dealers in curios. As long as he was making money no one cared for more
than the interest, but now the principal was demanded. So sure had
Rembrandt been of his powers that he did not conceive that his income
could drop from thirty thousand florins a year to scarcely a fifth of
that.

Then his relations with Hendrickje Stoffels had displeased society. She
was his housekeeper, servant and model--a woman without education or
refinement, we are told. But she was loyal, more than loyal, to
Rembrandt: she lived but to serve him and sought to protect his interests
in every way. When summoned before the elders of the church to answer for
her conduct, she appeared, pleaded guilty and shocked the company by
declaring, "I would rather go to Hell with Rembrandt Harmens than play a
harp in Heaven, surrounded by such as you!"

The remark was bruited throughout the city and did Rembrandt no good. His
rivals combined to shut his work out of all exhibitions, and several made
it their business to buy up the overdue claims against him.

Then officers came and took possession of his house, and his splendid
collections of jewels, laces, furniture, curios and pictures were sold at
auction. The fine dresses that once belonged to Saskia were seized: they
even took her wedding-gown: and wanton women bid against the nobility for
the possession of these things. Rembrandt was stripped of his sketches,
and these were sold in bundles--the very sweat of his brain for years.
Then he was turned into the streets.

But Hendrickje Stoffels still clung to him, his only friend. Rembrandt's
proud heart was broken. He found companionship at the taverns; and to get
a needful loaf of bread for Hendrickje and his boy, made sketches and
hawked them from house to house.

Fashions change and art is often only a whim. People wondered why they
had ever bought those dark, shadowy things made by that Leyden artist,
What's-his-name! One man utilized the frames which contained "Rembrandts"
by putting other canvases right over in front of them.

Rembrandt's son Titus tried his skill at art, but with indifferent
success. He died while yet a youth. Then Hendrickje passed away, and
Rembrandt was alone--a battered derelict on the sea of life. He lost his
identity under an assumed name, and sketched with chalk on tavern-walls
and pavement for the amusement of the crowd.

He died in Sixteen Hundred Sixty-nine, and the expense of his burial was
paid by the hands of chari