An Encounter with Rembrandt Out walking, not a mile from home I met old Rembrandt face to face (a most desirable man) and spoke to him of death.
The attraction lay in his self-knowledge bitterness behind him, disappointments forgotten a limitless ease remained on view welcoming me in.
When I tried to explain who I am I became so confused he politely refused my offer to sit for him saying it seemed his sight had failed.
As we parted I remembered, quite suddenly, that the man who’d crated his portrait (the one I was looking at) and labelled it ‘To Kenwood House on Hampstead Heath’ had suffered on the same day a quite distressing attack of toothache and had to have four teeth extracted without an anaesthetic.
I thought later probably I’d imagined the whole episode.
On the other hand the man’s existence is certain.
One of two poems by Cicely Herbert in this issue.