bitter sadness, as if it were
a place of torment, and that he created the woods to hide his gloom in
their shade. The soft light of Holland is the image of his soul; none
felt more exquisitely than he its melancholy sweetness, none
represented more feelingly than he, with a ray of languid light, the
smile of a suffering fellow-creature. Because of the exceptional
delicacy of his nature he was not appreciated by his fellow-citizens
until long after his death.

Beside a painting by Ruysdael hangs a picture of flowers by a female
artist, Rachel Ruysch, the wife of a famous portrait-painter, who was
born toward the close of the sixteenth century, and died, brush in
hand, in the eightieth year of her age, after she had shown to her
husband and to the world that a sensible woman can passionately
cultivate the fine arts and yet find time to rear and educate ten
children.

And as I have spoken of the wife of a painter, I simply mention that
it is possible to write an entertaining book on the wives of Dutch
artists, both because of the variety of their adventures and the
important part they play in the history of art. The faces of a number
are known already, because many artists painted their wives'
portraits, as well as their own and those of their children, their
cats, and their hens. Biographers speak of most of them, confirming or
contradicting reports which have been circulated in regard to their
conduct. Some have hazarded the opinion that the larger number of them
were a serious drawback to their husbands. It seems to me there is
something to be said on the other side. As for Rembrandt, it is known
that the happiest part of his life was the time between his first
marriage and the death of his wife, who was the daughter of a
burgomaster of Leeuwarden, and to whom posterity owes a debt of
gratitude. It is also known that Van der Helst at an advanced age
married a beautiful girl, for whom there is nothing but praise, and
posterity should be grateful to her for having brightened the old age
of a great artist. It is true that we cannot speak of all in the same
terms. Of the two wives of Steen, for example, the first was a
featherhead, who allowed the tavern at Delft that he had inherited
from his father to go to ruin; and the second, from all accounts, was
unfaithful. Heemskerk's second wife was so dishonest that her husband
was obliged to go about excusing her peculations. De Hondecoeter's
wife was an eccentric and trouble