Days of Grace by Arthur Ashe Page A

other cities around the world, taking time off from the tennis tournaments that usually had brought me there, I used to seek out his quiet, brooding self-portraits, or his wonderful group paintings, or his more modest but accomplished etchings. Having read a little about his life, I thought I saw a great deal of pain and suffering inscribed in those self-portraits. His paintings and etchings move me deeply, and yet I find them sublimely peaceful even in their dynamism. I own one of his etchings, called
The White Negress
.
    Born in Leiden, Holland, the son of a prosperous miller,Rembrandt had married into a rich family and risen in the world to wealth and fame. Then, following the death of his first wife, Saskia, he had fallen slowly but irrevocably from that height. His last years found him poor and lonely. He saw his beloved mistress Hendrickje Stoffels, who was much younger, die, as well as his son Titus. But although his last years were unhappy, most critics agree that Rembrandt’s art in this period was not only technically superior to that of his happier years but also much richer in spiritual and psychological insight. I wasn’t surprised to read this judgment, because I have always been a firm believer in the therapeutic value of adversity. Of all people, athletes must reach an accommodation with losing, and learn to make the best of it.
    Above all, I wanted to see one of his most famous works,
The Militia Company of Captain Frans Banning Cocq
, usually called
The Night Watch
. One of Rembrandt’s earlier works,
The Night Watch
was also one of his most controversial. The picture fascinated me as much for the basic confusion surrounding it as for its intrinsic quality. I was always bemused by the fact that because soot and other grime had darkened Rembrandt’s original work, it had been taken for something completely different. Rembrandt had painted the company of soldiers in brilliant noon sunshine, but the world had come to call the picture
The Night Watch
. I was sure there was a lesson of some kind to be learned in that.
    I spent some time in front of
The Militia Company of Captain Frans Banning Cocq
, then moved on to other paintings. Unlike many of my friends who love art, such as the former tennis stars Tom Okker of the Netherlands and Wojtek Fibak of Poland, I have always been interested in biblical paintings. Here, too, Rembrandt was impressive. Of his 700 or so oil paintings, about 150 are on biblical subjects. In the Rijksmuseum, I found myself admiring several of his biblical pieces, including
The Apostle Peter Denying Christ
. Then I noticed one painting,
The Prophet Jeremiah Lamenting the Destruction of Jerusalem
, that riveted my attention.Its power over me at that particular moment had much to do with what had happened to me in Egypt. Rembrandt was speaking to my ill-fated attempt to jog near the Nile and the collapse of my dreams of returning in glory to the tennis court.
    Jeanne, who is a professional photographer and—after years of classes at the Art Institute of Chicago and Cooper Union in New York—has a much keener eye for art than I do, also knows something about helping me keep my thoughts in perspective. Noticing me linger in front of the painting, she circled the room and came back to join me. She glanced at the painting, then at me.
    “Oh my,” she said, a chuckle in her voice. “Are we Jeremiah now?”
    “Oh no, no,” I replied quickly. “I just like the way the picture is laid out. Very interesting use of light and shade.”
    “Really, Arthur?”
    “Really,” I insisted, a little feebly. I didn’t move. “Of course, Jeremiah does look a little depressed with this turn of events, doesn’t he? I would say he is not entirely resigned to the destruction of Jerusalem. He is taking it pretty hard. In fact, I see a hint of disgust on his face.”
    “You know how he feels?”
    “I know exactly how he feels.”
    “Let’s go, Arthur. There are other paintings to see.”
    We joked