Man is not placed on the earth merely to be happy; nor is he placed here merely to be honest, he is here to accomplish great things through society, to arrive at nobleness, and to outgrow the vulgarity in which the existence of almost all individuals drags on.
Renan
Paris, 6 July 1875–28 March 1876
37 | Paris, Tuesday, 6 July 1875 | To Theo van Gogh (D)
Paris, 6 July 1875
My dear Theo,
Thanks for writing, yes, old boy, I thought so. You must write and tell me sometime how your English is, have you done anything about it? If not, it’s not such a great disaster.
I’ve rented a small room in Montmartre which you’d like; it’s small, but overlooks a little garden full of ivy and Virginia creeper.
I want to tell you which prints I have on the wall.
Ruisdael
The bush
ditto
Bleaching fields
Rembrandt
Reading the Bible (a large, old Dutch room, (in the evening, a candle on the table) in which a young mother sits beside her child’s cradle reading the Bible; an old woman listens, it’s something that recalls: Verily I say unto you, ‘for where 2 or 3 are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them’, it’s an old copper engraving, as large as ‘The bush’, superb).
P. de Champaigne
Portrait of a lady
Corot
Evening
ditto
ditto
Bodmer
Fontainebleau
Bonington
A road
Troyon
Morning
Jules Dupré
Evening (resting place)
Maris
Washerwoman
ditto
A baptism
Millet
The four times of the day (woodcuts, 4 prints)
Van der Maaten
Funeral in the cornfield
Daubigny
Dawn (cock crowing)
Charlet
Hospitality. Farmhouse surrounded by fir trees, winter scene with snow. A peasant and a soldier before a door.
Ed. Frère
Seamstresses
ditto
A cooper
Well, old boy, keep well, you know it, longsuffering and meek, as much as possible. Let us remain good friends.
Adieu
Vincent
38 | Paris, Thursday, 15 July 1875 | To Theo van Gogh (D)
Paris, 15 July 1875
My dear Theo,
Uncle Vincent was here again, we were together quite a lot and talked about one thing and another. I asked him whether he thought there would be an opportunity to get you here, into the Paris branch. At first he wouldn’t hear of it, and said it was much better that you stay in The Hague; but I kept insisting, and you can be sure that he’ll bear it in mind.
When he comes to The Hague he’ll probably talk to you; stay calm and let him have his say; it won’t do you any harm, and later on you’ll probably need him now and again. You shouldn’t talk about me if it’s not the right moment.
He’s terribly clever, when I was here last winter one of the things he said to me was ‘perhaps I know nothing of supernatural things, but of natural things I know everything’. I’m not sure whether those were his exact words, but that was the gist of it.
I also want to tell you that one of his favourite paintings is ‘Lost illusions’ by Gleyre.
Sainte-Beuve said, ‘There is in most men a poet who died young, whom the man survived’ and Musset, ‘know that in us there is often a sleeping poet, ever young and alive’. I believe that the former is true of Uncle Vincent. So you know who it is you’re dealing with, and so be warned.
Don’t hesitate to ask him openly to have you sent here or to London.
I thank you for your letter of this morning, and for the verse by Rückert. Do you have his poems? I’d like to know more of them. When there’s an opportunity I’ll send you a French Bible and L’imitation de Jesus Christ. This was probably the favourite book of that woman whom P. de Champaigne painted; in the Louvre there’s a portrait, also by P. de C., of her daughter, a nun; she has L’imitation lying on a chair next to her.
Pa once wrote to me: ‘you know that the same lips that uttered “be harmless as doves” also immediately added “and wise as serpents”’. You should bear that in mind as well, and believe me to be ever
Your loving brother
Vincent
Do you have the photos of the Meissoniers in the gallery? Look at them often; he painted men. You may well know The smoker at the window and The young man having lunch.
46 | Paris, on or about Thursday, 9 September 1875 | To Theo van Gogh (D)
My dear Theo,
You hadn’t expected to get this letter back again, had you.
No, old boy, this isn’t the path to follow.
The death of Weehuizen is certainly sad, but sad in a different way than you say.
Keep your eyes open and try to become strong and resolute. Was that book by Michelet really meant for him?
Actually, I’d like to suggest something to you, Theo, which will perhaps amaze you:
Read no more Michelet or any other book (except the Bible) until we’ve seen each other again at Christmas, and do what I told you, go often in the evenings to the Van Stockums, Borchers &c. I believe you won’t regret it, you’ll feel much freer as soon as you’ve started this regimen. Be careful with the words I underlined in your letter.
There is quiet melancholy, certainly, thank God, but I don’t know if we’re allowed to feel it yet, you see I say we, I no more than you.
Pa wrote to me recently ‘Melancholy does not hurt, but makes us see things with a holier eye’. That is true ‘quiet melancholy’, fine gold, but we aren’t that far yet, not by a long way. Let us hope and pray that we may come so far and believe me ever
Your loving brother
Vincent
I’m already a little bit further than you and already see, alas, that the expression ‘childhood and youth are vanity’ are almost completely true. So remain steadfast, old chap; I heartily shake your hand.
49 | Paris, Friday, 17 September 1875 | To Theo van Gogh (D)
Paris, 17 Sept. 1875.
My dear Theo,
Feeling, even a fine feeling, for the beauties of nature isn’t the same as religious feeling, although I believe that the two are closely connected. The same is true of a feeling for art. Don’t give in to that too much either.
Hold fast especially to your love for the firm and for your work and to respect for Mr Tersteeg. Later on you’ll see, better than now, that he deserves it. You don’t have to take it to extremes, though.
Nearly everyone has a feeling for nature, some more than others, but there are few who feel that God is a spirit, and they that worship Him must worship him in spirit and in truth. Pa is one of the few, Ma too, and also Uncle Vincent, I believe.
You know that it is written ‘The world passeth away and all its glory’, and that on the other hand there are also the words ‘that part which shall not be taken away’, about ‘a well of living water springing up into everlasting life’. Let us also pray that we may become rich in God. But don’t think too deeply about these things, which will become clearer to you of themselves with time, and just do what I’ve advised you to do. Let us ask for our part in life that we may become the poor in the kingdom of God, God’s servants. We haven’t achieved this yet, however, for often there are beams in our eye of which we ourselves are unaware; let us ask that our eye may become single, for then we shall be completely single.
My regards to the Rooses and if anyone should ask after me, and believe me ever,
Your loving brother
Vincent
55 | Paris, Monday, 11 October 1875 | To Theo van Gogh (D)
Paris, 11 October 1875
My dear Theo,
Thanks for your letter of this morning. This time I’d like to write to you a
s I seldom do; I’d actually like to tell you in detail about my life here.
As you know, I live in Montmartre. Also living here is a young Englishman, an employee of the firm, 18 years old, the son of an art dealer in London, who will probably enter his father’s firm later on. He had never been away from home and was tremendously boorish, especially the first few weeks he was here; he ate, for example, mornings, afternoons and evenings 4–6 sous worth of bread (bread, nota bene, is cheap here) and supplemented that with pounds of apples and pears &c. In spite of all that he’s as lean as a pole, with two strong rows of teeth, large red lips, sparkling eyes, a couple of large, usually red, jug-ears, a shorn head (black hair) &c. &c.
I assure you, an altogether different creature from that lady by Philippe de Champaigne. This young person was ridiculed a lot in the beginning, even by me. But I nonetheless warmed to him gradually and now, I assure you, I’m very glad of his company in the evenings. He has a completely naïve and unspoiled heart, and works very hard in the firm. Every evening we go home together, eat something or other in my room, and the rest of the evening I read aloud, usually from the Bible. We intend to read it all the way through. In the morning, he’s already there to wake me up, usually between 5 and 6 o’clock; we then have breakfast in my room and go to the gallery around 8 o’clock. Recently he’s begun to eat with more moderation, and he’s started to collect prints, with my help.
Yesterday we went to the Luxembourg together and I showed him the paintings I like best there. And truthfully, unto babes is revealed much that is hidden from the wise.
J. Breton, Alone, The blessing of the corn, Calling the gleaners
Brion, Noah, The pilgrims of St Odile.
Bernier, Fields in winter
Cabat. The pond and Autumnal evening
Emile Breton, Winter evening. Bodmer, Fontainebleau
Duverger, The labourer and his children
Millet, The church at Gréville
Daubigny, Spring and Autumn
Français, The end of winter and The cemetery
Gleyre, Lost illusions and Hébert, Christ in the Garden of Olives and Malaria, also
Rosa Bonheur, Ploughing &c.
Also a painting by ? (I can’t remember his name), a monastery where monks receive a stranger and suddenly notice that it is Jesus. Written on the wall of the monastery is L’homme s’agite et Dieu le mène. Qui vous reçoit, me recoit et qui Me reçoit, reçoit celui qui m’a envoyé.
At the gallery I simply do whatever the hand finds to do, that is our work our whole life long, old boy, may I do it with all my might.
Have you done what I advised you to do, have you got rid of the books by Michelet, Renan &c? I believe it will give you peace. You certainly won’t forget that page from Michelet about that portrait of a lady by P. de Champaigne, and don’t forget Renan either, but still, get rid of them. ‘If you have found honey, see to it that you don’t eat too much of it, lest it disagree with you’ it says in Proverbs, or something to that effect. Do you know Erckmann-Chatrian, Le conscrit, Waterloo, and especially L’ami Fritz and also Madame Thérèse? Read them some time if you can get hold of them. A change of fare whets the appetite (provided we take especial care to eat simply; not for nothing is it written ‘Give us this day our daily bread’), and the bow cannot always stay bent. You won’t take it amiss if I tell you to do one thing and another. I know you have your wits about you as well. Do not think everything good, and learn to distinguish for yourself between relative good and evil; and let that feeling show you the right way with guidance from above because, old boy, it’s so necessary ‘that God dispose us’. Do write again soon with some particulars, give my regards to my acquaintances, especially Mr Tersteeg and his family, and I wish you the very best. Adieu, believe me ever,
Your loving brother
Vincent
61 | Paris, Friday, 10 December 1875 | To Theo van Gogh (D)
Paris, 10 Dec. 1875
My dear Theo,
Herewith what I promised. You’ll like the book by Jules Breton. There’s one poem of his that I found especially moving: ‘Illusions’. Blessed are those whose hearts are thus attuned.
All things work together for good to them that love God is a beautiful saying. It will be so for you, too; and the aftertaste of these difficult days will be good.
But write and tell me soon how things are and when the doctor says you’ll be better, if you haven’t done so already, that is.
In a fortnight I hope to be in Etten, you can imagine how much I’m looking forward to it.
Have I already told you that I’ve taken up pipe-smoking &c. again? I’ve rediscovered in my pipe an old, trusty friend, and I imagine we’ll never part again.
I heard from Uncle Vincent that you smoke too.
Tell everyone at the Rooses’ especially that I bid them good-day; you and I have had a lot of good times in their house, and have met with much loyalty.
We have ‘Sunday morning’ by Emile Breton here at present. You know it, don’t you? It’s a village street with farmhouses and sheds, and at the end the church surrounded by poplars. Everything covered with snow and little black figures going to church. It tells us that winter is cold but that there are warm human hearts.
I wish you the very best, old boy, and believe me ever
Your loving brother
Vincent
The packages of chocolate marked X are for you, the other two are for Mrs Roos. Smoke the cigarettes with your housemates. Adieu.
65 | Paris, Monday, 10 January 1876 | To Theo van Gogh (D)
Paris, 10 January 1875.
My dear Theo,
I haven’t written to you since we saw each other; in the meantime something has happened that didn’t come as a total surprise to me.
When I saw Mr Boussod again I asked if His Hon. indeed thought it a good thing for me to go on working in the firm this year, since His Hon. had never had any very serious complaints against me.
The latter was indeed the case, though, and His Hon. took the words out of my mouth, so to speak, saying that I would leave on 1 April, thanking the gentlemen for anything I might have learned in their firm.
When an apple is ripe, all it takes is a gentle breeze to make it fall from the tree, it’s also like that here. I’ve certainly done things that were in some way very wrong, and so have little to say.
And now, old boy, so far I’m really rather in the dark about what I should do, but we must try and keep hope and courage alive.
Be so good as to let Mr Tersteeg read this letter, His Hon. may know it, but I believe it’s better that you speak to no one else of it for the time being, and behave as if nothing is going on.
Do write again soon, and believe me ever,
Your loving brother
Vincent.
66 | Paris, on or about Monday, 17 January 1876 | To Theo van Gogh (D)
Paris, January 1876
My dear Theo,
In the first crate going to The Hague you’ll find various packages; be so good as to take care of them.
First of all, one for you containing ‘Felix Holt’, when you’ve read it please send it to Etten, and when they’ve finished it there please send it back here, when you get the chance, because it doesn’t belong to me. It’s a book that touched me deeply, and it will no doubt have the same effect on you.
There’s also a package for Mr Tersteeg and one for Mrs Tersteeg, and also one for Mauve and his wife. I wrote and told Mauve that he should ask you for that book about Michel; please show it to him sometime when it suits you.
There’s also a package for Pa; do your best to ensure that it arrives in Etten on Pa’s birthday. Perhaps you could add Felix Holt to it and read it after it’s been in Etten, that might be the best thing.
In the small roll addressed to you you’ll find 3 etchings after Jules Dupré, one for you, one for Uncle Jan van Gogh, with my regards, and one for Pa. Also for Pa a lithograph after Bodmer and an etching by Jacque, and then there’s
a lithograph after Cabat for you. Cabat is a lot like Ruisdael, there are two magnificent paintings by him in the Luxembourg, one a pond with trees around it in the autumn at sunset, and the other the evening of a grey autumn day, a road by the waterside and a couple of large oak trees.
That etching after Jules Dupré is beautiful, it’s one from an album of 6 with Dupré’s portrait. He has such a simple and noble face, it reminds me a bit of Mauve’s, though he’s older, and perhaps in reality he looks different from Mauve.
It’s good that you’re taking English lessons, you won’t regret it.
I’d like to send you a Longfellow and ‘Andersen’s fairy tales’, I’ll see if I can find them. If I do send them, read especially Longfellow’s Evangeline, Miles Standish, The baron of St Castine and King Robert of Sicily &c.
And now I’ll bid you good-day again and shake your hand in thought. Regards to everyone at the Rooses’ and if anyone else should ask after me, and believe me ever
Your loving brother
Vincent.
Give my regards again to my friend Borchers.
73 | Paris, Tuesday, 28 March 1876 | To Theo van Gogh (D)
Paris, 28 March 1876
My dear Theo,
A few more words, probably the last I’ll write to you from Paris.
I’ll probably leave here on Friday evening to be home on Saturday morning at the same time as at Christmas.
Yesterday I saw around 6 paintings by Michel, how I wish you’d been there, sunken roads through sandy soil leading to a mill, or a man going home over the heath or sandy ground with a grey sky above, so simple and so fine. It seems to me that the pilgrims on their way to Emmaus saw nature as Michel does, I always think of them whenever I see one of his paintings.
Ever Yours Page 8