Rembrandt accepted the assistance of his pupils, as who among the old masters did not? He was, however, not practical enough to profit much by them: he could work to much better advantage alone. Among his thirty or forty pupils Ferdinand Bol, who came to his studio when only sixteen and stayed for eight years, gave his master most assistance. Bol's rendering is at times very much like Rembrandt's. Some critics think, for instance, that he etched most of the “Goldweigher” (No. 167) and “Abraham Caressing Isaac” (No. 148); both, however, are signed by Rembrandt. When [pg 13] these pupils established studios of their own, they made free use of their old master's compositions, subjects and figures.
With Jan Lievens, his fellow student at Lastman's studio, with van Vliet, Roddermondt and other engravers and etchers of the time, Rembrandt was on terms of great intimacy. They appear often to have worked on the same plate, and to have borrowed each other's ideas “without let or hindrance.” Indeed, it is hard to comprehend the extent to which exchange of ideas was carried at that time. Here is a good illustration of the way things went without protest of any sort being raised. Hercules Seghers etched a large landscape with small figures, after a painting by Adam Elzheimer and an engraving by Count de Goudt, entitled “Tobias and the Angel.” This copper plate came into Rembrandt's possession; he burnished out Tobias and his companion, and replaced them by Joseph, Mary and the Holy Child (No. 266). To cover the erasure he added foliage, but the wing of the angel, the outlines of a leg and various other unused portions of Tobias can still be seen. Rembrandt's reason for bothering with this plate is incomprehensible. He improved it, undoubtedly, but the composite result is exceedingly commonplace and reflects no credit upon any one. John Burnet, the etcher-author, has drawn attention to the fact that the figure of Christ in “Christ at Emmaus” (No. 282) is taken from one by Raphael, who is known to have borrowed it from da Vinci, and it is thought da Vinci, in his turn, got it from [pg 14] a former master. Rembrandt borrowed also from Rubens, Titian, Mantegna, his pupil Gerard Dou, Van de Velde and others. Many of his contemporaries and successors extended toward him the same sort of flattery.
More than half the subjects of Rembrandt's etchings are portraits and studies of the human figure; about one-quarter are scriptural or religious. There are two dozen landscapes, and the remainder are allegorical and fancy compositions. We find then the two most productive sources of his inspiration were the men of his day and the men of the Bible. This book appears to have been the only one he knew at all well, but of it he made excellent use. Despite the incongruities of his Biblical compositions, despite the broad Dutch features, the modern, gorgeous apparel and side-whiskers of the patriarchs, the pugilistic proportions of his angels, his etchings have a truth and vital force that there is no withstanding. Perhaps the very fact that he clothed his people in a fashion that he knew well made his pictures the more successful in reaching the hearts of men. In the all too realistic “Abraham's Sacrifice” (No. 283), in “Joseph's Coat Brought to Jacob” (No. 104), in the naive “Rest on the Flight” (No. 216), and many, many others, the story-telling quality is exceeding strong and the artistic work above criticism. When we look at “David in Prayer” (No. 258), beside his incongruous four-post bedstead, we cannot but feel that here penitence and sincerity is forcefully depicted. The acme of [pg 15] Rembrandt's religious work was reached, however in “Christ, with the Sick Around Him” (No. 236) (etched about 1650), which is often called the finest piece of etched work that has ever been produced. It is a combination of pure etching and dry-point, and in the second state, there is an India-ink wash in the background. There are, I think, nine copies of the first state extant; the last one sold at public auction (Christie's, 1893) brought over $8,500. While the Christ here is not so satisfying as the one in “Christ Preaching” (No. 256) which is remarkably strong and noble, it is Rembrandt's typical conception of our Lord—always ministering to real flesh and blood, the poor, suffering, common people. What a striking contrast with the resplendent artificiality which surrounds the Christ of the Italian masters.
No. 290. Jan Lutma, Goldsmith and Sculptor.
Rembrandt was his own most frequent model. He painted about sixty portraits of himself, and among his etchings we find about two score more. Some of them are large and finished, as the deservedly popular “Rembrandt Leaning on a Stone Sill” (No. 168), which is a perfect example of the possibilities of the etching-needle; others are mere thumb-nail sketches of various expressions of face. He used his mother many times, and also his wife and son. In all these is apparent a delightful sense of joy in his work. Nor is this desirable quality lacking in the wonderful series of large portraits of his friends: the doctors, the ministers, the tradesmen of Amsterdam. Perhaps these were pot-boilers, as [pg 17] some students of his work say, but surely never artist before or since produced to order a group of etchings that, taken entirely apart from his other plates would assure their author a high place among the greatest etchers. In the whole lot there are few that some authority on etching or some great artist has not held up as an example of work that even the master himself never surpassed. But an artist cannot always keep himself at concert pitch and when Rembrandt etched the portrait of his friend “Abraham Francen” (No. 291) I feel that he struck an uncertain, almost false note, unworthy of himself. We might, perhaps, account for this by saying, that it was done in 1656, the year of his bankruptcy were it not that the noble “Jan Lutma” (No. 290) which competes with the “Jan Six” (No. 228) for the place of masterpiece of the entire series, was made the same year. But he was an unaccountable sort of man who could produce in a poor, naked studio, with untold trouble stalking him on all sides, such an etching as the “Lutma,” such a painting as the “Syndics of the Draper's Guild,” both of which rank with the best products of his happy, care-free years of luxury.
It is noticeable that Rembrandt had no sittings from persons of high rank. So far as I can find “Burgomaster” is the most exalted title that can with certainty be given to any of his patrons. The reason is not far to seek. Rembrandt was not a courtier like Van Dyck and Rubens; he was too independent and too busy to spend time kow-towing [pg 18] to society. A contemporary says of him, “When he painted he would not have given audience to the greatest monarch on earth.” He calmly set at nought established principles and conventional rules, in etiquette as well as in art, and followed the bent of his genius with absolute disregard for the opinions of his fellows. The story of “Night Watch” is characteristic of Rembrandt and shows the whole situation in minature. The members of Captain Banning Cocq's Company of the Civic Guards were flattered by the offer of Rembrandt, then at the height of his fame, to paint their portraits. The sixteen members destined to figure in the picture gladly subscribed one hundred florins each, and great were their expectations; but even greater their disappointment when the picture was placed on view. All but a half-dozen felt that they had a distinct grievance against the painter. Had they not paid for portraits of themselves? And they got—what? Here a face in deep shadow, here one half-hid by the one in front, here one so freely drawn as to be unrecognizable. The artist had made a picture, to be sure—but their portraits! Where were their portraits—the portraits they had paid for? Rembrandt had thought out every inch of his picture: he was sure it could not be better, and change it he would not. The resentment was bitter and deep, and the Civic Guards in future bestowed their favors elsewhere.
There were, however, some fellow citizens who recognized his genius and sincerity. These stood [pg 19] by him. Samuel Manasseh ben Israel, whom Cromwell honored, was his neighbor on the Breedstraat, and an intimate friend. Then there were Jan Sylvius and Cornells Anslo, the Protestant ministers; Fan Asselyn and Clement de Jonghe, who were artists; Bonus and Linden, the physicians; Lutma, the goldsmith, and young Jan Six, “Lover of science, art and virtue.” These and a few others are known and honored to-day chiefly because they were Rembrandt's friends. His recognition of their [pg 20] faithulness to him was shown in a much more permanent form than they knew. Good impressions of his etched portraits of these men are still to be seen. They are, like all his etchings, rapidly increasing in value. A “Jan Six” sold recently for over $14,000; an “Ephraim Bonus” (No. 226) for $9,000. To possess such a portrait of an ancestor is little short of a patent of nobility. The Six family of Amsterdam happily have not only Rembrandt's oil-portraits of the Sixes of his day, but also good impressions of the etching of the burgomaster, and even the plate itself—that famous dry-point plate, which the artist worked on for weeks, and which his critics have worked over ever since. Some of these critics hold that even Rembrandt should not have attempted such complete tonality in an etching, that Jan Six urged him to it, and that, in short, as an etching, it comes near to the failure line. Other critics believe that the artist's idea was to show the utmost extent to which the art could be carried, and that in so doing he produced a masterpiece. Middleton, for instance, thinks that “it is not possible to conceive a move beautiful and more perfect triumph of the etcher's art.” Few, it is safe to say, can see a good impression of an early state of this portrait without being struck by its great originality and beauty, and upon closer study, I feel a fair-minded person will inevitably fall under the spell of the wonderfully drawn face and hands, the deep, transparent shadows, and the soft, tender light which envelopes the whole.
No. 183. Jacob and Laban (?).