Some day I intend to write a book entitled, "The Evolution and
Possibilities of the Anatomy Lesson." Keep your eye on the subject--we
are not yet through with it.

Swanenburch offered to give Rembrandt a room in his own house, but he
preferred the old mill, and a wheat-bin was fitted up for a private
studio. The fittings of the studio must have cost fully two dollars,
according to all accounts; there were a three-legged stool, an easel, a
wooden chest, and a straw bed in the corner. Only one window admitted the
light, and this was so high up that the occupant was not troubled by
visitors looking in.

Our best discoveries are the result of accident.

This single window, eight feet from the ground, allowed the rays of light
to enter in a stream. On cloudy days and early in the mornings or in the
evenings, Rembrandt noted that when the light fell on the face of the
visitor the rest of the body was wholly lost in the shadow. He placed a
curtain over the window with a varying aperture cut in it, and with his
mother as model made numerous experiments in the effects of light and
shade. He seems to have been the very first artist who could draw a part
of the form, leaving all the rest in absolute blackness, and yet give the
impression to the casual onlooker that he sees the figure complete. Plain
people with no interest in the technique of art will look upon a
"Rembrandt," and go away and describe things in the picture that are not
there. They will declare to you that they saw them--those obvious things
which one fills in at once with his inward eye. For instance, there is a
portrait of a soldier, by Rembrandt, in the Louvre, and above the
soldier's head you see a tall cockade. You assume at once that this
cockade is in the soldier's hat, but no hat is shown--not the semblance