He seemed to have gotten over his nervousness in working with strange models; for new faces now begin to appear.  One of these is that of a woman, and it would have been well for his art had he never met her.  We see her face quite often, and in the “Diana Bathing” we behold her altogether.

Rembrandt shows small trace of the classic instinct, for classic art is founded on poetic imagination.  Rembrandt painted what he saw; the Greeks portrayed that which they felt; and when Rembrandt paints a Dutch wench and calls her “Diana,” he unconsciously illustrates the difference between the naked and the nude.  Rembrandt painted this same woman, wearing no clothes to speak of, lolling on a couch; and evidently considering the subject a little risky, thought to give it dignity by a Biblical title:  “Potiphar’s Wife.”  One good look at this picture, and the precipitate flight of Joseph is fully understood.  We feel like following his example.

Rembrandt had simply haunted the dissecting-rooms of the University at Leyden a little too long.

The study of these viragos scales down our rating of the master.  Still, I suppose every artist has to go through this period—­the period when he thinks he is called upon to portray the feminine form divine—­it is like the mumps and the measles.

After a year of groping for he knew not what, with money gone, and not much progress made, Rembrandt took a reef in his pride and settled down to paint portraits, and to do a little good honest teaching.

Scholars came to him, and commissions for portraits began to arrive.  He renounced the freaks of costume, illumination and attitude, and painted the customer in plain, simple Dutch dress.  He let “Diana” go, and went soberly to work to make his fortune.

Holland was prosperous.  Her ships sailed every sea, and brought rich treasures home.  The prosperous can afford to be generous.  Philanthropy became the fad.  Charity was in the air, and hospitals, orphanages and homes for the aged were established.  The rich merchants felt it an honor to serve on the board of managers of these institutions.

In each of the guildhalls were parlors set apart for deliberative gatherings; and it became the fashion to embellish these rooms with portraits of the managers, trustees and donors.

Rembrandt’s portraits were finding their way to the guilds.  They attracted much attention, and orders came—­orders for more work than the artist could do.  He doubled his prices in the hope of discouraging applicants.

Studio gossip and society chatter seemed to pall on young Rembrandt.  It is said that when a ’bus-driver has a holiday he always goes and rides with the man who is taking his place; but when Rembrandt had a holiday he went away from the studio, not towards it.  He would walk alone, off across the meadows, and along the canals, and once we find him tramping thirty miles to visit cousins who were fishermen on the seacoast.  Happy fisher-folk!