Nightwatching Page #11

- Call in his debts.

Nobody can stand a debtor

in Holland.

- Destroy his livelihood.

- Blind him.

He can have an accident.

- Burn the bloody thing!

- No, no, no, we sew him up!

- Ruin him.

- He's very susceptible to women.

- Humiliate him.

- Disgrace him.

- The reformers will not

commission a fornicator.

- The Amsterdam Calvinists

think sex with a woman

is like kissing a sh*t bucket.

(laughter)

- In five years,

he'll be forgotten,

crawling back to Leiden

to hide away

among his father's flour sacks.

- And when he's gone,

we can get rid of the thing.

Take it down for cleaning,

never put it back.

Roll it up.

Lose it somewhere.

- We, uh...

we have a suggestion.

- This is me with Geertje.

She's a professional widow,

all c*nt and arse

and thrusting tits.

The slut.

The delightful slut.

Doesn't wash.

Smells like a sailor,

talks like a sailor.

- I'm a trumpeter's daughter.

Bomp-baa-dee-da!

Hold my trumpet.

Blow my trumpet.

Let me blow your trumpet.

See?

Mm.

He's crying.

- Leave him.

It'll do him good to cry a bit.

- No, it won't.

Go and fetch him.

- He's stopped.

- She was a dry wet-nurse,

so to speak.

No children of her own.

Never had.

Her husband had died

years before.

We always thought

she had a lover

in the military depot at Amstelveen.

(baby crying)

She'd been around in my house

for years,

a sort of slightly grumpy

midwife-servant,

and Saskia liked her.

They both came from Leeuwarden,

they spoke Friesian together,

Titus took to her.

And then one night,

several months

after Saskia died...

I saw her undressing

in the scullery to wash,

and...

was...

gripped...

by the sight of garter marks

on her calves.

So...

pirouette around a bit.

Show me how you dance.

Can you dance a little?

- You show me.

(Rembrandt laughing)

- I don't dance.

I'm a short, stocky...

plump sort of a man.

I don't dance.

- We all noticed.

A miller's son.

No better at bottom than me.

- It's true mills

and trumpets both need wind.

Wave your arms around.

Like a mill.

- Like this?

- That's not bad.

That's good.

Hmm.

Stand... on the other foot.

- Everyone's an excuse

for a painting.

- What better excuse

can you think of?

For everyone.

For anyone?

Here.

Try this.

(sniffing)

- It smells.

- It's beaver.

- What's a beaver?

- North American water-rat.

- What's this all for?

What are we going to do...

you and me?

After we've posed?

And danced?

We are the soldiers

Of Amsterdam

We are the soldiers

of Amsterdam

- She had been married before,

to a soldier.

She knew all the tricks

he had taught her.

She practised them on me.

My brother is a soldier

Who plays the trumpet

And my husband is a bugler

Every night I hid my prick,

my head, myself, in her.

If my prick was not in her c*nt,

it was in her arse, her mouth.

If it was in none of these places,

it was in her hand.

I was distracted...

for hours...

every night,

to escape...

thinking...

of missing you, Saskia.

Ahhh!

(Geertje moaning)

(Rembrandt climaxing noisily)

I was obsessed

with Geertje's body.

(groaning)

I wanted to paint myself

as a transgressor.

(panting)

I was in another drunken,

ribald, sticky country.

(grunting)

(panting)

Stay still.

Don't move.

Let me draw you.

- No!

- Stay still!

I'll give you the drawing.

- Then why do it?

(Rembrandt panting)

- For the pleasure of drawing.

For the pleasure...

of seeing you

nicely humiliated.

For the pleasure

of me humiliating you

and you letting me.

For the pleasure...

of me acknowledging...

my transgression,

that is surely part...

of what we do together.

Master... servant.

- I look after Titus.

- Well, so you do!

(Geertje giggling)

Geertje! Geertje!

- Let me look at it!

(laughter)

- Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!

- I could not,

of course,

let anyone else

envy... my enjoyment.

- Empty bed?

- The child, Marieke, is in labour.

- Who is that?

- She's in disgrace.

- Her face is damaged.

- Someone went out of the way

to destroy her good looks.

She used to have

such a pretty face.

- Pretty face...

and still...

has a handsome body.

- Then she will likely be

a good candidate for me.

Someone so disadvantaged

is going to work very hard

to please.

I would enjoy that.

Perhaps

you would like to join me?

Half the price,

double the pleasure.

- She's Kemp's daughter.

- A private room...

for three, then,

Mistress... Rombout Kemp.

- Shh. We are not supposed

to call me that.

- One for you...

(coughing)

- For those poor orphans

more unfortunate than you,

Marita.

- One for my friend...

and one for me.

- No lice, no dogs,

no crabs, no peepers.

- Mirrors, hot water,

clean sheets, ribbons.

- Straps,

a towel,

a comb,

a razor,

a knife,

candles...

...a pair of scissors.

- Beer, spirits,

and...

a Bible.

- Oh!

(wailing)

(panting)

- I was a soldier's daughter,

and a soldier's wife.

(Rembrandt exclaiming)

I was reared for soldiery.

- You make me think the worst

of your husband

and your father.

- The very worst you can think of...

is perhaps the least important

of what I would be called upon

to perform.

(panting)

(moaning)

And in your imaginings...

...you have left out a brother,

and a brother-in-law!

(gasping)

When they all found out

that I could not bear children,

their lust increased...

...for they never could

be frightened

that their excesses

would be discovered.

I saw three ships

go sailing by

I can smell the sea.

(baby crying)

Can you smell my ship? Hmm?

The Leaden Weight?

That was a stupid investment,

wasn't it?

Your mother

would've told me better.

Marieke!

And where are all your babies?

- I live with Rombout now.

- What?!

(baby crying)

- I'm his scullery maid.

I come back

to see where I was happy.

I come up here most nights

when he has finished with me.

We had a baby.

It didn't have any legs...

...my father's baby...

and it died!

(baby wailing)

- Come here, little chicken.

Life is tough.

(crying, sniffling)

Unfair.

Imperfect.

Brutish.

Disappointing.

And unbearable.

And there is no justice.

And there never will be.

Shh...

(Rembrandt singing softly):

I saw three ships

Go sailing by

Sailing by sailing by

I saw three ships go sailing by

At half past 3:
00

in the morning

- I liked me in that painting.

I still wear Saskia's earrings

when I come up here.

I'd like to see me

in that painting again.

Though Rombout says

I shouldn't look.

He says it's an evil painting.

I don't think so.

I was very happy with you.

- Jesus, Marieke!

Marieke! No! No!

I saw three ships go sailing by

(baby crying)

Sailing by sailing by

I saw three ships go sailing by

At half past 3:
00 in the morning

- Enough.

- You've changed.

- Such intense distraction,

it wears itself out.

I'm bored of being your victim.

You began to glory in bringing

me so close to the ground,

till my nose is shovelling

in your sh*t.

- You were once not so unhappy

to be there!

- You're right. It fitted

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