Night Guest

— Do not worry, Maestro Rembrandt, — the stranger in the black cloak sitting in the armchair smiled, — I am not your hallucination and not a figment of your imagination. Although, I must note, you work a lot and overwork is felt, and you drank quite a bit yesterday. And now you are sleeping and I am your dream. I am dreaming to you.

— Very realistic, — the artist sat up in bed and looked at the stranger, — perhaps the beer after the "Genever" (Dutch juniper vodka) was superfluous, — and sighing he added, — so I had too much. Well, fine, — he shook his head, — a dream is a dream. Who are you, whom do I have the honor?

— Call me Messire, — the stranger shook his head, — that's what they call me in Europe.

— Wow!

— Rembrandt exclaimed in surprise, — so I am dreaming of Satan himself? This is amusing. To what do I owe the acquaintance with such a powerful and mysterious personality? Although, let me guess. Probably, you want me, like Dr. Faust, to sell you my immortal soul? Did I guess right? And what in return?

— he smiled.

— I don't need your soul, — Voland smirked, — moreover, what kind of soul can an artist have? You, as they say, put it into each of your paintings. And what is left? No, you are interesting to me for another reason, — the Messire stood up from the chair and leaned on his sword.

— A wealthy, successful artist, you have a beautiful new house, a beloved wife, whose next portrait you are painting, you are quite famous in Amsterdam. Is that all correct?

— the Messire smiled, — tell me Maestro, are you happy?

— Yes, — Rembrandt waved his hands, — I am a happy man! Is that bad?

— No, — the Messire shook his head, — that is not bad. That is why I chose you.

— How interesting, — the artist whispered excitedly, — speak quickly. It will be a pity if I wake up and don't find out why Satan himself is interested in me.

— You don't have to worry about that, — the Messire sat back in the chair, — you will sleep exactly as long as I need to lay out the essence of the matter. I hope you do not doubt my capabilities?

— Of course not, — the artist spread his hands, — I am listening.

— To begin with, — the Messire nodded his head, — I will reproduce one painting in your mind, and then we will move on to the essence of the matter.

— What a grandiose canvas, — the artist exclaimed and suddenly changing his face, muttered, — but no, no! I did not paint this! Listen!

— he exclaimed and looked with crazy eyes at the Messire, — what is this? This painting is done in my style, but I did not paint it. And who are these people in strange clothes crowding around the painting?

— Now let's get down to business, — the Messire said calmly and waved his hand. The vision disappeared.

— This is your painting, Maestro, though not yet painted. What you just saw will happen in 350 years, in the 21st century. Over all these years, millions of people will see YOUR painting, many generations will admire it, it will become a world masterpiece. This painting will have a difficult fate, but I will tell you about this later.

— Who are these people?

— the artist licked his dry lips, — whom did I depict in the painting?

— Here, — the Messire raised a finger, — we have come to the main thing. The painting depicts soldiers of one of the six companies of militia shooters. In memory of the visit to Amsterdam by the French Queen Marie de' Medici in 1638, it was decided to commission group portraits of the squads of the Rifle Society of the Civil Defense of the Netherlands. In total, it is planned to order six paintings. Each company will be painted by a different artist, and it depends on you whether you will be one of them. I want to warn you that a great trial is prepared for your fate. If you refuse this commission, you will continue the life of a successful, wealthy, and happy man, you will live your life in peace and prosperity. You will have profitable commissions for paintings, they will be eagerly bought. But if you accept the order and paint this picture, you will become famous all over the world and your name will enter the ranks of the great masters of mankind and your paintings will decorate the most prestigious museums in the world. But this will happen many years after your death, and the irony of fate is that after painting this picture, your life will go downhill and difficult trials await you. In two weeks, Captain Frans Banning Cocq will come with an order for the painting and the choice will be yours. I wanted you to know what awaits you and make your decision. You have two weeks to think everything over well, but keep in mind that after signing the contract, there will be no turning back. The vision disappeared.

— What a dream, — Rembrandt shook his head and finally woke up, — that's it, I won't mix "Genever" with beer anymore! But the painting I saw in my dream, — he smiled, — was good, oh, so good!

— Allow me to introduce myself: Jan Ockersen, klovenier of the rifle company of Captain Frans Cocq and Lieutenant Willem van Ruytenburch, — the messenger tossed his hair and snapped: — Mr. Rembrandt van Rijn! A letter for you from the commander of the rifle company Captain Frans Banning Cocq, personally in your hands.

— So, Mr. Rembrandt, — the captain smiled, — the Council of the Rifle Society of the Civil Militia of the Netherlands has decided to immortalize the faces of the soldiers of all 6 rifle companies of our community, for which different artists are commissioned to paint group portraits to decorate the newly built building of the "Meeting Hall" (Kloveniersdoelen) of the militia shooters in Amsterdam. We want to commission a group portrait of our rifle company and offer you to be its author. The 17 musketeers of our company agree to pay for your work at the rate of 90 guilders each, and 1600 has already been collected (decent money for that time. At today's exchange rate 1 guilder ~ 100€). I am sure that you will paint a picture no worse than Bartholomeus van der Helst, or Joachim von Sandrart. Our shooters represent the unity of the nation, — the captain enthusiastically raised his hand and solemnly proclaimed, — and in the painting, you will have to arrange us in order of rank in all our splendor and with all the attributes of our titles, here, in our usual surroundings, — he smoothly moved his hand, — at the Trillchool military drill school, where we conduct military exercises weekly together with the standard-bearer and drummer. Suddenly, a deafening shot was heard, and a large group of shooters in military gear, with pikes and muskets in their hands, tumbled into the hall with laughter and noise, between whose legs a dog dashed, squealing and barking, playfully trying to bite someone's boot. One of them was waving a flag, another was frantically beating a drum.

— Hey, Jan Leideckers Claesen, — shouted to the shooter blowing on the pan of his smoking musket by a musketeer in a red camisole, — and choking with laughter, he asked, — what the hell were you shooting at? You almost shot off Barent Harmansen's private parts, — and pointed with his pike at the frightened soldier, — and he's getting married in a week. That would have been a fine wedding night! Maybe you wanted to replace him in bed with his bride?

— to general laughter he continued, — is that it?

— Gentlemen shooters!

— the captain shouted sternly, — aren't you ashamed. Quartermaster Jan Adriaensen Keijser!

— he looked at the speaker, — stop this farce. Jacob Joriszoon!

— he turned to the drummer, — the drum is not for beating on it for no reason. Stop making noise. And you, Jan Visscher Cornelissen!

— he looked reproachfully at the standard-bearer, — and an ensign too! Stop waving the flag, this is the company banner, not a rag on a stick. And how did a dog end up in the military drill school? Lieutenant Willem van Ruytenburch to me, — the captain ordered sternly, — immediately! Whose dog is this, Lieutenant?

— he looked questioningly at the approaching officer, — how did it get here? Remove it immediately! We are discussing the subject of our company's painting with Mr. Rembrandt here, and you have started playing games. You'll play until the gentleman artist depicts you in the painting exactly as he sees you now, then you'll know. Do not pay attention, Maestro, — he turned to Rembrandt, — so where did we leave off? Oh yes! The shooters are the embodiment of the nation and it is necessary to depict everyone according to rank. Exactly so! So agreed, do we sign the contract?

— I need to think, — Rembrandt said thoughtfully, — the task is complex and responsible.

— Think carefully, Maestro, — suddenly a voice sounded quietly in Rembrandt's head, — after signing the contract there will be no turning back!

— What is wrong with you, — the captain asked, taken aback, — you have turned so pale, are you feeling unwell?

— It's a bit stuffy here, — the artist came to his senses, — give me the contract. I will sign.

— That is your decision, Maestro, — the voice whispered. Pondering the plot of the painting, Rembrandt lost his peace. A group portrait! A complex and unusual task. In his creative life there was only one painting of this genre: "The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp". It was in the distant 1632, and then he, a young artist, needed to create such a work that people would talk about it. He thought a lot: how could he differ from the countless masters of the group portrait? How could he compete with the fashionable Hals with his canvas "Group Portrait of the Officers of the St. George Civic Guard", or with Thomas de Keyser's painting "The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Egberts"? It is difficult to surpass them in technique, — the young artist thought, — so what then? He reviewed dozens of such portraits, vaguely understanding that something was missing in them. But what? Some are sitting, some are standing, and all look in one direction - at the viewer. Different people, but somehow similar to each other. And suddenly he understood! They have the same facial expression! Faces without emotions and thoughts! They need to be brought to life! They should be surprised, horrified, amazed - they should live! The expression and dynamics of living people make them unlike each other. That was it, what he was looking for. He found his path, his style. How proud he was of himself. And here is luck. An order for a group portrait of a rifle company. Wow, just like the "prophetic" dream he recently had. And the warning in the dream from some strange fellow introducing himself as the Devil himself - that was just wine fumes rushing to his head after drinking a fair amount the day before. And the order is painfully good. Worthy work, and the money is not small, especially since he needs to pay off a serious loan for the house. Now everything will be fine and this work will make him famous. He will differ from other masters, because he knew the secret of the group portrait. No idols! Let his rivals daub "playing cards", but he will depict living people - cheerful, clumsy, frightened, awkward, but alive. As relaxed as he accidentally saw them when signing the contract at the Trillchool military drill school. These cheerful musketeers, "dying" of laughter from an accidental shot from a musket by an awkward militiaman. And the dog? How it will freshen the plot, breathe life into the painting! He will depict how the captain summons his company to defend the city and gives an order to the lieutenant for a general assembly. Rembrandt was full of enthusiasm, plans and hopes. He was happy. How wrong he was... this was the beginning of the end.... Because of constant arguments with the customers, the work went hard and very slowly. Some wanted more resemblance, dissatisfied that they did not recognize themselves, others - that they be put in the foreground. Some made a scandal, saying they paid for their images, and Rembrandt painted them far away, in the shadow, that they stand in the picture sideways, as if turning, and they were outraged that the artist included other characters who did not pay to be in the painting. And no matter how the artist explained to them that it was impossible to depict a crowd out of 18 people, there were too few people for this, and to show life and movement, he had to add 16 more characters, including children and a dog. But every day someone ran into the studio and asked for something, everyone was dissatisfied, you see, they wanted it to be "beautiful and similar"! Some even asked to return their contribution for the painting, saying their faces were almost invisible. Rembrandt threw down his brush several times, but the plot captivated him and he took up the work again. Nobody liked the painting, except the captain, who is depicted right in the center, in all his glory. Even the lieutenant was dissatisfied, offended by the shadow from Cocq's hand on his groin. And no matter how the artist explained to him that this emphasizes the play of light and shadow, and that he meant nothing else, the lieutenant did not want to understand and was furious. They announced a boycott of Rembrandt, stopped making orders, spread fables about him. The painting was not yet finished when misfortune struck... Beloved wife Saskia fell seriously ill and in a few months literally "burned out" from tuberculosis at the age of 30. Their son Titus was only one year old. Rembrandt was in despair and could not part with his beloved without immortalizing her for the last time. He moved her body to the studio, where she was for 6 days and during this time he painted the luminous, kind face of Saskia among the crowd of shooters. Having buried his wife, he continued to work. The painting did not bring him success. When "The Shooting Company of Frans Banning Cocq and Willem van Ruytenburch" (that's exactly how Rembrandt named his painting), was presented with great pomp to the members of the civic guard, an overwhelming silence was followed by an explosion of rage and indignation from those present. They said that "the work is monstrous", that the Civic Guard had commissioned a group portrait, but Rembrandt had demonstratively violated all generally accepted rules of portrait painting. They told him to his face that the work was terrible, and that no one perceives the painting "as serious art"! The customers turned away from him and Rembrandt ceased to exist for Amsterdam society. After this disgrace, the artist no longer painted pictures for sale. The money quickly ran out, numerous blows of fate rained down. All of Rembrandt's property was put up for auction, there were no orders, then the sudden death of his son Titus from the plague, which became the main devastating blow, and subsequently the death of his common-law wife Hendrickje. All these misfortunes completely destroyed his life. So Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn, whom marriage to Saskia and successfully completed orders once made a successful artist, a happy man and a rich man, rolled to the very bottom of life. Lightning flashed, snatching from the darkness a large balcony on which two figures in black cloaks could be seen, one sitting with a sword in a chair, the other standing respectfully nearby.

— I love this place, — the seated one said quietly, — not for nothing did the great Leonardo da Vinci paint his "Mona Lisa" exactly here, and he knew how to choose landscapes. Look, Azazello, at this deserted area, the snow-capped mountain peaks, lakes, the winding streams of the Arno River, over which the Remito bridge is so picturesquely thrown.

— Yes, Messire, — the one standing next to him answered quietly, — you are right, very beautiful.

— I hear notes of sadness in your voice, — rising from the chair, the first one pronounced, — confess, are you tormented by the question why we are here now, and not next to him? Isn't that right?

— One cannot hide even thoughts from you, — Azazello bowed his head, — yes, this question torments me. I thought that in these minutes, when the Maestro is departing to a better world, we would be by his side and brighten up the last minutes of his life.

— You are a poor judge of character, — the Messire shook his head, — especially of artists. Yes, Rembrandt leaves this mortal world in utter poverty, forgotten, abandoned by everyone and will be buried in a beggar's grave like Mozart. But he crosses over into the world of immortality, the world of great artists of whom all humanity is proud. He himself consciously chose this path and now does not need consolation.

— I understand, — Azazello nodded his head, — but another question gives me no peace. Why did you come to him in particular? What is the reason for your choice of this particular artist?

— Why Rembrandt?

— the Messire thoughtfully pronounced, — he was interesting to me. I always wanted to understand the soul of an artist, — and frowning, he continued, — and he was a perfect object - wealthy, successful, respected. He had everything for a happy life. And suddenly such a turn of fate, an order for this painting. Fortunately, a person does not know what awaits him in the future and resolves the issue spontaneously, as he considers right exactly now. But it was important for me to know what decision he would make knowing that with his present happy and secure life he could lose and risk all this well-being for the sake of future, very illusory fame as an artist after his death. He made his decision, — the Messire sat back in the chair and placed his sword on his lap, — and he needs no consolation. And his soul, together with his beloved wife Saskia, has long been in the best of worlds.

— How so?

— Azazello was amazed, — please, explain.

— Yes, my friend, — the Messire shook his head, — even you didn't notice this, not to mention ordinary people. For hundreds of years there will be arguments why Rembrandt included some female image in a painting depicting a company of soldiers. It is absolutely clear that this is a portrait of his beloved wife Saskia, but she is depicted in such a way that light falls on her, moreover, she herself radiates it, and so brightly that the viewer involuntarily pays attention to her. And two more details: a goblet in her hand and the carcass of a white rooster on her belt. So, this girl with a woman's face is the key to the entire canvas. In order to understand what the Maestro wanted to tell us, — the Messire smiled, — we must look closely at his painting "Self-Portrait with Saskia", painted in 1635. Pay attention, at this time success accompanied the master, he has a proud look, a daring smile, the temperamental gesture of his hand holding a GOBLET! Pay attention to the splendor and luxury of his costume - a black velvet wide-brimmed hat with a white ostrich feather pulled down on one side, an elegant camisole trimmed with golden-red fur, from which the very wide sleeves of a bright red shirt stick out, and we seem to hear Rembrandt's deep voice proclaiming a toast to happiness, life, and beauty. How he looks like some dandy, his eyes are laughing, there is enthusiasm, fun, passion in them. As an artist, he was prone to artistic associations and in love games he imagined himself as a proud, beautiful bird, with a colorful beautiful comb, rich earrings and colorful tail plumage, possessing his beautiful and elegant "hen" and was happy...

— He could not part with her in any way, — the Messire shook his head sadly, — and painting her last portrait, as a memory of their beautiful former life, he placed a goblet in her hand, and his soul, in the form of the carcass of a dead rooster, he hung forever on her belt.

— He is here, — Azazello's voice came from the darkness, — as you requested.

— Mr. Artist!

— the Messire said quietly.

— Having violated all human and church canons, I allowed myself, for a short time, to bring you back from the "Realm of Eternity", so that you could see what you sacrificed your well-being, family happiness and career for. I am your debtor, because it was you whom I chose as the object of my research, so I wanted to return my debt. Azazello!! The light flashed brightly, illuminating a huge, richly decorated hall with high vaulted ceilings, decorated along the perimeter with colorful tapestries. On one of the walls, between the marble columns, hung a huge canvas.

— My painting, — Rembrandt groaned, — "The Shooting Company of Captain Frans Cocq and Lieutenant Willem van Ruytenburch", — and he added dully, — my pride and my curse.

— Yes, — the Messire nodded his head, — this is your painting, only today it has a different name - "The Night Watch".

— How is that?

— the artist asked in bewilderment, — why "The Night Watch"?

— Allow me, — the Messire rose from his chair, — to briefly outline to you what happened to the painting after your departure to the best of worlds. At first, the painting was placed in the "Great Hall" of the civic guards in Amsterdam. After the disbandment of the militia companies, in 1715 it was moved to the building of the City Hall, but since it did not fit between the columns of the room due to its large size, it was cut on three sides, which led to the loss of two characters on the left side.

— Those were Jacob Dircksen de Roy and Jan Brugman, — Rembrandt sighed, and added maliciously, — although it's not much of a pity. They spoiled so much of my blood with their complaints, saying they were in the "backyard" of the painting and poorly visible... Serves them right! But wait, here they are, although..., — he exclaimed, peering at the canvas, — no, no, this is not my brush!

— The painting was restored based on a copy of Gerrit Lundens's work, which was made by him before the cropping, — the Messire explained, — well, and then it was painted over by other artists. Now about the name. The painting was named "The Night Watch" 200 years after it was painted. All these years it hung in different halls where smoking tallow candles were used for lighting, fireplaces for heating. Over time, it was covered with a thick layer of soot and grime, which is why the background darkened greatly, so they decided that the action takes place at night and named the painting "The Night Watch". And only in the middle of the 20th century the canvas was cleaned and it was found out that the author painted it on a sunny day, but the name stuck and they decided not to change it.

— Well, of course, — an excited Rembrandt interrupted him, — I painted the picture during the day, because to emphasize the play of light and shadow, I used the light of the sun.

— This was found out relatively recently, — the Messire continued, — but that's not all. It was barbarously attacked three times. Both cut with a knife and doused with acid...

— My God!

— unable to contain himself, the artist exclaimed in despair, — for what? Why did they do it? My painting!

— Do not worry Maestro, — the Messire reassured him, — the vandals were punished and every time it was carefully restored. Now for the main thing. Right now, 370 years since the creation of your masterpiece, Maestro, we are in the art museum of Amsterdam, which is one of the twenty most visited museums in the world. The main place in the museum's exposition, — he looked at Rembrandt, — is given to your "Night Watch", to which this beautiful hall is dedicated. Every year more than two million people look at your painting, — he approached the artist, — can you imagine Maestro?

— two million! But that's not all. In this museum there are several more halls with your works and you can see with your own eyes what interest they arouse among enthusiastic descendants. A little patience and what you dreamed of your whole life will happen.

— I have no words, — Rembrandt shed a tear, — but I would like to walk among the people myself, see their faces, hear what they are talking about, how they discuss my painting. Is this possible, or are you afraid that I will be seen?

— Nothing is impossible for me, — the Messire answered, — and they cannot see you, as you are in different dimensions with them. If you please, you may go. Azazello!! The hall, filled with a multilingual public, resembled an anthill in its chaotic nature. All eyes of the audience were directed at the painting. Some examined it silently, others, pointing at the painting, spoke quietly and discussed some details among themselves, but they were all united by a genuine interest in the "Night Watch". Rembrandt looked intently at the people, peered into their faces, trying to catch their conversations and suddenly exclaimed:

— Saskia!

— and reached out his hands towards a pretty woman looking at the painting in an antique wide-brimmed red hat with an ostrich feather and with tears in his eyes, quietly repeated, — this is my Saskia!

— Yes, Master, — the voice of the Messire sounded, — this is Saskia. I wanted you to meet here, so I brought her back from the "Realm of Rest". But you can only communicate from afar, and if you touch her, both of you will instantly return to where you came from, and you, Maestro, will forever lose the opportunity to see the triumph of your creativity, what you dreamed of all your life. Decide, you have little time.

— Look, Messire, — Azazello whispered, — he is getting closer and closer to her. They met eyes and she smiled at him. What is he doing?

— he exclaimed, — that's it, they disappeared!

— Yes, — the Messire shook his head, — they returned to the "World of Rest", they returned home, — and smiling he added, — that was your choice, Master, that was again your choice! The Messire turned to the painting and looked at it closely.

— That's it, Azazello, — he said thoughtfully, — we are leaving. I received an answer to my question and understood that even the most outstanding Masters, in life remain simple people! And nodding towards the painting, he smiled: "Damn it, how beautiful it is after all"!