It was early fall.  The old dog had just come back from a week-long hunting trip.  A self-respecting dog in Amsterdam knew how to take care of himself.  He had a home here, in the nicely-kept small house on the St. Anthoniebreestraat.  His master looked after him when he was around—in the winter, his master would feed him milk and table scraps and let him sleep inside.  In the summer he slept outside on the porch when he was not roaming around, sniffing the docks and the countryside. 

This time when he got home, the smell was strange.  His master’s smell was there, but it was faded.  He kept coming back and sniffing, but the smell was more and more faded, and the door never opened.  There was a trail that led to the Westerkerk, but when he got there, to the grassy area behind the church, it turned into a dead smell.  He went back to his master’s house and sat on the porch in front of it waiting, whining softly.

After a couple of days, the servant girl from two houses down on the Breestraat noticed him.  She knew that the old man who lived there had died.  She thought that she recognized the dog.  She brought him some bones from her kitchen.

She was from the big house which had the strange smell; the dog didn’t like the smells from that house; it smelled like strange chemicals.  He had never stayed very close to that house.  But he liked the bones and the scraps that she brought.  He had been so miserable—he had forgotten how hungry he was.  He ate greedily.  He liked the young girl and smelled her; she had a good smell.

The next day he came to the door of the big house with the nice girl.  She petted him and fed him.  He was a medium-size mangy gray mutt.  She called him “Shadow.”

“Shadow,” she said, “You can come in for a while and sit.  You must not disturb the master, however; he is very busy with his paints and his painting.  And you must not disturb the mistress. She is sick in bed.”

She led him around the back of the house to the door of the kitchen.  The dog (whose master had not called him Shadow), came around with her and went into the kitchen.  He liked her very much, but…boy the house smelled strange!  She spoke to him softly as she cooked, just as his master’s maid used to speak to him.  She told him how sweet and gentle he was, and how, even though he was very thin right now, he would get big and strong again very soon.  He liked her very much.

He heard a soft voice from another room, “Geertje!  Who are you talking to?”  Geertje, for that was the young maid’s name, told him to sit and stay, and she went into the other room.

“Mistress,” she said, “It’s the dog from up the street.  He has been abandoned.  I think it was Major Bernbricht’s dog.  You know that the Major passed away about two weeks ago.”

“And so shall I, too,” said the mistress.

“Don’t be morose.  Do you want me to bring the dog into your room?  I have named him Shadow.”

“I would love it,” said Saskia, for that was the mistress’s name.  Saskia was under 30, a slight, young woman with a gentle smile. She was not much older than Geertje, who was 21.

Geertje led Shadow into the bedroom and close to Saskia, who was lying in a big canopy bed that was built into the wall.  Saskia had a good, happy smell.  She reached down and petted Shadow, much more strongly than he had expected!  He could tell by her smell that she was weak, and he wanted to help her.

Saskia smiled at Shadow and at Geertje.  “Shadow is a good name for him.  I would like him to stay in here with me for a while!”

“What about the master,” Geertje asked?  “What will he say?  You know that he doesn’t like it when dogs are about.”

“We will keep the door closed.  I will call to you when Shadow should come out.  I think that the master will know that Shadow will be good for me.”

And so, through Geertje, Shadow came regularly to visit Saskia.

She treated him very well, lovingly.  He could not forget his old master, he would never forget his old master, but he came to love her deeply—she was so loving and good-spirited; he almost forgot about the strange smells coming from the other part of the house.

One day, the master came into Saskia’s bedroom while Shadow was there.  He was dressed in a workingman’s outfit, and he had the strange smell all about him.  But beneath those smells, or inside them, there was a deep, fine, noble smell that Shadow had never smelled in a human being before.

“Saskia,” he said, gently, “Why is this dog here?  You must be resting.  Is he good for your health?”

“My darling,” she said, “He is a stray, maybe from down the street, Major Bernbricht, you know … He was starving and Geertje took him in.  He makes me feel so good; I am happy when he is with me … we will keep him out of your way…”

Rembrandt, for that was the master’s name, looked at Shadow carefully.  “I’m glad he is good for you,” he said.  “I think that I can also find some use for the dog.”

If you go to the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam and look at the huge painting called “The Nightwatch,” you will find that it has many unsung heroes and heroines.  In addition to the soldiers and commanders of the militia company, there is an extraordinary little girl just to the left of the center.  Above the center, in the back, peering over the shoulder of one of the soldiers is the part of the face of Rembrandt himself.  And to the right, in front, is the dog Shadow, right in the middle of things.

Truth be told, Saskia did not live long after Shadow started coming to visit her.  She had tuberculosis.  But Shadow helped her very much.  He was in the room, with the master, when she passed away.  He could smell that the fine part of her had departed.

Shadow was broken-hearted.  As you know, he was old.  He suddenly became very old.  He left the day that Saskia died and never came back.  Geertje never saw him again.  He went once more to the Major’s grave in the cemetery near the Westerkerk, and never left it.  Some would say that the old dog died of starvation; he really died of a broken heart.

So Saskia died. Shadow died.  Even Rembrandt died.  Shadow and Rembrandt live on in the Nightwatch, even to this day.  Saskia lives on in many other paintings.

– Eric Hoch

Author’s Note: The story “Shadow the Dog” is an imagined story of how the dog that appears at the bottom of Rembrandt’s famous painting “The Night Watch” came into Rembrandt’s life.