Rembrandt's Mirror (23 page)

Portrait of Jan Six

He put down his brush; the loud hammering had ruined his every moment since the early morning. He still could not believe that Pinto had had the audacity to go ahead with the work on the foundations without his consent. Six would be here any second now. Perhaps he should have gone to his friend's house instead. But there was always a chance Six might see something he liked and buy it. On the other hand, with that racket going on, he doubted even the generous Six would be in the mood to make a purchase, let alone do him a favour.

Six surprised him, walking into the studio, his knock on the door must have been drowned out by the noise.

‘Thanks for coming, Jan,' said Rembrandt.

‘I'm regretting it already,' said his friend. ‘What's going on and how can you work like this?'

Rembrandt showed him the balls of beeswax he kept in his ears. ‘Not that it makes much difference. Pinto's decided to embark on another one of his little projects.'

‘Pardon me?' shouted Six, putting his hand behind his ear.

Rembrandt gestured at Six to follow him, and once they were outside the front door, he said, ‘I think we'd better go for a stroll.'

‘Or a ride,' said Six and waved at a small canal boat. They climbed in, taking seats opposite one another, with Six facing in the direction of travel.

‘Take us around the Herengracht,' his friend told the boatsman. It was a relief to be away from the noise and he saw his chances of a favourable response from Six increasing with each pull of the boatman's oars. Rembrandt sat back and watched the houses go by. Neither of them felt the need for conversation as the boat glided through the balmy – if rancid – air.

Soon they turned into the Herengracht. Completed mansions stood next to empty plots or building sites. Everything was designed for grandeur. Two lanes for traffic and still plenty of space for moored boats on each side. He could not help but admire the ambition of the burghers and merchants who could afford to build here. The houses were sky-high, with enormous windows and a wealth of sculpted stonework.

No wonder other perfectly fine quarters had fallen out of favour, including his.

Six finally said, ‘So why did you want to see me?'

There was no way of putting it diplomatically, so Rembrandt answered, ‘I'm in a bit of a squeeze.'

‘But not in a good way, I take it?' said his friend with the boyish grin Rembrandt felt sure Six would still be sporting in his sixties.

Six laughed, making it easy for him. Then a massive boom shook
the air, like a canon going off in the distance, but it was probably just a pile driver. He could not afford to get distracted. ‘I'll come straight out with it,' he said. ‘I need a loan of one thousand florins.'

‘Whatever for?' said Six, looking only a little taken aback, and
boom
came the noise again. He tried to get his reply in before the next one. ‘Thijs demands I immediately pay off the house. It's in violation of the contract, but I
do
want to pay him back.'

‘You've been there for some time,' said Six.

‘Yes, indeed,' said Rembrandt, ‘and he says he's under pressure himself. It's the right thing to do. Cornelis Witsen will give me four thousand.'

Six raised an eyebrow and Rembrandt was not sure whether at the sum or the creditor.
Boom
. It sounded like a shot and an explosion all at once, so loud he could feel it in his body, and even the surface of the water rippled slightly.

‘Our new burgomaster himself will lend you money? You know Cornelis Witsen did not become chief administrator of the Dutch East India Company by being careless and now that he's burgomaster you won't be able to wriggle out of anything.'

‘It will be fine,' said Rembrandt. ‘I know I can pay it back, and Isaac van Heertsbeeck will also give me four thousand, but I'm still a thousand short, taking into account bits and pieces here and there.'

Boom
. Six swallowed and pointed in the direction they were going. ‘We are coming up to the Golden Bend. Look at that new house over there; splendour's the name of the game. I've heard that Witsen has bought a plot here too. It will have cost him.'

Rembrandt could not help thinking that it had been a long time since he last had a commission –
boom
– from this part of town. Six craned his head to see where the noise was coming from. There was a scaffold about forty foot high, consisting of four poles that met at the top. A giant lump of metal was being slowly winched to the top via a system of pulleys and ropes drawn by twenty or so men. Once it reached the apex they would let go and it would crash down on the wooden pile and drive it into the ground. They had skimped on piles when building his own house, and now he had to pay for it. The men let go, the hammer hurtled down in free fall, landing on the wooden pile with an ear-splitting bang.

‘Of course I'll give you the money, but I'm worried about you. Knowing you, you'll not put it all where it ought to go.'

He thought it best to say nothing in reply.

‘I want something for it,' said Six.

‘Name it,' said Rembrandt, uncomfortably aware that he was in no position to refuse.

‘Keep the loan quiet and accept a commission for which I will pay your usual rate on top of the loan.'

What generosity! He could not help but slap Six's thigh. He saw the boatman's eyes widen. At least the hammer blows were getting quieter now as they moved away.

‘You're a true friend,' he said, feeling a little guilty for having underestimated Six's devotion to him.

‘I try to be,' said Six, ‘but once I'm married to Margaretha I might not be able to be so open about it, depending on how you
conduct yourself, and I will also be more constrained in terms of what I can do financially.'

Rembrandt could see his future was assured, if even his friend felt the need to use a loan as leverage to get a portrait out of him, but he'd gladly do it. ‘What do you have in mind for the picture?'

‘Well, something astounding, dazzling and original, of course,' said Six.

Rembrandt stood up, causing the boat to wobble, and held one hand a foot over his head and the other just below his crotch. ‘From here to here?'

‘Yes,' said Six, ‘that covers all the important aspects. Oil not ink.'

‘Rough manner?' said Rembrandt.

‘Of course.'

He sat back down again and gave the boatman a big grin. Six leaned across, patting Rembrandt's knee, and said in a low voice, ‘It's bad enough that your wretched neighbour has decided to have the house propped up but that will be nothing compared to the disruption if you get into serious financial trouble. It would be a waste of your talent. Do you hear?'

‘You lend me money and yet you don't seem to have much faith in my finances?'

‘I don't have any faith whatsoever in your financial acumen but I have faith in your art.'

‘My art can always save me from pecuniary wobbles,' said Rembrandt.

‘No, it can't. It's a miracle that this has not happened sooner.'

There was a rat swimming by, fat, healthy and agile. It seemed there was more than enough in this town for everyone.

‘Besides,' said Six, ‘you have more than money to worry about.'

Rembrandt had a feeling of dread before Six even began to elaborate.

‘I have a friend in the town council in Gouda,' Six said. ‘He tells me that a Trijn Jacobs, a close friend of a certain plucky housekeeper of yours, is trying to convince them that poor Geertje really deserves to be released, being now ill and having been incarcerated for some time. He also told me that you've been trying to prevail on them not to grant the request with such “well-reasoned and persuasive” arguments as that if she got out she would live to regret it. Have you lost all sense?'

Rembrandt asked through gritted teeth, ‘Did your friend say what they'll decide?'

‘They will release her,' said Six. ‘I thought you should know so you can stop wasting your time. She's in a bad way and they've taken pity on her. Perhaps she'll die before she can cause any trouble.'

Rembrandt stared at the water.

‘Mind you,' said Six, ‘if she recovers she'll probably sue you for wrongful imprisonment so she can claim the maintenance you owe her. And she'll be joining quite a queue of creditors. I'm sorry to have to say this, Rembrandt, but you must tell me when the time comes to sell on the credit note before it becomes a worthless scrap of paper.'

Rembrandt could only nod his agreement. Why did Six not
believe in him? As for Geertje, if she tried anything he'd simply counter-sue her, with her brother as witness of her being deranged.

Six told the boatman to take them back by a different route to avoid the noise.

They sat in silence for a while. It was such a shame, that rank stench. There had been many attempts to circulate the water in the canals, using the tides or windmills, but none of them had worked. Amsterdam remained a beauty with bad breath.

‘How is it with your amour?' said Six out of the blue.

‘What?' said Rembrandt.

‘The girl I prophesied would get you into trouble. You can't marry her of course, can you?'

‘I don't see how,' said Rembrandt, surprised to find himself willing to discuss the matter. ‘I'd have to find the money to pay Titus his portion of the inheritance, as stipulated by Saskia's will.'

‘So, if it wasn't for that, you'd actually consider it?'

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It might make things easier for her.'

‘There's a keen groom.'

‘You're one to talk.'

Six smiled cryptically and said, ‘I
am
one to talk.'

Rembrandt was about to ask what he meant when Six said, ‘That business with Saskia's will gives you the perfect excuse.'

What was his friend insinuating? Why wouldn't he want to marry Rika?

‘Don't be so sure,' he told Six.

‘Ah, Cupid's arrow has struck then?'

How pretty the ripples looked, reflecting the buildings. He liked the scum too and the fallen leaves.

‘Well, has it?' said Six.

‘Has what?' said Rembrandt.

‘Are you in love?' His friend's eyes were sincere.

Rembrandt fished out one of the leaves and looked at it. It was mostly of a uniform brown but a few tiny yellow dots remained.

He tossed the leaf back. ‘The world is moving too fast for me,' he said.

‘What is that supposed to mean? Perhaps you have not quite woken up to the truth yourself. So here's a piece of advice by Horace.
While we speak, envious time will have already fled: Pluck the day as it is ripe, trusting as little as possible in the next
.'

Rembrandt recognized the verse; he'd studied it at university. ‘
Carpe diem, carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero
,' he added. ‘Unfortunately knowing and doing are not the same.'

‘Don't be such an ass,' said Six. ‘Go pluck!
Carpe domina!
No doubt she's ripe.'

‘It's always the same with you – salaciousness before salvation.'

‘One must maintain perspective on what's important in life.'

The reflected light from the waves was flickering on Six's face and there was a change in his features; it was obvious now that he saw it.

‘You and Margaretha,' said Rembrandt, ‘you had me think that it was all about politics but—'

‘Shush,' Six interrupted, ‘it's nothing.'

Seeing Six squirm, Rembrandt could not help laughing. ‘Ah, Cupid has been busy.'

‘Women,' said Six, ‘they make us soft and a little frightened.'

‘Indeed,' said Rembrandt, feeling inordinately pleased that his friend was finally smitten.

Six pointed at a gap between buildings. ‘Look, I'd like to buy this plot, not in the Golden Bend but still, 610 Herengracht has a ring to it. When I have a son, I want him to have a decent address.'

‘It's a fine site, Jan, and I'll do you a portrait so you'll never be forgotten, by all the Sixes to come.'

‘Thank you, my man; that would make me very happy.'

After we'd returned from Bredevoort I was not sure how to be with him. Not that I saw much of him. I was confused or maybe I was angry but what right did I have? He had not made me any promises. But why take me to Bredevoort if not to ask for my hand in marriage? I tried not to come to any conclusions but they wanted to come to me. I told myself I was not biding my time. But I was. And a mere handful of nights after our return my wait was finally over.

I heard Rembrandt call my name in the middle of the night, so I ran up to his bedroom. He was sitting amongst a tumble of pillows. I put my candle on the little table. ‘I heard you call out.'

‘Oh,' he said, looking at me through half-closed eyes, ‘I think it was a dream.'

I climbed into his bed but sat at a distance. ‘What about?'