, almost false note,
unworthy of himself. We might, perhaps, account for this by saying, that
it was done in 1656, the year of his bankruptcy were it not that the
noble "Jan Lutma" (No. 290) which competes with the "Jan Six" (No. 228)
for the place of masterpiece of the entire series, was made the same year.
But he was an unaccountable sort of man who could produce in a poor, naked
studio, with untold trouble stalking him on all sides, such an etching as
the "Lutma," such a painting as the "Syndics of the Draper's Guild," both
of which rank with the best products of his happy, care-free years of
luxury.

It is noticeable that Rembrandt had no sittings from persons of high
rank. So far as I can find "Burgomaster" is the most exalted title that
can with certainty be given to any of his patrons. The reason is not far
to seek. Rembrandt was not a courtier like Van Dyck and Rubens; he was
too independent and too busy to spend time kow-towing to society. A
contemporary says of him, "When he painted he would not have given
audience to the greatest monarch on earth." He calmly set at nought
established principles and conventional rules, in etiquette as well as in
art, and followed the bent of his genius with absolute disregard for the
opinions of his fellows. The story of "Night Watch" is characteristic of
Rembrandt and shows the whole situation in minature. The members of
Captain Banning Cocq's Company of the Civic Guards were flattered by the
offer of Rembrandt, then at the height of his fame, to paint their
portraits. The sixteen members destined to figure in the picture gladly
subscribed one hundred florins each, and great were their expectations;
but even greater their disappointment when the picture was placed on view.
All but a half-dozen felt that they had a distinct grievance against the
painter. Had they not paid for portraits of themselves? And they
got--what? Here a face in deep shadow, here one half-hid by the one in
front, here one so freely drawn as to be unrecognizable. The artist had
made a picture, to be sure--but their portraits! Where were their
portraits--the portraits they had paid for? Rembrandt had thought out
every inch of his picture: he was sure it could not be better, and change
it he would not. The resentment was bitter and deep, and the Civic Guards
in future bestowed their favors elsewhere.

There were, however, some fellow citizens who recognized his genius and
sincerity. The