[Illustration:  THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS

1634.  The Hermitage, St. Petersburg.]

It was the last of half a hundred portraits of himself, painted and etched without vanity; painted because a man’s self is such an accommodating model, always ready and willing; painted because Rembrandt loved to experiment with himself before a mirror, grimacing, angry, stern, “as an officer,” “with a casque,” “with a gorget,” or, as we see him in the National Gallery, on one wall with the bloom of youth and health upon his face, on the other, dulled, stained, and marked by the finger of time.  This we can say:  that he was always true to himself.

CHAPTER V

THE GREAT TRIUMVIRATE

It is generally acknowledged that the greatest masters of painting that the world has known are Titian, Velasquez, and Rembrandt, and to each of the triumvirate we apply the word genius.  Among the many definitions of that abused word is one which states that genius consists not in seeing more than other people, but in seeing differently.  We acknowledge genius in a painter when, over and above masterly technical power, he presents to us a view of life or of nature which we may never have seen, but which we are convinced is the vision of deeper eyes than our own, and is true.  The seer has seen it, and it is only because of the dimness or narrowness or worldliness of our outlook that we do not perceive it also.

A great painter writes us a letter, tells us of the things he has seen or heard or felt, gives us news of the world wherein he lives.  He expresses his personality to us, and personality in art is a thing incalculable.  Corot’s Arcadia landscape delights us because it is the distilled essence of the vision, heart, and character of the personality called Corot.  Personality may be expressed by a Rembrandt, abundantly.  It may also be expressed by a Velasquez, negatively.

We must be vigilant, in judging a painter, to distinguish between his own personality and the personality of those who interpret him to us.  The more we give of ourselves to a painter or an author, the greater is the return of his appeal and interest.  Cleave the wood of your brain and you find him brimming with communications, raise the stone of your imagination and he is revealed.

A certain critic, who had devoted his life to the study of Reynolds, while lecturing upon the achievement of that master, threw upon the screen a certain large subject-picture, not one of Reynold’s happiest efforts, but a laboured and unattractive design which, we know, gave Reynolds an infinity of trouble.

So scientific, so interesting was this critic’s analysis of the picture, so absorbing the attributes he read into it, that many of his audience were persuaded that they were looking upon a Reynolds masterpiece, whereas they were but hypnotised by the subtleties of the critic’s mind working upon Reynolds.