Eye of the Beholder: Johannes Vermeer, Antoni van Leeuwenhoek, and the Reinvention of Seeing

by Laura J. Snyder

  But Hooke noted that there was another way to make an even finer microscope: “If you take a very clear piece of a broken Venice Glass [mirror],” he instructed, “and in a Lamp draw it out into very small hairs or threads, then holding the ends of these threads in the flame, till they melt and run into a small round Globul, or drop.” Next, take these glass beads and grind and polish them. Then, Hooke concluded, “if one of these be fixt with a little soft Wax against a small needle hole, prick’d through a thin Plate of Brass … and an Object, plac’d very near, be look’d at through it, it will both magnifie and make some Objects more distinct than any of the great Microscopes.”

  What Hooke has here described is a type of single-lens microscope identical to that made by Leeuwenhoek, and the method—making and polishing a bead lens —is identical to that used by Leeuwenhoek when he first began constructing microscopes. In this discussion, Hooke noted, correctly, that the single-lens microscope could magnify more than the compound microscopes of the day, and could do so without the distracting chromatic aberration that was more problematic in double microscopes. But Hooke remarked that the single lens microscopes “though exceeding easily made, are yet very troublesome to be us’d. This kind of microscope was much more difficult to employ than the compound microscope on its convenient pedestal stand. Another problem was that the single lens needed to be brought very close to the object being viewed; the object would have to be lit from behind (as there would not be room between the object and the lens). This meant that the object must be transparent or semitransparent. Dissection tools could not be used beneath the lens, again because of how close to the lens the object would be. And, because of the need for backlighting, there would be diminishing illumination at higher magnification, which often resulted in a “dark and gloomy” image. In the seventeenth century many natural philosophers would make Hooke’s choice—Nehemiah Grew in England, and Francesco Redi, Giorgio Baglivi, and Marcello Malpighi in Italy, all used compound microscopes.

  However, most of the natural philosophers in the Netherlands were using the single-lens microscope. Hartsoeker declared the single-lens instruments to be the best, and Swammerdam agreed there was nothing better. The main benefit was that the single lens avoided the multiplying of aberrations that occurred when two lenses were used together. Until the nineteenth century the optics of the compound microscope were worse than that of the simple instrument, because the chromatic and optical aberrations were magnified; only when a greater understanding of refraction was gained could scientists construct an array of lenses that could cancel out these effects. Indeed, as late as 1854 the Society of the Arts in London awarded a prize for a design of a new, simple microscope.

  Hooke, then, was not the first to recognize the benefit of the single-lens microscope, and Leeuwenhoek need not have read Hooke’s discussion of how to make them in order to begin doing so. By the time of his trip to England, Leeuwenhoek was already making his single-lens microscopes, coincidentally using much the same procedure described by Hooke. I believe he saw Hooke’s Micrographia while he was abroad, and even if he could not read all of its text, he still would have been amazed at the numerous plates of engraved detail showing what Hooke had observed: not only fabrics, but the cells in cork, the mold growing on leather, the eye of a fly—all showing structures invisible to the naked eye. Leeuwenhoek would have returned to Delft filled with excitement about his instruments—inspired all the more to make discoveries that had eluded even Hooke. What Leeuwenhoek could not have imagined, however, was that he would soon see living beings inhabiting an invisible world.

  PART 8

  Year of Catastrophe

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  ON JUNE 15, 1672, the brilliant mathematician and microscope maker Johan van Waveren Hudde stood overlooking the main sluice holding back the water that constantly threatened to flood Amsterdam, the city of which he had recently been appointed burgomaster, or mayor. Earlier in life Hudde had made contributions to mathematics that influenced both Newton and Leibniz in their simultaneous invention of the infinitesimal calculus. More recently, he had been producing single-lens microscopes with beads of melted glass; during his visit to the Dutch Republic, Monconys had been shown one of Hudde’s instruments by Isaac Vossius. A member of the city government since 1663, Hudde still kept up a lively intellectual correspondence, writing to Spinoza about God’s uniqueness, to Christiaan Hugyens about the advantages of the single-lens microscope compared with Hooke’s double-lens setup, and to Newton and Leibniz on mathematical topics. But now, the Dutch Republic was at war for its very survival. Hudde was forced to take a drastic action in the desperate hope of saving his city and what remained of the Dutch Republic. The States General had decided to flood the land running from Muiden, in front of Amsterdam, on the Zuider Zee, to Gorcum, on the Waal, hoping that this “water line” would keep out the French. Hudde gave a signal to the men at the sluice gate. They pulled on the ropes attached to the gate, opening it.

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  Two months earlier, on March 23, the English navy, together with the French, had attacked the returning Dutch Levant convoy off the Isle of Wight; guns thundered in the Channel for two full days, awakening the Dutch to the realization that they were in a life-and-death struggle. In May, Louis XIV of France led his large and powerful army across the Spanish Netherlands and into the Dutch Republic, crossing the Maas north of Maastricht. The invading army outnumbered the Dutch forces four to one. The Dutch garrisons in Cleves, on the lower Rhine, fell to the French in under a week.

  The States General decided to abandon the lower Rhine provinces, as well as the IJssel, the land to the east of the river IJjssel, and concentrate on defending the states of Holland, Zeeland, and Utrecht. When the French marched into Utrecht, however, its city council decided not to fight, and the French took the city, reinstating the Catholic Mass in the churches (though granting freedom of worship to the members of the Reformed Church). Now the Dutch fought on to save Holland and Zeeland. Though the plan had been met by armed farmers resisting the destruction of their land and livelihoods, the flooding of much of the area surrounding Amsterdam was intended to create a “waterline” to hold back enemy forces. The year that followed would be known throughout Dutch history as the rampjaar, the year of catastrophe. It would be the beginning of an exceptionally trying time for Vermeer and his family.

  In Delft, able-bodied men were called up for digging a “strong, high rampart of earth” around the city. Many of the men, including Vermeer, also joined the militia; Vermeer signed up as a schutter, or marksman, of the first squadron of the third company, called the Orange company, all of whom were recruited from the Papenhoek and nearby. (Leeuwenhoek seems not to have joined the militia, perhaps because he was already serving the town as a government employee.) It was not uncommon for artists to join the ranks of the schutterij; earlier, in the conflict against Spain for independence, Frans Hals had joined the ranks of the Haarlem marksmen. The good eye of the artist would serve him well when aiming a musket, which had a range of seventy-five to a hundred meters. The company met regularly for shooting practice and social events, for parades and patrols of the city gates. Most members of the marksmen company were from the modestly affluent and propertied ranks; the very poor, and daily wage earners, were excluded by the high cost of buying one’s uniform and arms and contributing to the cost of food and drink at the elaborate feasts the companies—similar to guilds in many ways—hosted. Vermeer did not quite fit the profile of the other members, but his mother-in-law might have helped with the financial outlay so that he could participate in this prestigious corps. Besides being encouraged to join the militia, citizens of Delft were also exhorted to pray for their town and the republic; town aldermen added twice-weekly special services for this purpose. These weekday services drew crowds large enough to cause the ecclesiastical authorities to consider using the Oude Kerk and the Nieuwe Kerk simultaneously.

  Although French armies did not reach the fortified city walls of Delft in 1
672, Vermeer and Leeuwenhoek’s town saw its share of trouble that year. On June 29, women, workmen, and peasants of Delft, joined by unemployed fishermen from nearby Schiedam and Delfshaven, rioted in the Market Square, overtaking the Town Hall for the greater part of the day. If Leeuwenhoek was performing his duties as chamberlain that day, he would have had to push through the angry crowds to get home or else barricade himself in the rooms with the aldermen until the crowd dispersed.

  Riots in Delft and in other towns of the Dutch Republic were sparked by fury at the regents. Citizens blamed them for the republic’s lackluster defense against the invading forces. The week before, for example, Schenckenschans was surrendered without a shot being fired, a defeat blamed on the town’s having been placed in the charge of an inexperienced, drunken young man, the son of a Nijmegen burgomaster with ties to Grand Pensionary Johan de Witt. Directing their anger at the regent families, the people demanded the repeal of the Perpetual Edict, the reestablishment of the position of stadtholder, and the elevation of William III of Orange to that position. The regents of the provinces, under siege by both external forces and their own people, were forced to capitulate, and in early July William III took the oath of office.

  But riots continued throughout the republic. The situation reached a bloody denouement in The Hague on August 20. The anger of the mob focused on Johan de Witt. His family had played a leading role in republican opposition to the family of Orange and to the position of stadtholderate. On this day Johan and his brother Cornelis were caught by an enraged crowd outside the prison opposite the Binnenhof. Members of the throng, which included men of the local militia, beat the two brothers, stabbed them, and finally shot them to death. They dragged the corpses to the prison’s gallows and pulled them up by the feet to be displayed to the crowd. Participants in this mob attack mutilated the hanging bodies, cutting out the hearts, roasting them, and eating them in a cannibalistic convulsion. A phrase was coined to describe current events: “het volk redeloos, de regering radeloos, en het land reddeloos”—the people were irrational, the government distraught, the country irretrievable or past recovery.

  The slaughter of the De Witt brothers emboldened the popular movement throughout Holland, and demonstrations led to the purging of many members of the town councils. On September 10, half of the vroedschap, the ruling body in Delft, was thrown out and replaced. Since the purged councillors favored not only the Perpetual Edict but also toleration of religious dissenters, times were to become more difficult for Delft’s Catholics.

  Military defeats for the Dutch Republic continued. By late summer most of the republic was in French or Münsterite hands (Münster having joined the French against the Dutch). Groningen was under siege; the countryside of Gelderland, Overijssel, and Utrecht had been ravaged by enemy soldiers; and the country villas along the river Vecht between Utrecht and Muiden, once known as the “Arcadia” of the Amsterdam elite, had been plundered and lay abandoned. The English continued to disrupt the sea routes for Dutch trade. Under the command of the king’s younger brother, James, Duke of York, the English heavily outmatched the Dutch on the seas.

  Miraculously, however, the “waterline” around Amsterdam held, and the French forces were unable to penetrate into Holland. In 1673 the Dutch naval forces won three decisive battles against the English, including the final one, off Texel, in which English and French ships with 5,386 guns faced the 3,667 guns of the Dutch forces; after eleven hours of gunfire—which could be heard throughout the north of Holland—the English and French were forced to retreat. The Dutch had also embarked on a privateering campaign against English merchant ships in waters off England, North America, and Spain and in the Caribbean, forcing Charles to sign a peace treaty in February of 1674 that brought England no gains. Two months later the Münsterite forces were expelled from lands they had taken. By June 1674 Louis had lost all his Dutch conquests except for Grave and Maastricht. The young Prince William was hailed as the savior of the Dutch Republic, and the States General voted that the stadtholderate of Holland be made both “perpetual”—no doubt an ironic riposte to the Perpetual Edict—and hereditary in the male Orange line.

  Although the Dutch Republic was eventually victorious in its war with France and England, there were many long-lasting repercussions of the year of catastrophe. The flooding of the countryside around Amsterdam had contributed to the victory against France, but it ruined much of the harvest, leading to food shortages throughout the nation. The high seas had become more dangerous for international trade. Once Dutch merchant ships began to venture out into foreign waters after the peace with England, they were at the mercy of French privateers based in Dunkirk and Saint-Malo, who inflicted great losses on shipping. With the disruptions in overseas commerce the Amsterdam bourse, or stock market, suffered a calamitous decline. Taxes were raised precipitously. Everyone suffered from the economic collapse, but it was worst for those selling luxury goods—like art—that could be dispensed with when necessities were so expensive.

  As a result the art market collapsed. No one was buying art; instead, everyone wanted to sell and to convert assets into liquid cash. The “Arcadian” villas had been stripped of any art not taken by their owners, and sold for low prices, further depressing the market. One of Amsterdam’s leading art dealers attested in a notarial deed in 1673 that prices of everything, “especially paintings and such rarities have greatly declined and slumped in value, as a result of these disastrous times and the miserable state of our beloved Fatherland.”

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  Vermeer’s situation was even more critical than that of many other artists in Delft. Unlike the typical Calvinist Dutch family of the time, with only two or three children, Vermeer and Catharina had, by 1672, eleven children to support. A large part of Vermeer’s income had come from selling the works of other artists, the business he had inherited from his father. Now, these were hard sales to make. He had to offer pictures at a loss. Although he had inherited 148 guilders (about $2,320 today) from his sister’s estate the year before, Vermeer was plunged into financial ruin. Unable to pay for the bread to feed his family, he began to rack up an enormous debt to the local baker as well as one to the apothecary Dirck de Cocq.

  To make matters worse, Vermeer’s production of his own paintings—never rapid to begin with—had also slowed to a crawl. His desire to infuse his pictures with optical effects required a meticulous method, and that took time. These effects become most apparent in his paintings from the mid-1660s onward, during which time Vermeer was fully engaged in his optical method.

  Vermeer used a complex technique involving opaque layers, translucent glazes, and diffuse highlights laid over one another in order to depict optical phenomena, including his signature “specular,” or mirrorlike, highlights. Contrary to what some writers have suggested, Vermeer was not the only painter of the time to deploy these reflective hightlights; others, such as Willem Kalf, were using them to great effect. Indeed, Vermeer’s highlighting of the bread in The Milkmaid resembles the skin of a lemon or orange as painted by Kalf. However, Vermeer’s method of including highlights as part of his layering technique was unique. In The Milkmaid, Vermeer laid down a rich orange-brown mixed with lead white and lead-tin yellow. He then added dabs of white and off-white paint, followed by a glaze of red lake. Over these layers he added further points of white to the bread and basket to form the specular highlights.

  His layering technique was deployed to depict other optical phenomena as well. In Young Woman with a Water Pitcher, Vermeer glazed the window with ultramarine in order to suggest subdued light and faint shadows. He left an area free of ultramarine; this is where the fingers can be seen behind the pane as the woman holds the window open. He next bordered the fingers with a whitish blue “halo,” creating the illusion that they are being seen through the glass. In other works Vermeer would allow areas of paint to overlap slightly at transition areas along contours. This created a luminous effect, another way of creating a visual halo around his fig
ures. That effect can also be seen around the skirt of the women in The Milkmaid and Young Woman with a Water Pitcher. Sometimes, as in Young Woman Seated at a Virginal, Vermeer achieved this by letting a little of the ground color show between a figure’s contour and the background. He was also a master of color, using different layering techniques to achieve diverse tones; in Woman with a Balance, he applied a thin blue layer over a reddish brown layer, infusing the generally cool blue tones with an inner warmth.

  Vermeer was scrupulous in his depiction of shadows. In Woman in Blue Reading a Letter, for instance, on the wall to the right of the chair in the back, the chair’s shadow varies from a soft blue tint near the finial to a deep blue-black at its lower extreme. Imparting complexity to the composition, Vermeer added a secondary shadow from another light source not seen in the picture, presumably a window closer to the back wall. This shadow also has a light blue tinge. It falls across the primary shadow, softening its sharp outer edge. Vermeer achieved this by painting a blue-black layer over the ground, which in this case is ocher. He next painted the wall color, a mixture of lead white, light ocher, and light blue; but this color stops right at the edge of the shadow. The secondary shadow and the top part of the primary shadow appear lighter because Vermeer applied a thin blue glaze over the wall color where those shadows appear. In Woman with a Balance Vermeer used his monochrome painted sketch not only to define the composition before he began to paint but also to establish the area of shadow, by darkening this part of the final image, in places where he applied only a thin layer of paint over the underdrawing.