Nightwatching

Blind him!

Fornicator!

Gouge out his eyes!

Dauber!

Scratch out his eyes!

Ah! I can't see!

I can't see!

Fuck!

Where's the light?

I'm blind. I'm blind!

I'm blind! Oh!

My eyes...

My eyes!

Open your eyes, you fool!

Stop fooling!

Stop your shouting! - Who is shouting?!

- A blind man shouting! A blind man shouting!

- Who will listen to a blind man shouting?!

Blinded.

Darkness.

Miles...

...and miles...

Fuck. And miles...

of... painted darkness.

Lit by spasms of light.

If you're lucky.

Open your eyes, you fool!

Miles and miles...

...and miles...

...of painted darkness.

Emptiness.

Silence.

Are you all right?

Oh!

Oh! Oh, God!

Was that only a nightmare?

Have I-I-I... Have I woken up?

I've been seeing the night. I was watching the night.

I was looking...

into Darkness.

Darkness without ending. I was watching Darkness.

I was...

watching... the night.

I was nightwatching.

You were only dreaming.

- I am blind. Do I at least look blind?

You were having a nightmare.

Can I, in fact, see...

you, Hendrickje? Hmm?

Red-blooded Hendrickje?

Ah?

You see, I know... I know your blood is red.

Do I remember - your eyes are blue?

I suspect your piss is yellow! - Be quiet.

Let me get you something to drink.

How would you describe...

colour?

Hmm?

If you were blind?

Hendrickje...

describe the colour red to...

to a blind man.

You just did.

It's the colour of blood. - Red is thick to touch.

If you could not tell what it was by its colour,

you could tell what it was by its touch.

Red is touchable.

And it's warm.

And when it grows cold, it crusts over.

What is yellow?

The sun?

Yellow smells.

It's... it's the smelling colour!

- Yellow is thinner than red. It's more transparent.

Yellow moves.

Red is static and becomes solid.

Yellow always moves.

Yellow could be...

a liquid.

New beer.

Urine.

Piss.

It doesn't smell so bad to begin with.

Then it smells ugly.

- Get dressed. We're all waiting for you.

Ineke's pregnant.

Again?

You have milk in your beard.

- Why again? I haven't got a proper beard.

Because Claus is insatiable.

Then you should grow a beard.

Successful men wear beards. - Sanza,

pick up your doll. - I want to be insatiable...

and wealthy.

Then grow a proper beard.

You are insatiable.

You could be wealthier.

- Hendrickje, stop singing. - Oh, no. Let her sing.

It's good for the baby.

How would you know?

- Hendrickje, you're dripping all over the floor.

- And what else is good for my baby?

Milk.

Gallons of fresh milk, from a Friesian wet-nurse.

- Well, if Saskia's not breastfeeding,

we shall have to have Hendrickje breastfeeding.

Rembrandt, don't be vulgar.

Poor girl isn't a woman yet.

Besides, I shall have enough milk to make cheese.

Saskia, don't be vulgar.

There are students present.

- Students are here to learn and earn us money.

- You mustn't feed him yourself. - Of course

I'm going to feed him myself. Geertje, you're old-fashioned.

We are living in the 17th century.

Women in the 17th century are allowed to smoke, write,

correspond with Descartes, wear spectacles,

insult the pope, and breast-feed babies.

- If you can find a man to pay for the first and poke you up

for the last. - Geertje, that's enough.

- Geertje's not old-fashioned. She wears breeches

between her legs and garters below her knees.

- And how do you know that, Hendrickje Stoffels?

- Because she's a very observant girl.

Saskia, what have you got there?

My accounts...

"Contemporary women are permitted to smoke, write...

Correspond with Descartes,

wear spectacles, insult the pope,

and breast-feed babies".

- And conduct business with men of substance.

- Oh, I'm a man of substance. - Mm. Visscher has a list.

- Oh... He has 12 officers interested.

No, I'm not going to do it.

- Yes, you are. At 60 guilders each.

- No, I'm not. Anyway, that's too low a price.

Yes, you are,

and it's 720 guilders.

I'm not. I'm busy.

"Ecce Homo" till May.

"Washing of the Hands" till June.

"Saint Veronica" by August.

- You have such devoted supporters.

- And then print editions of the same.

- With golden angels. I need to find a golden angel.

Ah-hah.

You are modelling Magdalene.

- There was no record of her being pregnant.

Perhaps Hendrickje can be an angel?

- Are you pregnant, Hendrickje? - Angels should be innocent.

What, even in the 17th century?

But I-I-I am innocent.

- Painting soldiers will make me blind.

Blind and fingerless.

Both my father and my brother had their fingers blown off

by the Dutch artillery -

and not by being shot at, but by shooting at!

Rembrandt.

- And painting repetitious rows of smiling part-time soldiers

is boring

and certainly bad for the eyes.

Not one of them's ever fired a musket in anger,

though all of them claim to have pulled

the King of Spain's fucking beard!

Here's our captain, Piers Hasselburg,

and our lieutenant, Jean Egremont.

Van Rijn.

They tell me your father was a miller.

Well, so was mine.

We are people of the wind.

- That is always blowing in contrary directions.

- Taking good advantage, I am sure,

of where we sail. - How we sail.

- And making sure we can sail back.

With profitable returns.

Oh!

I thank you, sir.

Do not mention it, Madame.

I am a soldier, but my father is - was -

a flower merchant in Paris.

But now, when Amsterdam is not besieged by Spaniards,

my business interests, Madame,

are flowers.

Mm... Miller,

flower-merchant, soldier.

You see how the Republic goes downhill?

- But now, we have an opportunity.

- An excuse for a grand celebratory group portrait.

- This time, on the occasion of the arrival in Amsterdam

of Mary Stuart, daughter of the King of England.

When monarchies are in trouble,

they send their females begging.

- The King of England is in serious trouble

of losing his throne to his parliament.

His daughter is here in Amsterdam

trying to arrange loans.

- And to pawn the Royal English jewels.

Oh, sounds desperate.

- No, no. She understands, and we understand,

that there are many here in Amsterdam