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Title:       Rembrandt
Author:      Sharp, Elizabeth A.

Chapter VI

Chapter Vi - "The March Out" - Death Of Saskia

1642

     Rembrandt's children - His wife's delicacy - Her portraits - Action for
defamation - Their monetary condition - Purchase of a house - Second civic
commission - The civic guards and their Doelens - "The Night Watch" - Its
importance in Dutch art - Its history and title - Its colour scheme - Method
of the painter's middle period - A luminarist rather than a colourist -
Problems of light - Opinions of contemporaries - Acme of prosperity - His
pupils - His house and its contents - Mania as collector - Nude studies - His
rivals - Saskia's death - Effect on his work - Etchings.

     Outwardly Rembrandt prospered.  Into his home, despite his great
happiness, sorrow had entered.  The first-born child, Rumbartus, died in
infancy; the second, Cornelya, died twenty-two days after her baptism; and the
same name was given two years later to another little daughter, but she also
died very young.  Finally, in 1641, Saskia gave birth to their son Titus, so
often painted by his father; the boy seems in a measure to have inherited his
father's talent, but at the age of twenty-eight predeceased his parent.  On
this child much love was lavished.  Rembrandt has left many sketches and
drawings of the mother cradling and nursing her baby.  But Saskia's health was
now failing; and she had not long to live.  There is a beautiful portrait of
her in Antwerp, painted shortly before her death, that contrasts markedly with
the radiant portrait of her, flower in hand, in Dresden, dating probably prior
to the birth of Titus.  In pose and costume they are similar, except that the
red velvet hat of the later portrait has orange feathers, and the finely
pleated chemisette above the dark-red, gold-embroidered robe is slightly open,
showing the neck against a background of brown-grey.  As usual, she wears
earrings, necklace, and bracelets of pearls, whose beautiful colour harmonises
with and balances the flesh tones. The face, however, is no longer in first
youth; the features are more delicate, the expression more thoughtful, the
eyes a little wistful.  There is an extraordinary charm in this portrait,
painted in all likelihood when the second important civic commission was in
progress; the painter-husband has put into it the finest expression of his
ideal.  A French writer, M. Breal, has recently suggested that the gentle
resigned look that lurks beneath Saskia's smile may be because with the great
painter Art ranked first in his life, that she may have sorrowed to hold a
second place only in her husband's heart, that those eight years of her life
"were spent silently and discreetly in the luminous shadow which the master
peopled with his visions." But I think another and more probable reason may be
found for this sadness in the young face - the death of her three children;
the consequent disappointment, regret, and heartache that had so short
appeasement.  What she may have lost on the one side through her husband's
dislike to society, she gained on the other through his stay-at-home
propensities, his disinclination for the taverns and boisterous dissipations
of the day.

     If his painting and his pupils absorbed much of his time, Saskia was his
most frequent and ever willing model.  When not in his studio he etched and
drew beside her in the evenings.  No one knew better than she how loving and
compassionate was the heart of that coarsely-fashioned, God-fearing man.  She
devoted her life to him.  He made it his pride to deck his darling in costly
stuffs, furs, and jewels; so much so that at last her relations complained she
had "squandered her patrimony in ornaments and ostentation," whereupon the
irate husband brought an action - in which he was, however, non-suited - for
defamation, in protestation against the "slander entirely contrary to truth."
He sued for damages, and stated that his wife and he were "richly and even
abundantly provided with wealth." Rembrandt was undoubtedly extravagant, for
he had the collector's mania.  He haunted the sale-rooms and filled his home
with strange and rare objects, stuffed animals, arms and armour, with
"paintings, prints, shells, horns of animals," according to the Register of
Sales of 1637.  Among these possessions was Rubens' "Hero and Leander," for
which Rembrandt paid 424 florins.  His pupil Baldinucci states that "when
Rembrandt was present at a sale, especially one of paintings or drawings by
masters, he would start with so high a bid that no other purchasers would
offer, and to persons who expressed surprise at this conduct he would answer
that in this way he intended to exalt his profession." Baldinucci's statements
as to the painter's "kindness pushed to the verge of folly," to his readiness
to lend or give "everything he had to fellow-artists who borrowed from him,"
are emphatic denials of the charges of avarice made against him by other
writers.  He had wealth, his own earnings, a legacy from an aunt of Saskia's
in addition to her patrimony, and his own share in his father's inheritance
after his mother's death in 1640.  However, he seems frequently to have been
in immediate need of money, as for instance in 1639, when he purchased the
house in the Joden-Breedstraat, in the Jewish quarter, and was able to pay
down the half only of the necessary 13,000 florins, leaving himself burdened
with a debt which he was never able to discharge, and became the main cause of
his ultimate undoing.  It was of this house, doubtless, that Houbraken gave a
graphic description as to the way the master isolated his pupils so that their
individual qualities should be the better developed, "each isolated in his
cell, divided off by partitions of mere canvas, or even paper, so that he
could work from nature in his own way, without troubling himself about the
others." In the Louvre there is a drawing which shows one of the cells with a
student working from a seated female model, and in the background a series of
similar stall-like cells stand open.  From various sketches and etchings one
knows that Rembrandt worked in the evening in the ordinary living-room beside
his wife, but there is scant record how his own studio was appointed.  In the
M'Lellan Collection in the Glasgow Corporation Gallery there is a painting
attributed to Rembrandt called "The Painter's Study," showing a painter before
an easel working from a nude figure with a gold necklace in full light seated
on green drapery against a mauve-brown curtain, and a soft grey background.
To a later date, 1647, belongs the etching "Artist and Model," a nude figure
of a woman standing on a low pediment, a long palm in her right hand, and
drapery over her left, while an artist is crouched in front of her, pencil and
paper in hand.  These may or may not have represented his own studio, but he
seems rarely to have cared to depict the surroundings of himself or of his
sitters, so intent was he upon the problem presented by the living face and
personality.

     Through whom, or by what means, Rembrandt received his second great civic
commission is unknown, but it seems natural enough that the rich captain of
the Civil Guards of the First Ward of the city, - a ward, moreover, in which
Rembrandt had resided - should commission the most popular artist of the
moment to celebrate his captaincy, an artist who had proved his powers on a
large important municipal canvas ten years previously.  During the War of
Independence these bodies of arquebusiers, or citizen volunteers, did much to
ensure the final results, especially at the sieges of Leyden and Haarlem.
Thereafter they became a popular institution; the posts of captain,
lieutenant, and standard-bearer were eagerly sought for - the picturesquely
costumed post of standard-bearer being necessarily held by a man of wealth.
These corps became the recognised guardians of peace and order in the city;
they had their respective drill-halls or Doelens, where they housed the
various prizes won through competition with other companies of their own city
or of neighbouring towns.  These Doelens were decorated with paintings of the
corps; at first of the officers only and later of many of the members.  Each
sitter paid a share of the painting according to his rank; each was desirous
of a recognisable portrait.  Consequently the earlier of these Doelen pictures
were careful chronicles of fact; accurate, arranged in rigid, obvious line.
Later, Ravesteijn had endeavoured to introduce a little interest and unity in
the picture, but Frans Hals only had succeeded in giving at once a living and
an artistic presentment in his magnificent Doelens and Regent-pictures at
Haarlem.  He adopted the favourite device - grouping his subjects, glass in
hand, toasting one another round the banquet-table; and gave to his
compositions a sense of exuberant life, jollity, and well-being.  The dominant
feeling is one of vitality and of breezy good-fellowship between men as strong
in their cups as with their arms; there is always a vivid play of colour, a
fine arrangement of line that harmonise in a brilliant whole, painted with
unrivalled bravura.  He, too, strictly observed his compact to give due
prominence to all his sitters, and to make excellent likenesses of them.

     Rembrandt knew the traditional requirements of such compositions, but he
had reached a point in his career when he no longer brooked dictation, but
strove to work out his own ideas.  It is not known how long the so-called
"Night Watch" was in hand; but whether or not sketches had been submitted to
the captain, he and his lieutenant, at least, had no cause for complaint.  The
artist does not seem to have made numerous preparatory sketches; two are known
to exist - a hasty sketch in pen and ink, and another in black chalk belonging
to M. Leon Bonnat.  It is certain, however, from documents in the Archives,
that the picture was placed in the hall of the Doelen in Amsterdam in 1642,
and that Rembrandt received 1,600 gulders for it, a sum in excess of the then
usual rate of payment.  While he was painting it his wife was failing slowly
in health after the birth of Titus; the year of his triumph was darkened by
her death.  It is not known to what extent his anxiety and apprehension
affected his mind and vision; whether or not to these causes may be attributed
inequalities, certain hasty passages, and barely concealed corrections visible
in this extraordinary masterpiece, or how much the turmoil of this clouded
period of his own life may have affected his conception of a work that has
been well named the turning-point in the history of Dutch painting; and may,
moreover, be considered as the inauguration of the modern impressionism in
painting.  In the matter of technique Hals, and especially Velasquez, are,
equally with Rembrandt, forerunners of modernity in Art.  In the so-called
"Night Watch" the artist has lost sight of portraiture as aim in his
enthusiastic effort to suggest the movement and stir of departure of a body of
men called suddenly to arms; the orderly confusion of the different
preparations of officers and men united by one idea.  It is obvious that to
many of his clients dissatisfaction must have been given, but one recognises
various of the artist's studio properties among the accoutrements and familiar
types of faces among the men instead of a smart and more or less uniformly
dressed set of civic guards.  The emphasised position of the chief officers
and the studied elaboration of their dress show that Rembrandt adhered to some
form of contract, and, indeed, has thereby somewhat strained the composition
of his subject.  In the eighteenth century the original title of the painting
was forgotten, and owing to its dirt-begrimed and smoky condition, it was
supposed to be a "night piece," and was therefore called the "Night Watch." In
1758 the painter Jan van Dyck drew up an inventory of the pictures in the
Rathhaus, and mentions the accumulation of oil and varnish he had removed from
this painting.  Tobacco and fire smoke and revarnishing had so affected it
that in 1781 Reynolds had difficulty in recognising Rembrandt's handiwork, and
concurred in supposing it to be a night piece; it was not till 1889, after a
thorough and judicious cleaning, that various delicate passages of colour and
effects of light reappeared.  Even Fromentin, in his otherwise masterly
appreciation of the picture, was misled in his estimate of the values; for
many transparent shadows were then obscured, the rich velvety shadows dulled,
and colours falsified.

     The picture - according to a contemporary water-colour sketch
reproduction in an album belonging to Herr de Graff van Polsbroeck -
represents Francis Banning Cocq, "the young Lord of Purmerland, giving his
lieutenant, Herr van Vlaerdingen, the order to march out." The time of day can
be judged by the shadow of the captain's hand that falls athwart his
lieutenant's embroidered coat.  Possibly the young Lord of Purmerland, to whom
James II had granted a patent of nobility in 1620, gave the artist a free hand
on condition that he and his lieutenant held conspicuous positions, and may
have been mainly responsible for the payment of the whole composition, and
have thereby given the artist scope for a personal rendering of the scenic and
fantastic arrangement of detail.  In De Gids for 1870 Dr. J. Dyserinck
describes certain documents in the Archives of Amsterdam relating to "The
March Out." In 1715 it was transferred from the Doelen to the town hall.  In
order to fit it into its new position, strips were cut off the canvas on
either side and off the top, whereby the balance of the picture was destroyed.
It might be well if, when a final resting-place for the picture is arranged -
for its present position is unfortunate as to light and space - canvas were
added to the picture to restore it to its original proportions, so as to give
an approximate idea of Rembrandt's original design.  At present it is
mutilated, and therefore false in quantity.  An idea of the original balance
of composition can be gained by a comparison of the original with the small
copy in the National Gallery by G. Lundens, a young contemporary of Rembrandt.
It will be seen that a portion of the drummer to the right and two figures to
the left have disappeared, also the important left railing at the edge of a
parapet which gave depth to the composition.  As the canvas now is, the two
foremost figures loom too large, and stand out of the canvas in a way that
would be unforgivable in the artist's own eyes.  The colour-scheme of the
picture, though rich, is subordinate to the chiaroscuro.  It is colour sharply
contrasted, echoing the sharp contrasts of light and shadow.  The captain is
prominent in a black coat embroidered with gold and red sash.  His lieutenant
at his side is in pale buff, embroidered with gold or pale blue, a white sash,
and white feathers in his light felt hat.  The familiar steel gorget round his
neck reflects both light and shadow.  These two figures start the scale of
contrasts in the picture, light and shade interweaving throughout like the
interplay of conflicting motives - dark reds, dark greens, white ruffs, and
flesh tones, transparent darkness between the lieutenant and drummer
contrasted with the dazzling light on the enigmatic little maiden in pale blue
and white, with pale hair and gleaming pearls.  The quiet, dignified figure of
the standard-bearer holding aloft his orange and blue flag - from whose point
light ripples to his face and breast - contrasts with the stir or movement of
the gathering guards, heightened by the transverse lines of unquiet spears.
Light falls on the foremost movers of the little drama, the troop is lost in
vaporous darkness of the enveloping background.  Much has been written and
surmised about the little girl with her badly proportioned figure and face of
Lysbeth.  It is difficult to suggest the import of this symbol of the "eternal
feminine." Probably in the purse with gold tassels and the cock tied by the
feet to her girdle she carries the prizes for the day's shooting.  Whether or
not she be a symbolic figure, she is certainly an important feature in the
marvellous play of light and shade which contribute mainly to the great beauty
of the whole work.

[Hear Rembrandt's Master]
A magician in light and shade.

     In one or two pictures prior to "The March Out" Rembrandt had anticipated
his chosen colour-scheme and method of treatment; such as in the "Samson" of
1635, "The Angel Leaving Tobias," "The Man with the Bittern," and "The Lady
with the Turban." Cool backgrounds and soft grey-greens were succeeded by
warmer harmonies, richer colours in finer chromatic arrangement, greater
luminosity, and deeper penumbra.  He no longer expressed design by means of
"arrested contours"; he painted in the round, modelled his contours, softened
or lost them in their environment of light or shadow; he worked with broad
touches, circling, sweeping strokes, and full impasto.  In "The March Out" the
artist is as little emphatic with the persistent quality of his colour as he
is with the outline of contours.  He uses colour, not primarily to insist on
the quality and texture of surfaces, but for its beauty under the play of
light and shadow.  For, as Fromentin was the first to point out, Rembrandt's
great primary characteristic is not as a colourist, but as a luminarist.  A
colourist sees colour more delicately than form, and usually paints by
contours rather than by line; a colourist in the full sense of the term "is a
painter who knows how to preserve the colours of his scale - be they rich or
not, be they broken or not, complicated or simple - their principle, their
special property, their timbre, their accuracy, everywhere and always, in
shadow, half-lights, and right into the highest lights." In this sense
Velasquez stands pre-eminent; also Giorgione, Titian, Rubens and Frans Hals.
With these artists colour is one of the means of safely expressing the
temperament of their subject.  The great Dutch painter recognised this value
of colour, and at times so used it, especially in his earlier work; but
another and more absorbing problem took precedence of colour - the question of
light as expressed by colour, rather than the effect of light upon colour.
For his chief strength lay in his creative and poetic quality, which seized
its subject and transmuted it through the crucible of his imagination, and
dowered it with a new and forceful life.  The seer's vision penetrated through
the semblance of life to its inner realities.  And for expression he needed
something more than colour only, for colour distinguishes the tangible and
harmonises the obvious, but does not suggest the underlying mystery of things.
Colour, as the expression of light and of light's negation; and light and
darkness as symbols of the great interplay of human emotions, of vibrant life
and its larger mysteries; these were the problems that increasingly engrossed
the painter.  The realisation of this fact helps to a truer understanding of
this celebrated picture.

     In any such standpoint there is sacrifice; in the synthetic treatment of
his subject Rembrandt sacrifices much actual fact to his individual
conception, many lesser details to his major impression.

     Rembrandt's effort in the representation of his highly subjective
conception was to combine vigorous tonality with powerful chiaroscuro.  He
painted with light - "shadow became his poetic vehicle"; local colour was lost
in one dominant scale; methods and means are forgotten in the imposing
impression produced on the spectator by the whole.

     M. Charles Blanc wrote of the picture before its recent restoration: "To
tell the truth, it is only a dream, and no one can decide what is the light
that falls on the group of figures.  It is neither the light of the sun or the
moon, nor does it come from torches; it is rather the light of the genius of
Rembrandt." And M. de Montegut considers that it "expresses effervescence of
patriotism, happiness of independence that had long been fought for.  It is
Liberty in her golden, age.  It will preserve the remembrance of Dutch liberty
perhaps even beyond the existence of Holland."

     This picture, so full and deep in tone, so totally unlike any traditional
Regent-picture, so lacking in clear statement of fact, provoked much criticism
and censure.  The poet Vondel, who unfavourably contrasts it with the
"brightness" of Flinck's composition, alludes to Rembrandt as "The Prince of
Darkness," and expresses dislike of the "artificial gloom, the shadows and
half-lights." Hoogstraten, writing in 1678, praises the "symmetry, analogy,
and harmony of the composition," and finds fault with the prosaic arrangement
of figures in the traditional Doelen pictures.  "True artists," he continues,
"are able to give unity to their works.  Rembrandt has been careful of this,
too careful in the opinion of many persons, for he was far more concerned with
the general effect of his picture than with the fidelity of the individual
portraits he was commissioned to paint therein. And yet, whatever may be urged
against it, this work in my opinion is likely to outlive all its rivals by
virtue of its highly pictorial conception, its admirable composition, and the
vigour which, in the opinion of many, makes all other pictures look like
coloured cards beside it." To this testimony to the vitality of this picture
he adds: "Yet I wish he had put more light into it." For a time the painting
found appreciators - it was a nine days' wonder; but in reality the master
stood alone, misunderstood, and, according to Houbraken, "when the passing
infatuation of the public had subsided, true connoisseurs turned away from
him, and light painting came into favour once more."

     Rembrandt had sinned against his generation - in their opinion - by
contempt for traditional limitation, by his sacrifice of a lesser realistic
study of nature for the realisation of essential characteristics.

     When this masterpiece was in process Rembrandt touched the acme of
prosperity and of happiness.  He had received the most important civic
commissions; his little son was born, and lived; and his Saskia, though still
delicate, perhaps a little unaccountably so, still looked forward to a return
of health.  His pupils were numerous.  Flinck and Backer had left the atelier,
when from about 1635 to 1640 it was frequented by Jan Victors, Eeckhout, and
Philip Koninck; and these in turn were succeeded in 1640-2 by La Vecq, Ovens,
Paudiss, Verdoel, Heerschop, Drost, Fabritius, and Hoogstraten.  Moreover, the
master had realised his desire to own a house in his favourite part of the
town, where he could meet and study the largest number of most varied types,
where he could house his extensive collection of paintings, armour, and
curios.  From the inventory of the sale of 1656 it is possible to form a vivid
idea of the interior of his home.  This house, now divided into two
residences, stands the second from the corner, built in 1606 of brick and
stone, with a few steps leading to the entrance.  The vestibule, furnished
with six Spanish chairs, was hung with twenty-four pictures, by Brower,
Lievens, Seghers, and fourteen of his own canvases.  The ante-chamber with its
green velvet-covered Spanish chairs, its cabinet and mirror of ebony, its
walnut table covered with a handsome Tournay cloth, was also hung with
pictures.  Of these six were by himself; others were by Pinas, Lastman,
Lievens, Bramer, Seghers, de Vlieger, and still more precious, a Lucas van
Leyden, a Palma Vecchio, a portrait by Bassano Vecchio, and a head by Raphael.
The adjoining room was a veritable museum filled with pictures, several by
himself, including a "Virgin and Child," and the nude study of a woman,
examples of the rare Aartgen van Leiden, a van Eyck, and copies after Annibale
Carracci.  This was his etching and printing room; for his use were a few
household utensils, blinds or window-screens made of cardboard, to effect
changes of light in the room, and his oaken printing-press.  The large central
room was the living-room of the family.  It contained a large mirror, in which
he may frequently have studied his own features, a table with an embroidered
cover, chairs covered with blue, and a bed with blue hangings, a linen-press,
and a linen-cup-board.  The walls were adorned with pictures; among them a
Madonna by Raphael, a large canvas by Giorgione, and many by himself.

[See Woman Carrying Child: The walls were adorned with pictures.]

     On the first floor were the students' cells and the museum proper filled
with all manner of things - plaster casts, statuettes in marble, porcelain,
etc.; busts of Homer, Aristotle, Socrates; globes, minerals, shells, plants,
stuffed birds; fine china from China and Japan, a Chinese parasol; arms and
armour, and a shield attributed to Quentin Matsys; casts taken from the life;
Venetian glass; a few books, and sixty portfolios filled with drawings,
studies, engravings, and etchings after, and by, the chief Italian, German,
and Dutch masters, including himself.  An adjoining cabinet was filled with
more paintings and casts, and then came the atelier, divided into five
compartments, and filled with Indian and Turkish armour, Oriental musical
instruments, stuffs of all kinds, and among the plaster casts one of the
Laocoon, then little known.  The painter's own studio was also full of curios,
among them the statue of a child copied from Michelangelo; lions' skins
decorated the vestibule; and a small room, or office, was hung with ten
pictures by himself.

     Such was the home of this strange man, who studied all the art movements
of Europe, never travelled, but, as described by Pels, "ransacked the town,
seeking on bridges, at street corners, in the markets for cuirasses, Japanese
poignards, furs he thought picturesque. . . ." He had the veritable
collector's mania.  Hoogstraten relates that he had seen Rembrandt bid up to
eighty rijksdaalers for a print by Lucas van Leyden (Uilenspiegel).  And
Sandrart, in his life of that master, repeats the statement of Johan Ulrich
Mayn, who had seen Rembrandt at a public sale give 1,400 florins for fourteen
fine proofs by Lucas, among them the "Ecce Homo," the "Voyage of St. Paul to
Damascus," the great "Entombment," and the "Dance of the Magdalen." The
inventory of the bankruptcy sale is an invaluable document in the study of
Rembrandt, both as a man and as a painter.  From it we see what were the chief
sources of his extraordinary development; who were his real masters, in what
way his dominating genius selected and absorbed what it required for its
nurture and growth; and how throughout his career he followed two
self-appointed rules - to know all that was possible of the material side of
his art, to try and probe the secret of the greatness of others, to learn from
their experiences as well as his own; and, secondly, to base his own work,
informed by his own powerful imagination, on a close and rigorous study of
nature.  And we know that he studied the technical manipulation of his work as
a positive exercise apart from the fulfilment of his conceptions; certain
"Vanitas" from his hand prove his belief in the value of still-life study; and
in the fine "Peacock and Pea-hen," belonging to Mr. Cartwright, he has made an
admirable study of the feathers, of their exquisite gradations and harmonies
of colour; in his etching of the shell he follows scrupulously the lovely
convolutions and traceries of nature.  Then, again, we know how faithfully he
studied from the living model, as shown in the series of wash drawings (in the
forties and fifties) of women in various postures - rarely beautiful or
admirable figures, a secondary consideration with the master, but revealing a
close observation of the movement of muscles and of the play and intricacies
of light and shadow on the delicate texture of the skin.  The same careful
research shows the series of studies of nude young men, made about 1646, and
the admirable etching of "The Negress," lying on a couch, of 1658.  He seems,
also, to have frequented the newly-formed Zoological Gardens.  In the British
Museum, for example, there are valuable sketches in chalk, in pen and ink, and
in bistre, of lions and lionesses, drawn with a knowledge and suggestion of
power in the supine hinder-quarters that would do credit to a Barye.
Elephants, a bull, hogs, and studies of horses are there also, which, together
with the admirable landscapes of his later life, show how wide were his
interests, and how unresting and comprehensive were his studies and
observation of Life in every form.

     It is not difficult to understand why Rembrandt was held in disfavour by
his fellow-artists and their admirers.  They, too, studied the Italian
schools, not intelligently but as imitators; they created a fashion and kept
within the safe limits of its prescription.  Rembrandt took from any school
what his genius needed, left and ignored all else, threw aside the timidities
and limitations of convention, that haven of lesser minds.  He absorbed
himself more and more in the investigation and working-out of his own ideas
and impulses, and became the great exponent of Dutch types and character, but
the interpreter, not merely of Dutch nationality, but of humanity.  In
overstepping recognised boundaries, he lost touch with the preservers of
conventional taste, and lost his vogue and popularity in his moment of great
sorrow.  For in 1642 Saskia's delicacy culminated in her death, and on June
19th she was buried in the Old Church, leaving Rembrandt with a little son of
nine months old.  In the Heseltine Collection there is a pathetic pen-drawing
of an anxious-looking widower feeding a child on his knee with a spoon from a
bowl.  A few days before her death Saskia signed her will, and made Titus her
heir with the provision that Rembrandt should have full control of the money
till his death, or until he should marry a second time, on condition that he
should educate the child and give him a reasonable dowry at marriage.  Should
Titus die then Rembrandt should be sole heir.  She excluded the "Orphan Board"
from intervention, and gave full authority and freedom to her husband,
"because she was confident he would act in the matter in perfect accord with
his conscience."

     Saskia's death had an immediate effect on the output of work, which was
relatively small during the next two years.  The painter's popularity,
moreover, was waning.  Flinck, van der Helst, and other adherents of the
clear, traditional methods of painting, and those who followed the "Italian"
style, were preferred before the mysterious, dark, disquieting manner of
Rembrandt.  The master withdrew more into himself.  In his grief and
disappointment, he accepted solitude and misunderstanding, and grew more and
more a power unto himself, regardless of the adverse thoughts of
non-sympathisers and rivals.  He turned for comfort to the Bible, as had been
his wont in all the main events of his life.  "The Marriage Feast of Samson"
and "Belshazzar's Feast" memorialised his own nuptial festivities.  Various
Holy Families, "The Carpenter's Household," "The Meeting of Elizabeth and
Mary," "Manoah's Prayer," expressed his own hope of offspring.  Two Holy
Families belong to about this time, one engraved as "The Cradle" was famous in
his own day and copied by his pupils; another, in the Hermitage, reminiscent
of happier days, was painted in 1645, and is a realistic presentment of a
Dutch home.  Of it M. P. Mantz writes: "Here Rembrandt cast off the trammels
of the text, enlarging and modernising the theme.  Even in painting a humble
scene of everyday life like this he keeps the eternal truths of the spiritual
life in view.  In this masterpiece of tender expression every detail charms
and touches - the sleeping child, the attitude of the mother, the sweet
emotion of her gaze, the peaceful atmosphere of the scene in which the little
drama - Dutch, yet universal - is enacted." To the year 1642 belongs the
pathetic etching of his dying wife; and later he produced the second plate of
the "Resurrection of Lazarus," of Lazarus raised this time, not by the power
of a magician, but by the power of divine love and compassion; the etched
sketch of "The Descent from the Cross" and the fine grisaille of the same
subject, expressive of bitter grief, in the National Gallery.  Until 1654,
subjects such as "The Crucifixion," "Entombment," and other etchings
representing Christ as the teacher and healer attracted him.  The most
celebrated among these are the powerful dry-point of the Crucifixion, known as
"The Three Crosses," and the two beautiful plates, so full of human sympathy
and divine love - "Christ Preaching," known as "La Tombe," and the famous
"Christ Healing the Sick," commonly called "The Hundred Guilder Plate."
According to Bartsch the reason of this title was an exchange of one of these
proofs with a dealer for some engravings by Marc Antonio valued at 100
guilders.  On a fourth state impression at Amsterdam is an inscription in old
ink, "Gift of my respected friend Rembrandt for 'The Pest' of Marc Antonio,"
and a still later note affirms the inscription to be in the hand of the
well-known collector, Pietersen Somer, or Zoomer.  If Zoomer be the Italian
dealer, this inscription suggests that Zoomer did not consider Rembrandt's
plate the full value of more than one of the Italian proofs.  Bartsch further
points out that this etching was in that day not reckoned as one of
Rembrandt's finest.

     In the Tonneman sale of 1754 at Amsterdam "The Portrait of Burgomeister
Six" realised 316 florins, "The Portrait of Tholinx" 251, "The Goldweigher"
137; the "Christ Healing the Sick" brought only 151 florins; whereas at the
Holford sale a fine proof of this etching realised 1,750 pounds.