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Vincent Van Gogh. The Letters  From: Vincent van Gogh To: Theo van Gogh Date: Auvers-sur-Oise, Saturday, 14 June 1890 My dear Theo, At last I’ve received news about my furniture, the man who has it has been ill all the time, having been struck by the horn of one of the bulls while helping to unload them. So his wife writes to me that it was because of this that they’d put it off from one day to the next, but that on Saturday, today in other words, they’d send it; they have no luck, the wife having been ill too, and not yet being completely recovered. By the way, there wasn’t one word of reproach in the letter, except that it had upset them that I hadn’t come to see them before leaving, that upset me too. Enclosed I must send you an order for some colours. I have another study that’s in the genre of the Harvest that’s at your place in the room where the piano is. Fields viewed from a height with a road on which there’s a small carriage. Currently I’m working on a field of poppies in some lucerne. And I have a vineyard study, which Mr Gachet liked very much the last time he came to see. For the moment I have nothing else to say, a letter came from Mother who had been at Nuenen and was very much longing to see you come and to see the little one again. A firm handshake for both of you. Ever yours, Vincent. From: Vincent van Gogh To: Paul Gauguin Date: Auvers-sur-Oise, on or about Tuesday, 17 June 1890 My dear friend Gauguin Thanks for writing to me again, my dear friend, and be assured that since my return I’ve thought about you every day. I only stayed in Paris for three days, and as the Parisian noise &c. made a pretty bad impression on me I judged it wise for my head to clear off to the countryside – otherwise I would have swiftly run round to your place. And it gives me enormous pleasure that you say that you liked the portrait of the Arlésienne based rigorously on your drawing. I tried to be respectfully faithful to your drawing while taking the liberty of interpreting through the medium of a colour the sober character and the style of the drawing in question. It’s a synthesis of an Arlésienne if you like, as syntheses of Arlésiennes are rare, take it as a work by you and me, like a summary of our months of work together. To do it I, for my part, paid with another month of illness, but I also know that it’s a canvas that will be understood by you, me and just one or two others, as we’d like it to be understood. Here my friend Dr Gachet came to it completely after two, three hesitations and says: ‘how difficult it is to be simple’. Right – I’m going to emphasize the thing even more by etching it, that thing, then that’s enough. Whoever wants it can have it. Have you also seen the olive trees? Now I have a portrait of Dr Gachet with the deeply sad expression of our time. If you like something like you were saying about your Christ in the Garden of Olives, not destined to be understood, but anyhow up to that point I follow you, and my brother clearly grasps this nuance. I also have a cypress with a star from down there.  A last try – a night sky with a moon without brightness, the slender crescent barely emerging from the opaque projected shadow of the earth – a star with exaggerated brightness, if you like, a soft brightness of pink and green in the ultramarine sky where clouds run. Below, a road bordered by tall yellow canes behind which are the blue low Alpilles, an old inn with orange lighted windows and a very tall cypress, very straight, very dark. On the road a yellow carriage harnessed to a white horse, and two late walkers. Very romantic if you like, but also ‘Provençal’ I think. I’ll probably make etchings of this one, and of other landscapes and subjects, reminiscences of Provence, then I’ll look forward to giving you an ensemble, a rather deliberate and studied summary. My brother says that Lauzet, who’s doing the lithographs after Monticelli, liked that head of the Arlésienne. So you’ll understand that having arrived in Paris a little confused I haven’t yet seen any of your canvases. But soon I hope to return there for a few days. Very pleased to learn from your letter that you’re returning to Brittany with De Haan. It’s highly likely that – if you allow me – I’ll come for a month to join you there to do a seascape or two, but especially to see you and make the acquaintance of De Haan. Then we’ll try to do something deliberate and serious, as it would probably have become if we’d been able to continue down there. Look, an idea which will perhaps suit you. I’m trying to do studies of wheat like this, however I can’t draw it – nothing but ears, blue-green stems, long leaves like ribbons, green and pink by reflection, yellowing ears lightly bordered with pale pink due to the dusty flowering. A pink bindweed at the bottom wound around a stem. On it, on a very alive and yet tranquil background, I would like to paint portraits. It is greens of different quality, of the same value, in such a way as to form a green whole which would by its vibration make one think of the soft sound of the ears swaying in the breeze. It’s not at all easy as a colour scheme. From: Vincent van Gogh To: Theo van Gogh and Jo van Gogh-Bonger Date: Auvers-sur-Oise, Wednesday, 2 July 1890 My dear Theo and dear Jo. I’ve just received the letter in which you say that the child is ill; I’d very much like to come and see you, and what holds me back is the thought that I’d be even more powerless than you are in the given state of distress. But I can feel how very exhausting it must be, and would like to be able to lend a hand. By coming straightaway I fear I would increase the confusion. However, I share your anxieties with all my heart. It’s a real pity that at Mr Gachet’s the house is so cluttered with all sorts of things. Otherwise I think it would be a good plan to come and lodge here – at his house – with the little one, at least for a good month – I think that the country air has an enormous effect. In the street here there are kids born in Paris and really sickly – who however are well. Coming here to the inn would be possible too, it’s true. So that you aren’t too alone I could come myself to stay at your place for a week or fortnight. That wouldn’t increase the expenses. For the little one, truly I’m beginning to fear that he must be given air, and especially the little bustle of the other children of a village. Surely, Jo too, who shares our anxieties and risks, I think that from time to time she must take this distraction of the country. A rather melancholy letter from Gauguin, he talks vaguely of having definitely decided on Madagascar, but so vaguely that one can clearly see that he’s only thinking of it because he doesn’t really know what else to think about. And the execution of the plan seems almost absurd to me.  Here are three croquis – one of a figure of a peasant woman, big yellow hat with a knot of sky-blue ribbons, very red face. Coarse blue blouse with orange spots, background of ears of wheat. It’s a no. 30 canvas but it’s really a little coarse, I fear. Then the horizontal landscape with the fields, a subject like one of Michel’s – but then the coloration is soft green, yellow and green-blue. Then undergrowth, violet trunks of poplars which cross the landscape perpendicularly like columns. The depths of the undergrowth are blue, and under the big trunks the flowery meadow, white, pink, yellow, green, long russet grasses and flowers. The people here at the inn used to live in Paris; there they were constantly indisposed, parents and children, here they never have anything, and especially not the littlest one which came here when it was 2 months old, and then the mother had difficulty in suckling him, while here all of that went well almost immediately. In another respect you work all day long, and at the moment you’re probably hardly sleeping. I’d willingly believe that Jo would have twice as much milk here, and that then when she came here one could do without cows, donkeys and other quadrupeds. And as for Jo, so that during the daytime she has company, my word, she could also go and stay just opposite père Gachet, perhaps you remember that there’s an inn just opposite at the bottom of the slope. What do you want me to say as regards the future, perhaps, perhaps, without the Boussods? What will be, will be, you haven’t spared yourself trouble for them, you’ve served them with an exemplary fidelity all the time. I, too, am trying to do as well as I can, but I don’t hide from you that I scarcely dare count on always having the necessary health. And if my illness recurred you would excuse me, I still love art and life very much, but as to ever having a wife of my own I don’t believe in it very strongly. I fear, rather, that towards let’s say the age of forty – but let’s not say anything – I declare that I know nothing, absolutely nothing, of what turn it may yet take. But I’m writing to you at once that as regards the little one I think you mustn’t worry yourselves excessively; if it’s that he’s teething, well to make the task easier for him perhaps we could distract him more here where there are children, animals, flowers and good air. I shake your hand and Jo’s firmly in thought, and kiss the little one. Ever yours, Vincent Thank you for the consignment of colours, for the 50-franc note and for the article on the Independents.8 An Englishman, Australian, called Walpole Brooke will probably come to see you; he lives at 16 rue de la Grande Chaumière – I told him that you would let him know a time when he could come and see my canvases that are at your place.9 He’ll probably show you some of his studies, which are still rather lifeless, but however he does observe nature. He has been here in Auvers for months, and we went out together sometimes, he was brought up in Japan, you would never think so from his painting – but that may come. From: Theo van Gogh To: Vincent van Gogh Date: Paris, Monday, 30 June and Tuesday, 1 July 1890 My very dear brother, We’ve been going through the greatest anxiety, our dear one has been very ill, but fortunately the doctor, who was anxious himself, said to Jo yesterday, you won’t lose the child from this. Here in Paris the best milk one can get is a veritable poison. Now we’re giving him ass’s milk and that has done him good, but you’ve never heard anything so painful as this almost continual plaintive crying lasting several days and several nights and with us not knowing what to do and everything we do seeming to aggravate his suffering. It’s not that the milk isn’t fresh, but it’s in the feeding and the treatment of the cows. It’s abominable. You can imagine how happy we are that it’s going better. Jo has been admirable, as you can well imagine. A true mother, but she has tired herself very much, too much even, may she recover her strength and not have any more ordeals to undergo. At this moment, fortunately, she’s sleeping, but she’s moaning in her sleep and I can do nothing about it. If only the child, who is also sleeping, might let her sleep for a few hours, both of them will awake with a smile, I hope. In general life is hard for her at the moment. We don’t know what we ought to do, there are questions. Ought we to take another apartment, you know, in the same house on the first floor? Ought we to go to Auvers, to Holland or not. Ought I to live without worrying about tomorrow, and when I work all day and still don’t manage to spare this good Jo from worries about money, since those rats Boussod & Valadon treat me as if I’d just started working for them and keep me on a leash. When I’m not calculating, without spending on extras and am short of money, must I tell them how things are, and if they dare refuse, finally tell them, Sirs, I’m taking the plunge and I’m going to set myself up as a dealer on my own account? I think that as I write to you I’m reaching this conclusion, that it’s my duty, and that if Ma or Jo or you or I tighten our belts a little, it won’t get us anywhere, and that on the contrary, you and I by moving in the world not as poor down-and-outs who don’t eat, but on the contrary keeping up our courage and all living buoyed up by our mutual love, we’ll go much further and we’ll accomplish our duty and our task with much more serenity than by weighing each mouthful of bread. What do you say to this old chap? Don’t bother your head about me or about us, old chap, be aware that what gives me the greatest pleasure is when you’re well and when you’re at your work, which is admirable. You already have too much fire, and we must still be ready for battle a long time from now, for we’ll battle all our lives without taking the oats of charity they give to the old horses in grand houses. We’ll pull the plough until it moves no longer, and we’ll still gaze with admiration at the sun or the moon, according to the time of day. We like that better than being put in an armchair to rub our legs like the old merchant in Auvers. Look old fellow, do everything for your health, I too will do as much, we have too much in our noddles for us to forget the daisies and the freshly stirred clods of earth, and the branches of the bushes that bud in spring, nor the bare tree branches that shiver in the winter, nor the serene skies of limpid blue, nor the big clouds of autumn, nor the uniformly grey sky in winter, nor the sun as it rose above our aunts’ garden, nor the red sun setting in the sea at Scheveningen, nor the moon and the stars one fine night in summer or winter, no, whatever happens, that is our possession. Is it enough, no, myself I have and you will have one day, I hope with all my heart, a wife to whom you can say these things, and I whose mouth is often closed and whose head is often empty, it’s through her that the seeds that more than likely come from very far off but which were passed on by our beloved father and mother, they will perhaps grow so that I may become at least a man, and who knows if my son, if he may live and if I can help him, who knows he may be someone. For your part you have found your path, old brother, your carriage is already sturdy and strong, and I myself can glimpse my path thanks to my cherished wife. As for you, calm yourself and rein back your horse a little so that no accidents occur, and as for me a flick of the whip from time to time does no harm. Your portrait of Miss Gachet must be admirable, and I’ll be pleased to see it, oh those little patches of orange in the background. The croquis of the landscape makes me think of something very beautiful. I’ll be pleased to see it. Père Peyron’s letter was kind. These people are good sorts after all. Listen, soon, when Jo is a bit stronger and the little one recovered, you should come and spend the days here, at least a Sunday and a few days more. The salons are closed but you aren’t losing much by that, for we’ll go together to see the Quost, which decidedly is a fine painting. We’ll go and ask him if I may exhibit it on the boulevard in the window, if it’s not too big. But it must work, and there’ll also be something of yours, old fellow, come on! You really must be together, for it’s you who pointed out this fine Quost painting to me. Do you remember that I told you that I’d bought that fine painting by Corot that those b... B & V said wasn’t saleable. Tersteeg sold it to Mesdag with 5,000 profit, and Mesdag is so pleased with it that he wants others like that,9 and is writing to Arnold & Tripp to find him some like that. It pleased me, but B & V will start again tomorrow all the same. Yours, my old brother, the colours are going off. I shake your hand firmly, and am pleased that the little one and his mummy are sleeping peacefully, your Theo This morning I woke up with the same ideas. It’s decided in an unshakeable way, when I go out, I’m going to rent that apartment as a start. The kid slept well, he’s well this morning. Adieu. My dear brother, Thanks for your letter of today and for the 50-franc note it contained. I’d perhaps like to write to you about many things, but first the desire has passed to such a degree, then I sense the pointlessness of it. I hope that you’ll have found those gentlemen favourably disposed towards you. As regards the state of peace in your household, I’m just as convinced of the possibility of preserving it as of the storms that threaten it. I prefer not to forget the little French I know, and certainly wouldn’t see the point of delving deeper into the rights or wrongs in any discussions on one side or the other. It’s just that this wouldn’t interest me. Things go quickly here – aren’t Dries, you and I a little more convinced of that, don’t we feel it a little more than those ladies?5 So much the better for them – but anyway, talking with rested minds, we can’t even count on that. As for myself, I’m applying myself to my canvases with all my attention, I’m trying to do as well as certain painters whom I’ve liked and admired a great deal. What seems to me on my return – is that the painters themselves are increasingly at bay. Very well. But has the moment to make them understand the utility of a union not rather passed already? On the other hand a union, if it were formed, would go under if the rest went under. Then you’d perhaps tell me that dealers would unite for the Impressionists; that would be very fleeting. Anyway it seems to me that personal initiative remains ineffective, and having done the experiment, would one begin it again? I noted with pleasure that the Gauguin from Brittany that I saw was very beautiful, and it seems to me that the others he’s done there must be too. Perhaps you’ll see this croquis of Daubigny’s garden – it’s one of my most deliberate canvases – to it I’m adding a croquis of old thatched roofs and the croquis of 2 no. 30 canvases depicting immense stretches of wheat after the rain. Hirschig asked me to ask you please to order the attached list of colours for him from the same colourman you send me. Tasset can send them directly to him, cash on delivery, but then he would have to be given the 20%. Which would be simplest. Or you’d put them into the consignment of colours for me, adding the invoice or telling me how much they cost, and then he’d send you the money. Here one can’t find anything good in the way of colours. I’ve simplified my own order to a very bare minimum. Hirschig is beginning to understand a little, it has seemed to me, he’s done the portrait of the old schoolmaster, which he gave him, good – and then he has landscape studies which are a little like the Konings at your place as regards colour. It will become completely like that, perhaps, or like the things by Voerman that we saw together. More soon. Look after yourself, and good luck in business &c. Warm regards to Jo, and handshakes in thought.  Yours truly, Vincent. Daubigny’s garden Foreground of green and pink grass, on the left a green and lilac bush and a stem of plants with whitish foliage. In the middle a bed of roses. To the right a hurdle, a wall, and above the wall a hazel tree with violet foliage. Then a hedge of lilac, a row of rounded yellow lime trees. The house itself in the background, pink with a roof of bluish tiles. A bench and 3 chairs, a dark figure with a yellow hat, and in the foreground a black cat. Sky pale green. From: Vincent van Gogh To: Theo van Gogh and Jo van Gogh-Bonger Date: Auvers-sur-Oise, on or about Thursday, 10 July 1890 Dear brother and sister, Jo’s letter was really like a gospel for me, a deliverance from anguish which I was caused by the rather difficult and laborious hours for us all that I shared with you. It’s no small thing when all together we feel the daily bread in danger, no small thing when for other causes than that we also feel our existence to be fragile. Once back here I too still felt very saddened, and had continued to feel the storm that threatens you also weighing upon me. What can be done – you see I usually try to be quite good-humoured, but my life, too, is attacked at the very root, my step also is faltering. I feared – not completely – but a little nonetheless – that I was a danger to you, living at your expense – but Jo’s letter clearly proves to me that you really feel that for my part I am working and suffering like you. There – once back here I set to work again – the brush however almost falling from my hands and – knowing clearly what I wanted I’ve painted another three large canvases since then. They’re immense stretches of wheatfields under turbulent skies, and I made a point of trying to express sadness, extreme loneliness. You’ll see this soon, I hope – for I hope to bring them to you in Paris as soon as possible, since I’d almost believe that these canvases will tell you what I can’t say in words, what I consider healthy and fortifying about the countryside. Now the third canvas is Daubigny’s garden, a painting I’d been thinking about ever since I’ve been here. I hope with all my heart that the planned journey may provide you with a little distraction. I often think of the little one, I believe that certainly it’s better to bring up children than to expend all one’s nervous energy in making paintings, but what can you do, I myself am now, at least I feel I am, too old to retrace my steps or to desire something else. This desire has left me, although the moral pain of it remains. I very much regret not having seen Guillaumin again, but it pleases me that he’s seen my canvases. If I’d waited for him I would probably have stayed to talk with him in such a way as to miss my train. Wishing you luck and good heart and relative prosperity, please tell Mother and Sister sometime that I think of them very often, besides this morning I have a letter from them and will reply shortly. Handshakes in thought. Ever yours, Vincent My money won’t last me very long this time, as on my return I had to pay the baggage costs from Arles. I retain very good memories of this trip to Paris. A few months ago I little dared hope to see our friends again. I thought that Dutch lady had a great deal of talent. Lautrec’s painting, portrait of a female musician, is quite astonishing, it moved me when I saw it. Back>>> |
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Copyright © 2010 Igor Avramenko. All rights reserved. 
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