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Updated: May 26, 2025
What took them possibly two minutes took me twenty, but in the end I succeeded in setting and trimming it, and with the steering-oar in my hands hauled on the wind. "There lies Japan," I remarked, "straight before us." "Humphrey Van Weyden," she said, "you are a brave man." "Nay," I answered, "it is you who are a brave woman."
Neither the Libri Teutonici, published by Ruysbroeck's followers, nor the great paintings of the brothers Van Eyck, Van der Weyden and Memling, suggest for one moment the laxity of morals prevalent at the time and revealed by the writers of the Chronicles.
It was at this time that I was approached by Leach. I had just finished tallying the skins of the last boat aboard, when he came to my side, in the darkness, and said in a low tone: "Can you tell me, Mr. Van Weyden, how far we are off the coast, and what the bearings of Yokohama are?"
The purpose of the musical chimes to which I had so artlessly listened was to usher in this fruitless interval. The regulation was absolute, and my disappointment relative, as I have been happy to reflect since I "looked up" the picture. Crowe and Cavalcaselle assign it without hesitation to Roger van der Weyden, and give a weak little drawing of it in their "Flemish Painters."
Van Weyden," was Wolf Larsen's command. As we drew nearer, the firing ceased, and we saw that the fight was over. The remaining two boats had been captured by our five, and the seven were grouped together, waiting to be picked up. "Look at that!" I cried involuntarily, pointing to the north-east. The blot of smoke which indicated the Macedonia's position had reappeared.
I have made many journeys to see the pictures of the brothers Van Eyck, of Memling, of Roger van der Weyden, of the painter of the death of Mary, of Ambrogio Lorenzetti, and of the old Umbrian masters. It was, however, neither Bruges, nor Cologne, nor Sienna, nor Perugia, that completed my initiation; it was in the little town of Arezzo that I became a conscious adept in primitive painting.
The subject was a favourite of Weyden; there is a triptych in Berlin and a panel at The Hague. This Brussels picture has evidently been shorn of its wings. Another striking tableau is the head of a woman who weeps. The minutest tear is not missing. Bavo, Ghent. They are gigantic figures, nude, neither graceful nor attractive, but magnificently painted.
"Will you get a tourniquet, Mr. Van Weyden," Wolf Larsen called to me. I hesitated. Her lips moved, and though they formed no words, she commanded me with her eyes, plainly as speech, to go to the help of the unfortunate man. "Please," she managed to whisper, and I could but obey.
A similar interest in humanity as such, in the individual apart from the type, is noticeable in the pictures of the Van Eycks, of Memling, of Quentin Matsys, and Roger Van der Weyden, wherein all idea of beauty, of composition, of universal appeal is subordinated as it is in no other art in that of Holland no more than in that of Italy to the representation in the most definite, precise, and powerful way of some intensely human personality.
Severin; hang on the walls the pictures of Fra Angelico, Memling, Grünewald, Gerard David, Roger van den Weyden, Bouts; add to these, admirable sculptures such as those of the great door of Chartres, altar screens of sculptured wood, such as those of the Cathedral of Amiens, what a dream!" "Yet," he went on after a silence, "this dream has been a reality, it is evident.
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