The mother of Rembrandt knew that in Leyden there were men who painted
beautiful pictures. She had seen these pictures at the University, and in
the Town Hall and in the churches; and she had overheard men discussing
and criticizing the work. She herself was poor and uneducated, her
husband was only a miller, with no recreation beyond the beer-garden and
a clicking reluctantly off to church in his wooden shoes on Sunday. They
had no influential friends, no learned patrons--the men at the University
never so much as nodded to millers. Her lot was lowly, mean, obscure, and
filled with drudgery and pettiness. And now some one was saying her boy
Rembrandt was lazy; he would neither work nor study. The taunt stung her
mother-pride--"He will do nothing but make pictures!"

Ah! a great throb came to her heart. Her face flushed, she saw it
all--all in prophetic vision stood out like an etching on the blankness
of the future. "He will do nothing but draw pictures? Very well then, he
shall draw pictures! He will draw so well that they shall adorn the
churches of Leyden, and the Town Hall, and yes! even the churches of
Amsterdam. Holland shall be proud of my boy! He will teach other men to
draw, his pictures will command fabulous prices, and his name shall be
honored everywhere! Yes, my boy shall draw pictures! This day will I take
him to Mynheer Jacob van Swanenburch, who was a pupil of the great
Rubens, and who has scholars even from Antwerpen. I will take him to the
Master, and I will say: 'Mynheer, I am only a poor woman, the daughter of
an honest baker. My husband is a miller. This is my son. He will do
nothing but draw pictures. Here is a bag of gold--not much, but it is all
good gold; there are no bad coins in this bag; I've been ten years in
saving them. Take this bag--it is yours--now teach my son to paint. Teach
him as you taught Valderschoon and those others--my memory is bad, I can
not remember the names--I'm only a poor woman. Show my boy how to paint.