REMBRANDT.*
Mn. MELDRUM has made a notable contribution to the literature of Rembrandt in this volume which he con-
tributes to an excellent series. Here we have a study of the paintings by themselves, the etchings and drawings having been treated separately. Mr. Meldrum has kept very closely to his subject and avoided those tiresome digressions, historical or political, with which the biographers of artists so frequently encumber their books. He has also avoided the sentimental and philosophical and historic absurdities which have so often been let loose upon the great painter of the Netherlands, the crowning instance of such follies being the work of the German who proved that Rem- brandt was a true Prussian in spirit from the resemblance of his mind to that of Bismarck and his colour to the national flag—red and black. In the present volume our only com- plaint is that the author who writes so well and so thought- fully of the art of Rembrandt should have been so sparing of the pages devoted to aesthetic criticism. We could have done with a great deal more in the way of condensation of the mere facts of the painter's life for the sake of fuller consideration of the artistic qualities of many of the great pictures which receive so little comment. For instance, it is a disappointment to find after eager search no consideration of the amazing qualities of "The Polish Rider," perhaps the most wonderful and inspiring of Rembrandt's creations. What is it, we wonder, that makes this work soar in spirit above the elaboration of " The Night Watch " or the studied simplicity of " The Syndics " ? Another undiscussed problem is why a portrait, such as that of the man holding a letter, lately in the Frick collection in New York, overflows with mystery and passion when so many of the representations of Titus are only sentimental and numbers of burghers are only powerfully commonplace. Is the answer that the magic has been evoked by such a subtle appeal to the aesthetic sense as is made by the flow of light over the face, necker- chief, letter and hands and out into the mysterious twilight of the landscape ?
Mr. Meldrum divides Rembrandt's career into three periods. There were the early years at Leyden, when he perfected his astonishing technique and the first ten years in Amsterdam, when he dazzled the town with his powers and reaped a golden harvest and enjoyed to the full the splendours of dress, jewels, and works of art, with which he was able to enrich his life and that of the beloved Saskia. Then came his wife's death and his waning popularity, though his art was at its fullest in the way of power, it being the time of " The Night Watch." Later comes the period of want of money, lawsuits, and neglect, the period of Hendrickje and " The Polish Rider," and finally, after the death of Hendrickje, the sunset which gave an aspect to the later works that inevitably associates them with the posthumous quartettes of Beethoven. Among these late works is a portrait of the painter of unusual character, it seems to fulfil all the requirements of the modems who demand construction and composition in three dimensions, and this picture, significantly, is to be found at Aix-en-Provence, the home of C&anne.
No painter ever sympathized with and understood old age as did Rembrandt, and perhaps the finest and most sympathetic rendering of the interval between life and death is that noble work in the possession of the Duke of Devonshire. In it those who have lived with very old people will find that spirit which comes only when the head has to seek the support of the hand, and the mind naturally enters into converse with " the spirit of the world brooding on things to come." When considering the crisis of Rembrandt's career at the death of Saskia and the change which came over his art, we cannot do better than follow Mr. Meldrum when he says :-
" There are some who declare Rembrandt to have most poignantly of all painters struck the chords of human experience yet would have us believe himself inhumanly dead to them. Is this a highly Germanized reading of Aristotle, that the tragic dramatist must have already purged himself Y For myself, I cannot doubt that somewhere about the time we have now reached Rembrandt underwent a spiritual change or commotion. Precisely what it
• Bembrandes Paintings. By D. s. Meldrum. London t Methuen. [f.3 35.1 was and how it came about we shall never know for certain ; but there are reasonable conjectures, which, being conjectures only, can be suggested merely, not formally defined. Rembrandt's life, remember, was now clouded by Saskia's ill-health, and saddened by the loss of their children. Anxieties about money were already gathering to a head. I am far from thinking that Rembrandt in his studio was particularly sensitive to such affections and obligations. Where his art was concerned he was, I am persuaded, on the contrary, indifferent and perhaps callous. His mind, like his body, was virile, even robust. He did not engineer the Mutterings of his soul or watch them with curious and self-pitying comment. There never, in a word, was a painter less of a prig. But he surely mixed his paints with heart. He certainly mixed them with brains, and it is far from inconceivable that his intelligence reached beyond the gay and worldly mood in which he painted certain burgher and patrician portraits. May not these sitters, for example, have led his thoughts to the fortunes of his country, and to the disillusionment, for an idealist such as he, creeping into them ? There is recent new evidence, possibly, that he did, just at this moment, take an objective view of national affairs and brood on them. After that enormous struggle for freedom was this the whole residue of gain ? Amsterdam a city of traffic. And an Amsterdam, too—masterful as he was, Rem- brandt no doubt shared the artist's sensibility to disconsideration —an Amsterdam giving proof of not appreciating the deepest with the cleverest of his art."
When we think of the neglect of so great a man by the Dutch merchants, we remember that greater and nobler sea-born city of commerce, Venice, which shares with Italy the proud boast that none of her artists died unrecognized
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