armed, whether they are going to practise
shooting, or on parade, or what; but, as there is no matter here for the
deeper mysteries, I am persuaded that if Rembrandt has failed to be more
explicit it is because either he did not wish or he did not know how to
be, and there is a whole series of hypotheses that might be very simply
explained by some such matter as inability or intentional reticence. As
for the time of day (the most vexed question of all and the only one,
moreover, that could have been settled when first it arose), for fixing
that we have no need to discover that the Captain's outstretched arm
casts a shadow upon the skirt of his coat. It suffices to remember that
Rembrandt never treated light otherwise; that nocturnal obscurity is his
habit; that shadow is the ordinary form of his poetic feeling and his
usual means of dramatic expression; and that in his portraits, in his
interiors, in his legends, in his anecdotes, in his landscapes, and in
his etchings, as in his paintings, it is generally with night that he
makes day.

It is agreed that the composition does not constitute the principal
merit of the picture. The subject had not been selected by the painter,
and the manner in which he intended to treat it did not allow of its
first sketch being very spontaneous, nor very lucid. Therefore the scene
is indecisive, the action almost null, and, consequently, the interest
is greatly divided. From the very beginning is betrayed an inherent vice
in the first idea, and a kind of irresolution in the manner of
conceiving, distributing, and placing it. Some men marching, others
standing still, one priming his musket, another loading his, another
firing, a drummer who poses for the head while beating his instrument, a
somewhat theatrical standard-bearer, and, finally, a crowd of figures
fixed in the requisite immobility of portraits,--so far as action is
concerned, these, if I am not mistaken, are the sole picturesque
features of the painting.

Is this indeed sufficient to give it the facial, anecdotal, and local
feeling that we expect from Rembrandt when he paints the places, things,
and men of his time? If Van der Helst instead of seating his
arquebusiers had made them move in any manner whatever, do not doubt
that he would have given us the truest if not the finest indications of
their ways. And as for Frans Hals, you may imagine with what clearness
and order, and how naturally he would have disposed the scene;