CHAPTER VI. TIME OF PROSPERITY (1634-1642)

At the one hundred and twenty-nine pictures produced during the succeeding nine years I can only glance hastily. There are eighteen works dated 1634, and, no less than seven of them are, or are called, “Portraits of Himself.” One at the Louvre [No. 2553], and two at Berlin [Nos. 808 and 810], are unmistakably so, and one now in America, a companion to a “Portrait of Saskia,” would seem to be; but the “Portrait of Rembrandt as an Officer,” at the Hague [No. 149], which, however, bears no date, and one in a helmet, at Cassel [No. 215], bear only the most general resemblance to him. He furthermore painted a portrait of “Saskia disguised as Flora,” called “The Jewish Bride,” in the Hermitage at St Petersburg [No. 812], a very similar picture in the collection of M. Schloss, Paris, and a third at Cassel [No. 214]. There are eight dated portraits, and one probably belonging to that year. Among the portraits are the pair to the one of “Dr Tulp,” and two other pairs, “Martin Daey” and “Machteld van Doorn,” his wife, belonging to Baron Gustave de Rothschild, and “The Minister Alenson” and “His Wife,” belonging to M. Schneider, Paris, a “Portrait of Himself in a Cuirass,” in the Wallace collection, one of “A Young Girl,” at Bridgewater House, and the “Old Lady,” in the National Gallery [No. 775]. There are also four subjects. A replica of “The Descent from the Cross,” formerly in the Cassel Gallery, but removed by Napoleon I. to Malmaison, whence it passed to the Hermitage [No. 800]. It is of interest historically as showing that high as Rembrandt’s reputation stood at the time, he had leisure enough to paint this large picture, without any immediate purchaser in prospect, and it remained in fact on his hands until the enforced sale in 1656. A second, also in the Hermitage [No. 801], is “The Incredulity of St Thomas,” and a third, in the Prado at Madrid [No. 1544], has been called both “Queen Artemisia receiving the Ashes of Mausolus” and “Cleopatra at her Toilet.” There is also a doubtful “Tobias restoring his Father’s Sight,” in the collection of Duc d’Arenberg at Brussels, but it is a matter of doubt whether the last figure of the date is 4 or 6. Lastly, there is an undated “Prodigal Son,” belonging to the executors of the late Sir F. Cook, which, in spite of the signature, must also be regarded as dubious.

There are only two “Portraits of Himself” dated 1635, and one of “Saskia,” but there are two others attributed to about that time, and, in addition, two large and highly finished pictures, supposed to represent “Rembrandt and Saskia,” both signed Rembrandt, and believed to have been painted in or near that year. The one at Dresden [No. 1559], contains, without doubt, portraits of the painter and his wife (see illustration, ). The other, at Buckingham Palace, long known as “The Burgomaster Pancras and his Wife,” is less certain.

Apart from these, there are nine dated portraits, and five subject-pictures, together with six portraits and one subject of about the date. Only two of the portraits bearing dates are in public galleries, one “A Rabbi,” at Hampton Court [No. 381], and one “A Man,” in the National Gallery [No. 350], while two others of about the date are the “Portrait of Himself,” in the Pitti [No. 60], and “A Young Woman,” at Cassel [No. 216]. In subjects the artist on two occasions went out of his way to court failure in attempting to represent classical subjects, with the spirit of which he was utterly out of sympathy. The homely truthfulness of his art, though it may occasionally result in details somewhat shocking to the reverent mind, was, nevertheless, well adapted to set forth the humanising side of Scripture incidents. His Christ is always more the Son of Man than the God Incarnate. His Virgin Mary has none of the delicate beauty conceived for her by Italian painters, but she is first of all, and beyond all, the type of motherhood. His apostles have none of the heroic dignity of Michael Angelo’s, yet they are without question devout, devoted fishers of men. But this lack of wish or power to idealise, this persistence in the search for the true and neglect of the beautiful, is entirely at variance with the classical tradition. There are no great fundamental ideas beneath the story of “Actæon, Diana, and Callisto,” or “The Rape of Ganymede,” for the artist to bring home to us, and the representation of the former as coarse, ungainly peasants, as in the picture belonging to Prince Salm-Salm of Anholt, or of the latter as a fat and extremely hideous baby boy blubbering in terror as he is howked upwards — no more dignified phrase will express it — by his shirt-tail in the claws of an eagle, as in the picture at Dresden [No. 1558], serve only to reveal the limitations of the artist’s imagination without disguise or compensation.

Three other subject pictures, painted in or about that year, are also in public galleries: a little sketch of “The Flight into Egypt,” at the Hague [No. 579]; “The Sacrifice of Abraham,” in the Hermitage [No. 792]; and “Samson threatening his Father-in-law,” at Berlin [No. 802].

Seven pictures only bear the date 1636, of which one formed a further addition to the collection of Prince Frederick-Henry,— “The Ascension,” now at Munich [No. 328], quite the least satisfactory of the series. Rembrandt, indeed, was not in a happy vein this year in his treatment of subjects. Both the “Samson overpowered by the Philistines,” in the collection of Count Schönborn at Vienna, and Lord Derby’s “Belshazzar’s Feast,” if it be Rembrandt’s, which, though unsigned, is attributed to that year, are seriously marred by a distinct melodramatic element in the conception, an extreme exaggeration of pose, gesture, and expression. On the other hand, we find the most pleasing study of the nude the painter ever made, in the “Danae,” at the Hermitage [No. 802], which, though the first and third figures of the date have disappeared, leaving only two sixes, was most probably painted that year.

The four remaining pictures are portraits; two, forming a pair, a young man and his wife, belonging to Prince Liechtenstein of Vienna; one, a woman, to Mr Byers, Pittsburg, U.S.A.; and also a woman, to Lord Kinnaird. The “Ecce Homo,” in the National Gallery [No. 1400], must have also been painted that year, if not before, for it is a sketch for the etching of that date. Other pictures probably dating from that year are a “Standard Bearer,” belonging to Baron Gustave de Rothschild, from which the last figure of the date is missing; a “Portrait of an Old Lady,” belonging to the Earl of Yarborough; “A Saint,” formerly in the collection of Earl Dudley; “Saint Paul,” at Vienna; and the “Portrait of an Oriental,” in the Hermitage [No. 813].

1637 is inscribed on eight pictures, but in one case, that of a “Portrait of Himself,” belonging to Captain Heywood-Lonsdale, there is some doubt about the correct reading of the last figure, and in that of “Susannah and the Elders,” in the collection of Prince Jousoupoff, the genuineness of the signature is not above suspicion. No such question, however, applies to the rendering of the same subject at the Hague [No. 147], the “Portrait of Himself,” in the Louvre [No. 2554], the “Portrait of Henry Swalm,” at Antwerp [No. 705], that of another “Minister” at Bridgewater House, or to the “Portrait of a Man,” in the Hermitage [No. 811], once absurdly called “Sobieski,” and now, with scarcely less absurdity, said to be Rembrandt. The remaining work is “The Parable of the Master of the Vineyard,” also in the Hermitage [No. 798]. Two portraits, one of himself, belonging to Lord Ashburton, and one of a “Young Woman” lacing her bodice, belonging to Dr Bredius, are also attributed to that year, as is “The Angel quitting Tobit,” in the Louvre [No. 2536], in which once more Rembrandt’s desire for actuality has, as far as the angel is concerned, led him to the border-line between the ungraceful and the ridiculous.

In the following year we find him for the first time attempting pure landscape. One, signed and dated, an entirely imaginary composition, is in the possession of Herr Georg Rath at Buda-Pesth; another, also signed and dated, in which he has to some extent compromised by introducing some small figures illustrating the “Parable of the Good Samaritan,” is in the Czartoryski Museum at Cracow. “Christ and Mary Magdalene at the Tomb,” in Buckingham Palace, though the figures are made of more importance, may also be included in the transition pictures between landscape and subject, for the garden, tomb, and distant city are at least as much insisted on as the figures. The important picture of the year, however, was a figure subject, “Samson propounding his Riddle to the Philistines,” the great canvas in the Dresden Gallery [No. 1560], a magnificent piece of work, but, apart from its technical qualities, of no great interest: the only other pictures dated 1638 being a “Portrait of an Old Man,” in the Louvre [No. 2544], and a “Bust of a Man in Armour,” at Brunswick [No. 237].

Two more pictures were completed for the Stathouder in 1639, a “Resurrection” [No. 329], signed and dated, and an “Entombment” [No. 330], unsigned, now with the others at Munich. The only other subject treated that year, if the date and signature are genuine, which M. Michel doubts, was “The Good Samaritan” dressing the wounds of the injured man, in the collection of M. Jules Porgès, for “The Slaughter-house,” belonging to Herr Georg Rath, is a study rather than a picture; and the “Man with the Bittern” at Dresden [No. 1561] as much a portrait as a study. Other portraits are the so-called “Lady of Utrecht,” lent by the family Van Weede van Dykveld to the Amsterdam Museum; that of “Alotte Adriaans,” belonging to the executors of the late Sir F. Cook, a life-sized full-length figure of “A Man,” at Cassel [No. 217], at one time erroneously called “Burgomaster Six,” and a so-called “Portrait of Rembrandt’s Mother,” at Vienna [No. 1141].

There are six pictures dated 1640 — four subjects and two portraits — one of himself in the National Gallery [No. 672], (see ill., ), and the famous one of “Paul Doomer,” better known as “The Gilder,” now in the possession of Mr Havemeyer of New York. The subjects include the Duke of Westminster’s beautiful “Salutation” and the “Expulsion of Hagar and Ishmael,” in the Victoria and Albert Museum, in both of which, however, the concentration of light on a small portion is so intense as to suggest the lime-light of a theatre; the charming version of “The Holy Family” in the Louvre [No. 2542], known as “The House of the Carpenter,” where the contrasting light and shade, though equally marked, are reasonably brought about; and the mysterious allegory, in the Boymans Museum at Rotterdam [No. 238], known as “The Concord of the Country,” containing a rather confused mass of detail and incident, all obviously meaning something, but what no one can quite decide.

Other pictures supposed to have been painted about the same time are a “Good Samaritan”; a “Saving of Moses,” in which the figures play a part quite subordinate to the landscape; three pure landscapes, “An Effect of Storm,” at Brunswick [No. 236], one in the Wallace collection; a study of “Dead Peacocks,” belonging to Mr W. C. Cartwright; and several portraits, the most noteworthy of which is the one of “Elizabeth Bas” in the Ryksmuseum at Amsterdam [No. 249].

Six pictures again bear the date 1641, and all are portraits except the great “Offering of Manoah and his Wife,” at Dresden [No. 1563], wherein we are distressed once more by the artist’s unfortunate conception of an angelic being. Two of the portraits form a pair now widely sundered, the admirable “Lady with the Fan” being at Buckingham Palace, while her husband has strayed away to Brussels [No. 397]. The portrait of “The Minister Anslo” — a marvel of life-like expression and superb painting — is a sad example of art treasures which have been allowed to leave England of late years, having passed from Lady Ashburnham to Berlin. The “Portrait of Anna Vymer,” on the other hand, the mother of Burgomaster Six, is one of a very few, if it be not the only one, which is still in the possession of the descendants of the subject. The remaining picture is a portrait of a Young Woman, called “Saskia,” at Dresden [No. 1562].

The dated pictures of 1642 are few. There is one subject in the Hermitage [No. 1777] long known as “The Reconciliation of Jacob and Esau,” but now recorded in the catalogue as “The Reconciliation of David and Absalom”; while the “Christ taken from the Cross,” in the National Gallery [No. 43], may belong to the same year, since it is a sketch probably made for the etching which was certainly executed then. There are also four portraits: one of “A Rabbi,” belonging to M. Jules Porgès of Paris; Lord Iveagh’s “Portrait of a Woman”; Mrs Alfred Morrison’s “Portrait of Dr Bonus”; and “An Old Man,” at Buda-Pesth [No. 235].

This limited production was probably due to the fact that a large share of his time must have been taken up by his largest and most famous work, “The Sortie of the Company of Francis Banning Cocq,” for many years known as “The Night-watch,” because time and careless usage had so blackened it that the original illumination was nearly obscured, and the figures appeared to be dimly visible by artificial light. The careful restoration by M. Hopman has, of late years, altered all this, and that the sortie is taking place by daylight, the condensed, highly localised daylight of Rembrandt, to be sure, has been established beyond cavil.

One would have supposed that such devoted art-patrons as the Dutch people of that time, would have hailed with delight the creation of such a masterpiece by one of themselves, and would have showered praises and commissions upon its creator. The very contrary seems to have been the fact; nor is the reason far to seek.

Holland at that time abounded in Guilds and Companies, civil and military, Boards of Management of this or that Hospital or charitable Institution, and a perfect craze for being painted in groups animated one and all. The galleries are full of these “Doelen” and “Regent” pictures by great and little masters, and dreary objects many of them are. Each member subscribed his share, and each expected to get his money’s-worth; so the painter was expected to distribute his light and his positions with an impartial hand, and a comically stiff and formal collection of effigies was often the result.

To all such considerations Rembrandt was gloriously indifferent. He was painting a picture of an event in real life, and he meant it to be a picture and alive, not a mere row of wax figures in a booth; and when he had finished, the subscribers cried aloud in wrath and consternation.

And indeed it is difficult not to sympathise with the poor amateur soldiers who had paid to be painted, not to be immortalised. Even if they could have known, they would have cared very little for the fact that their picture was to rank in after years among the most famous in the world, since their worthy citizen-faces were not to be discerned in it, and no one would care to read the names which, failing to move the domineering painter, they caused to be inscribed upon an escutcheon in the background so that they might get some return for their florins. They had their revenge, however, after a kind, for they left it to blacken with dirt and smoke; and when their descendants removed it from the Doelen to the Hotel de Ville they cut it down ruthlessly on either hand to make it fit a smaller space, as a copy by Lundens in the National Gallery [No. 289] makes evident.