Rembrandt fares ill.  His Artemisia about to drink her husband’s ashes from a costly cup reveals a ponderous hand.  It is but indifferent Rembrandt, despite several jewelled passages.  Van Dyck shows at least one great picture, the Betrayal of Christ.  The Brazen Serpent only ranks second to it; both are masterpieces, and Antwerp must envy the Prado.  The Crown of Thorns, and the portraits, particularly that of the Countess of Wexford, are arresting.  His Musician, being the portrait of Laniere the lute-player, and his own portrait on the same canvas with Count Bristol, are cherished treasures.  The lutist is especially fascinating.  That somewhat mysterious Dutch master, Moro, or Mor (Antonis; born in Utrecht, 1512; died at Antwerp, 1576 or 1578), is represented by more than a dozen portraits.  To know what a master of physiognomy he was we need only study his Mary Queen of England, the Buffoon of the Beneventas, the Philip II, and the various heads of royal and noble born dames.  The subdued fire and subtlety of this series, the piercing vision and superior handicraft of the painter have placed him high in the artistic hierarchy; but not high enough.  At his best he is not far behind Holbein.  That great German’s art is shown in a solitary masterpiece, the portrait of an unknown man, with shrewd cold eyes, an enormous nose, the hands full of meaning, the fabrics scrupulous as to detail.  Next to this Holbein, whose glance follows you around the gallery, are the two Duerers, the portrait of Hans Imhof, a world-renowned picture, and his own portrait (1498), a magical rendering of a Christ-like head, the ringlets curly, the beard youthful, the hands folded as if in prayer.  A marvellous composition.  It formerly hung too high, above the Hans Imhof; it now hangs next to it.  A similar head in the Uffizi is a copy, Sir Walter Armstrong to the contrary notwithstanding.

The Flemish schools are to be seen in the basement, not altogether a favourable place, though in the afternoon there is an agreeable light.  Like Rubens, Jan van Eyck visited Spain and left the impress of his style.  But the Van Eycks at the Prado are now all queried, though several are noteworthy.  The Marriage of the Virgin is discredited.  The Virgin, Christ and St. John under the golden canopy, called a Hubert van Eyck, is probably by Gossaert de Mabuse, and a clever transposition of the altar piece in St. Bavon’s at Ghent.  The Fountain of Life, also in the catalogue as a Jan van Eyck, has been pronounced a sixteenth-century copy of a lost picture by his brother Hubert.  We may add that not one of these so-called Van Eycks recalls in all their native delicacy and richness the real Van Eycks of Bruges, Ghent, and Brussels; though the Virgin Reading, given as Jan’s handiwork, is of a charm.  The Depositions, attributed to Rogier van der Weyden (De la Pasture), are acknowledged to be old sixteenth-century copies of the Deposition in the Escorial.  The altar piece is excellent.