Page images
PDF
EPUB

Let him do on his arms of proof,
Or hold his coward head aloof-
I tell him, he hath lied!"

He paused, as though he thought to see
The gleam of fiendish panoply

With blazoned shield and waving plume
Emerging from the cedarn gloom;
But all was silence deep and still
On Solomon's immortal hill.

The sunshine slept upon the sod,
The very cedars ceased to nod,
So tranquil was the glen.

He turned-he started, and his hand
Fell to the guard of his good brand:
Was it a trumpet's tone,
That startled all the forest round,
And wakened, with defying sound,
The mountain echoes lone?
'Twas silence all; or if that peal
Was sooth, which made his senses reel,
So soon it passed away,

That Amelot uncertain stood,
Whether the demons of the wood
Or the mere coursings of his blood
Distempered, and his dreaming brain,
Had mocked him once and yet again,
With cheats most like reality;

And to his dying day

He knew not: for such things fell out,
In after time, as made him doubt
Almost his own identity.

But now he turned him to the host
Encamped on Syria's sultry coast,
And as he passed the mountain down
Amid the shadows falling brown,
And heavy dews, he only said,
With resolute gesture of his head,
And hand upon his war-sword's hilt,
The cross: "By all the blood we've spilt!
Let them bring all the powers of hell
To aid-I will win Isabel!"

THE RIVAL PAINTERS.

III.

FROM THE GERMAN.

[CONCLUDED.]

and led him towards the Jews' quarter. WHEN, by the increasing light, the tailor | When he reached the gate, which last evencast a sad glance around him, and beheld ing had remained closed, notwithstanding the disorder which prevailed in the little Netcelli's repeated demands for admission, chamber, he was unable to repress a heavy Barruello pulled the bell with violence. An sigh, which, as a truthful chronicler, we must old woman soon appeared. Although her confess, was rather an expression of vexa- apparel was that of the wife of an ordinary tion than of grief. To understand and ex-artisan, yet Barruello knew by her tone and cuse the worthy burgher, however, the reader bearing that he stood before the mistress of should have lived for a while in the Nether- the house, and he removed his cap respectlands, and have witnessed the love of order fully. which prevails there in all domestic matters; where even the least careful housewife rises at four in the morning, and often passes two hours in washing, brushing and polishing, in order, perhaps, to efface a spot from the bricks with which the floor of her house is laid. Turning his eyes from the confusion, Master Barruello glanced at Netcelli.

The latter was still seated close to the fire, gazing steadfastly before him; neither joy nor sorrow was depicted in his rigid face; he seemed indifferent to every thing that was passing around him. Antonio lay buried in a deep and tranquil slumber. Master Barruello hesitated for some moments to wake him; but it was now broad day; the clock of the neighboring church struck eight, and it was time to think of repairing the disorder occasioned by the sad events of the past night. The tailor therefore passed his hand gently over the boy's face.

"You must get up and go with me, mio caro," said Master Nicholas to Antonio, who gezed at him with sleepy eyes; "here is your little hat; come, give me your hand and let us go."

"And father, and mother?" said the boy. "They are asleep-come, only come." "But I won't go before I have kissed them."

"Will you be disobedient? Your mother told me to take you with me before she woke," replied Master Barruello; and he drew the unwilling child from the house,

VOL. VIII. NO. I. NEW SERIES.

"What is your wish?"

"To speak with Master Rembrandt."

"You? and for what? He cannot be seen so early," replied the dame in a harsh tone; "my husband is busy; come again at noon."

"I cannot well wait until noon, and perhaps Master Rembrandt will not be sorry to see me. I bring him-I wish to give him something-something that belongs to him."

"Money?" asked the old woman, as she cast a searching glance upon the tailor.

"It is a treasure!" replied Master Nicholas, enduring her gaze with heroic indifference.

She still delayed for a few seconds.

"Enter," she said at last. "But I can tell you your interview will not continue long if you have deceived me, and you will not have disturbed Master Rembrandt at his work for nothing."

The old woman now slowly opened the gate, which she had thus far held half closed, and gave Barruello admittance; she then locked it carefully again, and crossed the court, directing the tailor by a sign to follow her. As he walked onward he cast a glance at the four large dogs which leaped barking from the kennels to which they were chained, and he could not repress a slight shudder as he remarked their strength and size, and thought of the danger to which ne had been exposed on the preceding evening.

2

"My uncle is greater than you and Rubens put together."

"And who is he, then?" asked the old man angrily. "Rembrandt."

66

And are you a nephew of Rembrandt? You are a son then of that Netcelli, who married my niece against my will. Begone! I will have nothing to do with you nor your father."

After Barruello had ascended a lofty stair- | Rubens is a great painter, but not the great. case, and had then crossed two large, vacant, est in Flanders." unfurnished chambers, he entered an apart ment which was lighted by a single window constructed in the ceiling. So deep was the gloom that here reigned, that for several minutes the tailor could scarcely distinguish surrounding objects. At last he observed in a corner a man in the decline of life; his head was wrapped in a white cloth, his beard was long, his face deeply furrowed, and his eye shone with that greenish light which reminds the spectator of certain animals, to whose organs of vision it is peculiar. He was painting before an easel. Opposite to him, in the portion of the chamber upon which the light from the window principally fell, sat a man, enveloped in a linen cloth, in the posture of one who had just risen from the grave.

The old man continued to paint for a long while, without appearing to remark the presence of the new comers. The woman, however, who had introduced Barruello, at once took a seat near the lofty chimney, in which a sooty iron pot hung by a hook and chain. Upon a stool near by lay vegetables, which the worthy housewife immediately took in her apron and began to peel. In the meanwhile the tailor, still waiting for the master of the house to address him, had approached the easel, and, with all his anxiety and embarrassment, he could not refrain from gazing with admiration at the picture which Rembrandt was completing. It was the Resurrection of Lazarus. In the foreground stood the Saviour, his eyes moist with tears, saying to the dead man, "Lazarus, come forth!" and Lazarus came forth. A halo enveloped the Saviour's form; the remaining figures stood in that effective half gloom, that dusky light, the secret of which was known to Rembrandt alone.

"Ah! how beautiful that is," cried little Antonio.

At the clear tones of his voice, Rembrandt turned towards the boy.

"Why do you speak of things that you do not understand?" he cried.

"My father is a painter, and then I have an uncle too who paints beautiful pictures! My father has often told me that my uncle was the greatest painter in all Flanders." 66 So! you are a nephew of Rubens, then? for, after myself, I know no one who could deserve this name. Tell your father that

The boy began to cry.

"Must the poor child perish, then, with cold and hunger, like his mother and his little sister, who both died last night?" "He has his father left."

"His father? Merciful Heaven! sorrow and suffering have turned his brain." "Ah, my father, my mother, my little sister!" cried Antonio, with loud sobs. A tear rolled down Rembrandt's wrinkled cheeks.

"Is what you tell me true? How! my sister's daughter!"

66

"She has received what she deserved," interrupted the shrill voice of Dame Rembrandt, who stepped towards them with her arms akimbo. If the silly creature had not been disobedient, and acted contrary to your wishes, she would not have died in poverty."

"Master Rembrandt," said Barruello, "your nephew is a maniac, your niece and her daughter are dead! A coffin for these, bread for the father and the son!"

Rembrandt cast a hesitating glance towards his wife. The latter, however, grasped the sobbing Antonio violently by the arm, planted herself before the startled tailor, and cried:

"That would be very fine, indeed! And so my husband must burden himself with an idiot and an ill-bred child, must work day and night, and all to assist wretches who do not merit the least compassion! No, that shall never be while I live! Begone! out with you!"

"Is that your determination also, Master Rembrandt?" asked the indignant tailor, with a firm voice.

Without replying, Rembrandt turned to his painting again. Barruello tore the child from the hands of the rude woman, and exclaimed:

[blocks in formation]

deserts you, a stranger will not forsake you. God has sent you to me, and I will not cast you forth. Come with me from this house of wealth, where they refuse your mother a coffin. Shame upon this heartless pair, who have no feelings of compassion!"

When the tailor had uttered these words, that were forced from him by his anger, he retired leading Antonio by the hand, and with a heavy heart retraced his steps towards his dwelling.

While walking onward, Barruello's anger gradually subsided, and he mused seriously upon his situation; but let him ponder as he would, he could find no means which seemed likely to aid him in his embarrassment. Suddenly a band of horsemen came spurring towards them with such speed that Barruello was scarcely able to reach the side of the street, while Antonio, whom he dragged onward violently, fell to the ground, uttering a loud cry. The leader of the train at once checked his horse, dismounted, and asked in a compassionate tone whether the child were hurt.

When he had convinced himself that his fears were groundless, he slipped a piece of money into the boy's hand, mounted his horse again, and asked the tailor to direct him to the dwelling of the painter Rembrandt.

"His house stands at the end of the second street to the right, in the Jews' quarter, near the churchyard. You are wealthy, Sir Knight, and you will meet with a good reception."

"Do the poor find no compassion from him?" asked the stranger.

"Compassion! Merciful Heaven! In yonder accursed house they have no compassion for the grandson of its master's sister." Nicholas now related to the stranger all that had passed, and the latter listened with the liveliest attention. When he had ended his narrative, the unknown drew out a purse full of gold, took four pieces from it, and gave them to the tailor.

"Here," he said, " is enough to bury the dead, and to procure the necessaries of life for the maniac and his child. Write down your name and the place of your dwelling upon this tablet. I will pay you a visit this evening, and consult with you as to what is to be done. You seem a worthy man, and your conduct pleases me. God be with you! This evening!"

The stranger struck his spurs into his horse's flanks and soon joined his companions, leaving Master Nicholas Barruello overwhelmed with joy and astonishment.

IV.

AFTER Dame Rembrandt had succeeded in getting rid of our friend Barruello, and in removing the impression which his reproaches had left upon her husband's mind, the old man approached his easel again, and took up his palette and brush. But it was in vain that he endeavored to proceed with his work; his trembling hand refused its office, and, busied with reflections of a different nature, he was unable to devote his attention to the unfinished painting. Twice or thrice he endeavored to complete the head of the Saviour, but as often he drew back in dissatisfaction. At last, angry with himself, he cast his brush aside, and folding his arms, gazed steadfastly at the canvas, and by degrees sank into deep thought. Soon his fancy brought before him the days of his childhood. A forsaken orphan, what would have been his fate without the maternal care of his sister Louise? Had she not been a second mother to him; had she not watched over him like the angel who guided the young Tobias through the dangers of a long journey? And now, closing his ears to the voice of duty and compassion, he had turned from his door the grandson of a sister! It is true, Margaret had done wrong in having married an Italian painter, a man without money and without talent, but was it not too cruel to punish her children for her disobedience ? "True," he thought, "the misery of this family is but the consequence of their own fault, but still it is inhuman to refuse them assistance."

He rose quickly, thrust his hand into the wide pocket of his doublet, and drew out a large leathern purse. He counted out five or six florins, examining each piece accurately, and then called to his wife. The latter, not without murmuring, left the chimney corner, where she was attending to her culinary duties; but when she saw the money in the painter's hand, she could no longer control her anger, for from Rembrandt's embarrassment, she at once divined the use to which he intended to apply it.

"Ah, ha! you mean to pay insults and injuries with hard money! Very fine, indeed!

you will not want customers when it is once | had closed the gate they dismounted, and
known. If you are at a loss to know what with the exception of the page, who remained
to do with the money, instead of giving it behind to take care of the horses, the train
to wicked and ungrateful creatures, buy followed Dame Rembrandt through a laby-
your own son a doublet with it, for he is rinth of corridors to the studio of the re-
running around with holes in his elbows." nowned artist.
Rembrandt contracted his brows gloomily,
and his glance quickly silenced his wife.
"When I took a peasant girl, a maid
servant for my wife," he replied, "I did so
that my commands might always be obeyed.
You will, therefore, without delay, carry
this money to Master Barruello. Quick! I
wish that my niece should be decently in-
terred, and that her son and her husband
should not suffer want."

Dame Rembrandt saw that it was necessary for her to obey without replying. Muttering angrily, she put on her cap, and changed her shoes, in order to go out. Rembrandt took up his palette once more, and gathered his brushes together, with which a large ape had been playing. With a heart somewhat relieved of its burden, and with an easier conscience, he sat down to his work again. At this momentt he house bell was pulled with a violence that threatened to break the cord. Rembrandt was so startled at this unusual noise, that his trembling hand involuntarily drew a large streak across the head of the principal figure in his picture. The oath with which the painter accompanied this accident was answered by Dame Rembrandt with a cry of indignation.

The bell was pulled anew, and if possible more violently than before.

The old woman, with a bitter invective upon her tongue, darted out to open the gate. But her rage was suddenly changed into astonishment, for he who had pulled the bell with such violence was a young page of pert and presumptuous mien, while before the house a numerous band of horsemen, with a young dame in their midst, were waiting for admission.

The horseman who seemed to be the chief of the train now said:

"Inform your master that a stranger from Antwerp, who wishes to purchase some pictures of him, requests to be admitted to his presence."

Softened by the courteous and dignified manner of the stranger, Dame Rembrandt opened the great gate of the court in order that the horsemen might enter. When she

When Rembrandt saw the numerous retinue enter his studio, his features assumed an expression of ill-humor, and he replied to the greetings of the noble stranger in a rude and surly tone, directing his glances at times, with evident discontent, at his interrupted task. The latter unceremoniously took a chair and seated himself near the painter, while the rest of the train remained standing respectfully in the background of the chamber, that they might not disturb the conversation of the two men.

The

It was a most interesting spectacle to watch those two individuals, who differed so singularly from each other. The one, tall, elegantly formed, and of most prepossessing manners, seemed to have lost nothing of the advantages of youth, although he was perhaps fifty years of age. He wore a rich doublet of embroidered velvet, and his lofty brow was surmounted by a large hat adorned with a jet-black plume. His glance was penetrating, his smile in the highest degree seductive, and his soft white hand might have excited the envy of a woman. other, on the contrary, exhibited all the tokens of premature old age, accelerated by toil, sorrow, and indulgence in the passions. Short in stature, with a considerable stoop, dressed in a coarse, threadbare doublet, he seemed destitute of the most ordinary regard for cleanliness. His hair, held together in disorder by a comb that had once been white, was already turning gray, and his face was furrowed by a thousand wrinkles. The spectator soon remarked, however, that deep sagacity lay concealed beneath this rude exterior; the piercing glance of his greenish eye was almost insupportable.

While Rembrandt played with his ape, a hateful beast which, with the help of a little superstition, might have been taken for the familiar demon of the magician who inhabited this apartment, the new comer gazed with great attention at the unfinished painting, uttering words of astonishment and admiration.

"What magical colors! what freshness, what life in that flesh! The Venetian school has produced nothing that can vie

1

« PreviousContinue »