THE MENTOR 1916.12.01, No. 120,
Rembrandt

Christmas Giving

The old question—What shall we give? Too often
answered by giving the easiest thing. “There, that’s
off my mind for another year!” Yes, off your mind—but
how does your heart feel when your friend sends you something
that shows that he has cherished a little special
thought of you?

Christmas giving may be a blessing or a blight—according
to the spirit of the giver. It is a blessing
when it carries with it a thought that honors the one
that gives and benefits the one that receives.

“Benefit is the end of Nature,” says Emerson, “and
he is great who confers the most benefits. Beware
of good staying in your hand. Pay it away quickly to
someone.”

Thousands of you tell me in the daily mail how
The Mentor benefits you. Can you give a better
gift to your friend than this same benefit? If we benefit
you, we can also benefit him. With whole heart we
pledge full service to him as to you. Give, then, this
Christmas, The Mentor and all its service to your friend.
Your message of friendship will be repeated to him twice
a month throughout the year.

THE EDITOR.

IN THE HERMITAGE, PETROGRAD

SOBIESKI—Portrait by Rembrandt

ONE

Sometimes it is difficult to learn the truth about a
great man. This is particularly so in the case of
one who lived three centuries ago; for in those days
people were not as careful to keep records as they
are today. For years the great painter Rembrandt was
regarded as having been ignorant, boorish, and avaricious.
Fables making him out to be such a character
sprang up without any foundation.
It is only within the last fifty years that
we have come to know the true Rembrandt,
and to realize that he had profound sympathy,
a powerful imagination, and originality
of mind, and that he was a poet as
well as a painter, an idealist and also a
realist. He has justly been called “the
Shakespeare of Holland.”

Rembrandt Harmens van Rijn—for that
is his full name—was born at Leyden, a
town near Amsterdam, in Holland, on
July 15, 1605. Leyden is famous in history
as the birthplace of many great artists
and other men of renown. Rembrandt’s
home overlooked the river Rhine. He was
the son of a well-to-do miller, and his
parents were ambitious that Rembrandt
enter the law, for his older brothers had
been sent into trade.

At that time Holland was entering upon
her great career of national enterprise.
Science and literature flourished, poetry
and the stage were cultivated by her people,
and art was made welcome in every
town, large and small. So Rembrandt,
after he had been sent to the high school
at Leyden, decided to become a painter.
For already within him he felt the first
urgings of genius.

Accordingly, when Rembrandt was only
twelve or thirteen years old, his father allowed
him to become a pupil of Jacob van
Swanenburch, a painter of no great ability,
who, however, enjoyed some reputation
because he had studied in Italy.
Three years later the boy was placed
under Pieter Lastman, of Amsterdam,
who was a much better artist and teacher.
Authorities differ as to how long Rembrandt
remained with Lastman. One says
that he was his pupil until he was nineteen
years old; another believes that he studied
with him for only six months. At any
rate, sometime after 1623 Rembrandt returned
to the home of his parents at Leyden.

During these first years of his artistic
life, Rembrandt worked hard. He painted
pictures of almost everyone he saw—beggars,
cripples, and in short every picturesque
face and form of which he could get
hold. Life, character, and special lighting
effects were his principal concern. Frequently
he used his mother for a model,
and from these portraits we can trace his
strong resemblance to her. The young
artist also liked to paint his father and
sisters; and by the number of portraits
he painted of himself, we can see that
from the very beginning he worked hard
to master every form of expression, learning
to draw the human face as it appeared
not only to the casual observer, but also
to one who read the character within. It
is said that during his lifetime Rembrandt
painted nearly sixty portraits of himself.

Time went by, and the young artist of
Leyden was attracting the attention of art
lovers in the great metropolis of Amsterdam.
Some of them urged him to move
there; and feeling that he was now strong
enough to stand alone, Rembrandt rented
a large house in Amsterdam and removed
there in 1631. He divided the upper part
of his house into small studios, and there
he worked and taught. His pupils were
many and from wealthy families. From this
teaching Rembrandt derived a large income.

Fortune smiled upon him. At one
bound he leaped into the position of the
leading portrait painter of Amsterdam.
Numerous commissions for portraits flowed
in upon him, and during the first few years
of his residence there he painted at least
forty. When he was only twenty-six years
old, in 1632, he painted the “Anatomy
Lesson,” a picture that made an enormous
sensation, and holds its place today as
one of Rembrandt’s masterpieces.

The year 1634 was one of the happiest
in Rembrandt’s life. He was then at the
beginning of a successful artistic career,
and it was at that time that he married
Saskia van Ulenburg, a beautiful Frisian
maiden. Saskia brought him love and
wealth. Eight years of prosperity and
sunshine followed their union.

Rembrandt and his wife were a joyous
pair. They had four children, a boy and
two girls who died in infancy—and a son,
Titus, who grew to man’s estate.

PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 4, No. 20, SERIAL No. 120
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.

DETAIL OF THE ANATOMY LESSON

By Rembrandt

IN THE HAGUE MUSEUM

TWO

The year 1640 marks the beginning of what may be
termed the second period of Rembrandt’s life and
work. It was during these years that success and
happiness were his. From then until 1654 Rembrandt
worked in what has been called his “second manner.”
His art grew in power, and the coldness of his “first manner”
had disappeared. He had passed through
a period of exaggerated expression and
had come to a truer, calmer form of painting.
It is interesting to compare his own
portrait painted in 1640 with the earlier
portraits of himself. This painting portrays
a man strong and robust, with powerful
head, determined chin, and keen,
penetrating eyes. This was the Rembrandt
of that period, the man confidently
independent and careless as to his
popularity as an artist.

Rembrandt had now many pupils. He
had bought a house in Amsterdam, and
had placed in it a great collection of paintings
and engravings. At that time the
artist was living a life of simple domesticity,
happy with his wife and children. His
friends were many, and his interests were
large.

Rembrandt’s mother died in 1640, and
two years later the great sorrow of his
life came upon him. His wife Saskia died.
This changed everything for him. The
events of his latter days are clouded in
obscurity.

The terms of Saskia’s will are interesting,
in that they may throw some light
upon a later action of the artist’s, which
will be related further on. She left her
money to their son Titus, with Rembrandt
as sole trustee, and with full use of the
money until he should marry again or until
the marriage of Titus.

It was in 1642 also that Rembrandt
painted his most famous picture—the
“Night Watch.” This is one of the landmarks
of Rembrandt’s career. However,
it is not a night watch at all, but a call
to arms by day, and more properly should
be named the “Day Watch.”

The artist’s life was changed after the
death of his wife. No longer does he appear
to have been the buoyant, carefree
painter and art lover. There is a pathetic
sadness in many of his works done at this
time. This is well illustrated in his pictures
of the Holy Family, a subject which
was a favorite with him during this period
of his life.

One reason for Rembrandt’s unhappiness
was his waning popularity. The
“Night Watch,” which was painted to order
as a collection of portraits in one composition,
did not prove satisfactory to his customers.
Some of them complained of
being put in the background and obscured.
Naturally, the artist could not give places
of prominence to every person in the picture.
Not understanding this, however,
these people took offence at his disposition
of the characters, and transferred
their patronage elsewhere.

It was at this time that Rembrandt did
a great deal of landscape painting, and
genius that he was, he made a success of
it. It is to this period that the famous
painting, “The Mill,” is ascribed.

But though he was still the great artist, a
cloud of adversity was slowly coming over
Rembrandt’s life. Evil days were at hand.

PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
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IN THE WIDENER COLLECTION, PHILADELPHIA

THE MILL, By Rembrandt

THREE

During the last part of the seventeenth century
money was scarce in Holland. Long continued wars
and civil troubles had worn out the country. Financial
depression overwhelmed Amsterdam; and in
addition to this the taste in art changed, and Rembrandt
and his pictures were neglected.

Most of Rembrandt’s money was tied
up in his house and in his large collection
of valuable pictures; and when his paintings
ceased to be in demand, he was
forced to borrow money. Very little is
known of the artist’s life at this time.
He was living with his servant, Hendrickje
Stoffels, and in 1654 a child was
born to them. To her Rembrandt gave
the name of Cornelia, after his much loved
mother. It has been asserted that he
married Hendrickje, but it is probable that
he did not, for in such a case the money
left by Saskia would have gone at once to
her son Titus, according to the will.

In 1656 Rembrandt’s financial affairs
went crashing down to ruin. By a process
of law his house and land were transferred
to Titus. But as his son was still a minor,
Rembrandt was allowed to remain in
charge of Saskia’s estate. And then ruin
stared him in the face. In July, 1656,
Rembrandt was declared bankrupt, and
an inventory of his property was ordered.
Two years later the larger part of his collection
of etchings and drawings was sold.
The sum realized was only a small fraction
of their value.

Rembrandt, driven from his house,
stripped of everything he possessed, without
friends or money, took a modest lodging
in Amsterdam. The city which once
had acclaimed him as its greatest portrait
painter now passed him by and left him
alone to wait for death.

During all these dark years, however,
Rembrandt was painting some of his
greatest pictures. Even amid the ruins of
his affairs he could go calmly on working;
and for this he deserves the highest respect.
Among the works of this time are the portrait
of Jan Six, the “Adoration of the
Magi,” and “John the Baptist Preaching in
the Wilderness.” At the same time he continued
to paint his own portrait; but in
these pictures of the artist in his old age
we see a man broken by misfortune.

Titus, Rembrandt’s only son, had married.
He died in 1668, leaving one child.
A year later, on October 8, 1669, Rembrandt
himself passed away. In the
“Livre Mortuaire” of the Wester Kerk in
Amsterdam appears the following simple
entry, relating to his death: “Tuesday,
8th Oct., 1669, Rembrandt van Rijn,
Painter on the Rovzegraft, opposite the
Doolhof. Leaves two children.”

Rembrandt outlived his popularity, although
he was the greatest genius of his
time and country, and in fact one of the
great geniuses of all time and all countries.
He was left to die alone and neglected
by his fellow-countrymen, who
had they foreseen the fame that the future
held in store for him, might have sought
his humble lodging to honor him on
bended knee.

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IN THE RYKS MUSEUM, AMSTERDAM

ELIZABETH BAS—Portrait by Rembrandt

FOUR

One day Rembrandt was employed in painting the
portraits of a very rich family in Amsterdam. This
was to be a group picture, and as usual with him,
Rembrandt was working hard to make it a success.
While he was painting, someone opened the door of the room
in which he was and brought in the dead body of a monkey.
The appearance of this funny little creature
appealed to the artist at once. He wanted
to make a picture of it right away. But
the only thing on which he could make
the drawing was the canvas on which he
was painting the portraits of the rich family.
So Rembrandt, without hesitation,
painted the monkey in among their portraits.
They were very angry, of course, but
in those days Rembrandt was at the height
of his career and he did not have to concern
himself about how his customers felt.

This little incident, whether it is strictly
true or not, illustrates one side of Rembrandt’s
character. When he was most
successful he was carefree and independent.
It may have been this independence that
brought him to his ruin—although in all
probability it was the indifference of his
fellow citizens to his work.

The age in which Rembrandt lived cared
little for personalities. There were no
newspapers to record his doings, and no
one of his contemporaries cared enough
about it to write down much about his
life and work. For these reasons, the
world has never known much about Rembrandt,
the man. We know that he was
light-hearted, headstrong and extravagant.
We know that he was neglected
and died poor and feeble. But we know
little more than this, although of late more
reliable information concerning the life of
this great painter has been found.

A man’s faults are usually remembered
when his virtues are forgotten. For years
it pleased biographers to represent Rembrandt
as a ne’er-do-well artist, who could
not take advantage of his opportunities.
We know now, however, that his faults
were very human ones, and that his merits
greatly overbalanced them.

As a boy the artist was not an industrious
scholar. He looked upon reading and
writing as rather troublesome and hardly
worth the labor involved in learning them.
Later he worked hard at his chosen career,
and the great number of pictures that he
painted is sufficient evidence that he was
by no means lazy.

Probably Rembrandt’s greatest fault
was his extravagance. Many a man can
endure adversity with courage; success is
sometimes more difficult to bear. Hard
luck often brings out the best in a man;
success may destroy it. Rembrandt was
no exception. He spent his money freely,
and like the grasshopper of the fable, sang
happily through the summer, with no
thought of the cold to come.

He liked to attend sales of works of art,
and he gladly paid huge sums for any pictures
that caught his fancy. It is said
that the dealers came very soon to know
his rash and reckless methods and would
push the prices far up, confident that
Rembrandt would meet them. At the
same time, the artist liked to buy expensive
jewels for his wife. He loved Saskia
devotedly, and he wanted her to have
everything of the finest. This manner of
open-handed living naturally played havoc
with his finances.

When Saskia died Rembrandt was heartbroken.
His customers fell off and many
troubles overwhelmed him. His friends
helped him as much as possible, but money
ran through his hands like water through
a sieve, and he could not seem to control
his expenditures. Then later the death of
his faithful Hendrickje was the last blow
to his happiness. For a few years Rembrandt
lingered, and then he too passed
into the great silence.

It is true that many of Rembrandt’s
troubles were self-inflicted: but he suffered
enough to pay for his faults. At any
rate it is better to remember him as a
great genius and a man worthy of respect
and honor.

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IN THE DRESDEN GALLERY

SASKIA HOLDING A FLOWER—Portrait by Rembrandt

FIVE

Rembrandt’s life was one of curious contrasts.
During his early manhood he was Amsterdam’s
leading portrait painter. These were years of
happiness and carefree enjoyment of all the good
things of life. But almost as suddenly as the painter stepped
into the sunshine of success, he fell back into the shadows of
adversity. One of the principal causes of
his happiness was his wife, Saskia. Just
as her entrance into his life coincided with
the period of his greatest prosperity, so
her death marked the beginning of his
darker years. It would seem almost as
though Saskia were his guardian angel,
and that with her departure Rembrandt’s
star began to descend.

Saskia van Ulenburg was the ninth
child of a wealthy patrician family of
Friesland. She was born at Leeuwarden
in 1612. Saskia became an orphan at an
early age, and then she made her home
with one or the other of her married sisters
in turn, and finally with a cousin, who
lived in Amsterdam. It was at the house
of this cousin that Rembrandt met her.
Charmed by her youthful grace, he obtained
permission to paint several portraits
of her.

Saskia at this time was a slender girl,
rather small of stature. Her features
were very regular, and her eyes were of a
beautiful brown shade, matching her soft
reddish brown hair. Her brilliant complexion
was the envy of her less favored
companions.

The young painter soon showed that he
took a special interest in Saskia. He bestowed
great care on her portraits, and
was in her company as much as possible.
He himself was young, attractive, and
good looking; and we may be sure that
Saskia’s family did not frown upon his
suit. They probably realized that Rembrandt
would make an excellent husband
for their ward.

Rembrandt’s father had died some time
before this, and his mother gladly gave
her consent to the marriage. Saskia and
Rembrandt were made man and wife on
June 22, 1634.

Their life together was very happy.
Rembrandt’s tastes were domestic, and
he was never more pleased than when
planning his wife’s happiness. He centered
his whole thought and energy upon
her. Saskia, simple and loving, was governed
in all things by his wishes: she was
entirely devoted to him.

Rembrandt liked to use Saskia as his
model. Some of the better known pictures
for which she posed are her own portrait
in the Cassel Gallery, the “Jewish
Bride,” painted in 1634, which is now in
the Hermitage in Petrograd, “Sophonisba
Receiving the Cup of Poison from Massinissa,”
in the Prado at Madrid, which is
also dated 1634, and the famous painting
of Saskia and himself, now in the Dresden
Gallery and done about 1635, which
represents Rembrandt in military costume,
seated at a table, with a long glass
of sparkling wine in his hand and Saskia
perched on his knee.

At this period in his life everything
seemed to smile on Rembrandt. He was
extravagant and did not know the meaning
of the word “save.” Saskia’s health
had not as yet given cause for anxiety.
But sad days were to come. Three children
were lost in rapid succession. In
1641 the only child of theirs who survived
was born. He was named Titus, after
Saskia’s sister Titia. But the young wife
did not live long after her son was born.
Her health broke down, and an etching
made by Rembrandt about 1640 shows her
with sharpened features, feverish eyes, and
an expression of pensive melancholy. The
happy days were over. Their brief union,
begun in joy, was soon to end in tears. As
if in prophecy, Rembrandt’s anxieties
were deepened by another sorrow—the
death of his mother in 1640.

Saskia’s illness made rapid progress.
Day after day she faded, and no longer
did the artist have any delusions as to her
recovery. Saskia made her will on June
5, 1642. She herself, however, had not
lost all hope, for in this will she spoke of
the children she might eventually have.
She made Rembrandt trustee of her property
for their son Titus, showing her perfect
trust in her husband. At the end of
the document she signed her name for
the last time in tremulous, almost illegible
characters, as if exhausted by the
effort.

It was only a few days later that Saskia
passed away, on June 19, 1642. Rembrandt
followed her coffin to the Oude
Kerk and then returned to his lonely
house, where everything reminded him of
his brief happiness and where he was now
alone with a child nine months old. He
never seemed to recover from the blow.
He went on working, and during the years
to come painted some of his greatest pictures;
but seemingly he had lost his grip
on life, and from that time on it was only
a matter of a few years until he was overwhelmed
by financial troubles and was
driven to a humble lodging and his death.

PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 4, No. 20, SERIAL No. 120
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.

IN THE CASSEL GALLERY

COPPENOL—Portrait by Rembrandt

SIX

Many people in considering Rembrandt think of him
only as a master painter; they overlook the fact
that he was also the leading etcher of his time.
This monograph will take up briefly this part of
the great artist’s work.

It is related of Hokusai, the Japanese artist, that he once
said that he hoped to live to be very old,
and that he might have time to learn to
draw in such a way that every stroke of
his pencil would be the expression of some
living thing. That is exactly what Rembrandt
managed to do in almost every one
of his etchings. This is particularly true
of the wonderful little etching of his
mother. One critic says that on looking
at this etching he was compelled to close
his eyes for a moment, because of the tears
that rose unbidden at sight of it. It would
be hard to find anything more worthy of
praise than this engraving. Every line expresses
motherly kindness, sweetness, and
thoughtfulness. Nothing could have been
omitted; the etching is complete.

So skilful was Rembrandt as an etcher
that the nobleness of his ideas and the
depth of his nature are apt to be overlooked.
His engravings are pervaded by his big,
artistic personality and by his own ennobling
influence. The artist’s soul spoke
not only through the choice of subject,
but found expression in every single detail.
He showed a singular inventive
power, originality of conception, and a
great depth of understanding.

Among Rembrandt’s etchings were
many wonderfully life-like portraits, biblical
subjects, and landscapes. An interesting
thing about all this work is that most
of it was done between the years 1639 and
1661. After this Rembrandt seems to
have renounced etching entirely. In these
twenty years he produced his greatest
works, on every one of which appears the
impress of the genius of the man.

Rembrandt seems to have had a particular
interest in making etchings of beggars.
He delighted to draw them. These types
were easy to find in Amsterdam at that
time; but they may be called super-beggars,
for as a critic says, “One is almost
inclined to say that they cannot be beggars,
because the master’s hand has endowed
them with the warmth and splendor
with which his artistic temperament
clothed everything he looked at.”

Some of Rembrandt’s etchings have
brought great prices. In most cases, however,
these prices varied because of the
“state” of the plates. The points of difference
between these “states” arise from
the additions and changes made by Rembrandt
on the plates. A single impression
of one of his etchings, “Rembrandt with a
Sword,” was bought for about $10,000 in
1893. Another, “Ephraim Bonus with
Black Ring,” brought about $9,750; while
a third, the “Hundred Guilder Print,”
fetched about $8,750.

Some may find in Rembrandt’s etching
much that at first appears rough and uncouth.
More apparent skill and ease in
drawing may appear to have been shown
by other etchers. But Rembrandt’s work
may justly be termed big, for it was conceived
on a grand scale by a genius and
master.

PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 4, No. 20, SERIAL No. 120
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.

REMBRANDT

By JOHN C. VAN DYKE

Professor of the History of Art, Rutgers College

MENTOR GRAVURES

SOBIESKI

DETAIL OF THE
ANATOMY LESSON

THE MILL

MENTOR GRAVURES

ELIZABETH BAS

PORTRAIT OF SASKIA
HOLDING A FLOWER

COPPENOL

Portrait of the Artist

By Himself

In the Collection of Mr. Henry C. Frick, New York City

Entered as second-class matter March 10, 1913, at the postoffice at New York, N. Y., under the act of March 3, 1879. Copyright, 1916,
by The Mentor Association, Inc.

The visitor to the Netherland art galleries should leave his notions
of Greek and Italian art with his umbrella, at the entrance.
Holland is no place to talk about canons of proportion or types
of beauty or ideals of any kind. The Dutch are now, as they
have always been, a people confronted by the realities of
existence, and see life, literature, and art as facts rather than as fancies.
There has never been much romance about them, but, on the contrary,
a realization of the existent, a grasp of the truth and vitality of things, a
keen penetration into the human problem. There never was any need
for far-fetched fancies or ideals. The life about them interested and
impressed them, and, from the very beginning, the Dutch painters were
painting the portrait of their own land and people. The result was an art
that has a distinct quality of its own—just as distinct a quality as the art
of Persia or Japan. You would not think of judging Japanese art by that
of Italy. Why then think of Dutch art in any other terms than its own?

Rembrandt and Raphael

PORTRAIT OF A MAN

Altman Collection of Metropolitan Museum,
New York

To carry out the thought in illustration, it may be said that Rembrandt,
the great Dutchman, was the very opposite of Raphael, the great
Italian. He painted no allegories on Vatican walls, was not led away by
Renaissance revivals of Greek form,
dreamed no dreams of uniting pagan
types with Christian ideals. Even
technically he was widely different
from Raphael. He painted the easel
picture in oils, had no love whatever
for Italian line and composition, did
all his drawing and modeling by
catches of shadow, and produced his
most startling effects by the dramatic
use of light and color. In all this
Rembrandt was merely reflecting his
time and his people in his own
ingenious way. He was emphatically
true to the Dutch point of view,
and today his art is full of truth,
force, vitality, character. In fact,
that word “character” is the keynote
to all his work. It furthermore
explains that æsthetic paradox,
sometimes applied to Rembrandt,
“the beauty of the ugly.” For many
of his people are ugly, if we regard them for the straightness of their
foreheads and noses, the oval of their
chins, or the proportions of their
figures; but they are beautiful in
their simplicity of presence, their
unconscious sincerity, their profound
truth of character.

THE ARCHITECT

In the Gallery at Cassel, Germany

Rembrandt as a Leader

No country in Europe produced
a finer quality of art, or a more
learned school of craftsmen, than
Holland. There was a master genius
there as elsewhere, and that genius
was Rembrandt. He came when
Holland had reached her highest
pitch of power—came on the crest of
the wave of which he and his fellow
painters were the light and color.
He has been acclaimed as her great
painter and he deserves that title,
for of all the Dutch masters he was
practically the only one who was
universal in his scope. His art alone,
in its appeal, travels beyond the confines of the Netherlands. What he has
to say is world-embracing, and finds sympathetic response with all peoples.
He is profound in his humanity, in his penetration into life problems,
in his sympathy with his fellow man. The poor, mean-looking Amsterdam
Jews that he portrayed in so many of his pictures are pathetic in their
humility, their suffering, their patience. He was always taking for models
the humble, the despised, the lowly. His heart seemed to go out to them.

His Biblical Pictures

And with such types what a new interpretation he gave the Bible!
How he realized Bible truth and brought it home to his own people by
using the Jew of the quarter and the boor of the polder for models! Look
at the “Supper at Emmaus”—look for
the intensity of the types rather than for
any regularity of form. What pathos
in the pale, blue-lipped Christ, with the
phosphorescent glimmer of the tomb
about the architecture at the back!
What amazement in the disciples at the
table! What fear in the boy bringing
in the dish! This was perhaps the
first time in art that the “Supper at
Emmaus” was made real and believable.
The story was not only realized, but
humanized. All of Rembrandt’s Biblical
pictures were of this nature. Look
again at the “Manoah’s Prayer,” or the
“Tobit and the Angel,” or the “Sacrifice
of Abraham.” They are Dutch types
again, in Dutch costumes and surroundings.
Rembrandt knew very well that
the Biblical characters were not Dutch
in type, and that the people in the time
of Christ did not dress like the boors
and burghers of Holland. He purposely
painted his own people in their native costumes, that he might the
better and the more forcefully bring realization home to them. It was
not, is not, affectation. Study the Manoah and his wife, the Abraham,
the family of Tobit on the doorstep, and you cannot find in all art people
of more unconscious sincerity. Rembrandt believed in them. And
that is why you and I believe in them today.

Rembrandt as a Portrait Painter

JAN HERMANSZ KRUL

In the Gallery at Cassel, Germany

PORTRAIT OF JOHN SIX

In the Six Gallery, Amsterdam

WOMAN WITH PINK

In the Gallery at Cassel, Germany

Rembrandt painted many Biblical pictures, which are at present
widely scattered throughout the European galleries. In all of them he
gave a new interpretation, a profound insight, a real meaning, to Scriptural
story. In addition he painted many
figure compositions of a historical or
mythological cast. But his great success,
after all said and done, was with the
portrait. His technical methods were well
suited to the portrait, and he was unsurpassed
in giving the truth of presence in
his sitter. The quiet dignity of his Dutch
burghers, their repose and simplicity, the
complete absence of anything like pretense
about them, made up Rembrandt’s
point of view; but to this he added a
cunning hand and a technical skill that
were wonderful. How superbly with his
catches of light and shade he could draw
an eye, a forehead, a nose, a chin! How
instantly and inevitably he caught the
salient feature and turned it by sharp
emphasis into positive expression! What
significance he could get out of an outstretched hand, a bent back, a
bowed head! These were features wherewith he proclaimed the character
of his sitter. The “Portrait of an Old Lady,” in the National Gallery,
London, has the flabby cheek, the trembling lip, the wrinkled brow
of the aged; but you can also see that hers has been a life of suffering,
and that the eyes have often been blinded with tears. On the contrary, the
“Portrait of a Man”—the so-called
Sobieski, at Petrograd, has the determination
and force of the warrior.
It has grip and firmness and courage
about it. These are not only in the
features, but Rembrandt has even
put them in the brush work—the
manner of handling. Again, by way
of contrast, the heads in the “Lesson
in Anatomy” are put in calmly,
serenely, inevitably just right. What
intelligence, seriousness, and living
presence they have! They are what
might be called speaking likenesses,
in the sense that all they lack of life
is speech. And what can one say that
will adequately describe the loveliness
of mood, the eternal womanly, in the
“Portrait of Saskia,” at Cassel! It
is a wonder as a piece of color, but
still more wonderful as a characterization of the painter’s wife. Once more,
for a further contrast, look at the “Portrait of Coppenol.” He is supposed
to be a writing master because he is sharpening a quill pen, but whatever
his profession or pursuit, have you any difficulty in seeing here a dull-witted
person of very limited intelligence? The very fatness of the forehead, so
remarkable in its realistic rendering, the narrow eyes, with their vacant stare,
the pumpkin cheeks and head, the soft, lazy hands, seem to point to some
clerk or pedagogue, who had not enough brains to know that he wanted more.

Rembrandt was easily one of the great group of portrait painters
with Titian, Velasquez, and Holbein. And by this I mean no faint praise.
It seems to be thought in some quarters that portraiture is somehow
an inferior branch of painting. It is said to require no invention or
imagination. But nothing could be more mistaken than such an idea.
When we speak of Rembrandt, Titian, Velasquez, and Holbein we are
speaking of the world’s great masters, and perhaps their most satisfactory
masterpieces are their portraits. A painter who can adequately portray
his fellow man, as Rembrandt did, has practically said the last word in
art. That Rembrandt had this gift and accomplishment is evidenced by
the high esteem in which his work is held by painters even to this day.

THE NIGHT WATCH

In the Ryks Museum, Amsterdam

A fine gravure reproduction of this painting appears in The Mentor, Number 17, “Dutch Masterpieces.”

His Technical Method

There was no trick about Rembrandt’s painting. He was no slave
to a peculiar color, canvas or brush. He painted at times with a palette
knife: at other times with his thumb. He kneaded the surface, ploughed
through it when it was wet, did almost anything to get effects by catches
of light and shade whereby he drew and modeled. But none of these
small peculiarities explains his technical success. His methods were
sound enough, and for the most part were known before his day; but he
applied them better and increased their carrying power. He has been
called the master of light and shade, and so, indeed, he was within a
limited range. It was the same light and shade known to Leonardo,
Giorgione, and Carravagio, and probably Rembrandt got it from pictures
of the Neapolitan School, though he never was in Italy. But Rembrandt
improved upon the Italian method of using shadow. He made
it transparent, enveloping, mysterious. And its antithesis, light, he
made penetrating and dramatic by putting it in sharp contrast. Out
of the two he got wonderful effects. In doing the portrait head, for
instance, he threw his highest light on the collar, the nose, the chin, the
forehead. This high light ran off quickly into half-light and then into
shadow, so that by the time the ear or side of the neck was reached, dark,
even black, notes were used. The decrease was rapid; in fact often violent,
but this only served to focus the attention more keenly upon the dominant
features of the face. The result was what has been called “forced,” but it
was very effective. It was the same effect that one sees today at the opera,
when the chief actor is in the spot-light and the rest of the stage is in gloom.

SYNDICS OF THE CLOTH HALL

In the Ryks Museum, Amsterdam

A fine gravure reproduction of this painting appears in The Mentor, Number 8, “Pictures We Love to Live With.”

The Night Watch

But this violent focusing of light had its limitations even in Rembrandt’s
hands. The “Night Watch” exemplifies them. This was to be
a portrait group of the sixteen members of the Frans Banning Cock
Shooting Company. The members wanted their portraits painted in a
group, after the manner of the time, and Rembrandt conceived the idea
of painting the portraits and making a stirring picture of the company
coming out of its quarters, at one and the same time. It was an ambitious
scheme, and not wholly successful, because here came in the limitations
of his method. He painted sixteen portraits with his spot-light
illumination, each one being completed under its own light. The picture
lacked that one light which should have bound together the whole company.
As a result there were sixteen separate portraits on the one canvas,
held together in measure by shadow, color and atmosphere, but spotty
in the lighting. The French writers of the eighteenth century could not
understand the lighting, and were led to think the picture represented a
night scene. They called it the “Ronde de Nuit,” and, later, Sir Joshua
Reynolds translated this into “Night Watch.” But nothing is more
certain than that Rembrandt intended it for a day scene in full sunlight.
It was simply his arbitrary way of handling light that made a night
effect out of daylight.

THE ANATOMY LESSON

In the Hague Museum

That is about the only criticism that can be lodged against the “Night
Watch.” Light and color have both been sacrificed to shadow; but when
that is conceded the picture still remains a marvel of color, shadow, and
atmosphere, and a wonder of life and action. The movement—the bustle
of it—is superb. The Captain and his Lieutenant in the foreground are
in full light, but back of them and around them, emerging out of the
gloom, are nebulous heads, flashing casques, plumes, halberds, guns, drums,
dogs, street urchins—all the belongings of a militia company on parade.
They are not only wonderful in their action, but in their mystery of
appearance, coming out of shadow depths into light. Of course, the
picture was not entirely satisfactory to the sixteen. They had bargained
for their portraits, and little knew then how cheaply they were purchasing
immortality. Those
in the background complained
that they were not sufficiently
spot-lighted, not treated with
sufficient importance; in fact,
subordinated to those in the
front row. But the picture,
as a picture, is certainly successful,
is a great favorite with
all art-lovers, and in the Ryks
Museum in Amsterdam, where
it now hangs, it is considered
one of the world’s great masterpieces.
Truer lighting—that
is truer to the facts of
general illumination—is seen
in the earlier “Lesson in Anatomy”
and the later “Syndics
of the Cloth Hall,” but neither
picture has the fascination
nor the imagination of the
“Night Watch.”

Rembrandt’s Styles

THE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM

In the Old Pinacothek, Munich

THE ANGEL LEAVING TOBIT

In the Gallery of the Louvre, Paris

BLESSING OF JACOB

In the Gallery at Cassel, Germany

Rembrandt’s work is usually
divided into three different
periods. At first his
method of handling was calm,
measured, even at times
smooth. His light and color were gray, as also his backgrounds. This
period has been called his “gray period.” The “Lesson in Anatomy,” the
“Sacrifice of Abraham,” the “Coppenol,” the “Elizabeth Bas,” the “Old
Lady” of the National Gallery, London, all illustrate this early manner.
It was gradually encroached upon and finally superseded by a fuller,
freer handling of the brush, with much warmer color and light, tending
toward reddish gold. This has been called his “golden period,” and marks
the midday of his career. The beautiful “Saskia,” at Cassel, and the
so-called “Sobieski,” at Petrograd, illustrate the beginning of this period—the
changing from gray to warmer notes of red, yellow, and gold.
The “Woman with the Pink,” at Cassel, the “Manoah’s Prayer,”
at Dresden, the “Night Watch,”
were done further along in this
middle period. It was the time when
Rembrandt was in his full strength,
saw comprehensively, handled a full
palette of color, and was almost
infallibly accurate with his hand.
In his third and last period Rembrandt’s
work became rather hot and
foxy in color, dark in illumination,
kneaded and thumbed in the surface,
and sometimes uncertain in drawing.
He was expanding into a larger view
and vision up to the last—seeing
objects in their broader relations and
proportions rather than in their surfaces.
Toward the close he often
slurred the surfaces, neglected textual
qualities, and threw his whole
force into the rendering of mass in
relation to light, air, and color. The
pictures of this period are hard for
the beginner in art to understand,
because he is misled by the roughness of the surfaces, the messy state
of the pigments, the apparent fumbling, kneading, rubbing out and
amending, of the brush work. But, as we have said, Rembrandt was
purposely slurring surface truths for the greater truths of bulk, weight,
and general relationship. The best example of this late work among our
illustrations is the “Syndics of the Cloth Hall,” in the Ryks Museum,
Amsterdam. In it Rembrandt
went back to
his early method of
lighting, but continued
with his late manner
of handling and coloring.
It is superbly
broad in vision, absolute
in its truth to
life, and convincing in
its incident. The cloth
merchants are seated
about a table, perhaps
figuring up their year’s
balance, when someone
opens the door to enter
and they all look up to see the incomer. Nothing could be simpler, more
direct, or truer. Rembrandt never painted anything better. For here he
completely fulfilled expectations. Many of his later canvases he could
not complete. The “Blessing of Jacob,” at Cassel, for instance, he probably
gave up in despair, or was working upon at the time of his death.
He had reached a pitch in his career when he saw and strove for things
that his hand or brush could not realize or pin down to canvas. That is
the great stone wall that even genius encounters and cannot surmount.

The Master’s Life

PORTRAIT OF AN OLD LADY

In the National Gallery, London

The story of Rembrandt’s career is recited elsewhere in this number
of The Mentor, but it may be said here that it was not different from
that of many other painters. He came up to Amsterdam from the
outlying country, and achieved celebrity at an early age. Praise and pay
and pupils poured in upon him. He married the beautiful Saskia and
was happy. But as he expanded in vision and methods he went beyond
the understanding and the appreciation of his public. His pupils, such as
Bol and Flinck, who had a more commonplace point of view, and a
smoother, prettier style of painting, outdid him in public favor. The
public began to desert him, the fair Saskia died, the great master fell
upon evil days, and finally passed out in penury and want—evidently
neglected and possibly forgotten by the age and people he had done so
much to glorify. The record of his death in the Burial Book of the
Wester Kirk, Amsterdam, is pathetic in its meagerness. “Tuesday, 8th
Oct., 1669. Rembrandt van Rijn, painter on the Roozegraft, opposite
the Doolhof. Leaves two children.”
It almost looks as though he were
identified only by the squalid quarters
in which he died. And this was Rembrandt,
the greatest master north of
the Alps, and a genius of almost
Shakespearian quality!

Many Pictures Attributed to Him

SASKIA VAN ULENBURGH

In the Gallery at Cassel, Germany

A fine gravure reproduction of this painting appears in The Mentor, Number 28.

It seems that not only was Rembrandt
and his art misunderstood in
his own time, but that he is still
misunderstood at the present time.
This is in measure due to many pictures
which are mistakenly attributed
to him. One need not be an expert to
find it strange that of twenty pupils
of Rembrandt, who painted more or
less in his style, there remain hardly
twenty pictures apiece, and of some
of them not even one. What paralyzed
their hands or destroyed their works?
What became of their pictures? You
begin to get a glimmer of light when you
understand that to Rembrandt there are
assigned a thousand or fifteen hundred
examples; that these are painted in fifteen
or twenty different styles, though all
superficially resembling Rembrandt’s style.
Almost everything that is Rembrandtesque,
or even casually resembles Rembrandt,
has been signed up and sold as
his since the master came back to popular
favor. The name is one that now
brings thousands of dollars in the auction
room, and what wonder that it is
often misused!

These Rembrandtesque pictures were
done by other hands than his, are pupils’
works, or school work or copies, or, in
a few cases, forgeries. Rembrandt’s work
has never been critically studied as that
of Leonardo or Giorgione (jore-joe´-nee). Strange, again, is it not, that
Leonardo and Giorgione in the final analysis should have less than a dozen
pictures apiece left to them, while Rembrandt should still be given his
thousand? Northern art has not had a critical searchlight turned upon it,
as had Italian art thirty years ago. When it does, the present catalogue
of Rembrandts will crumble. In the meantime, the art student would
better accept Rembrandt only in his best authenticated works, such, for
instance, as are reproduced in this number of The Mentor. Half of the
so-called Rembrandts in the European galleries are now to be taken
with a grain of salt. They may be, and often are, exceedingly good
pictures, but they are not by Rembrandt.

SUPPLEMENTARY READING

⁂ Information concerning the above books and articles may be had on application to the
Editor of The Mentor.

“Why are pictures repeated,” asks
one of our readers. We rarely repeat
a picture, but we do print more than
one picture of the same subject—and
for a most excellent reason: The
Mentor is not through with a subject
in one number. That would be a poor
and meager educational service. The
plan of The Mentor Association is to
present subjects to its members in
various ways, so that they may consider
these subjects from different points of
view. This is done so as to give the
reader a broad, comprehensive grasp of
things. Let me illustrate. The Taj
Mahal is one of the most beautiful buildings
in existence. When, therefore, we
published The Mentor on “Beautiful
Buildings of the World,” we printed, of
course, a picture of the Taj Mahal.
When we came to the subject of India
in Mr. Elmendorf’s series of travel numbers,
we could not overlook the exquisite
Taj Mahal—which is one of the
sights of India. We shall later on have
a number of The Mentor on Oriental
Architecture. The Taj Mahal being one
of the finest examples of oriental architecture,
cannot of course be ignored in
that number simply because we printed
two pictures of the building in former
Mentors. In each case the reader is asked
to consider the Taj Mahal from a different
point of view. And, moreover, we do not
repeat the same picture. We print three
different views of the Taj Mahal.

Another instance. We printed in The
Mentor devoted to “Masters of the
Violin” a very fine portrait of the Spanish
violinist, Sarasate. This picture
not only happens to be a most interesting
portrait of the great violinist, but it has
a special art value in having come from
the brush of Whistler. Next year we
shall devote a number of The Mentor
to the work of James MacNeil Whistler.
When we do so it will be impossible for
us to ignore this wonderful portrait of
Sarasate, for it is a distinguished example
of Whistler’s art. The present number is
another case in point. We have considered
Rembrandt’s art several times in The Mentor.
He occupied a prominent place, as
you know, in the number devoted to
“Dutch Masterpieces.” He also appears
in the number on “The Wife in Art.”
And now we devote a number exclusively
to him.

The basic idea of The Mentor is a broad
one. We do not consider that a subject,
once treated, must be boxed up and
shelved. Oh, no! While we make our
excursions into the different fields of
knowledge, we shall often turn our faces
back to some great subject of interest
that we have already observed and consider
it anew from a different point of view.

When you write to The Mentor always
sign your name and address. The old time-worn
signatures of “Reader” or “Friend”
make it hard for us to give Mentor service.
The following came into the office
a few days ago:

Where our reader got the notion that
the Ansidei Madonna is in the Metropolitan
Museum of Art, in New York,
I am at a loss to understand. If that
famous work had ever been brought to
America, surely the whole world would
have known of it. Works of art of such
importance are not moved about without
the public being advised of it. The
Ansidei Madonna is in the National
Museum, London, and the circumstances
of its being placed there are exactly
as stated in The Mentor. It was
purchased for the National Museum
from the Duke of Marlborough’s collection
for about $350,000. The Raphael
Madonna, in the Metropolitan Museum
of Art, that our reader refers to, is known
as the “Madonna of St. Anthony of
Padua.” I hope that this will catch
the eye of our friendly reader, and especially
I hope that he will not continue
to entertain the thought, or impart it
to others, that The Mentor is giving
the public incorrect information concerning
the Ansidei
Madonna.

W. D. Moffat
Editor

THE MENTOR

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