Original subtitles

Turn from the light.

Your breast bare.

Look into the dark.

To my mind,

there are some paintings that impress one with a conviction

that they represent not merely the imagined shapes and characters

conceived in the mind of the artist,

but scenes or faces or situations that have actually existed.

There is in one strange picture that intangible something

which stamps it as just such a representation of reality.

It's a remarkable work by the Dutch painter Schalcken.

He was a pupil of Gerrit Dou,

who had been in his turn a student under Rembrandt van Rijn.

Schalcken worked in the city of Leiden in the 1670s,

and this example of his work

is in a remarkably good state of preservation.

You see a chamber in what might be some antique religious building.

The foreground occupied by a female figure in a white robe.

In her hand, a candle, by which alone her figure and face are illuminated,

and her features wear such an arch smile

as well becomes a pretty woman

when she is' engaged in some charming trickery of her own device.

In the background, the figure of a man

dressed in the old Flemish fashion,

in an attitude of alarm,

his hand placed on the hilt of his sword

which he seems to be in the act of drawing.

The rest, total shadow,

except that the dim light seems to define in the darkness

some form.

My great-grandfather knew the painter well,

and from Schalcken himself

he learned the terrible story behind the picture.

You will observe from the first the distinction between this painting,

typical of the later work of Schalcken,

and the cool, measured and exactly balanced style of Flemish art,

for which he must have been prepared as a student under Gerrit Dou.

And it is in his studio in Leiden in the year 1665 that our story begins.

Gerrit Dou's

exquisitely detailed and minutely executed paintings

had justly earned him his great reputation.

They had also all but destroyed his sight.

From the age of 30, we know that he had gone progressively blind.

Perhaps the mantle of romance

does hang a little ungracefully on the form of Godfried Schalcken.

History records him, in his later years,

as a boorish man of great ambition, foul temper and few manners.

Eventually, he was to fade into obscurity,

under the shadow of his more famous master.

His education under Dou was traditionally formal and academic.

But his later work, which I promise you will see and remember,

seems to have its roots in some private world of dreams,

perhaps never otherwise expressed.

The niece and ward of the wealthy Master Dou

was not yet betrothed.

Although if tradition speaks truth,

she had all the charm of the fair light-skinned Flemish maidens.

This was Rose Velderkaust.

Miss Velderkaust, I...

Er... still-life drawing.

One hour. Begin.

Of course, at this time, Godfried Schalcken was a poor student,

with no advantage of position or birth.

Nothing, in short,

that could possibly induce Gerrit Dou to look favourably

on any love match with his niece.

The temptation of St Anthony.

St Anthony. Temptation.

Devils. You will imagine the devils.

Begin.

Mm.

Stop.

Tomorrow morning.

Miss Velderkaust, I have no money

but I can work to a competence and a reputation.

Miss Velderkaust,

I have to tell you that I have thought of little else but you...

Forgive me, but I must know if...

if you could...

if you could come to...

If you also might...

In short, Godfried Schalcken was in love.

As much as a Dutchman can be.

Schalcken, you may stay this evening.

We dine at seven.

Mm.

I believe I know your intentions, Schalcken,

and I pride myself I can well understand them.

Next week you shall begin to paint in oils.

Your drawing is quite adequate.

Thank you, Master Dou.

Good night to you, Schalcken.

God damn it.

Damn the picture, damn the devils, damn the saints.

Damn the lot of them to hell.

Mm.

Tell Gerrit Dou

that Minjheer Vanderhausen of Rotterdam

desires to speak with him tomorrow evening at this same hour,

and, if it pleases him, here in this house.

May I say what...

A matter of some weight! That is all.

Vanderhausen.

Vanderhausen.

Of where?

Rotterdam.

Vanderhausen of Rotterdam. Never heard of him.

Did he say a portrait?

He said only a matter of some weight.

Mm. A portrait. Or one of those poor relations to be apprenticed.

Well, there's no one in Rotterdam to leave me a legacy.

Mm.

- He said at seven? - By the clock of the Stadhouse.

It had just struck seven when I saw him.

Vandergeldt...

Vanderhausen.

Well, there's no one in Rotterdam...

...to leave me any money.

Ah. We'll have His Worship presently, if he means to keep his hour.

Ah. I have the honour to address Minjheer Vanderhausen of Rotterdam?

- The same. - Mm.

I await the command of Your Lordship. Bid Your Lordship welcome.

- Is this a man of trust? - Hm?

Oh, most certainly. My pupil Godfried Schalcken.

Then let him take this box

and ask a goldsmith to value its contents.

Mm.

You visited the town of Rotterdam four months ago.

In the church of St Laurence I saw your niece Rose Velderkaust.

I desire to marry her,

when you are satisfied that I am wealthier than any husband

you could imagine for her,

you will close this proposal here and now.

I wait for no calculation or delay.

Sir, I...

I... I do not doubt your position.

However you must be aware that the girl has a mind of her own.

I mean, she may not agree to what we design for her,

even something so much to her advantage.

Do not seek to deceive me, painter.

She is your property.

She will become mine if you like to make her so.

She has no choice.

Well, you are a testy old' gentleman lo be sure,

but you may be as rich as you say.

I'll not pledge myself unnecessarily, however.

You will not pledge yourself unnecessarily, Gerrit Dou,

but you will do so when you find it is necessary.

When you are satisfied as to the value of my gold,

you will here and now sign your name to this engagement.

The heavy box was filled to the brim

with gold coin of an antiquity and of a probable value

that Schalcken could never have conceived in his wildest imaginings.

Perfect.

Not one grain of alloy.

Perfect.

Are you content, Gerrit Dou?

I... I would have a day, sir.

- Not an hour. - Oh.

I am content.

Then sign, for I am weary.

Let the boy write his name in witness.

I will visit you tomorrow night, Gerrit Dou,

to see the object of our contract.

Of course Dou knew nothing

of the attachment between Rose and his best pupil.

Even if he had, it is doubtful whether he would have regarded it

as any serious obstruction.

Marriages were matters of traffic and calculation.

The unfortunate girl was simply the object of a contract.

My eyes aren't what they used to be, Rose,

but they're good enough to see

that pretty face of yours will make your fortune.

No. Ha-ha.

Believe me, girl, you will soon be standing at the altar.

Hm.

Now, make the large room ready by seven o'clock.

Tell Frans supper on the hour.

I expect a friend,

a very rich friend,

so do you trick yourself out handsomely now.

The painter, however, did not communicate to his niece

the important step he had taken on her behalf.

Not that he anticipated opposition,

but rather that, if she had made any enquiry about her destined bridegroom,

Dou would have had to admit that he hadn't yet clearly seen his face.

Ah, welcome, Minjheer, welcome.

I have the honour to present my niece, Rose Velderkaust.

You know my pupil, Godfried Schalcken.

Minjheer Vanderhausen of Rotterdam.

Ha-ha. Er... please be seated.

Ah, we are most honoured.

This is most, um...

Hm. Ha-ha.

Ah.

Ah, Rotterdam...

Yes.

Oh, Uncle, what a terrible creature!

I could never look on that face again for all the wealth of the states.

You're a foolish child!

A man may be as ugly as the devil but if his heart is good

he's worth all the perfumed puppies that walk the Mall.

Uncle, he is hideous.

Do you remember that old wooden figure in the church of St Laurence,

when I was a child and we went to Rotterdam,

and I was so afraid of that face I could not take my eyes from it?

It was really him. Did you see his hands?

Oh, be quiet! I've signed the contract.

I have no sentimental scenes to describe,

no exquisite details of the cruelty of a guardian,

no agonies or transports of lovers.

The record I have to make is one of heartlessness, nothing more.

The contract was signed,

and settlements made even more splendid than Dou ever dreamed of.

Godfried, it must be soon. We have less than a week.

Soon?

There is nowhere in Leiden. They would know where to find us.

Perhaps it will not happen.

You have seen the contract. My uncle will keep faith.

Then it will be his doing. I have nothing to keep us.

You will not let me go to that creature?

I will work, Rose.

In the future I will buy back the contract.

I will buy it back double.

And so the wedding day dawned

and Godfried Schalcken saw the prize carried off by his monstrous rival.

For two or three days,

Schalcken absented himself from the school.

Then he returned to work, if with less cheerfulness,

with far more dogged resolution than before.

And bit by bit, the impulse of love gave place to that of ambition.

The months passed and, contrary to expectation and agreement,

Gerrit Dou heard nothing of his niece or her worshipful husband.

He had grown so uneasy

that he sent Schalcken to journey to Rotterdam

and to satisfy himself as to the comfort and safety of Rose.

Schalcken had left not a house in the Boomquay untried,

but no one had ever heard of the rich Minjheer Vanderhausen.

'Eventually he tired of what now seemed an impossible commission. '

Now, you need not pledge yourself unnecessarily, Minjheer,

but you will do so when you find it is necessary.

Hendrijke!

One carriage is much like another,

and yet, even in the darkness, this one,

most strangely encountered outside the church of St Laurence itself,

recalled for Schalcken the fateful morning

when Rose had left her home forever.

Did you carry a wedding party from the home of Gerrit Dou in Leiden?

Yes, Minjheer, in the early summer.

And after the ceremony?

The old man came out and took a carriage back to Leiden.

I waited an hour and no one else left the church.

The light was failing, mist coming down.

So, I went into the church to find them.

There was no one inside.

No one?

When I came back out to the carriage, I looked inside.

I found this... on the seat.

There's enough silver in it to pay for the fare ten times over.

And you had no impression where they might have gone?

None, sir. I've never seen them since.

- Can I carry you somewhere, sir? - No, I'll walk.

I have myself seen this curious little painting.

It has already passed through several private hands.

Like other small canvases by Schalcken,

it seems to draw upon elements of a peculiarly personal nature,

and yet with no apparent foundation in what we know of the life of the painter.

In all the paintings I have seen, I have remarked a strange distance

in the relationship of the human figures therein.

Contacts made only perhaps by the expected conventions

and courtesies of polite society,

or by commercial transaction.

Sensuality without warmth, without passion.

Trappings that are ornate and lovely,

and yet set in a darkness

that the faltering lamplight or candle flame

never seems capable of penetrating.

Vandenberg.

180 guilders.

The vanishing of Rose Velderkaust those many years ago

was a continuing grief to the aged Dou.

He felt most strongly that he had been defrauded,

and he did not know why.

In order to dispel his loneliness, for he could no longer work,

he continued to keep close company with his now famous pupil.

Vanboger.

Vanboger?

120 guilders.

120 guilders.

They ask for the work of Gerrit Dou and they pay 120 guilders?

More than they pay for mine.

Rightly so.

It's a matter of reputation and experience.

I'm known in England now!

They should pay more.

Oh!

Rose!

Rose? Is it Rose?

Wine! Give me wine, quickly, for God's sake.

Oh!

Oh! Food! Give me food!

Find me a minister of God.

I'm not safe till he comes.

Send for him quickly!

Oh, God, that he were here now!

I must never be left alone.

I am lost forever if you leave me.

The dead and the living can never be one.

It is forbidden.

The dead and the living can never be one.

No, he is here already!

Look! Look where he goes!

Oh, please.

Please do not leave me.

If you would save me, never leave me alone, not for a moment.

He is here.

Rest to the wakeful, sleep to the sleepwalkers.

Oh.

It is dark. The darkness is unsafe.

Give me light.

Bring light!

Bring light!

What is it?

It is Lesbia weighing in the balance her jewellery against her pet sparrow.

What's it mean?

It's only a story.

May I suggest a new introduction

which I am convinced will please Minjheer.

No. Hendrijke.

I would like you only to see the new girl.

A lovely unspoilt creature,

whose family have regrettably fallen on hard times,

and to whom I have promised

I will introduce only the most cultivated of our visitors.

- Hendrijke. - Very good, Minjheer.

So fond of you, Minjheer, our Hendrijke.

And perhaps next time you will meet the lovely Rose from Rotterdam.

Madame?

- The new girl... - Ah.

I knew Minjheer could not resist.

Rose?

What is it today, Minjheer?

Mary Magdalene.

She's in the Bible.

And the artist Pygmalion,

when he saw how the women around him seemed to be made of stone,

hard like flint,

determined he would fashion for himself a statue

lovelier than any woman born.

He stood at the altar at the feast of Venus, praying, 'I ask for... '

He didn't dare to say the ivory maiden.

'One like the ivory maiden. '

And when he returned, he went straight to the statue.

She seemed warm.

The ivory lost its hardness as he touched her breast with his fingers.

Mary Magdalene?

Pandora.

Who's Ceres?

The face of the artist here becomes the gloating satyr

who spies on beauty but does not possess it.

The classical and mythological subjects

in which Schalcken at this time indulged himself

and, I presume, his rich patrons,

seem to me characterised by mawkish sentiments

or a calculated eroticism that often verges on the absurd.

And yet, at the same time, and perhaps privately,

he created a series of female figures by lamp and candlelight

who confront the viewer

in a direct, sometimes coquettish, attitude of invitation,

perhaps even of challenge.

I've never before fully understood this obsession

until I became acquainted with the narrative I am now passing on to you.

In his late 30s,

Schalcken married a girl from a rich merchant's family.

Her name was Francoise van Dimen de Breda.

She was several years his junior.

Although her social position did not perhaps fully realise

Schalcken's expectations -

by now his own reputation was considerable -

still, she was a reasonable match,

not untutored in the manners of polite society,

and adequately trained in the household arts.

Yes?

Do I have the honour to address Godfried Schalcken?

Yes, Minjheer, I am Schalcken.

It is a great pleasure, Godfried Schalcken.

I have seen your work in the house of the Burgomeister of Rotterdam.

I compliment you upon it.

I have come to ask if you will paint a portrait of my daughter.

I had conceived it with my daughter at play,

on the eve of her birthday, before entering into womanhood.

A pleasing background, perhaps my own drawing room,

and in the foreground her favourite doll.

Doll?

She is very attached to the doll.

I no longer paint portraits to commission, sir.

Perhaps in the future,

but I have work on another theme at present, one of my own.

I know it, sir.

I should be honoured to speak with you about it.

I have seen few more haunting scenes

outside the work of Rembrandt van Rijn, and Gerrit Dou.

Dou no longer paints.

You were his pupil?

I'm my own man, Minjheer.

I do not copy Dou. Nor do I paint portraits to order.

Ah, you need not pledge yourself unnecessarily, Godfried Schalcken,

but when you see the value of my commission

I think you will find it is necessary.

Hm.

Schalcken.

Godfried Schalcken.

Gerrit Dou later faded into obscurity,

under the shadow of his more famous pupil.

Gerrit Dou had died in 1675.

Schalcken went alone to the funeral,

which, in spite of Dou's celebrity, was not well attended.

He returned from the church of St Laurence

far later than expected that night,

and with a demeanour that seemed to reflect some inexpressible anguish,

spoke not a single word to his household,

but went straightaway to his studio, where he remained until the morning.

It was only years later that Schalcken first spoke of the events of that night.

He'd been left alone

in the church of St Laurence, after the funeral party had dispersed.

As he walked quietly,

alone with his thoughts in the darkened building,

he'd been overtaken by the drowsiness of intense cold

in that vast and empty chapel of stone.

Some impulse; stronger than mere curiosity,

led him to the door of the church vaults.

To his dying day,

Schalcken was convinced of the reality of the vision he had witnessed,

and he left behind this picture as testimony to it.

But look more closely,

and remember his last terrible meeting with Rose Velderkaust.

If you recall, the painter had fainted dead away

at whatever apparition she had presented to him.

Here he has painted the observer, himself,

in the act of drawing his sword

as if to defend himself against the powers that were threatening him.

A self-portrait, perhaps?

Perhaps also a little self-deception?

Godfried Schalcken went to his grave in November 1706,

and, apart from the story I have told you, which was passed down

through the mouths of my father and his father's father,

there is no other record of this mysterious romance

in the life of Schalcken the painter.