the aim of Rembrandt to paint the foulest things he could see--by
rushlight...."

Had Ruskin, one wonders, ever seen _The Syndics_ at Amsterdam, or the
_Portrait of his Mother_, and the _Singing Boy_ at Vienna, or _The Old
Woman_ at St. Petersburg, or the _Christ at Emmaus_ at the Louvre, or any
of the etchings?

The time came when the child was allowed to visit the National Gallery
unattended; but although he never lost his affectionate awe for the two dim
interiors, he did not really begin to appreciate Rembrandt until he had
reached manhood. Rembrandt is too learned in the pathos of life, too deeply
versed in realities, to win the suffrages of youth. But he was attracted by
another portrait in the National Gallery--that called _A Jewish Rabbi_.
This was the first likeness he had seen of a Rabbi, a personality dimly
familiar to him through the lessons in church and his school Scripture
class. Remembering what his mother had told him about _chiaroscuro_, he
noted how the golden-brown light is centred upon the lower part of the
face; how the forehead is in shadow, and how stealthily the black hat and
coat creep out from the dark background. He had never seen, and never could
have imagined, such a sad face. This Rabbi seemed to be crouching into the
picture as he dimly understood that Jews in all ages, except those who
owned diamond mines in South Africa, had cringed under the hand of their
oppressors.

He wondered how Rembrandt knew what a Rabbi was like. His father might have
told him that Rembrandt's pencil and brush were never idle, that he was for
ever making pictures of himself, of his father, of his mother, of his wife,
of his children and relations, of every interesting type that came within
the ken of his piercing eyes; that one day, when he was prowling about the