Nightwatching Page #2

Your ambition does not sound

to be so very patriotic.

- Patriotism is a currency

of fluctuating value

in the marketplace.

The Dutch abroad

are not the Dutch at home.

- You could go to England.

You must know the King of England

owns a portrait of your mother.

- My son, Carl.

- Ah.

- His mother

collects your paintings.

My son collects your prints.

- My mother bought

the "Stoning of St. Stephen"

that you painted in Leiden.

- Uli! Ahem.

I hear I'm charging 80

a full-length now?

Would that be to give yourself

a useful profit?

- Come on, Rembrandt,

be more gracious.

I recommended you.

I am an honest businessman,

even in my dishonesty.

If I benefit -

and it's for me to say how

and for you to find out -

you could benefit too.

Push up your price.

- Inclusive or exclusive of your fee?

- Well, I obviously don't expect

extras from you.

Those days are over, I think.

I feel, I know, I'm sure...

- Cousin, you promised me

a man of talent,

and as you can see,

I now have him.

He lives in my kitchen.

With servants from Leeuwarden

all around him.

I have his replica in my belly.

- Saskia!

- And you promised after

you trapped him with my smile

and my body as bait...

- Saskia, Saskia...

...that I would think of you,

and I was certainly

to think of myself.

Rembrandt therefore left you,

through me,

on your recommendation.

You benefited...

from this little provincial

for eight profitable years.

Time enough

to make a little fortune.

Now it's my turn...

to make a little fortune,

for my son.

And I believe

you still owe us money.

- Saskia.

- Rembrandt,

allow me to introduce

Rombout Kemp,

our sergeant.

You may know him as the Keeper

of the Resselwart Orphanage.

- Van Rijn.

We are neighbours

in the Breestraat.

How about making a contribution

to the orphanage?

We have many new children,

orphaned by the Spanish wars.

- Then I think

they must all be touching 30.

- Hmm.

The governing body is now six.

Perhaps as a neighbour

you might like to join us,

a man of means

doing charitable works,

and we may need

a group portrait soon

to remind us

of our responsibilities.

Perhaps we could remind you

of your responsibilities.

(dogs barking)

- I, Rembrandt,

will be your commanding officer.

Are you ready, Mr. Painter?

Then aim...

...fire!

(gunshot)

(crowd exclaiming)

- Rembrandt!

Oh, what's happening?

- Oh, she's fainted!

Fetch some water!

Can you hear me?!

Saskia! Saskia!

Never again! Saskia!

- Look at this.

Bloody burghers.

Gawking and smiling.

Poncing and posing.

I can do better than that.

- There's Benjamin.

He had a most desirable wife.

Dimples and curls everywhere.

- He couldn't sit still.

He had a bladder complaint.

We had to keep the chamber pot

by his chair.

They all look so stiff.

- They all look like conspirators.

- Or worse -

thieves, pickpockets.

Child-molesters, murderers...

- His head's too big.

- Well, maybe the painter

wanted you to say that.

He didn't like him

or approve of his character,

so he made him absurd.

Not enough to spoil

his own reputation,

of course,

but certainly enough

to spoil his.

Legitimate painter's armoury.

Flatter, praise,

insult, abuse, accuse.

- Accuse?

Are you going to do the same?

- I might. It depends.

- On what?

- The price,

the state of our friendship,

the angle of the light,

the smell of his armpits,

the beauty of his wife,

whether I've eaten or drunk,

whether, indeed, I am drunk,

does he know Titian,

has he been to Cadiz,

does he have big feet?

Context, context, context.

- God,

I'd like to watch you

do those things.

I really think

you ought to do it.

- You do?

Well, the boy says

I should do it.

Then I'll do it!

(laughter)

No, I won't.

At least, not for nothing.

I want 100 guilders for a full-length,

half the money up front.

Now, how much did van der Helst

get for this one?

- 2, 3, 6, 7, 8...

full-lengths at 100.

2, 3, 6, 7...

half-lengths at 50.

2, 4, 6, 8...

nine heads-and-shoulders at 25.

Which is 1,375.

- Not bad.

- Well, he should've subtracted 100

for that stale duck,

50 for the vulgar drinking-horn,

and 25

for that dried-up vegetation.

- Hello!

Looks like

they're making certain

that you don't have a choice,

Rembrandt.

Ah, they've already reserved

you a space,

Rembrandt.

You have been named.

- I want to draw everyone

beforehand.

That's essential.

And I'm not doing long rows

of pompous faces,

but anyway, I have other

things to do first,

and I want nine months.

Human gestation period.

If it takes that long

to make a baby,

it will certainly take that long

to make a painted army.

- It doesn't take that long

to make a baby.

Ten seconds, at the most.

- For you, maybe,

but for me, with the right

dimples and curls,

five seconds.

- Ah.

(laughter)

- This is me with Saskia.

Saskia van Uylenburgh.

Hendrick Uylenburgh's cousin.

Now, Hendrick was my dealer

and patron for eight years.

How was she?

Well, she was

my dealer's cousin,

and the three of us knew

what we were doing.

A business proposition.

Keep it in the family,

so to speak.

A dynastic marriage.

Twenty when I met her.

I was... 25.

I admit that I was, at first,

not so much taken with her.

A little insipid, I thought.

And she was also hoity-toity.

An accent.

At least from where I stood.

She smirked a great deal.

She kept eating almonds,

which she hid

in a pocket somewhere.

Maybe in her underwear,

close to her skin.

And...

and perhaps

that excited me a little.

Out of her armpit...

into her mouth.

We met for the first time

in a church.

The Old Church, Amsterdam.

You don't normally think

of armpits in a church.

Her first question

she ever asked me

was how the mills

were turning in Leiden.

- So how do the mills turn

in Leiden?

- Cheeky cow.

I said, "Well enough.

As well as they turn

in Friesland.

The wind blows in Leiden

as much as it does

in Leeuwarden,

or, for that matter,

out of any miller's arse,"

and she smirked again.

So I could see

it was going to be possible

to share a dirty joke with her.

God, she had big feet.

And, I must admit,

the most delightful,

tight little arse.

We married,

and it worked.

We rousted about.

Did she love me?

Hmm...

I don't know.

Did I love her?

I don't know.

She was more like a relative

I had known all my life.

Perhaps even like a... sister,

but legitimate in bed,

so to speak.

How do babies grow

in your family?

- Like tulips.

- Let's make a baby.

- Very well.

- Very well?

What's that mean?

- No more than it says.

- Get Geertje!

- Let me look!

- No, you don't want to look!

Geertje?!

- Let me draw you.

- No.

- Then let me stay.

- You must go!

This is a private time.

No drawing or painting!

Now, what the hell am I,

just an excuse

for a bloody drawing?!

- How can it be a private time?!

It's our child! We made it!

- I and my stretched

and bloodied private parts

are not just an excuse

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