Nightwatching Page #6

- If I am not,

then I can paint any man

to look like a gentleman.

Indeed, such is the nature

of painting

that I can paint

even a prick like you

to look like a gentleman,

and as such,

any man to look like a painter.

(clanging)

- If you want to be a military man,

you have to sweat a little!

It's not all drinking

and costume and whoring.

Now, here look,

if you want to get in

to be in a military...

- Sit still.

Hold this.

- You must not look

at Marita's face.

If you do,

she will run away and hide.

She did that last week

and we found her up a chimney.

- What happened to her face?

Straighten your arm.

- Kemp did it.

- Rombout Kemp?

- He caught her...

with her dress above her head

with Horatio,

who had his thingy

between her legs.

He said

that she was very, very wicked.

So he threw the pot

of scalding water in her face,

to stop her being a temptation,

he said.

- My God! That's terrible.

How old is Horatio?

- He's 13.

He's going to be a soldier.

He can fire a musket,

though he doesn't know

really how to.

And he loves me.

We are going

to run away together.

To New Amsterdam.

Manhattan Island.

In America.

- Rembrandt is asking us

to be stand-ins

to a collection

of rich merchants' sons

playing at soldiers!

When have they ever

fired a shot in anger?

- When are they ever likely

to fire a shot in anger?

Bought commissions,

bought titles,

and bought uniforms.

They ought to be shot,

all of them.

- Maybe that's what they

have started doing already.

- Bang, bang, bang!

Hasselburg is dead.

- I used to trade bulbs

from Turkey.

That's how I started,

but the bottom fell out.

Now it's carnations

from Alexandria.

Just as versatile as tulips.

Just as colourful.

Just as variegated.

(voice echoing in pail):

Just as decorative.

Ma.

Ma.

And they smell.

Tulips never smelt.

Except when they went bad,

but it's not the same.

The market's all right,

but not brilliant.

You could buy them off me,

if you like.

I'll give you...

a goodish price.

Hmm? Hmm?

Where the hell have you been?

Hey! Look at that!

What do you think? Huh?

Do you think I look and feel

like a flower-seller?

(with French accent):

From Paree?

A Huguenot

escaping from the pogroms?

Like Descartes hiding

from being a French soldier,

living incognito in Amsterdam,

learning to be Dutch -

double Dutch, even!

Trying very hard indeed

to assimilate,

like all foreigners.

What do you think?

- I think you're a fake,

Bloemfelt.

(exclamations)

I saw you at the theatre

the other evening,

and not in the audience,

on the stage.

You're an actor.

- Oh!

- And I know your moustache

to be fake, too.

And this, of course,

is not your house, is it?

I mean, this is Egremont's house.

- Mm...

Till he gets back.

I'm looking after it for him.

(all chuckling)

- Well, well, well,

all is not as it seems,

is it, Bloemfelt?

I mean, shall I paint you

as the flower merchant

Bloemfelt?

As the actor Bloemfelt?

As the pretend soldier

Bloemfelt?

Or as Lieutenant Egremont?

- I should do

as you normally do, Rembrandt.

Your paintings

are always full of actors

posing and stalking about.

And like all actors,

you're always peering in a mirror

to see how you look.

All the world's a stage,

eh, Rembrandt?

You're going to put us all

on a stage in your painting?

(music)

(laughter)

- Oh, it's wonderful.

You did it at last.

Oh, you do listen.

- Thank you!

Let me kiss you.

(baby fussing)

- Where did you get it?

- I walked to Jaffa,

I got a camel to Jerusalem,

I climbed Mount Ararat.

(Saskia laughing and coughing)

Yes, I sailed

the whole Sea of Galilee.

- Where did you get it, really?

- No, that would be telling.

- Oh, look it's beautiful!

Oh, I want to be buried in it!

- What?

Tatty and moth-eaten by then.

Pieter sold it to me.

He says it's from Cadiz.

- Where's Cadiz?

- I dunno.

- Fetch the globe!

Where is Cadiz?

(laughing)

- Hello.

Come on! You must all sit

on my magic carpet.

- Well, with all of us on it,

it won't fly away.

(laughing)

- Come on, bring your wine.

Sit here and here.

Balance it and stop it tipping.

- Feet, feet, feet, feet, feet.

- Rembrandt, hurry up.

- All right, all right.

- If you don't sit down,

we'll fly away,

and you'll be left behind!

- I'm checking the filth.

- Up you get.

- Oh, me coccyx.

(grunting)

- So where is Cadiz?

- Well, I have to say,

it's in the Keizersgracht.

- What?

- Mm-hmm.

- In Amsterdam?

- Well, I said to Pieter

to get me a Turkish carpet for you,

and he knew

that Banning Cocq's father

lived for several years

in Alexandria and Jaffa,

and he had a collection.

So we did a deal.

"Pontius Pilate

Washing His Hands"

for the Dutch Turkish carpet,

courtesy of the Cocqs.

- There was surely

a hidden meaning there.

- I would say so!

(laughter)

- That family is full of secrets

and conspiracies.

- Titia, how do you know that?

- The biggest public secret

is that Captain

Frans Banning Cocq,

Lord of Whatever,

is hopelessly in love

with Willem van Ruytenburch,

Lord of Whatever.

- Oh! What?

That little runt? F***!

(laughter)

- Titia!

How on earth do you know that?

- Has our little Willem

got his promotion, then?

- Apparently his father

was somewhat peculiar

in that direction as well.

Too many years

going native in Arabia,

where he shared certain favours

with a bailiff.

- Or a "caliph."

- A caliph, like you!

(laughter)

- Well, I don't care.

I like this carpet very much.

- Good, good.

- So does Titus.

He just sicked up on it.

- Oh, Titus!

- Well, that's it, christened then.

We can't turn it back now.

If Titus thinks it warrants

his vomited breakfast,

then that's it. Settled.

(indistinct chatter)

(laughter)

- Yes, the English say

the Dutch...

are getting taller all the time.

- That seems not to be the case,

though,

with little Willem.

Do you think?

- Little?

Little?

You think Willem is little?

Do we look

so different together?

Well, maybe if...

Well, if you...

dress him in yellow and white -

hmm -

with a tallish hat

and perhaps a feather,

and I'm dressed darkish,

maybe in black, like this,

that would compensate a little,

don't you think?

But I mean we don't want

to look like a bride and groom,

now, do we?

(chuckling)

You're hearing me, Rembrandt?

- Oh, you're making all your negatives

sound to me like positives.

I think I'm hearing you very well.

- Oh, good, that's very good.

So perhaps you might be

the excellent man for the job.

But, um...

...there is my brother-in-law,

Andries de Graeff, to remember.

That business

of the returned painting

wasn't very good,

was it, Rembrandt?

We understood he, uh...

We understood he threw

the glove at you, so to speak.

A challenge,

so to speak?

You know, he tends to be

touchy and tetchy, I suppose.

- Well, it's not too late

for you to change your mind,

and I would hate to have

to sue you for non-payment,

like your brother-in-law,

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