The Anatomy Lesson Read Online Free Page B

cartographer of his amateur anatomy—is drowned out by an eruption of shouting voices at a nearby meat stall. A boy guiding a drove of sheep shoves past the men, cursing them for blocking the way. Visscher shakes his head in disapproval.
    “These men are too much like the beasts they handle,” he declares. “I have no business here; I must not tarry. Do not worry about your ticket to the anatomy. I will get it for you and meet you there. We will count on you tonight, then.”
    “Yes, I appreciate that,” Descartes answers. “Yes, of course, until tonight.” He bows low before the Dutchman, who is already making his way down the lane.
    THE EYES
    Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn is meanwhile in the studio in his painting academy on the Sint Antoniesbreestraat, examining a bolt of linen he bought this morning from a sailcloth merchant by the wharves. He is impressed; it is a strong, smooth, fine weave, though he will need to cut it down to the size of canvas he intends to paint. It’s a vast amount of fabric for a single painting—a much larger piece than he’s ever used before—and it was a huge disbursement.
    Usually, he’d have bought two strips of ticking and joined them together using a slightly thicker ground, and saved those guilders, but he doesn’t want any faint lines to mar the continuity of this particular work. It is the biggest commission he’s received since he’s been in Amsterdam, some six months already, and he can’t afford to let the little things destroy its promise.
    The bells are ringing in the Zuiderkerk, just across the Oude Schans. It’s a reminder that the liefhebbers will be arriving at any moment for their weekly studio visit with the master. This is yet another one of the tedious requirements of his new station as the master of Uylenburgh’s academy. He must appear to be pleased and courteous when these moneyed art lovers come to traipse around his studio; he must kiss their gloves and smile and bow, in hopes that someday they might deign to buy a painting.
    It’s infuriating to the painter. He took this position in Uylenburgh’s academy, thinking he’d sell better in this art-loving city than in his mill town of Leiden. As it turned out, joining Uylenburgh’s studio wasn’t exactly an appointment. He had to “lend” his dealer a thousand guilders to become an “investor” in the business.
    He recently learned, too, that he wasn’t technically allowed to work as a master in Amsterdam, because of city regulations that prohibited outsiders from joining the Sint Lucas Guild, the artists’ guild. To keep a painting practice in the city, he had to work for a studio for a minimum of two years. In this sense, he is indentured to Uylenburgh for the time being until he can get his own membership in the guild.
    In the meantime, Uylenburgh is taking 50 percent of every commission fee in exchange for “studio overhead, guild membership, room and board, and connections.” And he still needs to pay for materials out of his own purse? Rembrandt feels queasy thinkingabout how much money he’s laid out for all these supplies, between the sailcloth and the minerals.
    At least some of the money from the group portrait should start to roll in later this week. Four members of the guild have already posed for their portraits, Tulp and two more are scheduled for sittings, and an apprentice, Jacob Colevelt, has been in negotiations with Uylenburgh about joining the group. At a hundred guilders a head for the ordinary members plus one hundred fifty from the central figure, Dr. Tulp, he calculates to himself, he’s due at least eight hundred fifty guilders, or maybe nine hundred fifty if Colevelt joins in.
    “Tomas, come help me lift this bolt,” he instructs one of his apprentices, who is preparing the ground for the painting, using a recipe from Italy, with a great deal of red ocher, that called for rabbit skin glue. The rabbit was slaughtered at dawn and the fat extracted from its skin.