ary, it is always conducive to his
purpose."

"Conducive to his purpose!" There is much virtue in those four words.
Rembrandt probably knew as well as anybody that his lighting of a picture
was not a facsimile of the lighting of nature, or rather not the
chiaroscuro as seen by the average eye; but he had an aim, a vision before
him, and he did not hesitate to interpret that vision in his own way. Who
dares to say that Rembrandt was disloyal to nature? Our concern is not what
we should have done, but what Rembrandt did, seeing with his own eyes. And
the questions we should ask ourselves are:--Is the interpretation of the
world as seen through his eyes beautiful, suggestive, profound, and
stimulating? Does the statement of his personality in paint add to our
knowledge, educate our aesthetic perceptions, and extend our horizon by
showing us things that our imperfect vision does not see except through
him?

[Illustration: A YOUNG WOMAN IN A RED CHAIR HOLDING A PINK IN HER RIGHT
HAND

1656. The Hermitage, St. Petersburg.]

Comparisons are not only odious, but foolish. No sensible critic attempts a
comparison between Titian, Velasquez, and Rembrandt. He accepts them as
they are, and is grateful. But even the most obscure of mortals may have
his preferences, and a curious chapter in the lives of individuals who
have concerned themselves with painting would be the bewildering way in
which the pendulum of their appreciation and admiration has swung backwards
and forwards from Titian to Velasquez, from Velasquez to Rembrandt, and
sometimes back to Titian. It is often a question of mood.

There are moods when the regal abundance, the consummate craftsmanship of
Titian, the glow and splendour of his canvases, the range of them from _The
Man with the Glove_ in the Louvre to the _Bacchus and Ariadne_, force us to
place him on the summit of Parnassus. We are dazzled by this prince of
painters, dominating Venice at the height of her prosperity, inspired by
her, having around him, day by day, the glorious pictures that the genius
of Venice had produced. We follow his triumphant career, see him courted
and feted, recognise his detachment from the sorrow and suffering of the
unfortunate and unclassed, and amid the splendour of his career note his
avidity for the loaves and fishes of the world. Unlike Rembrandt, fortune
favoured Titian to the end. His career was a triumphal progress. We stand
in that small room at the Prado Museum at