(阿姆斯特丹，1645年)你又出现了，就像现在一样。观察你自己，就像你在你不可信的优势地位中观察你自己一样;没有了丝绒和羽毛，把你的新处境交给命运，把你的信念交给岁月的筛子。与此同时，伦勃朗·范·莱恩，你现在怎么样了?以前或多或少在城市风景方面颇有名望，曾是画家。你又来了，你可以看到，你的肩膀上没有比一个人更可爱的装饰品了?S头吗?年代你的。赞美上帝，因为你拥有这一切;因为你现在需要它，我的朋友，从现在起;因为在你眼前或即将出现的阴影和模糊，可能比你曾经画过的更糟糕，因为在阿姆斯特丹受伤的荷兰人找不到他们的五十弗罗林，他们感到困惑和不幸的轻蔑?你那崭新的金色的影子使他们兴奋不已，或者看到，当上帝创造色彩和光明时，他所创造的不仅仅是一件事，或者相信影子并非虚无。 Saskia said, Before she died, how they would swear at you, And in commiseration at themselves. She laughed a little, too, to think of them? And then at me.? That was before she died. And I could wonder, as I look at you, There as I have you now, there as you are, Or nearly so as any skill of mine Has ever caught you in a bilious mirror,? Yes, I could wonder long, and with a reason, If all but everything achievable In me were not achieved and lost already, Like a fool?s gold. But you there in the glass, And you there on the canvas, have a sort Of solemn doubt about it; and that?s well For Rembrandt and for Titus. All that?s left Of all that was is here; and all that?s here Is one man who remembers, and one child Beginning to forget. One, two, and three, The others died, and then?then Saskia died; And then, so men believe, the painter died. So men believe. So it all comes at once. And here?s a fellow painting in the dark,? A loon who cannot see that he is dead Before God lets him die. He paints away At the impossible, so Holland has it, For venom or for spite, or for defection, Or else for God knows what. Well, if God knows, And Rembrandt knows, it matters not so much What Holland knows or cares. If Holland wants Its heads all in a row, and all alike, There?s Franz to do them and to do them well? Rat-catchers, archers, or apothecaries, And one as like a rabbit as another. Value received, and every Dutchman happy. All?s one to Franz, and to the rest of them,? Their ways being theirs, are theirs.?But you, my friend, If I have made you something as you are, Will need those jaws and eyes and all the fight And fire that?s in them, and a little more, To take you on and the world after you; For now you fare alone, without the fashion To sing you back and fling a flower or two At your accusing feet. Poor Saskia saw This coming that has come, and with a guile Of kindliness that covered half her doubts Would give me gold, and laugh? before she died. And if I see the road that you are going, You that are not so jaunty as aforetime, God knows if she were not appointed well To die. She might have wearied of it all Before the worst was over, or begun. A woman waiting on a man?s avouch Of the invisible, may not wait always Without a word betweenwhiles, or a dash Of poison on his faith. Yes, even she. She might have come to see at last with others, And then to say with others, who say more, That you are groping on a phantom trail Determining a dusky way to nowhere; That errors unconfessed and obstinate Have teemed and cankered in you for so long That even your eyes are sick, and you see light Only because you dare not see the dark That is around you and ahead of you. She might have come, by ruinous estimation Of old applause and outworn vanities, To clothe you over in a shroud of dreams, And so be nearer to the counterfeit Of her invention than aware of yours. She might, as well as any, by this time, Unwillingly and eagerly have bitten Another devil?s-apple of unrest, And so, by some attendant artifice Or other, might anon have had you sharing A taste that would have tainted everything, And so had been for two, instead of one, The taste of death in life?which is the food Of art that has betrayed itself alive And is a food of hell. She might have heard Unhappily the temporary noise Of louder names than yours, and on frail urns That hardly will ensure a dwelling-place For even the dust that may be left of them, She might, and angrily, as like as not, Look soon to find your name, not finding it. She might, like man