A pleasant story is told of Van Dyck at this time. The subjects Rubens was using in his private studio were ever a matter of curiosity to his numerous pupils and all sorts of harmless devices were resorted to to find out what the master preferred to hide, for a time at least, from his inquisitive students. One evening, after Rubens had left the studio, a more than common desire to see what he had been painting possessed the young men. They forced the door and found, so the story runs, the wonderful "Descent from the Cross"  on the master's easel with the fresh paint undried upon its matchless figures.

Some jostling, which is likely to occur in such a gathering of students, took place, and sad to relate, some luckless fellow brushed with his arm the face and shoulder of the Magdalen. A terrified silence ensued as they gazed at the blurred figure. Finally they summoned courage to designate one of their number to repair the damage. Van Dyck was selected and, in the three hours of daylight that yet remained to him, he reluctantly undertook the unwelcome task. When it was finished the culprits declared that it excelled the master's own work and so they left it with fear and trembling.

When Rubens returned the next morning, his quick eye almost instantly detected the work of an alien hand and, what was more surprising, he recognized in it Van Dyck's work. The crown of surprises, however, was when the master remarked in a not unpleasant tone of voice, "This throat and chin is by no means the worst piece of painting that I did yesterday." It is further stated that he in no wise changed this "touch of a strange hand," and that he fully forgave the boys who had broken in upon the privacy of his studio.

When Van Dyck was but nineteen he was enrolled as a member of the Guild of St. Luke with full qualifications. This was a great honor and one never before bestowed upon a man under twenty years of age. Now this Guild of St. Luke was an association or society, named for the artist evangelist, the members of which must be skilled in their special work. Twenty-four different classes of workmen were included among the members, among them painters and sculptors. The society was interested in everything that pertained to art. When there were no great artists, they kept, as it were, the art spirit alive, so that when great geniuses should appear the way would be somewhat prepared for them.

On all public occasions this guild played an important part, looking after the decorations, entertaining notable guests, etc. No man who was a sloven in his work or understood it imperfectly could become a member of this guild. They tended to make careful workmen and so, of course, improved the general life of the citizens very materially, for no single principle can bring more happiness to a community than this, that all workmen, whether in high or humble places, do their work skilfully and conscientiously. It certainly speaks well for Van Dyck's workmanship that he so early became a member of St. Luke's Guild. He must have made thoroughly worthy of the honor of membership, for in later years he became president of this important body.

In 1620, Van Dyck made a flying visit to England, and so far ingratiated himself with the king, James I., that he was commissioned to paint a portrait of the king. This portrait is now in the royal collection at Windsor.

From England he went to Holland whither he had been invited by Frederick, son of the great Prince of Orange, who had been assassinated in 1584. There he painted several portraits of the prince's family. One of these represents a beautiful lad of sixteen or seventeen with boyish face and flowing locks. In later years this prince became the father of that William of Orange, who, with his wife Mary, came to the throne of England when her own kings seemed to fail her. In another beautiful picture of this time we have the same youth, somewhat older, with his affianced bride, Mary Stuart, daughter of Charles I. The refined faces and hands of these royal young people are enhanced by the rich court costumes which were such an important part of Van Dyck's portraits.

At this time, too, must have taken place that meeting of Van Dyck and Franz Hals. Franz was not at home when Van Dyck called, but was, as usual at the tavern. From his convivial companions he was summoned to paint a portrait of his caller whom of course he did not know. In two hours he had painted a portrait at which Van Dyck justly marveled.

Then he said to Hals, "Painting is doubtless an easier thing than I thought. Let us change places and see what I can do." Hals, proud of his own work, was quite willing for the stranger to test himself and so he did as he was asked. When, in shorter time than Hals has taken, the second portrait was finished, the enthusiastic Dutchman rushed to his guest, flung his arms about his neck, and exclaimed, "The man who can do that is Van Dyck or the Devil!" and so the visitor's identity was established, for he preferred owning up to being himself rather than being thought to be the arch-fiend, Satan.

In 1622, Van Dyck returned to Antwerp to attend his father during the closing hours of his life. One of the father's last requests of his son was that the latter should paint a picture for the Dominican sisters who had been so kind to him since the beginning of his illness. The artist fulfilled his promise by painting a Crucifixion which has ever ranked high among his works.

Any picture which represents our Lord's death must ever be a sad one. This of Van Dyck's is one of the greatest, showing not only the terrible earthly agony of our dying Lord, but the hopefulness and joy of the angels when the sacrifice for sinning men was fully accomplished. For nearly a hundred years this picture hung in the convent for which it was painted. It was later bought for the Museum at Antwerp, where we may to-day see it in almost unfaded splendor.

Shortly after the death of his father, Van Dyck accepted Rubens's advice and planned an extensive journey to Italy. He and his master exchanged presents and we can imagine that Rubens gave many a bit of good advice to his pupil in whom he was so deeply interested. After Van Dyck's departure Rubens placed one of his pupil's pictures in a conspicuous place in one of the finest rooms in his splendid house. In addition to other gifts, Rubens gave Van Dyck a beautiful gray horse from his own stables, and on this the artist set out on his journey.

He had, however, gone but a few miles from Brussels when a pretty young woman attracted his susceptible eye and he was forthwith convinced that his horse needed rest and meadow food, while he himself longed for the companionship of the young woman who so pleased him upon first sight. Her name was Anna Ophem and she lived at the Court in the capacity of Mistress of the Hounds, whatever that may mean. The artist has left us a portrait of Anna surrounded by her hounds.

The story goes that for five months the young artist tarried at Saventhem, fair Anna's home, and enjoyed wild wood rambles with the sweet young girl. He was brought to his senses by the arrival of a messenger from Rubens, who urged his instant departure for Italy. Thus suddenly came to an end our artist's spring-time love tale. His sojourn in the quiet village in the company of a charming girl was not barren of art work, for he left behind him two pictures known to fame.

One of these, "St. Martin Dividing His Cloak with Two Beggars,"  was for nearly two centuries kept as a treasure by the townspeople. In 1806, it was stolen by the French and deposited in the Louvre, where it remained for nine years, when it was restored to the village church from which it was taken. It has since been almost captured by thieves for a wealthy American, but, as of old, Rome was saved by the cackling of some wise-minded geese, so in our more prosaic century, the timely barking of a dog saved for a devoted people this trophy of an artist's love-sojourn among them.

The figure of Martin, the good saint of Amiens, who having nothing else to give, divided the very coat upon his back to shelter a shivering beggar, is that of the loitering painter himself, and the fine horse represented is none other than the one Rubens presented as a parting gift to Van Dyck. The other picture, in which Anna is painted as the mother in a Holy Family, has not been so fortunate, for we have an authority who asserts that it was cut up into sacks to hold grain for the French invaders.

We have no other details of Van Dyck's journey to Italy, but next hear of him at Venice, deep in his study of the galleries of the island city. Numerous sketches and crowded note-books testify to his industry while in this city of color and dream life. The more he examined Titian and Giorgione the more fully he became convinced of his own calling to become a portrait painter.

Continued and thorough study left little opportunity for the money-making work for which Van Dyck longed. In his search for such remunerative work he remembered how Genoa had welcomed Rubens, and thither he bent his steps in the hope of a similar munificent patronage.

He was not mistaken in his hopes. Representatives of families illustrious for centuries in the annals of the merchant city flocked to the elegant young painter. The gorgeous stuffs and splendid jewels that betokened the wealth of this great sea-port were the appurtenances most delightful to Van Dyck in his portrait work. Many a dashing Genoese, with his gorgeously attired wife and beautiful children, saw himself and his family adequately reproduced by the facile hand of the Cavalier Painter from beyond the Alps. Success crowned all his efforts; he gave the luxury loving princes and citizens elegant portraits of themselves and their families; they filled his pockets with their yellowest gold, and in addition, praised and honored him as their friend.

From Genoa our artist went to Rome, where he remained for two years. Here he lived in the house of Cardinal Bentiooglia, the scholar and diplomat, who acted as patron to the Flemish artists who gathered in Rome. While here he did some of his greatest work. The portrait of his patron, the Cardinal, is said to be one of the best he ever painted. Sacred subjects, too, he did, which are among his best work. "The Crucifixion," "The Adoration of the Magi,"  and "The Ascension,"  all done in his richest style, belong to this period.