If, then, Rembrandt could misdate an event so intimately connected with his life's chief joy, how should we expect him to be more accurate about one, which indeed concerned him nearly, but of which he naturally had no personal recollection. That he was uncertain we have happily positive proof, thanks once more to Doctor Bredius, for on the 16th of September 1653, in giving his opinion as an expert in a trial concerning the authenticity of a certain picture by Paul Bril, he can only declare that he is about forty-six.
Such is the evidence upon this fortunately not very important point, and it is small wonder that of the two great authorities, M. Michel and M. Vosmaer, the first accepts 1606 and the second 1607 as the true date. The question must still remain an open one, but when we consider that Rembrandt's mother did not die until 1640, only one year before Orlers published his book, and at a time when he had probably collected most of his material, and that nothing is more likely than that he should have applied to her for details, we may with safety conclude that the balance of probability is in favour of his date 1606.
Concerning the place of his birth there are no such doubts. If the visitor to Leyden, on his way from the station to the town, turns sharp to the right after crossing the second bridge, and on traversing a third keeps again to the right and continues with that branch of the Rhine known as the Galgewater on his right hand, he will before long find himself on the west side of the town, in a triangular open space, washed on two sides by the moat surrounding it, where once stood the White Gate guarding the entrance of the high-road from the Hague. On the left side of this, as one comes in from the country, and at right angles to it, close to where the buildings of the Zeemans-Kweekschool, or Naval School, now are, ran a short street called the Weddesteeg, in No. 3 of which Rembrandt was born.
It must have been a pleasant situation, facing the setting sun, with nothing but the town ramparts and the gleaming moat between it and the wide champaign. On the right hand the slow barges crept up and down the river, on the left the slow carts creaked to and from the town, while in front the broad sails of windmills swung round, and the whirr of the stones grinding malt for making beer hummed through the open doors. Up against the sky rose two, one almost opposite the windows of the house, the other a little to the left on the border of the Noordeinde, just inside the gate, of which Rembrandt's father owned half, while his stepfather Cornelis, the son of Clæs, with his son Clæs, shared the other half between them.