ine feeling for masses
of color and problems of light. Though excellent portrait-painters,
Ravesteyn (1572?-1657) and De Keyser (1596?-1679) do not provoke
enthusiasm. They were quiet, conservative, dignified, painting civic
guards and societies with a knowing brush and lively color, giving the
truth of physiognomy, but not with that verve of the artist so
conspicuous in Hals, nor with that unity of the group so essential in
the making of a picture.

[Illustration: FIG. 82.--REMBRANDT. HEAD OF WOMAN. NAT. GAL. LONDON.]

The next man in chronological order is Rembrandt (1607?-1669), the
greatest painter in Dutch art. He was a pupil of Swanenburch and
Lastman, but his great knowledge of nature and his craft came largely
from the direct study of the model. Settled at Amsterdam, he quickly
rose to fame, had a large following of pupils, and his influence was
felt through all Dutch painting. The portrait was emphatically his
strongest work. The many-figured group he was not always successful in
composing or lighting. His method of work rather fitted him for the
portrait and unfitted him for the large historical piece. He built up
the importance of certain features by dragging down all other
features. This was largely shown in his handling of illumination.
Strong in a few high lights on cheek, chin, or white linen, the rest
of the picture was submerged in shadow, under which color was
unmercifully sacrificed. This was not the best method for a large,
many-figured piece, but was singularly well suited to the portrait. It
produced strength by contrast. "Forced" it was undoubtedly, and not
always true to nature, yet nevertheless most potent in Rembrandt's
hands. He was an arbitrary though perfect master of light-and-shade,
and unusually effective in luminous and transparent shadows. In color
he was again arbitrary but forcible and harmonious. In brush-work he
was at times labored, but almost always effective.

Mentally he was a man keen to observe, assimilate, and express his
impressions in a few simple truths. His conception was localized with
his own people and time (he never built up the imaginary or followed
Italy), and yet into types taken from the streets and shops of
Amsterdam he infused the very largest humanity through his inherent
sympathy with man. Dramatic, even tragic, he was; yet this was not so
apparent in vehement action as in passionate expression. He had a
powerful way of striking universal truths through the