Rembrandt | Page 6

may
be admired in nearly all great public collections; they are distributed,
too, among private galleries. Rembrandt's art has found a welcome in
all countries. We know now that part of his temporary unpopularity in
Holland was due to the fact that he was far in advance of his own time,
that the conventions of lesser men repelled him, and he was perhaps a
little too vigorous in the expression of his opinions. Now, in the years
when the voice of fame cannot reach him and his worst detractors are
silent, he is set on a pedestal by the side of Velazquez and Titian.

REMBRANDT
AN APPRECIATION OF THE PICTURES IN AMSTERDAM

Will the reader turn away with a shrug of the shoulder, when he sees,
heading this essay, the famous name that we hear so often?
I feel like one sitting among friends at a banquet, and though many of
the guests have expressed and analysed the same feelings in different
toasts, I will not be restrained from expressing, in my turn, my delight
in the festive gathering. I touch my glass to ensure a hearing, and I
speak as my heart prompts me. It is not very important or interesting,
but I am speaking in praise of him in whose honour the feast is given.
In this frame of mind I am contributing my little share to the pile of
written matter, which has been produced from all quarters, in honour of
the great painter.
I
Many years ago I went to Amsterdam as an art student, to be trained
under the auspices of the then famous portrait painter Kruseman. Very
soon I was admitted to the master's studio, and beheld with admiration
the portraits of the distinguished personages he was painting at the
time.
The pink flesh-tints of the faces, the delicate treatment of the draperies
and dresses, more often than not standing out against a background of
dark red velvet, attracted me immensely.
When, however, I expressed a desire to be allowed to copy some of
these portraits, the master refused my request. "No," he said; "if you
want to copy, go to the museum in the 'Trippenhuis.'"[1]
I dared not show the bitter disappointment this refusal caused me.
Having come fresh from the country, the old masters were a sealed
book to me. I failed to discover any beauty in the homely,
old-fashioned scenes of dark landscapes over which people went into
ecstasies. To my untrained eyes the exhibition in "Arti"[2] seemed
infinitely more beautiful; and Pieneman, Gallait, Calame, and Koekoek
especially excited my admiration.

I was not really lacking in artistic instinct any more than my
fellow-students, but I had not yet gained the experience and practice,
which are indispensable to the true understanding of the quaint but
highly artistic qualities of the old Dutch masters. I maintain that
however intelligent a man may be, it is impossible to appreciate old
Dutch art to the full, or even to enjoy it, unless one has become
thoroughly familiar with it, and has tried to identify oneself with it. In
order to be able to sound the real character and depth of manifestations
of art, the artistic sensibility has to be trained and developed.
It was long before I could summon up sufficient courage to enter this
Holy of Holies armed with my colours and brushes. Indeed I only
started on this venture after a long spell of hard work, out-of-doors as
well as in the studio, and after having made many studies from the nude,
and many more still-life studies; then a light broke in upon my
darkness.
I began to understand at last that the true aim of art does not consist in
the smooth and delicate plastering of the colours. I realised that my
chief study was to be the exact value of light and shade, the relief of the
objects, and the attitude, movements, and gestures of the figures.
Having learned to look upon art from this point of view, I entered the
old "Trippenhuis" with pleasure. Little by little the beauty and truth of
these admirable old masters dawned upon me. I perceived that their
simple subjects grew rich and full of meaning through the manner in
which they were treated. The artists were geniuses, and the world
around them either ignored the fact, or did not see it until too late.
Knowing little of art, I chose for my first copy a small canvas, a
"Hermit" by Gerard Dou, not understanding that, though small, it might
contain qualities which would prove too difficult for me to imitate. I
had to work it over and over again, for I could not get any shape in the
thick, sticky paint. Then I tried a head by Van der Helst, and succeeded
a little