was painted, because of their petty vanity. So the great
painting, now so highly esteemed, was not a success at the time.
In the following century it was removed to the town hall; and in order
to fit it into a particular place on the wall, a strip was cut off
each side the canvas. It is the loss of these margins which gives the
composition the crowded appearance which so long seemed a strange
fault in a great artist like Rembrandt.
The original colors of the painting grew so dark with the accumulation
of smoke in the hall that the critics supposed the scene occurred at
night, hence the incorrect name of the Night Watch was given to it.
Since the picture was cleaned, in 1889, it is apparent that the
incident occurred in the daytime, and if you look carefully you can
plainly see the shadow of Captain Cocq's hand on the lieutenant's
tunic.
XII
PORTRAIT OF JAN SIX
When the painter Rembrandt came to Amsterdam in 1631, a young man
seeking his fortune in the great city, a lad of twelve years was
living in his father's country seat, near by, who was later to become
one of his warm friends. This was Jan Six, the subject of the portrait
etching reproduced here. There was a great contrast in the
circumstances of life in which the two friends grew up. Rembrandt was
the son of a miller, and had his own way to make in the world. Jan Six
was surrounded from his earliest years with everything which tended to
the gratification of his natural taste for culture. Rembrandt's rare
talent, however, overbalanced any lack of early advantages, and made
him a friend worth having.
Six had come of Huguenot ancestry. His grandfather had fled to Holland
during the Huguenot persecution in France, and had become a resident
in Amsterdam in 1585. Jan's father, another Jan, had married a Dutch
lady of good family, whose maiden name was Anna Wijmer. It was in the
service of this good lady that we first hear of Rembrandt's connection
with the Six family. He was called to paint her portrait in 1641, and
must have then, if not before, made the acquaintance of her young
son, Jan. Jan united to a great love of learning a love of everything
beautiful, and was an ardent collector of objects of art. Paintings of
the old Italian and early Dutch schools, rare prints and curios of
various kinds, were his delight. He found in Rembrandt a man after his
own heart. Already the painter had gone far beyond his means in
filling his own house with costly works of art. So the two men, having
a hobby in common, found a strong bond of union in their congenial
tastes. We may be sure that they were often together, to show their
new purchases and discuss their beauty.
Rembrandt, as an older and more experienced collector, would doubtless
have good advice to offer his younger friend, and, an artist himself,
would know how to judge correctly a work of art. One record of their
friendship in these years is a little etched landscape which Rembrandt
made in 1641, showing a bridge near the country estate of the Six
family, a place called Elsbroek, near the village of Hillegom.
[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF JAN SIX
_Museum of Fine Arts, Boston_]
It was in 1647 that Rembrandt made this portrait of his friend, then
twenty-nine years of age. Six had now begun to make a name for himself
in the world of letters as a scholar and poet. He had already
published a poem on Muiderberg (a village near Amsterdam), and by this
time, doubtless, had under way his great literary work, the tragedy of
Medaea. Many were the times when Rembrandt, coming to his house to talk
over some new treasure-trove, found him in his library with his
head buried in a book, and his thoughts far away. It was in such a
moment that he must have had the idea of this beautiful portrait. He
catches his friend one day in the corner of his library, standing with
his back to the window to get the light on the book he is reading. He
transfers the picture to a copper plate and hands it down to future
generations.
The slender figure of the young man is clad in the picturesque dress
of a gentleman of his time, with knee-breeches and low shoes, with
wide white collar and cuffs. His abundant wavy blond hair falls to his
shoulders; he has the air of a true poet. In his eagerness to read, he
has flung his cavalier's cloak on the window seat behind him, a part
of it dropping upon a chair beyond. Its voluminous folds make a
cushion for him, as he leans gracefully against the window ledge. His
sword and belt lie on the chair with the cloak. For the moment the pen
is mightier than the sword. The furnishings of the room show the
owner's tastes; a pile of folio volumes fill a low chair, an antique
picture hangs on the wall.
The young man's face is seen by the light reflected from the pages of
his open book. It is a refined, sensitive face, of high intellectual
cast, amiable withal, and full of imagination. He is completely
absorbed in his reading, a smile playing about his mouth. How little
of a fop and how much of a poet he is, we see from his disordered
collar. Breathing quickly as he bends over his book, in his
excitement he cannot endure the restraint of a close collar. He has
unloosed it, as, quite oblivious of any untidiness in his appearance,
he hurries on, ruthlessly crushing the pages of the folio back, as he
grasps it in his hand.
The friendship between Six and Rembrandt seemed to grow apace; for
when the tragedy of Medaea was published, in 1648, it was illustrated
by a magnificent etching by Rembrandt, representing the Marriage of
Jason and Creusa.
The literary work of Jan Six led the way to various public honors. In
1656 he became commissioner of marriages; in 1667, a member of the
Council of the States General of Holland, and in 1691, burgomaster of
Amsterdam. His continued friendship for Rembrandt was shown in his
purchasing a number of the latter's paintings. Rembrandt at length
painted a magnificent portrait of his friend in his old age, which,
with the portrait of his mother and the original plate for this
etching, still remains in the Six family in Amsterdam. Referring to
the portrait of Jan Six, the famous Dutch poet, Vondel, contemporary
of Rembrandt and Six, paid a fitting tribute to the great burgomaster,
as a "lover of science, art, and virtue."
XII
PORTRAIT OF AN OLD WOMAN
The story is told of a little child who, upon being introduced to a
kind-faced lady, looked up brightly into her eyes with the question,
"Whose mother are you?" When we look into the wrinkled old face of
this picture, the same sort of a question springs to mind, and we
involuntarily ask, "Whose grandmother are you?" We are sure that
children and grandchildren have leaned upon that capacious lap. The
name of the subject is not known, though the same face appears many
times in Rembrandt's works. But there are many people whose names we
can quote, of whom we know much less than of this old woman.
The story of her life is written in the picture. Those clasped hands,
large and knotted, have done much hard work. They have ministered to
the needs of two generations. They have dandled the baby on her knee,
and supported the little toddler taking his first steps. They have
tended the child and wrought for the youth. They have built the fire
on the hearth and swept out the house; they have kneaded the bread and
filled the kettle; they have spun and woven, and sewed and mended.
They have not even shrunk from the coarser labors of dooryard and
field, the care of the cattle, the planting and harvesting. But labor
has done nothing to coarsen the innate refinement of the soul which
looks out of the fine old face.
She is resting now. The children and grandchildren have grown up to
take care of themselves and their grandmother also. She has time to
sit down in the twilight of life, just as she used to sit down at the
close of each day's work, to think over what has happened. She has a
large comfortable chair, and she is neatly dressed, as befits an old
woman whose life work is done. A white kerchief is folded across her
bosom, a shawl is wrapped about her shoulders, and a hood droops over
her forehead. Her thoughts are far away from her present surroundings;
something sad occupies them. She dreams of the past and perhaps also
of the future. Sorrow as well as work has had a large share in her
life, but she has borne it all with patient resignation. She is not
one to complain, and does not mean to trouble others with her sadness.
But left all alone with her musings, a look of yearning comes into her
eyes as for something beautiful and much loved, lost long ago.
Some painters have been at great pains to fashion a countenance
sorrowful enough and patient enough to represent the subject of the
Mater Dolorosa, that is, the Sorrowing Mother of Christ. Perhaps they
would have succeeded better if they had turned away from their own
imaginations to some mother in real life, who has loved and worked
and suffered like this one. The face answers in part our first
question. A woman like this is capable of mothering great sons.
Industrious, patient, self-sacrificing, she would spare herself
nothing to train them faithfully. And the life of which her face
speaks--a life of self-denying toil, ennobled by high ideals of
duty--is the stuff of which heroes are made. Some of the great men of
history had such mothers.
[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF AN OLD WOMAN
_Hermitage Gallery, St. Petersburg_]
The picture illustrates the fact that a face may be interesting and
even artistic, if not beautiful. This idea may surprise many, for when
one calls a person "as pretty as a picture," it seems to be understood
that it is only pretty people who make suitable models for pictures.
Rembrandt, however, was of quite another mind. He was a student of
character as well as a painter, and he cared to paint faces more for
their expression than for beauty of feature.
Now the expression of a face is to a great extent the index of
character. We say that the child has "no character in his face,"
meaning that his skin is still fair and smooth, before his thoughts
and feelings have made any record there. Gradually the character
impresses itself on his face. Experience acts almost like a sculptor's
chisel, carving lines of care and grooving furrows of sorrow, shaping
the mouth and the setting of the eyes.
The longer this process continues, the more expressive the face
becomes, so that it is the old whose faces tell the most interesting
stories of life. Rembrandt understood this perfectly, and none ever
succeeded better than he in revealing the poetry and beauty of old
age.
His way of showing the character in the face of this old woman is very
common with him. The high light of the picture is concentrated on the
face and is continued down upon the snowy kerchief. This forms a
diamond of light shading by gradations into darker tints. It was the
skillful use of light and shadow in the picture, which made a poetic
and artistic work of a subject which another painter might have made
very commonplace.
XIV
THE SYNDICS OF THE CLOTH GUILD
The word syndic is a name applied to an officer of a corporation, and
this is its meaning in the title of the picture, The Syndics of the
Cloth Guild. In Holland, as in England and France and elsewhere in
Europe, guilds were associations of tradesmen or artisans united for
purposes of mutual help and for the interests of their respective
industries. In some points they were the forerunners of modern trades
unions, except that the members were proprietary merchants and master
craftsmen instead of employees, and their purpose was the advancement
of commercial interests in municipal affairs, instead of the
protection of labor against capital. There were guilds of mercers,
wine merchants, goldsmiths, painters and many others.
Now the wool industry was one of the most important in Holland, hence
the Guild of Drapers or Cloth Workers was a dignified association in
several cities. There was one in Leyden, where Rembrandt was born, and
another in Amsterdam, where he passed the most of his life. Amsterdam
was at that time the foremost commercial city of Europe. Its guilds
had fine halls, ornamented with works of art painted by the best
contemporary artists. It was for this purpose that Rembrandt received
from the Amsterdam Cloth Guild the commission to paint a portrait
group of their five officers, and he accordingly delivered to them in
1661 the great picture of which we have this little reproduction to
examine.
Just as in the picture of the Civic Guard he had given life to the
portraits, by showing the members in some action appropriate to their
military character, so here he represents the officers of the guild in
surroundings suggestive of their duties. They are gathered about a
table covered with a rich scarlet cloth, on which rests the great
ledger of the corporation. They are engaged in balancing their
accounts and preparing a report for the year, and a servant awaits
their order in the rear of the apartment. Their task seems a pleasant
one, for whatever difficulties have arisen during their
administration, it is evident that the outcome is successful. They
take a quiet satisfaction in the year's record.
It is as if in the midst of their consultations, as they turn the
leaves of the ledger, we suddenly open the door into the room. They
are surprised but not disturbed by the intrusion, and look genially
towards the newcomers. The younger man at the end welcomes us with a
smile. Next to him is one who has been leaning over the book. He
raises his head and meets our eyes frankly and cordially. His
companion continues his discourse, gesturing with the right hand. The
older men at one side give more attention to the arrival. One seated
in the armchair smiles good naturedly; the other, rising and
leaning on the table, peers forward with a look of keen inquiry.
[Illustration: THE SYNDICS OF THE CLOTH GUILD
_Ryks Museum, Amsterdam_]
As we examine the faces one by one, we could almost write a character
study of each man, so wonderfully does the portrait reveal the inner
life--the placid amiability of one, the quiet humor of another, the
keen, incisive insight of a third. That they are all men of sound
judgment we may well believe, and they are plainly men to be trusted.
The motto of the guild is a key to their character: "Conform to your
vows in all matters clearly within their jurisdiction; live honestly;
be not influenced in your judgments by favor, hatred, or personal
interest." These principles are at the foundation of the commercial
prosperity for which Holland is noted.
The picture may be taken to illustrate a page in American history. It
was the Dutch, as we all remember, who founded the State of New York,
and the fifty years of their occupation (1614-1664) fell within the
lifetime of Rembrandt. The fifteen thousand settlers, who came during
this time from Holland to America, brought with them the manners and
customs of their home country. The citizens of New Amsterdam were the
counterparts of their contemporaries in the old Amsterdam. We may see,
then, in this picture of the Cloth Merchants of Amsterdam just such
men as were to be seen among our own colonists. In the broad-brimmed
hat and the wide white collar we find the same peculiarities of dress,
and in their honest faces we read the same national traits. It was to
men like these that we owe a debt of gratitude for some of the best
elements in our national life. In the words of a historian,[11] "The
republican Dutchmen gave New York its tolerant and cosmopolitan
character, insured its commercial supremacy, introduced the common
schools, founded the oldest day school and the first Protestant church
in the United States, and were pioneers in most of the ideas and
institutions we boast of as distinctly American."
[Footnote 11: W. E. Griffis, in _Brave Little Holland_, pp. 212-213.]
If you fancy that it was quite accidental that the six figures of this
picture are so well arranged, and wonder why the art of Rembrandt
should be so praised here, you may try an experiment with your camera
upon a group of six figures. In posing six persons in any order which
is not stiff, and getting them all to look with one accord and quite
naturally towards a single point, you will understand some of the many
difficulties which Rembrandt overcame so simply.
XV
THE THREE TREES
Holland, as is well known, is a country built upon marshes, which have
been drained and filled in by the patient industry of many generations
of workers. The land is consequently very low, almost perfectly level,
and is covered by a network of canals. It lacks many of the features
which make up the natural scenery of other countries,--mountains and
ravines, rocks and rivers,--but it is, nevertheless, a very
picturesque country. Artists love it for the quiet beauty of its
landscape. Though this is not grand and awe-inspiring, it is restful
and attractive.
We may well believe that the artistic nature of Rembrandt was
sensitive to the influences of his native Dutch scenery. Though his
great forte in art lay in other directions, he paused from time to
time to paint or etch a landscape.
Even in this unaccustomed work he proved himself a master. He treated
the subject much as he did a portrait,--trying to bring out the
character of the scene just as he brought out the character in a face.
How much of a story he could tell in a single picture we see in this
famous etching called The Three Trees.
One can tell at a glance that this is Holland. We look across a wide
level stretch of land, and the eye travels on and on into an almost
endless distance. Far away we see the windmills of a Dutch town
outlined against the sky,--a sign of industry as important in Holland
as are factory chimneys in some other parts of the world. Beyond this,
another endless level stretch meets the sky at the horizon line. It is
hard to distinguish the land and water, which seem to lie in alternate
strips. The pastures are surrounded by canals as by fences.
Here and there are cows grazing, and we are reminded of the fine dairy
farms for which Holland is noted, the rich butter and cheese, which
are the product of these vast flat lands, apparently so useless and
unproductive. Directly in front of us, at the left, is a still pool,
and on the farther bank stands a fisherman holding a rod over the
water. A woman seated on the bank watches the process with intense
interest. There are two other figures near by which can hardly be
discerned.
[Illustration: THE THREE TREES
_Museum of Fine Arts, Boston_]