I’d really ask you to go and see, at that bookshop where they sell lithographs of ancient and modern artists, if you could manage to get the lithograph after Delacroix’s ‘Tasso in the madhouse’ without great expense, since it would seem to me that this figure (by Delacroix) must have some relationship to this fine Bruyas portrait.
They have other Delacroixs there, a study of a mulatto woman (which Gauguin once copied), the Odalisques, Daniel in the lions’ den.
By Courbet, first, The village girls, magnificent, a nude woman seen from the back, another on the ground, in a landscape. Second, The woman spinning (superb), and a whole load more Courbets. Anyway, you must know that this collection exists, or else know people who have seen it, and consequently be able to talk about it. So I shan’t insist on the museum (except for the Barye drawings and bronzes!).
Gauguin and I talk a lot about Delacroix, Rembrandt &c.
The discussion is excessively electric. We sometimes emerge from it with tired minds, like an electric battery after it’s run down.
We’ve been right in the midst of magic, for as Fromentin says so well, Rembrandt is above all a magician and Delacroix a man of God, of God’s thunder and bugger off in the name of God.
I’m writing this to you with reference to our friends, the Dutchmen De Haan and Isaäcson, who have so sought and loved Rembrandt, in order to encourage you to pursue the researches.
One mustn’t get discouraged about that. You know the strange and superb portrait of a man by Rembrandt at the La Caze gallery, I told Gauguin that, for me, I saw in it a certain family or racial resemblance to Delacroix, or to him, Gauguin.
I don’t know why, but I always call that portrait ‘the traveller’ or ‘the man coming from far away’.
That’s an equivalent and parallel idea to what I’ve already told you, always to look at the portrait of old Six. The fine portrait with the glove for your future, and the Rembrandt etching, Six reading by a window in a ray of sunlight, for your past and your present.
That’s the stage we’re at.
Gauguin said to me this morning, when I asked him how he felt: ‘that he could feel his old self coming back’, which gave me great pleasure.
As for me, coming here last winter, tired and almost fainting mentally, I too suffered a little inside before I was able to begin to remake myself.
How I’d like you to see that museum in Montpellier some day, there are some really beautiful things there!
Say so to Degas, that Gauguin and I have been to see the portrait of Bruyas by Delacroix at Montpellier, for we must boldly believe that what is, is, and the portrait of Bruyas by Delacroix resembles you and me like a new brother.
As regards setting up a life with painters as pals, you see such odd things and I’ll end with what you always say, time will tell.
You can tell all this to our friends Isaäcson and De Haan, and even boldly read them this letter, I would already have written to them if I’d felt the necessary electric force.
On behalf of Gauguin as well as myself, a good, hearty handshake to you all.
Ever yours,
Vincent
If you think that Gauguin or I have a facility in our work, the work isn’t always accommodating. And for the Dutchmen not to get discouraged in their difficulties any more than we do, that’s what I wish for them, and for you too.
728 | Arles, Wednesday, 2 January 1889 | Vincent van Gogh and Félix Rey to Theo van Gogh (F)
Arles, 2 January 1889
My dear Theo,
In order to reassure you completely on my account I’m writing you these few words in the office of Mr Rey, the house physician, whom you saw yourself. I’ll stay here at the hospital for another few days — then I dare plan to return home very calmly. Now I ask just one thing of you, not to worry, for that would cause me one worry TOO MANY.
Now let’s talk about our friend Gauguin, did I terrify him? In short, why doesn’t he give me a sign of life? He must have left with you.
Besides, he needed to see Paris again, and perhaps he’ll feel more at home in Paris than here. Tell Gauguin to write to me, and that I’m still thinking of him.
Good handshake, I’ve read and re-read your letter about the meeting with the Bongers. It’s perfect. As for me, I’m content to remain as I am. Once again, good handshake to you and Gauguin.
Ever yours
Vincent
Write to me, still same address, 2 place Lamartine.
[Continued by Félix Rey]
Sir —
I shall add a few words to your brother’s letter to reassure you, in my turn, on his account.
I am happy to tell you that my predictions have been borne out, and that this over-excitement was only fleeting. I strongly believe that he will have recovered in a few days’ time.
I very much wanted him to write to you himself, to give you a better account of his condition.
I have had him brought down to my office to talk a little. It will entertain me and do him good.
With my sincerest regards.
Rey F.
730 | Arles, Friday, 4 January 1889 | To Paul Gauguin (F)
My dear friend Gauguin
I’m taking advantage of my first trip out of the hospital to write you a few most sincere and profound words of friendship.
I have thought of you a great deal in the hospital, and even in the midst of fever and relative weakness.
Tell me. Was my brother Theo’s journey really necessary — my friend? Now at least reassure him completely, and yourself, please. Trust that in fact no evil exists in this best of worlds, where everything is always for the best.
So I want you to give my warm regards to good Schuffenecker —
to refrain from saying bad things about our poor little yellow house until more mature reflection on either side —
to give my regards to the painters I saw in Paris.
I wish you prosperity in Paris. With a good handshake
Ever yours,
Vincent
Roulin has been really kind to me, it was he who had the presence of mind to get me out of there before the others were convinced.
Please reply.
732 | Arles, Monday, 7 January 1889 | To Theo van Gogh (F)
My dear Theo,
Perhaps I won’t write you a really long letter today, but anyhow a line to let you know that I returned home today. How I regret that you were troubled for such a little thing, forgive me, for I am after all probably the primary cause of it. I hadn’t foreseen that it would lead to you being told about it. Enough.
Mr Rey came to see the painting with two of his doctor friends, and they at least understand darned quickly what complementaries are. Now I’m planning to do Mr Rey’s portrait and possibly other portraits as soon as I’ve accustomed myself a little to painting once again.
Thank you for your last letter, I do indeed always feel your presence, but on your side you should also know that I’m working on the same thing as yourself.
Ah, how I wish that you’d seen the portrait of Bruyas by Delacroix and the whole museum at Montpellier where Gauguin took me. How people have already worked in the south before us! In truth, it’s quite difficult for me to believe that we’ve gone so far astray as that.
As to it being a hot country — my word, I can’t help but think of a certain country Voltaire speaks of — and without even counting the simple castles in the air. Those are the thoughts that come to me as I return home.
I’m very eager to know how the Bongers are, and if relations with them continue to be good, which I hope they do.
If you think it all right — now that Gauguin has left — we’ll go back to 150 francs a month. I think I’ll see calmer days here again than in the course of the past year. What I’ll need very much for my instruction are all the reproductions of Delacroix’s paintings that one can still get in that shop where they sell lithographs of ancient and modern artists &c. for 1 franc, I think. I definitely don’t want the most expe
nsive ones.
How are our Dutch friends De Haan and Isaäcson? Give them my warm regards.
I just think that we must still keep calm regarding my own painting. If you want some I can certainly send them to you now, but when calm returns to me I hope to do something else.
In any case, as regards the Independents, do what seems best to you and what the others will do.
But you’ve no idea how much I regret that your journey to Holland hasn’t already been made. Ah well, we can’t change any of the facts, but make up for it as far as possible by correspondence or however you can, and tell the Bongers how much I regret having, perhaps unwittingly, caused a delay. I’ll write to Mother and Wil one of these days, I must also write to Jet Mauve.
Write to me soon, and be completely reassured as to my health, it will cure me completely to know that things are going well for you. What is Gauguin doing? As his family are in the north, and as he’s been invited to exhibit in Belgium and has some success in Paris at the moment, I like to think that he’s found his way. Good handshake, I’m quite happy all the same that this is a thing of the past. Another vigorous handshake.
Ever yours,
Vincent
My dear brother,
I hope that it won’t amaze you too much that although I wrote to you this morning I’m adding a few words this same evening. For I’ve been unable to write for several days, but you can clearly see that that’s over now.
I’ve written a line to Mother and to Wil, which I addressed to our sister with the sole aim of reassuring them, should you have happened to mention to them that I had been ill. For your part, simply tell them that I’ve been a bit ill like the time when I had the clap in The Hague, and that I got myself treated at the hospital. But that it’s not worth the trouble of mentioning, since I got off with a fright and that I was only in the aforesaid or mentioned hospital for a few days. Thus you’ll doubtless find yourself in agreement with the short note that I’ve made them swallow down there at home in Holland.
And by so doing it will be pretty difficult for them to get worked up about it. In fact, they’ll imagine that I ALMOST had the clap. I hope that you’ll find this stratagem innocent enough.
Also you’ll see from this that I haven’t yet forgotten how to jest sometimes.
I’m going to get back to work tomorrow, I’ll begin by doing one or two still lifes to get back into the way of painting.
Roulin has been excellent to us, and I dare believe that he’ll remain a staunch friend whom I’ll still need quite often, for he knows the country well.
We dined together today.
If ever you want to make the house physician Rey very happy, this is what would give him great pleasure: he has heard about a painting by Rembrandt, The anatomy lesson. I told him that we’d get an engraving of it for his study. I hope to do his portrait as soon as I feel a little stronger.
Last Sunday I met another doctor who, in theory at least, knows what Delacroix and Puvis de Chavannes are all about, and who’s very curious to know about Impressionism.
I dare hope to get to know him better.
I think that this engraving of The anatomy lesson is published by François Buffa and Sons, and that the net price should be between 12 and 15 francs. It would be best to frame it HERE to avoid transportation costs.
I can assure you that a few days in the hospital were very interesting, and that one perhaps learns how to live from the sick.
I hope that I’ve just had a simple artist’s bout of craziness and then a lot of fever following a very considerable loss of blood, as an artery was severed.
But my appetite came back immediately, my digestion is good, and the blood is recovering day by day, and likewise serenity is returning to my mind day by day.
So please deliberately forget your sad journey and my illness.
Painting is the profession you know, and my goodness we’re perhaps not wrong to try to keep our hearts human.
You can see that I’m doing what you asked me to, that I’m writing what I feel and what I think. For your part, follow up this meeting with the Bongers calmly, I hope that it will continue as a solid friendship, and that perhaps it’s even more.
If I remain here it’s because I might not be able to transplant myself for the moment. After a little while we can review the pros and cons of the situation and do the calculations again.
I shake your hand firmly.
Ever yours,
Vincent
736 | Arles, Thursday, 17 January 1889 | To Theo van Gogh (F)
My dear Theo,
Thanks for your kind letter and for the 50-franc note it contained. As to answering all your questions, can you do it yourself, at the moment I don’t feel up to it. On reflection I do indeed want to seek a solution, but I must re-read your letter again &c.
But before discussing what I might or might not spend in a whole year, it would perhaps put us on track to review nothing but the present, current month for a moment.
In any case it has been completely lamentable, and indeed I would count myself fortunate if finally you might pay some serious attention to the way things are and have been for so long.
But what can one do, unfortunately it’s complicated in several ways, my paintings are worthless, they cost me an extraordinary amount, it’s true, perhaps sometimes even in blood and brain. I won’t press the point, and what do you want me to say about it. Let’s get back in any case to the present month and speak only of money.
On 23 December there was still a louis and 3 sous in the cash-box. That same day I received the 100-franc note from you.
Here are the expenses
Thus we’ve already arrived, on the day I left hospital or the day after, at an involuntary expenditure on my part of 103.50, to which it must be added that then on the first day I cheerfully went to have dinner with Roulin at the restaurant, completely reassured and with no fear of renewed anguish. In short, the result of all that was that I was broke around the 8th. But one or two days after that I borrowed 5 francs. We were barely at the tenth. I was hoping for a letter from you around the tenth, but as that letter only arrived today, 17 January, the interval has been a fast of the most rigorous sort, all the more painfully so because my recovery couldn’t take place under those conditions.
Nevertheless, I’ve started work again and I already have 3 studies done in the studio plus the portrait of Mr Rey, which I gave him as a keepsake.
So this time again there’s no more serious harm than a little more suffering and relative anguish. And I retain all good hope. But I feel weak and a little anxious and fearful.
Which will pass, I hope, as I regain my strength.
Rey told me that being very impressionable was enough to have had what I had as regards the crisis, and that currently I was only anaemic, but that really I ought to feed myself up. But myself, I took the liberty of telling Mr Rey that if currently the first thing for me was to recover my strength, if by pure chance or misunderstanding it had just happened again that I’d had to keep to a rigorous one-week fast, if in similar circumstances he had seen many madmen quite calm and capable of working — and if not then would he deign to remember occasionally that for the moment I myself am not yet mad.
Now, in these payments that I made, is there anything unwarranted, extravagant or exaggerated in these expenses, considering that the whole house was turned upside down by this adventure, and all the linen and my clothes soiled? If I paid what was owing to people almost as poor as myself as soon as I got back, is there an error on my part or could I have economized more?
Now today, the 17th, I receive 50 francs at last. Out of this I first pay the 5 francs borrowed from the café owner, then for 10 refreshments taken during this last week on
Tomorrow morning when I’ve cleared this amount I’ll have left, net Fr. 23.50
It’s the 17th today, there are still 13 days left to get through.
Question: how much can I spend per day? Next there must be added the fact
that you sent 30 francs to Roulin, out of which he paid the 21.50 for the rent for December.
There you are, my dear brother, the account for the current month. It isn’t finished.
We now come to the expenses occasioned by a telegram from Gauguin which I’ve already reproached him quite formally for having sent.
Are the expenses thus wrongly incurred less than 200 francs?
Does Gauguin himself claim to have acted brilliantly in this?
Look, I won’t press the point any more about the absurdity of that course of action.
Let’s suppose that I was as distraught as could be, why then wasn’t the illustrious pal calmer ……… I shan’t labour this point any more.
I can’t praise you enough for paying Gauguin in such a way that he couldn’t but congratulate himself on the relations he’s had with us.
Unfortunately, that’s another expense, perhaps more sizeable than it should have been, but anyway, I glimpse hope in it.
Mustn’t he, or at least shouldn’t he begin to see a little that we weren’t his exploiters, but that on the contrary we were anxious to safeguard his existence, his possibility of work and ……… and … his integrity.
If that’s unworthy of the grandiose prospectuses for artists’ associations (which he proposed and to which he still holds) in the way you know, if that’s unworthy of his other castles in the air.
Why then not consider him as not responsible for the sorrows and damage which unconsciously he could have caused us in his blindness, you as much as me. If currently that thesis still seems too bold to you — I won’t press the point — but let’s wait and see.
He’s had previous experience with what he calls ‘banking in Paris’ and believes that he’s clever at it . . . Perhaps you and I are decidedly not so very curious in that regard.
Ever Yours Page 95