Notes
Chapters
- A Fanatic Heart
- 27. Against the Grain
- 28. The Zemganno Brothers
- 29. Catch and Release
- 30. A Mercenary Frenzy
- 31. Le Paradou
- 32. The Sunflower and the Oleander
- 33. The Poet's Garden
- 34. Imaginary Savage
- 35. La Lutte
- 36. The Stranger
- 37. Two Roads
- 38. The Real South
- 39. Starry Night
- 40. The Isolated One
- 41. A Degenerate Child
- 42. The Garden and the Wheatfield
- 43. Illusions Fade, the Sublime Remains
- Ici Repose
The Early Years
The Dutch Years
The French Years
Chapters
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "With this -- as there are more than 30 empty rooms -- I have another room in which to work."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "The food is all right as far as it goes. It tastes a bit musty, of course, as in a cockroach-infested restaurant in Paris, or in a boarding-house."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "The food is so-so. It smells naturally a little musty, as in a cockroach-ridden restaurant in Paris or a boarding school."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "As these unfortunates do absolutely nothing (not a book, nothing to distract them but a game of boules and a game of draughts) they have no other daily distraction than to stuff themselves with chickpeas, haricot beans, lentils and other groceries and colonial foodstuffs by the regulated quantities and at fixed times."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "The food is all right as far as it goes. It tastes a bit musty, of course, as in a cockroach-infested restaurant in Paris, or in a boarding-house."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "The food is so-so. It smells naturally a little musty, as in a cockroach-ridden restaurant in Paris or a boarding school."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "Since I've been here, there's been enough work for me to do, what with the neglected garden with its tall pines and long, unkempt grass mixed with all sorts of weeds, and I haven't even been outside."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "Since I've been here, the neglected garden planted with tall pines under which grows tall and badly tended grass intermingled with various weeds, has provided me with enough work, and I haven't yet gone outside."
Context:
JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889: "He's a little gouty man -- widowed a few years ago -- who has very dark spectacles."
Context:
JLB 878, 6/5/1890: "I decided that it was time to change surroundings, if I wanted to preserve my capacity for work, such as it is, and what remains to me of common sense. I wrote that to Dr. Peyron this very day. I'd had words with him about it, but we still parted on good terms."
Context:
JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889: "He's a little gouty man -- widowed a few years ago -- who has very dark spectacles."
Context:
JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889: "As the establishment is a little moribund, the man appears to take only a rather half-hearted enjoyment in this profession, and besides there's reason enough for it."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "It's true that there are some who are in a more serious condition, whether they be filthy, or dangerous. These are in another courtyard."
Context:
BVG 591, 5/10/1889-5/15/1889: "I wanted to tell you that I think I have done well to come here; first of all by seeing the reality of the life of the various madmen and lunatics in this menagerie, I am losing the vague dread, the fear of the thing. And little by little I can come to look upon madness as a disease like any other. Then the change of surroundings does me good, I think."
JLB 772, 5/9/1889: "I wanted to tell you that I think I've done well to come here, first, in seeing the reality of the life of the diverse mad or cracked people in this menagerie, I'm losing the vague dread, the fear of the thing. And little by little I can come to consider madness as being an illness like any other. Then the change of surroundings is doing me good, I imagine." (Emphasis in original.)
Context:
BVG 591, 5/10/1889-5/15/1889: "It may well be that I shall stay here long enough -- I have never been so peaceful as here and in the hospital in Arles -- to be able to paint a little at least."
JLB 772, 5/9/1889: "It's possible that I'll stay here for quite a long time, never have I been so tranquil as here and at the hospital in Arles to be able to paint a little at last."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: " I have a small room with greenish-gray paper with two sea-green curtains with a design of very pale roses, brightened by touches of blood-red. These curtains, probably the legacy of some deceased and ruined rich person, are very pretty in design."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: " I have a little room with grey-green paper with two water-green curtains with designs of very pale roses enlivened with thin lines of blood-red. These curtains, probably the leftovers of a ruined, deceased rich man, are very pretty in design."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "A very worn armchair, probably from the same source, is covered with a tapestry speckled like a [Narcisse Virgile Diaz] Diaz [de la Peña] or a [Adolphe] Monticelli in brown, red, pink, white, cream, black, forget-me-not blue and bottle green."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "Probably from the same source comes a very worn armchair covered with a tapestry flecked in the manner of a Diaz or a Monticelli, red-brown, pink, creamy white, black, forget-me-not blue and bottle green."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "Through the iron-barred window I can see an enclosed square of wheat, a prospect like a [Jan] Van Goyen, above which, in the morning, I watch the sun rise in all its glory."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "Through the iron-barred window I can make out a square of wheat in an enclosure, a perspective in the manner of Van Goyen, above which in the morning I see the sun rise in its glory."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "Through the iron-barred window I can see an enclosed square of wheat, a prospect like a Van Goyen, above which, in the morning, I watch the sun rise in all its glory."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "Through the iron-barred window I can make out a square of wheat in an enclosure, a perspective in the manner of Van Goyen, above which in the morning I see the sun rise in its glory."
Context:
BVG 589, 5/2/1889: " Where I have to follow a rule, as here in the hospital, I feel at peace."
JLB 767, 5/2/1889: " Where I must follow a rule, like here at the hospital, I feel more tranquil" (emphasis in original).
He blames his worsening condition on the asylum, of course, heaping calumny on its religious culture, its director Peyron, its failure to treat his illness, and, of course, its food. So fevered and incoherent is the letter that, while the postscript indicts the food, earlier in the body of the letter, Vincent admits eating the same food "ravenously" -- enough for two. Not only is this testimony unreliable, but we have Peyron's letter written about two weeks after Vincent's admission, in which he reports that Vincent "has a more peaceful and restoring sleep; he also eats with better appetite" (b1058 V/1962, ''Peyron, Th.'' to ''Gogh, Theo van'', 5/26/1889). The two accounts might be reconcilable if one assumes Vincent's later account exaggerates a brief introductory period at the asylum in which he disdained the food. This would be the same early period in which Peyron reports, in the same letter, "[Vincent] was subject to painful nightmares which upset him" (ibid.). It should also be noted that, in the intervening four months between these two very different reports, Vincent says repeatedly how much he is enjoying life at the asylum, reports that his stomach is feeling "infinitely better" (JLB 776, 5/23/1889) and his "health is good" (JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889), and insists (as late as mid-June) that, on account of better eating, more moderate drinking, and smoking, "[a]s for me, it's going well" (JLB 782, 6/18/1889).
While it is true, as we argue elsewhere, that Vincent often consciously misled his brother in order not to worry him, and one could view his months of glowing reports from the asylum in that light (as Rewald does), in this case we think Rewald undervalues the true relief Vincent felt at having the heavy responsibilities of Arles lifted from his shoulders -- at least temporarily -- and overvalues the histrionic complaints of September. Rewald, like many commentators, may have drunk too deeply from the well of Jo Bonger's bourgeois horror at Vincent's confinement in a mental asylum -- a fate in which she clearly could not imagine any decent person finding comfort. Her account of Vincent's entrance into Saint Paul is a study in nineteenth-century clichés of mental institutions as anterooms to Hell: "[Salles's] leave-taking broke the last tie that united Vincent with the outer world; he stayed behind in what was worse than the greatest loneliness, surrounded by neurotics and lunatics, with nobody to whom he could talk, nobody who understood him. ... Vincent spent a full year in these cheerless surroundings, struggling with unbroken energy against the ever-returning attacks of his illness but continuing his work with the old restless zeal which alone could keep him living now that everything else had failed him. ... It was no longer the buoyant, sunny, triumphant work of Arles. There sounded a deeper, sadder tone than the piercing clarion of his symphonies in yellow during the previous year." (Van Gogh-Bonger, in Van Gogh, pp. xlix-l.) One has only to recall the horrors of Vincent's time in Arles, and the freely-brushed, carefree landscapes from Saint-Rémy, to see the meaningless tropes at work in Bonger's summation.
Context:
BVG 598, 7/2/1889: "Besides, the hills full of thyme and other aromatic plants are very nice here, and because of the clearness of the air, from the heights one can see so much farther here than at home."
JLB 788, 7/8/1889-7/12/1889: "Then the hills here, full of thyme and other aromatic plants, are very beautiful, and because of the clarity of the air one can see from the heights so much further than at home."
Context:
BVG 598, 7/2/1889: "Then I never get tired of the blue sky."
JLB 788, 7/8/1889-7/12/1889: "Then I never tire of the blue sky."
Context:
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: "As for me, it's going well -- you'll understand that after almost half a year now of absolute sobriety in eating, drinking, smoking, with two two-hour baths a week recently, this must clearly calm one down a great deal."
Context:
BVG 595, 6/17/1889-6/18/1889: "Things are going well with me. You will understand that after almost half a year now of absolute frugality in eating, drinking, smoking, with two-hour baths twice a week of late, it's evident that it should steady me a lot."
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: "As for me, it's going well -- you'll understand that after almost half a year now of absolute sobriety in eating, drinking, smoking, with two two-hour baths a week recently, this must clearly calm one down a great deal."
Context:
JLB 834, 1/3/1890: "In your previous letter you talk of Hugo's drawings -- I've just seen a volume of Michelet's (illustrated) Histoire de France. I saw admirable drawings in it by Vierge which were completely like something by Victor Hugo, astonishing things." (Emphasis in original.)
Context:
JLB 784, 7/2/1889: "In a newspaper I was reading a letter from a collector of Greek objects to one of his friends, which contained this phrase 'you who love nature, I who love all that the hand of man has made, this difference in our tastes deep down creates the unity in it.'"
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "Thanks very much for the consignment of canvases, colours, brushes, tobacco and chocolate, which reached me in good order."
Context:
BVG 590, 5/3/1889: "Now that you are married, we don't have to live for great ideas any longer, but, believe me, for small ones only. And I find that a wonderful relief, and don't complain of it at all."
JLB 768, 5/3/1889: "Now that you're married we no longer have to live for great ideas but, believe it, for little ones only. And I find that a real relief which I don't complain about at all."
Context:
BVG 478, 4/21/1888: "When a man comes out of prison after having been there a long time, there will be moments when he will even miss his prison, because he finds himself at a loss now that he is at liberty -- so called, I suppose, because the grinding daily task of earning your living hardly leaves any liberty at all."
JLB 600, 4/20/1888: "When a man comes out of prison after having spent a long time there, there are times when he even misses prison, because he feels disoriented once he's at liberty, probably so called because the exhausting daily task of earning one's living leaves one hardly any liberty."
Context:
BVG 589, 5/2/1889: "But the money painting costs crushes me with a feeling of debt and worthlessness, and it would be a good thing if it were possible that this should stop."
JLB 767, 5/2/1889: "But the money that painting costs, that crushes me under a feeling of debt and of cowardice, and it would be good for that to stop if possible."
Context:
JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889: "The mistral (since there are a few mountains here) appears far less annoying than in Arles, where you always get it at first hand."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: " They say we must tolerate others so that the others may tolerate us, and other very sound arguments, which they put into practice, too. And we understand each other very well. Sometimes, for instance, I can talk with one of them who can only reply in incoherent sounds, because he is not afraid of me."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: " They say, one must suffer others for the others to suffer us, and other very true reasonings that they thus put into practice. And between ourselves we understand each other very well, I can, for example, chat sometimes with one who doesn't reply except in incoherent sounds, because he isn't afraid of me."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "When I send you the 4 canvases of the garden I have on the go you'll see that, considering that life happens above all in the garden, it isn't so sad."
Context:
JLB 750, 3/19/1889: "If -- let's say -- I were to become definitively insane -- certainly I don't say that it's impossible, in any case they should treat me differently, give me back the fresh air, my work &c. Then -- my word -- I would resign myself. But we aren't even there yet, and if I'd had my tranquillity I'd have been back on my feet long ago."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "As these unfortunates do absolutely nothing (not a book, nothing to distract them but a game of boules and a game of draughts) they have no other daily distraction than to stuff themselves with chickpeas, haricot beans, lentils and other groceries and colonial foodstuffs by the regulated quantities and at fixed times."
Context:
BVG 591, 5/10/1889-5/15/1889: "When I am working in the garden, they all come to look, and I assure you they have the discretion and manners to leave me alone -- more than the good people of the town of Arles, for instance."
JLB 772, 5/9/1889: "They all come to see when I'm working in the garden, and I can assure you are more discreet and more polite to leave me in peace than, for example, the good citizens of Arles."
Context:
BVG W11, 4/30/1889: "It is probable that people here won't see very much in it, but nevertheless it has always been my great desire to paint for those who do not know the artistic aspect of a picture."
JLB 764, 4/28/1889-5/2/1889: "The people here probably don't see much in it, but however it has always been so much my desire to paint for those who don't know the artistic side of a painting."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "These curtains, probably the legacy of some deceased and ruined rich person, are very pretty in design."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "These curtains, probably the leftovers of a ruined, deceased rich man, are very pretty in design."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "The room where we stay on rainy days is like a 3rd-class waiting room in some stagnant village, all the more so since there are honourable madmen who always wear a hat, spectacles and travelling clothes and carry a cane, almost like at the seaside."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "And we understand each other very well. Sometimes, for instance, I can talk with one of them who can only reply in incoherent sounds, because he is not afraid of me."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "And between ourselves we understand each other very well, I can, for example, chat sometimes with one who doesn't reply except in incoherent sounds, because he isn't afraid of me."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "There's one person here who has been shouting and always talking, like me, for a fortnight, he thinks he hears voices and words in the echo of the corridors, probably because the auditory nerve is sick and too sensitive, and with me it was both the sight and the hearing at the same time which, according to what [Dr. Félix] Rey said one day, is usual at the beginning of epilepsy" (emphasis in original).
Context:
JLB 772, 5/9/1889: "And although one continually hears shouts and terrible howls as though of the animals in a menagerie, despite this the people here know each other very well, and help each other when they suffer crises."
Context:
BVG 591, 5/10/1889-5/15/1889: "And though here you continually hear terrible cries and howls like beasts in a menagerie, in spite of that people get to know each other very well and help each other when their attacks come on."
JLB 772, 5/9/1889: "And although one continually hears shouts and terrible howls as though of the animals in a menagerie, despite this the people here know each other very well, and help each other when they suffer crises."
Context:
BVG 593, 6/2/1889: "A new man has arrived, who is so worked up that he smashes everything and shouts day and night, he wildly tears his shirts, too, and up till now, though he is in a bath all day long, he is hardly getting any quieter; he destroys his bed and everything else in his room, upsets his food, etc."
JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889: "A new person has arrived who is so agitated that he breaks everything and shouts day and night, he also tears the straitjackets and up to now he scarcely calms down, although he's in a bath all day long, he demolishes his bed and all the rest in his room, overturns his food &c." (emphasis in original).
Context:
BVG 593, 6/2/1889: "It is very sad to see, but they are very patient here and will pull him through in the end."
JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889: "It's very sad to see -- but they have a lot of patience here and will eventually get there, however."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "If someone has some crisis the others look after him, and intervene so that he doesn't harm himself. The same for those who have the mania of often getting angry. Old regulars of the menagerie run up and separate the fighters, if there is a fight."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "If someone has an attack, the others look after him and interfere so that he does not harm himself. The same for those whose mania is to fly often into a rage. The old inhabitants of the menagerie come running and separate the combatants, if combat there is."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "If someone has some crisis the others look after him, and intervene so that he doesn't harm himself. The same for those who have the mania of often getting angry. Old regulars of the menagerie run up and separate the fighters, if there is a fight."
Context:
BVG 593, 6/2/1889: "It is very sad to see, but they are very patient here and will pull him through in the end."
JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889: "It's very sad to see -- but they have a lot of patience here and will eventually get there, however."
Context:
BVG 591, 5/10/1889-5/15/1889: "I wanted to tell you that I think I have done well to come here; first of all by seeing the reality of the life of the various madmen and lunatics in this menagerie, I am losing the vague dread, the fear of the thing."
JLB 772, 5/9/1889: "I wanted to tell you that I think I've done well to come here, first, in seeing the reality of the life of the diverse mad or cracked people in this menagerie, I'm losing the vague dread, the fear of the thing" (emphasis in original).
Context:
JLB 151, 4/1/1879-4/16/1879: "Did I tell you at the time about the miner who was badly burned by a gas explosion? Thank God he has now recovered and goes out and about and is beginning to take long walks as practice, his hands are still weak and it will be some time before he's able to use them for his work, yet he has been saved. But since then there have been quite a few cases of typhus and virulent fever, including what is known as 'foolish fever,' which causes one to have bad dreams such as nightmares and delirium. So there are again many sickly and bedridden people, lying emaciated on their beds, weak and miserable. In one house everyone is sick with fever, and they have little or no help, which means that there the sick are taking care of the sick."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "For although there are some who howl or usually rave, here there is much true friendship that they have for each other" (emphasis in original).
Context:
BVG 589, 5/2/1889: "Now if I certainly run a great risk here of being refused because they know that I am a madman or an epileptic probably for good (though according to what I have heard, there are 50,000 epileptics in France, only 4,000 of whom are confined, and so it is not extraordinary), perhaps I should soon be provided for after speaking, for instance, to [Édouard] Détaille or Caran d'Ache [pseudonym of Emmanuel Poiré] in Paris."
JLB 767, 5/2/1889: "Now if here I certainly run a strong risk of being rejected because they know that I'm a madman or an epileptic, probably for good (although from what I've heard tell there are 50 thousand epileptics in France, of whom only 4,000 are confined, and that it's thus not so extraordinary), perhaps in Paris by telling it for example to Detaille or Caran d'Ache I would soon be found a place."
Context:
BVG 589, 5/2/1889: "Now if I certainly run a great risk here of being refused because they know that I am a madman or an epileptic probably for good (though according to what I have heard, there are 50,000 epileptics in France, only 4,000 of whom are confined, and so it is not extraordinary), perhaps I should soon be provided for after speaking, for instance, to Détaille or Caran d'Ache in Paris."
JLB 767, 5/2/1889: "Now if here I certainly run a strong risk of being rejected because they know that I'm a madman or an epileptic, probably for good (although from what I've heard tell there are 50 thousand epileptics in France, of whom only 4,000 are confined, and that it's thus not so extraordinary), perhaps in Paris by telling it for example to Detaille or Caran d'Ache I would soon be found a place."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "There's one person here who has been shouting and always talking, like me, for a fortnight, he thinks he hears voices and words in the echo of the corridors, probably because the auditory nerve is sick and too sensitive, and with me it was both the sight and the hearing at the same time which, according to what Rey said one day, is usual at the beginning of epilepsy" (emphasis in original).
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "Most epileptics bite their tongues and injure them. Rey told me that he had known a case where someone had injured his ear as I did, and I believe I've heard a doctor here who came to see me with the director say that he too had seen it before."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "Most epileptics bite their tongues and injure them. Rey told me that he had known a case where someone had injured his ear as I did, and I believe I've heard a doctor here who came to see me with the director say that he too had seen it before."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "Most epileptics bite their tongues and injure them. Rey told me that he had known a case where someone had injured his ear as I did, and I believe I've heard a doctor here who came to see me with the director say that he too had seen it before."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "There's one person here who has been shouting and always talking, like me, for a fortnight, he thinks he hears voices and words in the echo of the corridors, probably because the auditory nerve is sick and too sensitive, and with me it was both the sight and the hearing at the same time which, according to what Rey said one day, is usual at the beginning of epilepsy" (emphasis in original).
Context:
JLB 772, 5/9/1889: "As far as I know the doctor here is inclined to consider what I've had as an attack of an epileptic nature."
This casual reference to "a question still undecided" marks one of the primary fissure lines between French and English psychiatry at the time. In fact, the French continued to believe that the automatic actions constituted the seizure, not, as Gowers would have it, "post-epileptic phenomenon." The English, following in the giant footsteps of Hughlings Jackson, believed that the automatic actions represented, as Gowers goes on to say, " the result of the exhaustion of the highest cerebral centres by the discharge, and the consequent temporary loss of the control which these should exercise over complex centres just below them, which consequently act in an insubordinate and automatic manner" (ibid.; emphasis added). Ultimately at stake was the much larger question of whether behavior, aberrant or otherwise, always had a pathological origin. To preserve contemporaneity, the text adheres to the French preference for a psychological -- rather than a physiological -- understanding of epilepsy, which would have controlled both Rey's and Peyron's analysis of Vincent's case.
Context:
BVG W11, 4/30/1889: "As for me, I am rather often uneasy in my mind, because I think that my life has not been calm enough; all those bitter disappointments, adversities, changes keep me from developing fully and naturally in my artistic career."
JLB 764, 4/28/1889-5/2/1889: "For myself, I quite often worry that my life hasn't been calm enough, all these disappointments, annoyances, changes mean that I don't develop naturally and in full in my artistic career."
Context:
BVG 586, 4/24/1889: "Really, I think it would be torture for other people as well as for myself if I were to leave the hospital, for I feel and am, as it were, paralyzed when it comes to acting and shifting for myself."
JLB 761, 4/24/1889: "There you are, it seems to me that it would be a torture as much for others as for myself if I left the hospital, for I feel and am as it were paralyzed when it comes to acting and getting by."
Context:
BVG 419b, 8/7/1885: "However, I am trying to stop these leaks to the best of my ability, and I have not lost my self-command yet. Neither am I desperate."
JLB 524, 8/6/1885: "I'm plugging these leaks as much as I can, though, and am not yet losing my cool-headedness. Am not desperate either."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "I like to think that once you know what it is, once you are conscious of your condition, and of being subject to attacks, then you can do something to prevent your being taken unawares by the anguish or the terror."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "I dare to believe that once one knows what it is, once one is aware of one's state and of possibly being subject to crises, that then one can do something about it oneself so as not to be caught so much unawares by the anguish or the terror."
Context:
BVG 595, 6/17/1889-6/18/1889: "Do not fear that I shall ever, of my own will, rush to dizzy heights. Unfortunately we are subject to the circumstances and the maladies of our time, whether we like it or not."
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: "Don't be afraid that I would ever venture onto dizzy heights of my own free will, unfortunately, whether we like it or not, we're subject to circumstances and to the illnesses of our time."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "Well, now I can think of all that without fear, that is to say, I find it is no more dreadful than if those people had died of something else, consumption or syphilis, for example."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "Well, now I think of all this without fear, i.e. I find it no more atrocious than if these people had snuffed it of something else, of consumption or syphilis, for example."
Context:
BVG 637, 5/25/1890: "And things may yet get better, I still think that it is mostly a malady of the South that I have caught, and that the return here will be enough to dissipate the whole thing."
JLB 875, 5/25/1890: "And they may get even better, I still believe that it's above all an illness of the south that I caught, and that the return here will be enough to dispel all that."
Context:
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "The doctor was telling me about Monticelli, that he had always considered him eccentric, but as for mad, he had only been a little that way towards the end. Considering all the miseries of M[onticelli]'s last years, is it any surprise that he bowed beneath a weight that was too heavy, and is one right in trying to deduce from that that he failed in his work, artistically speaking?" (Emphasis in original.)
Context:
BVG 606, 9/19/1889: "And there are so many among the artists who -- notwithstanding nervous diseases or epileptic fits from time to time -- nevertheless go ahead, and in a painter's life it seems to be enough to make paintings, but also one has to be careful not to spoil one's connections with other painters."
JLB 803, 9/19/1889: "And among artists there are so many who, despite nervous diseases -- or seizures from time to time -- nevertheless go their own way, and in the life of the painter it is, it seems, not enough to make paintings but one must also not let one's relations with other painters be harmed."
Context:
JLB 274, 10/22/1882: "This week I hope to have orphan boys to pose, then I may be able to rescue the drawing of orphan children after all."
Context:
JLB 348, 6/3/1883: "I'm going to ask for permission to work in the old people's home. I already have many studies of orphan men, but I need to have the women too, and also the setting at the place itself."
Context:
BVG 209, 7/1/1882: "I cannot tell you how happy I am to sit here in the studio again after having been surrounded by chamber pots, etc., for so long, though the hospital is also beautiful, very beautiful, especially the garden with all those convalescent people -- men, women and children."
JLB 241, 7/1/1882: "I can't tell you with what pleasure I sit here again in the studio after spending so long in an environment of chamber-pots &c., even though the hospital is also beautiful, truly beautiful. Especially the garden with all the strollers, men, women, children."
According to JLB, Vincent is referring to Joseph Swain's 1827 engraving of The East London Hospital for Children by Matthew White Ridley (date and location unknown), which was published in The Illustrated London News on April 27, 1872. Green's illustration, The Out-Patient's Room in University College Hospital, was published in The Graphic on January 6, 1872. (JLB 304, 1/25/1883; n. 34 and JLB 279, 11/1/1882; n. 3.)
Context:
JLB 304, 1/25/1883: "You know the head of a miner by Ridley. I now have a boat race spectators by him, and already had a hospital, both thorough, solid prints."
Context:
JLB 768, 5/3/1889: "I would happily, once I was known there a little, try and make myself a male nurse little by little, in short to work at anything and take up an occupation again -- the first one that comes along."
Context:
BVG 569, 1/7/1889: "I assure you that some days at the hospital were very interesting, and perhaps it is from the sick that one learns how to live."
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "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."
Without apparent support, Blumer maintains that the medical director at Saint-Rémy, Peyron, "failed to continue treatment with potassium bromide" (Blumer, "The Illness of Vincent van Gogh," p. 521). But this is surely either incorrect or incomplete. Peyron fully embraced Rey's diagnosis of latent epilepsy and there is no evidence that he repudiated the intern's treatment regime. According to Leroy, who was closest to the actual evidence and actors, the question is open: "Whether Dr. Peyron prescribed high doses of bromide ... as had Dr Rey at the hospital in Arles, we have absolutely no idea" (Leroy, p. 183). There are some clues, however. First, it is highly unlikely that Peyron would have simply cut off bromide treatment at the time of Vincent's admission to Saint Paul. And, indeed, there is evidence in Vincent's letters through May and June of the lassitude that is typical of "bromism": "But I still have absolutely no will, hardly any desires or none, and everything that has to do with ordinary life, the desire for example to see friends again, about whom I think however, almost nil" (JLB 776, 5/23/1889); "not one single time have I had the slightest desire to be elsewhere; just the will to work again is becoming a tiny bit firmer" (JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889); "I was pining for work a little ... I'm bored to death at times after work, and yet I have no desire to begin again" (JLB 779, 6/9/1889).
It is possible that, as weeks passed without an attack, Peyron reduced the dosage of bromides that Vincent received. But as soon as Vincent suffered another spell of attacks in July, Peyron unquestionably resumed the high-dose bromide treatment inherited from Rey and was reluctant thereafter to suspend it, even briefly. It should also be noted that Vincent may have continued taking iodide of potassium for his syphilis, a treatment that began in Paris (see Ch. 28, n.120).
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "Now I take a bath twice a week, and stay in it for 2 hours, then my stomach is infinitely better than a year ago, so I only have to continue, as far as I know."
In May 1889, Vincent archly equates his asylum-mates with his brother's fellow employees at Goupil: "I think that it's no more unfortunate for me to be in the company where I am than for you always the fateful things at Goupil & Cie. From that point of view we're quite equal." (JLB 776, 5/23/1889.)
The best statement of this counter-accusation comes from a book that Vincent read early in his life and probably represents his first encounter, in fiction or in life, with the concept of a madhouse. It comes from Karr's A Trip Around My Garden: "When these thoughts come over me, I am seized with a profound horror for all trouble, anxiety, and agitation; I only think of living quietly, without a care for the present or the future ... It appears to me that I then see all these people who are elbowing each other, in order to attain I don't know what, to be furious madmen; and I became of the opinion of that philosopher, who pretended to have discovered the true reason for there being, in all great cities, a lunatic asylum: it is, that by shutting up some poor creatures under the name of madmen, strangers might believe that all who are out of that hospital are sane." (Karr, p. 71.) There is reason to believe that this passage may have been on Vincent's mind around this time, as he wrote to Theo in June (in response to a book that his sister Wil had sent him): "Anyway, I prefer Alphonse Karr, [Émile] Souvestre, [Gustave] Droz, because it's a bit more alive than this" (JLB 783, 6/25/1889). This is the first specific mention of Karr since 1874 (JLB 28, 8/10/1874).
Context:
BVG 585, 4/21/1889: "I wish to remain shut up as much for my own peace of mind as for other people's."
JLB 760, 4/21/1889: "And for the time being I wish to remain confined, as much for my own tranquillity as for that of others."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "I take a bath twice a week now, and stay in it for two hours; my stomach is infinitely better than it was a year ago; so as far as I know, I only have to go on."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "Now I take a bath twice a week, and stay in it for 2 hours, then my stomach is infinitely better than a year ago, so I only have to continue, as far as I know."
Context:
BVG 593, 6/2/1889: "As for me, my health is good, and as for my brain, that will be, let us hope, a matter of time and patience."
JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889: "As for me, my health is good, and as for the head it will, let's hope, be a matter of time and patience."
Context:
JLB 772, 5/9/1889: "As far as I can make out, the doctor here is inclined to consider what I have had some sort of epileptic attack. But I did not ask him about it."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "The room where we stay on wet days is like a third-class waiting room in some stagnant village, the more so as there are some distinguished lunatics who always wear a hat, spectacles and a cane, and travelling cloak, almost like at a watering place, and they represent the passengers."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "The room where we stay on rainy days is like a 3rd-class waiting room in some stagnant village, all the more so since there are honourable madmen who always wear a hat, spectacles and travelling clothes and carry a cane, almost like at the seaside, and who represent the passengers there."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "The poor wretches here, having absolutely nothing to do (not a book, nothing more to distract them than a game of boules or a game of draughts), have no other daily distraction than to stuff themselves with chickpeas, haricot beans, lentils and other groceries and colonial produce, in set quantities and at stated hours. As the digestion of these foodstuffs offers certain difficulties, they fill their days in a way as offensive as it is cheap."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "As these unfortunates do absolutely nothing (not a book, nothing to distract them but a game of boules and a game of draughts) they have no other daily distraction than to stuff themselves with chickpeas, haricot beans, lentils and other groceries and colonial foodstuffs by the regulated quantities and at fixed times. As the digestion of these commodities presents certain difficulties, they thus fill their days in a manner as inoffensive as it's cheap."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "The poor wretches here, having absolutely nothing to do (not a book, nothing more to distract them than a game of boules or a game of draughts), have no other daily distraction than to stuff themselves with chickpeas, haricot beans, lentils and other groceries and colonial produce, in set quantities and at stated hours. As the digestion of these foodstuffs offers certain difficulties, they fill their days in a way as offensive as it is cheap."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "As these unfortunates do absolutely nothing (not a book, nothing to distract them but a game of boules and a game of draughts) they have no other daily distraction than to stuff themselves with chickpeas, haricot beans, lentils and other groceries and colonial foodstuffs by the regulated quantities and at fixed times. As the digestion of these commodities presents certain difficulties, they thus fill their days in a manner as inoffensive as it's cheap."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "The poor wretches here, having absolutely nothing to do (not a book, nothing more to distract them than a game of boules or a game of draughts), have no other daily distraction than to stuff themselves with chickpeas, haricot beans, lentils and other groceries and colonial produce, in set quantities and at stated hours."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "As these unfortunates do absolutely nothing (not a book, nothing to distract them but a game of boules and a game of draughts) they have no other daily distraction than to stuff themselves with chickpeas, haricot beans, lentils and other groceries and colonial foodstuffs by the regulated quantities and at fixed times."
Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "Going back to Paris or anywhere at all in no way attracts me. I think my place is here."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "Coming back to Paris or anywhere at the moment doesn't appeal to me at all, I feel that I'm in the right place here."
Context:
JLB 760, 4/21/1889: "Anyhow, let's begin with 3 months, afterwards we'll see."
Context:
JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889: "I've been here almost a whole month, not one single time have I had the slightest desire to be elsewhere; just the will to work again is becoming a tiny bit firmer."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "With this -- as there are more than 30 empty rooms -- I have another room in which to work."
Context:
BVG 596, 6/25/1889: "But however it may be, outside Paris you quickly forget Paris, when throwing yourself into the heart of the country, your ideas change; but I for one cannot forget all those lovely canvases of Barbizon, and it seems hardly probable that anyone will do better than that, and unnecessary besides."
JLB 783, 6/25/1889: "But whatever the case, outside Paris one quickly forgets Paris, by throwing oneself into the heart of the country one changes one's ideas. But I for one couldn't forget all those beautiful Barbizon canvases then, and it seems unlikely and anyway unnecessary to do better than that."
Context:
JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889: "[Charles-François] Daubigny and [Théodore] Rousseau did that, though, with the expression of all the intimacy and all the great peace and majesty that it has, adding to it a feeling so heartbreaking, so personal."
Context:
JLB 853, 2/9/1890 or 2/10/1890: "You see, it seems to me so difficult to separate Impressionism from other things, I cannot see the point of so much sectarian thinking as we have seen these last few years, but I fear its absurdity."
Context:
JLB 768, 5/3/1889: "And thus we'll always retain a certain passion for Impressionism, but I sense that I'm returning more and more to the ideas I already had before coming to Paris."
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "Am therefore inclined to believe that another new sect has been formed, no less infallible than the others that already exist."
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "What storms in teacups."
Context:
BVG B21, 11/20/1889: "All year I was doing little things after nature, without giving a thought to impressionism or whatever else."
JLB 822, 11/26/1889: "And the whole year, have fiddled around from life, hardly thinking of Impressionism or of this or that."
Context:
JLB 772, 5/9/1889: "I have two others on the go -- violet irises and a lilac bush. Two subjects taken from the garden."
Context:
BVG 596, 6/25/1889: "I have no news to tell you, for the days are all the same; I have no ideas, except to think that a field of wheat or a cypress is well worth the trouble of looking at close up, and so on."
JLB 783, 6/25/1889: "Only there's a lack of news to write to you, for the days are all the same, as for ideas I have no others except to think that a wheatfield or a cypress are well worth the effort of looking at them from close at hand, and so on."
Context:
BVG W13, 7/2/1889: "But never mind, I think I am not going to urge you too much to read books or dramas, seeing that I myself, after reading them for some time, feel obliged to go out and look at a blade of grass, the branch of a fir tree, an ear of wheat, in order to calm down."
JLB 785, 7/2/1889: "But anyway, I think I shan't urge you too much to read such dramatic books when I myself, returning from this reading, am always obliged to go and gaze at a blade of grass, a pine-tree branch, an ear of wheat, to calm myself."
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "One is the countryside that I glimpse from the window of my bedroom. In the foreground a field of wheat, ravaged and knocked to the ground after a storm. A boundary wall and beyond, grey foliage of a few olive trees, huts and hills."
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "It's a landscape [Mountainous Landscape behind Saint-Paul Hospital (F 611 JH 1723)] of extreme simplicity -- in terms of coloration as well. It would be suitable as a pendant to that study of the bedroom that's damaged."
Context:
JLB 800, 9/5/1889-9/6/1889: "What I dream of in my best moments aren't so much dazzling colour effects as the half-tones once again."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "Here's a new no. 30 canvas, commonplace again, like one of those chromos from a penny bazaar that depict eternal nests of greenery for lovers. Thick tree-trunks covered with ivy, the ground also covered with ivy and periwinkle, a stone bench and a bush of roses, blanched in the cold shadow. In the foreground a few plants with white calyxes. It's green, violet and pink."
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "Then I feel tempted to begin again with the simpler colours, the ochres for example."
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "Is a Van Goyen ugly because it's painted all in oils with very little neutral colour, or a [Georges] Michel?"
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "Is a Van Goyen ugly because it's painted all in oils with very little neutral colour, or a Michel?"
Context:
BVG 325, 9/16/1883: "In the evening when a poor little figure is moving through the twilight -- when that vast sun-scorched earth stands out darkly against the delicate lilac hues of the evening sky, and the very last little dark-blue line at the horizon separates the earth from the sky -- that same aggravating, monotonous spot can be as sublime as a Jules Dupré."
JLB 387, 9/16/1883: "That same irritatingly tedious spot -- in the evening as a poor little figure moves through the twilight -- when that vast, sun-scorched earth stands out dark against the delicate lilac tints of the evening sky, and the very last fine dark blue line on the horizon separates earth from sky -- can be as sublime as in a J. Dupré."
Context:
JLB 387, 9/16/1883: "That same irritatingly tedious spot -- in the evening as a poor little figure moves through the twilight -- when that vast, sun-scorched earth stands out dark against the delicate lilac tints of the evening sky, and the very last fine dark blue line on the horizon separates earth from sky -- can be as sublime as in a J. Dupré."
Context:
BVG W12, 6/16/1889: "At the end of the field there is a little house with a tall somber cypress which stands out against the far-off hills with their violet-like and bluish tones, and against a sky the color of forget-me-nots with pink streaks, whose pure hues form a contrast with the scorched ears, which are already heavy, and have the warm tones of a bread crust."
JLB 780, 6/16/1889: "At the end of the field a little pink house with a tall and dark cypress tree that stands out against the distant purplish and bluish hills, and against a forget-me-not blue sky streaked with pink whose pure tones contrast with the already heavy, scorched ears, whose tones are as warm as the crust of a loaf of bread."
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "When the thing depicted is stylistically absolutely in agreement and at one with the manner of depiction, isn't that what creates the quality of a piece of art?"
Context:
BVG 605, 9/7/1889-9/8/1889: " In the open air, exposed to the wind, to the sun, to people's curiosity, one works as best one can, one fills one's canvas regardless. Yet that is how one captures the true and the essential -- the most difficult part."
JLB 801, 9/10/1889: " Out of doors, exposed to the wind, the sun, people's curiosity, one works as one can, one fills one's canvas regardless. Yet then one catches the true and the essential -- that's the most difficult thing."
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "How I'd have liked to see an Egyptian house in the exhibition, built by the architect Jules Garnier [sic]-- painted in red, yellow and blue with a garden divided regularly into beds by rows of bricks -- the dwelling of the people we know only in the state of mummies or in granite."
Context:
BVG 594, 6/9/1889: "But then to come back to the point, the Egyptian artists, having faith, working by feeling and by instinct, express all these intangible things -- kindness, infinite patience, wisdom, serenity -- by a few knowing curves and by the marvellous proportions. That is to say once more, when the thing represented and the manner of representing it agree, the thing has style and quality."
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "But there you are, to get back to the point, since the Egyptian artists thus have a faith, working from feeling and instinct, they express all these intangible things: goodness, infinite patience, wisdom, serenity, with a few masterly curves and marvellous proportions. That's to say once more, when the thing depicted and the manner of depicting it are in accord, the thing has style and quality." (Emphasis in original.)
Context:
BVG 594, 6/9/1889: "But then to come back to the point, the Egyptian artists, having faith, working by feeling and by instinct, express all these intangible things -- kindness, infinite patience, wisdom, serenity -- by a few knowing curves and by the marvellous proportions."
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "But there you are, to get back to the point, since the Egyptian artists thus have a faith, working from feeling and instinct, they express all these intangible things: goodness, infinite patience, wisdom, serenity, with a few masterly curves and marvellous proportions" (emphasis in original).
Context:
BVG 594, 6/9/1889: "Now as to the impressionists -- once again, if an interior is not complete without a work of art, neither is a picture complete if it is not in harmony with surroundings originating in and resulting from the period in which it was produced."
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "Now the Impressionists -- once again, if an interior isn't complete without a work of art, neither is a painting if it isn't at one with original surroundings, resulting from the era in which it was produced."
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "That's why, as regards painting, a household loaf is above all good when it's painted by Chardin."
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "Thus the paintings of Hals, Rembrandt, Vermeer are only at home in the old Dutch house."
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "Now the Impressionists -- once again, if an interior isn't complete without a work of art, neither is a painting if it isn't at one with original surroundings, resulting from the era in which it was produced. And I don't know if the Impressionists are worth more than their time, or rather aren't yet worth as much. In a word, are there souls and interiors of houses that are more important than what has been expressed by painting, I'm inclined to believe so."
Context:
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: "Although I haven't seen the latest canvases either by Gauguin or Bernard, I'm fairly sure that these two studies I speak of are comparable in sentiment. When you've seen these two studies for a while, as well as the one of the ivy, I'll perhaps be able to give you, better than in words, an idea of the things Gauguin, Bernard and I sometimes chatted about and that preoccupied us."
Context:
BVG 595, 6/17/1889-6/18/1889: "When you have looked at these two studies for some time, and that of the ivy as well, it will perhaps give you some idea, better than words could, of the things that Gauguin and Bernard and I sometimes used to talk about, and which we've thought about a good deal; it is not a return to the romantic or to religious ideas, no. Nevertheless, by going the way of Delacroix, more than is apparent, by colour and a more spontaneous drawing than delusive precision, one could express the purer nature of a countryside compared with the suburbs and cabarets of Paris."
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: "When you've seen these two studies for a while, as well as the one of the ivy, I'll perhaps be able to give you, better than in words, an idea of the things Gauguin, Bernard and I sometimes chatted about and that preoccupied us. It's not a return to the romantic or to religious ideas, no. However, by going the way of Delacroix, more than it seems, by colour and a more determined drawing than trompe-l'oeil precision, one might express a country nature that is purer than the suburbs, the bars of Paris."
Context:
BVG 607, 9/19/1889: "Where these lines are close and deliberate it begins to be a picture, even if it is exaggerated. That is a little what Gauguin and Bernard feel, they do not ask the correct shape of a tree at all, but they do insist that one can say if the shape is round or square -- and honestly, they are right, exasperated as they are by certain people's photographic and empty perfection."
JLB 805, 9/20/1889: "Where these lines are close together and deliberate the painting begins, even if it may be exaggerated. That's what Bernard and Gauguin feel a little bit, they won't ask for the correct shape of a tree at all, but they absolutely insist that one says if the shape is round or square -- and my word, they're right -- Exasperated by certain people's photographic and inane perfection."
Context:
JLB 801, 9/10/1889: "What a funny thing the touch is, the brushstroke" (emphasis in original).
Context:
BVG 605, 9/7/1889-9/8/1889: "But when, after some time, one resumes the study and alters the brushstrokes in keeping with the objects -- the result is without doubt more harmonious and pleasant to look at, and one can add whatever serenity and happiness one feels."
JLB 801, 9/10/1889: "But when one returns to this study again after a time, and orders one's brushstrokes in the direction of the objects -- certainly it's more harmonious and agreeable to see, and one adds to it whatever one has of serenity and smiles."
Context:
BVG 605, 9/7/1889-9/8/1889: "But when, after some time, one resumes the study and alters the brushstrokes in keeping with the objects -- the result is without doubt more harmonious and pleasant to look at, and one can add whatever serenity and happiness one feels."
JLB 801, 9/10/1889: "But when one returns to this study again after a time, and orders one's brushstrokes in the direction of the objects -- certainly it's more harmonious and agreeable to see, and one adds to it whatever one has of serenity and smiles."
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "Thus also the servant girl in [Henri] Leys's great fresco, when she's engraved by [Félix] Braquemond, becomes a new work of art -- or Meissonier's little reader when it's [Jules Ferdinand] Jacquemart who engraves him -- since the manner of engraving and the thing depicted are as one" (emphasis in original).
Context:
BVG 596, 6/25/1889: "Two studies of cypresses of that difficult bottle-green hue; I have worked their foregrounds with thick layers of white lead, which gives firmness to the ground."
JLB 783, 6/25/1889: "Two studies of cypresses of that difficult shade of bottle green. I've worked their foregrounds with thick impastos of white lead which gives firmness to the ground."
Context:
BVG 596, 6/25/1889: "It is as beautiful of line and proportion as an Egyptian obelisk."
JLB 783, 6/25/1889: "It's beautiful as regards lines and proportions, like an Egyptian obelisk."
Context:
JLB 783, 6/25/1889: "The cypresses still preoccupy me, I'd like to do something with them like the canvases of the sunflowers because it astonishes me that no one has yet done them as I see them."
Context:
BVG 596, 6/25/1889: "It is a splash of black in a sunny landscape, but it is one of the most interesting black notes, and the most difficult to hit off exactly that I can imagine."
JLB 783, 6/25/1889: "It's the dark patch in a sun-drenched landscape, but it's one of the most interesting dark notes, the most difficult to hit off exactly that I can imagine" (emphasis in original).
Context:
BVG 595, 6/17/1889-6/18/1889: " Enfin, I have a landscape with olive trees and also a new study of a starry sky."
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: " At last I have a landscape with olive trees, and also a new study of a starry sky."
Context:
JLB 774, 5/21/1889: "A few days ago I received your consignment, which is very important, there are some superb things in it. Everything arrived in good order and undamaged. The Berceuse, the portrait of Roulin, the little sower, with the tree, the baby, the starry night, the sunflowers and the chair with the pipe and the tobacco are the ones I like best up to now."
Context:
BVG 593, 6/2/1889: "As for the exhibition of the Independents, it's all one to me, just act as if I weren't here. So as not to be indifferent, and not to exhibit anything too mad, perhaps the 'Starry Night' and the landscape with yellow vegetation, which was in the walnut frame."
JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889: "As regards the exhibition of the Independents, it's all the same to me, act as if I wasn't there at all. To not be indifferent and not exhibit something too mad, perhaps the starry night and the landscape with yellow greenery which was in the walnut frame."
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "But there you are, to get back to the point, since the Egyptian artists thus have a faith, working from feeling and instinct, they express all these intangible things: goodness, infinite patience, wisdom, serenity, with a few masterly curves and marvellous proportions. That's to say once more, when the thing depicted and the manner of depicting it are in accord, the thing has style and quality." (Emphasis in original.)
Context:
BVG 605, 9/7/1889-9/8/1889: "But when, after some time, one resumes the study and alters the brushstrokes in keeping with the objects -- the result is without doubt more harmonious and pleasant to look at, and one can add whatever serenity and happiness one feels."
JLB 801, 9/10/1889: "But when one returns to this study again after a time, and orders one's brushstrokes in the direction of the objects -- certainly it's more harmonious and agreeable to see, and one adds to it whatever one has of serenity and smiles."
Context:
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "But there you are, to get back to the point, since the Egyptian artists thus have a faith, working from feeling and instinct, they express all these intangible things: goodness, infinite patience, wisdom, serenity, with a few masterly curves and marvellous proportions. That's to say once more, when the thing depicted and the manner of depicting it are in accord, the thing has style and quality." (Emphasis in original.)
Mauron lucidly summarizes Gastaut's notion of "viscosity" and traces it through Vincent's long history of lost friends and alienated family members: "Vincent captures them in his orbit, adopts them, assimilates them to himself and requires them to be like him without suffering from the contradiction. ... Now, there comes a time where the person concerned resists this all-consuming assimilation. He argues, asserts himself and refuses. From then on, relations become strained and contact negative. Vincent takes umbrage, makes himself out to be a victim and no longer seeks amidst the bravado for the difficulties remarked on by his father, but for unhappiness and a humiliating break in relations. The problem is that through a well-known mechanism Vincent now projects aggressive phantasms onto the other man, making the latter a hostile and persecutory figure. This sequence of mechanisms successively forbade Vincent a string of social contacts, creating around him the solitude he feared. He must continually change his environment because everyone is poisoned in turn and becomes intolerable to him: hence his movements and, in general, his psychopathy." (Mauron, pp. 102-103.)
Context:
BVG T9, 5/21/1889: "We hear with pleasure that your trip to St. Rémy was accomplished without a hitch, and that your stay there will not last very long, for it can hardly be pleasant to be near so many lunatics."
JLB 774, 5/21/1889: "We were pleased to learn that your journey to St-Rémy went well, and that you feel calmer there than in Arles. All the same, I hope that your stay will only be for a short length of time, for having these mad people as your neighbours can't be agreeable."
To understand just how relentlessly Theo sought to trim the expenses of Vincent's care, one only has to look at the correspondence between him and Reverend Salles. The latter's accountings to Theo of his disbursements suggests the level at which Theo scrutinized every debit. For example, Salles reports settling Vincent's bill at the Arles hospital but withholding the customary gratuities from hospital interns: "I have paid to the bursar ["économe la solde"] what was due him (20.45f) for the pension of your brother, but I did not find it necessary to offer anything to the caretakers who took care of him at the hospital." (b1053 V/1962, "Salles, Frederic" to "Gogh, Theo van", 6/5/1889.) In the same letter, Salles accounts for the expenses relating to the trip Salles and Vincent took to Saint-Rémy in early May: "I received from you 100f in all (50f of the 200 sent at the time of the departure for St. Rémy and 50f with your last letter). Of this amount I have only spent 7f for the voyage by your brother and me to St. Rémy and the 20f.45 of the note included herein, for a total of 27f .45. I therefore still have 72.55 of yours." (ibid.)
Context:
JLB 774, 5/21/1889: "Tell us in your next letter what the establishment you're now in is like. How are you treated, is the food sufficient, and how are the people with whom you have to deal? Do you see something of the country?"
Context:
BVG T9, 5/21/1889: "Now there is in your canvases a vigour which one certainly does not find in the chromos; in the course of time they will become very beautiful by reason of the settling of the layers of paint and they will undoubtedly be appreciated someday."
JLB 774, 5/21/1889: "Now in your canvases there's a vigour which one certainly doesn't find in chromos, in time that will become very fine as impasto, and certainly they'll be appreciated one day."
Theo's straining to put a positive gloss on these pictures -- and his patronizing appropriation of Vincent's tropes in order to do so -- is painfully obvious and probably was so to Vincent. After this, Theo never gets around to saying why he liked the other five "favorites" and says nothing more about the remaining canvases or the consignment in general. Of special note is the ever-receding promise of eventual appreciation -- the cheapest form of reassurance (i.e., carefully not suggesting current salability). Theo could have just right-out lied about his reaction, but seems to feel the need not to stray too far from the truth -- perhaps out of integrity or perhaps out of a suspicion that Vincent might not credit unambiguous praise. Theo remains silent about Vincent's work until a month later, in mid-June, when he says vaguely: "your latest paintings have given me a great deal to think about as regards your state of mind when you made them" (JLB 781, 6/16/1889). The only illumination of this comment he provides is this: "There are moments which one feels well, but when it's so difficult to take account of what has taken shape in thought and what is still in a vague state" (ibid.). Basically, this translates as, "I couldn't figure out how to say something positive about your paintings; so I avoided saying anything. Now that you have forced the issue; I can't delay any longer, so here goes. If it doesn't come off as positive, then it's your fault."
Context:
JLB 774, 5/21/1889: "The Berceuse, the portrait of Roulin, the little sower, with the tree, the baby, the starry night, the sunflowers and the chair with the pipe and the tobacco are the ones I like best up to now. The first two, in particular, are most curious."
This leads one to suspect that other dynamics lay behind Theo's grudging support at this critical juncture in Vincent's life. Perhaps he was crippled by his parents' habit of equivocation when it came to his brother (in a way not applicable to Gauguin or Monet). Perhaps also Theo harbored a streak of genuine anger and resentment toward Vincent -- a feeling that he, Vincent, had wasted opportunities and brought shame and suffering to the family with his willful, selfish behavior over the years, and, now, was complicating Theo's final lunge for happiness in the same way he had darkened their father's final years. Only two months later, in late July, after a spell of ill health, the announcement that Jo was pregnant, and a long worrisome silence from Vincent, does Theo issue -- too late -- the blast of unqualified praise that he had so long withheld: "I received your last consignment in perfect condition, and find it extremely beautiful. ... in most of these canvases I find more clarity of expression and such a beautiful ensemble. The Undergrowth with the trees surrounded with ivy [A Corner in the Garden of Saint-Paul Hospital (F 609 JH 1693)], the Lane in Arles [Red Chestnuts in the Public Park at Arles (F 517 JH 1689)] and the Fields with the gardens in springtime [Orchard in Blossom with View of Arles (F 516 JH 1685) and/or View of Arles with Trees in Blossom (F 515 JH 1683)] are really beautiful. ... They make a fine display in the frame ... marvellously beautiful." (JLB 793, 7/29/1889.)
Context:
BVG T9, 5/21/1889: "Now there is in your canvases a vigour which one certainly does not find in the chromos; in the course of time they will become very beautiful by reason of the settling of the layers of paint and they will undoubtedly be appreciated someday."
JLB 774, 5/21/1889: "Now in your canvases there's a vigour which one certainly doesn't find in chromos, in time that will become very fine as impasto, and certainly they'll be appreciated one day."
Context:
BVG T9, 5/21/1889: "Certainly there is none of the beauty which is taught officially in them, but they have something so striking and so near to truth. Who can tell whether we are more in the right than the simple people who buy pictures with glaring colours?"
JLB 774, 5/21/1889: "Certainly it's not the beautiful that is taught there, but there's something in them that's so striking and so close to the truth. Who tells us that we're more right than the simple people who buy images in loud colours?"
Context:
BVG T10, 6/16/1889: "In all of them there is a vigour in the colours which you have not achieved before -- this in itself constitutes a rare quality -- but you have gone further than that, and if there are some who try to find the symbolic by torturing the form, I find this in many of your canvases, namely in the expression of the epitome of your thoughts on nature and living creatures, which you feel to be so strongly inherent in them."
JLB 781, 6/16/1889: "All of them have a power of colour which you hadn't attained before, which in itself is a rare quality, but you have gone further, and if there are people who occupy themselves seeking the symbol by dint of torturing the form, I find it in many of your canvases through the expression of the summary of your thoughts on nature and living beings, which you feel are so strongly attached to it"
Context:
BVG T10, 6/16/1889: "I am also not sure of being able to write you in the way I should like to today, but my letter will be sent off anyway, if only to let you know that we think of you often, and that your last pictures have given me much food for thought on the state of your mind at the time you did them. In all of them there is a vigour in the colours which you have not achieved before -- this in itself constitutes a rare quality -- but you have gone further than that, and if there are some who try to find the symbolic by torturing the form, I find this in many of your canvases, namely in the expression of the epitome of your thoughts on nature and living creatures, which you feel to be so strongly inherent in them. But how your brain must have laboured, and how you have risked everything to the very limit, where vertigo is inevitable!"
JLB 781, 6/16/1889: "So I'm not sure of being able to write to you as I wanted today, but my letter will leave all the same, if only to tell you that we often think of you and that your latest paintings have given me a great deal to think about as regards your state of mind when you made them. All of them have a power of colour which you hadn't attained before, which in itself is a rare quality, but you have gone further, and if there are people who occupy themselves seeking the symbol by dint of torturing the form, I find it in many of your canvases through the expression of the summary of your thoughts on nature and living beings, which you feel are so strongly attached to it. But how hard your mind must have worked and how you endangered yourself to the extreme point where vertigo is inevitable."
Context:
BVG T8, 5/8/1889: " Dear Brother, It is high time at last that your new little sister had a chat with you herself, instead of leaving it to Theo to send her regards. When we were not yet married I was always thinking, Oh, at present you haven't yet got the courage to write about everything to Vincent, but now that we are really and truly brother and sister, and I should be so very happy if you knew me a little too, and, if possible, loved me a little."
JLB 771, 5/8/1889: " Dearest brother, It's high time that your new little sister came to chat with you and didn't always just let Theo convey her regards. When we weren't married yet I always thought: Well, I don't really dare to write to Vincent about everything yet, but now we really have become brother and sister, and I would so much like you to know me a little and, if possible, love me a little."
Note how, completely unintentionally, this sweet story had the potential to hit all of Vincent's emotional hot buttons: (1) She has Theo, Vincent does not; (2) Theo and she have a house, Vincent does not; (3) Theo is in Paris, Vincent is not; (4) Theo is married, Vincent is not; (5) Theo has friends, Vincent does not; (6) Theo and she have a family (Vincent's family, in Breda), Vincent does not; (7) Theo has a job, Vincent does not. The overall message, of course, is that she has taken Vincent's place in Theo's life. This panoramic insensitivity suggests to us that Theo had kept Jo more or less in the dark about the cauldron of sensitivity and neuroses that Jo faced in writing Vincent. Not that Theo's letters are always sensitive to his brother's medical condition. To be fair, under the circumstances, it's not clear how Jo could have written a letter that did not hit Vincent's emotional buttons. Note, however, that she does not ask anything about Vincent, his art, his health, etc. She does not express an intent to meet him or regret that he missed the wedding, or affirm Theo's love for him. She does not invite him to Paris or even suggest that she hopes such a time will come. There is no detectable warmth behind these pleasantries. True or not, we believe that Vincent would have interpreted these early letters from Jo along with Theo's descriptions of her to suggest that she was shallow, frivolous, and solipsistic.
Context:
BVG T8, 5/8/1889: "What is worst is that I don't at all look like a married lady yet -- yesterday I went to pay our baker, and the good man could not possibly understand that I myself was Madame Van Gogh, and persisted in calling me mademoiselle, which is really something too frightful!"
JLB 771, 5/8/1889: "The worst thing though is that I don't yet look anything like a married lady -- yesterday I went to pay our baker and the man simply wouldn't understand that I was Madame van Gogh and kept calling me Mademoiselle, it's really too bad!"
Context:
BVG T8, 5/8/1889: "For the rest we are getting along very well together -- we have been married three weeks today -- it seems to me as though it happened long ago and also only a short while ago -- it doesn't seem the tiniest little bit strange to us -- it's as if we had always been together."
JLB 771, 5/8/1889: "Apart from that we get along very well together -- we've already been married three weeks today -- it seems to me a long and short time ago -- and nothing, nothing is strange to us any more -- just as if we've always been together."
Context:
JLB 771, 5/8/1889: "A great many of Theo's acquaintances have already come to see us in the evenings -- yesterday evening, for instance, was a whole reunion -- Pissarro and his son, Isaacson and young Nibbrig (but I don't know whether you know him) and my brother -- who's been coming to eat with us for some time now because his wife's gone to Holland."
Context:
JLB 771, 5/8/1889: "Lies and Wil have a little plan to come here together this summer, how I'd like that, particularly having Wil here for a time -- how she'd laugh at me -- for she's such a clever little housekeeper herself."
Context:
BVG T8, 5/8/1889: "It is so delightful on Sundays when Theo is at home all day; I well remember how as a child I always loved Sundays, because at home they were so pleasant and cozy (something which most people could not understand), and now they are much more so."
JLB 771, 5/8/1889: "It's so wonderful when Theo's home for the whole day on Sundays -- I remember that I always loved Sundays so much as a child because they were always so very cosy and pleasant at home -- (something that most people couldn't understand) but now even more."
Context:
BVG T8, 5/8/1889: "So Monday meant a double festivity for me, for all the art shops were closed on account of the opening of the exhibition -- of course we did not go to the exhibition, but enjoyed ourselves in our own way."
JLB 771, 5/8/1889: "So Monday it was a double treat for me when all the businesses were closed for the opening of the exhibition -- naturally we did not go to the exhibition but amused ourselves in our own way" (emphasis in original).
Context:
JLB 771, 5/8/1889: "The bedroom, in particular, is so sweet, very light and lots of pink in it -- and in bed in the morning I look straight at that beautiful flowering peach tree of yours, which looks at me in such a friendly way every morning."
Context:
BVG T11, 7/5/1889: " In general we are very tired at night, and we go to bed early, but notwithstanding this I think Theo is looking far from well, but that [Pierre-Étienne] Sacrétan [sic] sale caused him a lot of fatigue, and besides, the heat is so overwhelming!"
JLB 786, 7/5/1889: " Generally we're very tired in the evening and we go to bed early -- however I find that Theo is looking not at all well, but he has been caused a great deal of fatigue by that Secretan sale, and then the heat is so unbearable!"
Context:
BVG T8, 5/8/1889: "As for me, this has been the case for quite a long time … Wil as well as Theo have told me so many things about you, and here in the house there are so many things which remind one of you; at the moment I come across a charming little jug or vase or some such thing, I am sure to hear, This was bought by Vincent, that Vincent thought so pretty. Hardly ever a day passes without our speaking of you."
JLB 771, 5/8/1889: "For my part -- it's been the case for a long time -- I've heard so much about you, both from Wil and from Theo -- and here in the house there are masses of things that are reminders of you, when I find a nice little jug or a vase or something, then it's always: Vincent bought that or V. liked that so much -- scarcely a day passes when we don't speak of you" (emphasis in original).
Context:
BVG W13, 7/2/1889: "If you say in your letter that, as you observe so many other people who try to make their way in life, they seem to be making more progress -- coming and going -- than you -- oh well, what shall I say to that? I myself occasionally have a feeling of stupefaction when I look at my own life, and for that matter at the lives of so many other workers in my profession."
JLB 785, 7/2/1889: "If you say in your letter that when you see so many others in life who come and go, seeking their own path, appearing to you perhaps to be making more headway than you, what can I tell you, that I too sometimes have a feeling of stupefaction in the face of my own life, and as regards several other lives of workers in my profession besides."
Context:
BVG W12, 6/16/1889: "Now I think you asked me whether always supposing that love is a bacillus, which I am unable to affirm or to prove, a fact I request you please not to lose sight of, I think you asked me whether there are persons who have said bacillus, and others who do not, or whether on the contrary it is a fatal and universal malady."
JLB 780, 6/16/1889: "Now I think you asked me if, still supposing that love is a bacillus (which I myself am not in a position to state or prove, please don't lose sight of that), I think that you asked me if there are people who would have the said bacillus and others who wouldn't have it, or if on the contrary it was a fatal and universal illness."
Context:
BVG W13, 7/2/1889: "But all thoughts of a regular life, all thoughts of being able to evoke in ourselves or in others gentle ideas or sensations -- all this must of necessity appear purely utopian to us."
JLB 785, 7/2/1889: "But any idea of a regular life, any idea of awakening in ourselves or in others gentle ideas or sensations, all of this must necessarily appear pure utopia to us."
Context:
BVG W13, 7/2/1889: "The moral of the story is that under certain circumstances a gentleman prefers ultimately to live with a sweet and very devoted wife and his child, rather than to live in the restaurants and cafés of the boulevards, a life he had led before without committing too many excesses. This is undoubtedly very nice."
JLB 785, 7/2/1889: "The moral of it is that in some cases a gentleman ends up preferring to live with a nice, devoted wife and his child, to the life of the restaurant, boulevard and café which he had previously led without too much excess. That's undoubtedly very pleasant."
Context:
JLB 785, 7/2/1889: "I thank you and Lies for the [Édouard] Rod book which I've finished and which I'll return to you soon. The terrible title, Le sens de la vie, terrified me a little, but as it's happily scarcely spoken of in this volume, I was quite content to read something which has a family resemblance to Souvestre's Le philosophe sous les toits or with Monsieur, madame et bébé by Droz. The moral of it is that in some cases a gentleman ends up preferring to live with a nice, devoted wife and his child, to the life of the restaurant, boulevard and café which he had previously led without too much excess. That's undoubtedly very pleasant."
Context:
BVG W14, 9/19/1889: "For I often paint things like that -- as insignificant and as dramatic as a dusty blade of grass by the roadside -- and consequently it seems to me that it is only right that I should have a boundless admiration for de Goncourt, Zola, Flaubert, Maupassant, [Joris-Karl] Huysmans."
JLB 804, 9/19/1889: "Because I sometimes paint things like that -- with as little and as much drama as a dusty blade of grass by the side of the road -- it's right, as it seems to me, that I should have an unbounded admiration for De Goncourt, Zola, Flaubert, Maupassant, Huysmans."
Context:
BVG 596, 6/25/1889: " It certainly is not very cheering. I think the author must be suffering a good deal from his lungs and consequently a little from everything. Anyway, he admits that he finds consolation in the companionship of his wife, which is all to the good, but after all, for my own use he teaches me nothing about the meaning of life, whatever is meant by it."
JLB 783, 6/25/1889: " Above all it's not very cheering. The author, it seems to me, must have a lot of trouble with his lungs. And consequently a little with everything. Anyway, he admits that he finds solace in the company of his wife, which is very well observed, but anyway, for my own use he teaches me absolutely nothing whatsoever about the meaning of life."
Context:
JLB 785, 7/2/1889: "I'm quite absorbed in reading the Shakespeare that Theo sent me here, where at last I'll have the calm necessary to do a little more difficult reading."
Context:
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: "What I'd very much like to have here to read from time to time would be a Shakespeare. There's one priced at one shilling, Dicks' Shilling Shakespeare, which is complete. There's no shortage of editions, and I think the cheap ones have been changed less than the more expensive ones. In any case I wouldn't want one that cost more than three francs." (Emphasis in original.)
Context:
JLB 785, 7/2/1889: "I'm quite absorbed in reading the Shakespeare that Theo sent me here, where at last I'll have the calm necessary to do a little more difficult reading. I've first taken the kings series, of which I've already read Richard II, Henry IV, Henry Vincent and a part of Henry VI -- as these dramas were the most unfamiliar to me."
Context:
JLB 784, 7/2/1889: "I've begun to read the series I know the least well, which before, being distracted by something else or not having the time it was impossible for me to read, the series of the kings. I've already read Richard II, Henry IV and half of Henry V."
Context:
JLB 785, 7/2/1889: "I'm quite absorbed in reading the Shakespeare that Theo sent me here, where at last I'll have the calm necessary to do a little more difficult reading. I've first taken the kings series, of which I've already read Richard II, Henry IV, Henry Vincent and a part of Henry VI -- as these dramas were the most unfamiliar to me."
Context:
BVG 595, 6/17/1889-6/18/1889: "But with the number of precautions I am now taking, I am not likely to relapse, and I hope that the attacks will not begin again."
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: "But with all the precautions I'm now taking, it will be difficult for me to relapse, and I hope that the attacks won't start again."
Context:
JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889: "Since it's just the season when there are lots of flowers and thus colour effects, it will perhaps be wise to send me another 5 metres of canvas in addition."
First, he makes an elaborate apology for the supposed cause of Reid's estrangement (in fact, it was due to Vincent's abrasive personality and annoying habits, not a disagreement over the duty of dealers to support artists rather than art). Then, he reaches out with his art, telling Theo that "I have a canvas of cypresses with a few ears of wheat, poppies, a blue sky, which is like a multicoloured Scottish plaid. This one, which is impasted like the Monticellis, and the wheatfield with the sun that represents extreme heat, also thickly impasted, I think that this would explain to him more or less, however, that he couldn't lose much by being our friend. But that's true on our side too, and precisely because we were perhaps right to disapprove of his method we ought on our side to take a step towards reconciliation." (ibid.) This is clearly a bid for Theo to offer the described painting to the Scotsman (who also admired Monticelli) for purchase or consignment, or just as a token of rapprochement (ibid.).
Vincent says that he would write Reid himself but fears "saying too many foolish things" -- an uncharacteristic demurral that probably indicates how delusional this scheme was (ibid.). Reid had not been mentioned by either brother since a year earlier when Theo reported that he had "disappeared," to which Vincent replied, "at times he used to speak so often of making himself a painter, and of retiring to live with an aunt in the country, that it's just possible that he's carrying out this plan now" (JLB 644, 7/17/1888-7/20/1888). In this sense, Reid was as much a ghost of the painful past as Vincent's pastor father. If, as Vincent claims, he thought about Reid while in the hospital in Arles (i.e., "while I was worse than I am now"), it was undoubtedly out of guilt for all the people he had driven out of Theo's life with his strange, alienating behavior.
Context:
JLB 784, 7/2/1889: "I have a canvas of cypresses with a few ears of wheat, poppies, a blue sky, which is like a multicoloured Scottish plaid. This one, which is impasted like the Monticellis, and the wheatfield with the sun that represents extreme heat, also thickly impasted, I think that this would explain to him more or less, however, that he couldn't lose much by being our friend. But that's true on our side too, and precisely because we were perhaps right to disapprove of his method we ought on our side to take a step towards reconciliation." (Emphasis in original.)
Context:
JLB 784, 7/2/1889: "At the same time, having married a Dutchwoman, that could in a few years, sooner or later, warm up business relations with Amsterdam or The Hague again."
Context:
BVG W13, 7/2/1889: "And besides, I dare say she will have found the means to make life a bit more pleasant for him than it has been up to now. For he has been through hard times."
JLB 785, 7/2/1889: "And afterwards, I dare also hope, she'll have found lots of ways to make his life a little more pleasant than was the case before. For he has seen hard times."
Context:
JLB 772, 5/9/1889: "Have you noticed yet that the old cab-horses there have big, beautiful heartbroken eyes, like Christians sometimes. Whatever the case, we're not savages nor peasants, and we perhaps even have a duty to love civilization (so-called)." (Emphasis in original.)
Context:
JLB 772, 5/9/1889: "All this to urge you -- with all caution, admittedly -- to believe in the possibility that there are homes in Paris, and not just apartments" (emphasis in original).
Context:
JLB 771, 5/8/1889: "Paris did look lovely that day -- I do so hope that I'll grow to love it as Theo does -- but sometimes I'm afraid that it won't be the case -- it's so busy and chaotic."
Context:
BVG W19, 1/20/1890: "And Jo, according to what he writes me, is so plucky and brisk."
JLB 841, 1/20/1890: "And from what he writes to me, Jo is so brave and so lively."
Context:
BVG 596, 6/25/1889: "It seems that this book has made a great impression on our good sisters. At least, Wil had mentioned it to me, but good women and books are two different things."
JLB 783, 6/25/1889: "It appears that this book has made a great impression on our good sisters. Wil had moreover spoken to me of it, but the little women and books are two different things."
Context:
BVG W13, 7/2/1889: "Alas, we often get out of breath and faith, which is certainly the wrong thing to do -- but there, now we return to our starting point: if we nevertheless want to go on working, we have to resign ourselves to the obstinate callousness of the times and to our isolation, which is sometimes as hard to endure as living in exile. And so we have to expect, after the years that, relatively speaking, we lost, poverty, sickness, old age, madness and always exile."
JLB 785, 7/2/1889: "Alas, we often lack breath and faith, wrongly certainly but -- and here we come back to the point -- if, however, we want to work we must submit both to the stubborn harshness of the time and to our isolation, which is sometimes as hard to bear as exile. Now before us, after our years which have thus been lost, relatively speaking, poverty, illness, old age, madness and always exile."
Context:
BVG 596, 6/25/1889: "I have re-read with much pleasure Zadig ou la destinée by Voltaire. It is like Candide. Here the mighty author gives at least a glimpse of the possibility that life may have some meaning, though it is agreed in conversation that things in this world do not always go as the wisest wish!"
JLB 783, 6/25/1889: "I've re-read Voltaire's Zadig ou la destinée with much pleasure. It's like Candide. There, at least, the powerful author makes one glimpse that it's still possible that life has a meaning, 'although one agreed in conversation that the things of this world did not always go according to the wisest people's liking.'"
Context:
BVG 596, 6/25/1889: "I have re-read with much pleasure Zadig ou la destinée by Voltaire. It is like Candide. Here the mighty author gives at least a glimpse of the possibility that life may have some meaning, though it is agreed in conversation that things in this world do not always go as the wisest wish!"
JLB 783, 6/25/1889: "I've re-read Voltaire's Zadig ou la destinée with much pleasure. It's like Candide. There, at least, the powerful author makes one glimpse that it's still possible that life has a meaning, 'although one agreed in conversation that the things of this world did not always go according to the wisest people's liking.'"
Context:
JLB 784, 7/2/1889: "Anyway, once again I haven't seen a letter from Mother indicating so much inner serenity and calm contentment as this one -- not for many years. And I'm sure that this comes from your marriage. It's said that pleasing one's parents brings a long life."
Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "What you say about the Berceuse gives me pleasure; it's very true that the common people, who buy themselves chromos and listen with sentimentality to barrel organs, are vaguely in the right and perhaps more sincere than certain men-about-town who go to the Salon."
Context:
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: "I despair of ever finding models. Ah, if I had some from time to time like that one, or like the woman who posed for the Berceuse, I'd do something quite different."
Context:
BVG 595, 6/17/1889-6/18/1889: "Ah, if now and then I had someone like that or like the woman who posed for 'La Berceuse,' I'd do something very different yet."
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: "Ah, if I had some from time to time like that one, or like the woman who posed for the Berceuse, I'd do something quite different."
Context:
BVG 602, 9/3/1889-9/4/1889: "All this goes -- along with the 'Portrait of [Carel] Fabritius' in Rotterdam, the 'Traveler' of the Lacaze Gallery -- into a special category in which the portrait of a human being is transformed into something luminous and comforting."
JLB 798, 9/2/1889: "All this goes with the Rotterdam portrait of Fabritius, the traveller in the La Caze gallery, into a special category in which the portrait of a human being is transformed into something luminous and consoling."
Context:
BVG 602, 9/3/1889-9/4/1889: "… into a special category in which the portrait of a human being is transformed into something luminous and comforting."
JLB 798, 9/2/1889: "… into a special category in which the portrait of a human being is transformed into something luminous and consoling."
Context:
BVG 595, 6/17/1889-6/18/1889: "One would try to paint human beings who are also more serene and pure than [Honoré] Daumier had before his eyes, but following Daumier, of course, in the drawing."
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: "One might try to paint human beings who are also more serene and purer than Daumier had before him. But of course following Daumier in the drawing of it."
Context:
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: "One might try to paint human beings who are also more serene and purer than Daumier had before him. But of course following Daumier in the drawing of it."
Context:
JLB 784, 7/2/1889: "But what touches me in it, as in the work of certain novelists of our time, is that the voices of these people, which in Shakespeare's case reach us from a distance of several centuries, don't appear unknown to us. It's so alive that one thinks one knows them and sees it."
Context:
BVG 597, 7/2/1889: " What has life in it too is that Mother is glad that you are married, and I think that this cannot be unpleasant to yourselves, you and Jo."
JLB 784, 7/2/1889: " What also has life is the fact that Mother is happy that you're married, and I think that this cannot be disagreeable to yourselves, you and Jo."
Context:
BVG W13, 7/2/1889: "The history of those plants is like our own; for aren't we, who live on bread, to a considerable extent like wheat, at least aren't we forced to submit to growing like a plant without the power to move, by which I mean in what way our imagination impels us, and to being reaped when we are ripe, like the same wheat? "
JLB 785, 7/2/1889: "Their story is ours, for we who live on bread, are we not ourselves wheat to a considerable extent, at least ought we not to submit to growing, powerless to move, like a plant, relative to what our imagination sometimes desires, and to be reaped when we are ripe, as it is?"
Context:
BVG 588, 4/30/1889: "And anyway, we are falling back again in the name of optimism on a religion that strikes me as the rear end of some sort of Buddhism."JLB 765, 4/30/1889: "And what's more, under the name of optimism we fall back into a religion which to me has the look of being the rear end of a kind of Buddhism."
Context:
BVG 595, 6/17/1889-6/18/1889: "Perhaps even while reading Zola, we are moved by the sound of the pure French of Renan, for instance. And after all, while the Chat noir draws us women after its fashion and Forain in a fashion that's masterly, we do some of our own, and being less Parisian but no less fond of Paris and its graces, we try to prove that something very different exists as well."
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: "Perhaps, while reading Zola, we are moved by the sound of the pure French of Renan, for example. And after all, while Le Chat Noir draws women for us after its own fashion, and above all Forain does so in a masterly way, we do some of our own, less Parisian but no less fond of Paris and its elegances, we try to prove that something else quite different exists."
Context:
BVG 597, 7/2/1889: "It is just in learning to suffer without complaint, in learning to look on pain without repugnance, that you risk vertigo, and yet it is possible, yet you may even catch a glimpse of a vague likelihood that on the other side of life we shall see good reason for the existence of pain, which seen from here sometimes so fills the whole horizon that it takes on the proportions of a hopeless deluge."
JLB 784, 7/2/1889: "It is precisely in learning to suffer without complaining, learning to consider pain without repugnance, that one risks vertigo a little; and yet it might be possible, yet one glimpses even a vague probability that on the other side of life we'll glimpse justifications for pain, which seen from here sometimes takes up the whole horizon so much that it takes on the despairing proportions of a deluge."
Context:
BVG 595, 6/17/1889-6/18/1889: "Gauguin, Bernard and I may stop at that point perhaps and not conquer, but neither shall we be conquered; perhaps we exist neither for the one thing nor for the other, but to give consolation or to prepare the way for a painting that will give even greater consolation."
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: "Gauguin, Bernard or I will all remain there perhaps, and won't overcome but neither will we be overcome. We're perhaps not there for one thing or the other, being there to console or to prepare for more consolatory painting."
Context:
BVG 595, 6/17/1889-6/18/1889: "When you have looked at these two studies for some time, and that of the ivy as well, it will perhaps give you some idea, better than words could, of the things that Gauguin and Bernard and I sometimes used to talk about, and which we've thought about a good deal; it is not a return to the romantic or to religious ideas, no. Nevertheless, by going the way of Delacroix, more than is apparent, by colour and a more spontaneous drawing than delusive precision, one could express the purer nature of a countryside compared with the suburbs and cabarets of Paris."
JLB 782, 6/18/1889: "When you've seen these two studies for a while, as well as the one of the ivy, I'll perhaps be able to give you, better than in words, an idea of the things Gauguin, Bernard and I sometimes chatted about and that preoccupied us. It's not a return to the romantic or to religious ideas, no. However, by going the way of Delacroix, more than it seems, by colour and a more determined drawing than trompe-l'oeil precision, one might express a country nature that is purer than the suburbs, the bars of Paris."
Context:
JLB 781, 6/16/1889: "The other day a Rembrandt sketch was sold in a public sale, I would like you to have seen it, it was the figure of the Angel Gabriel standing, which is in the sky of his etching of the annunciation to the shepherds. What a marvel!"
Context:
JLB 768, 5/3/1889: “(In my room I have the famous portrait of a man (the wood engraving) that you know, a mandarin woman by Monorou [Hishigava Moronobou, 1618-1694; Japanese artist] (the large print from the Bing [Siegfried Bing, 1838-1905; dealer in oriental art in Paris] album), the blade of grass (from the same album), the Pietà and the good Samaritan by Delacroix, and Meissonier's reader, then two large reed pen drawings.)”
(According to JBL: “‘Monorou’ must refer to the double page Portrait of Ousoukoumo [‘Bright Clouds’] ... The caption reads ‘Kakémono. School of Moronobou. End of 17th century. Engraved and printed by Gillot’ [Kakémono. – École de Moronobou. Fin du xviie siècle. Grav. Impr. par Gillot]. The engraver is probably Eugène Louis Gillot Ill. ... This Kakémono was done by Ando Kaïghetsudo, a pupil of Hishigava Moronobou. Van Gogh misspelled the name of the artist and speaks of ‘une mandarine’, a non-existent feminine form of ‘mandarin’ [a Chinese official].” [ibid., n. 19.])
Context:
JLB 784, 7/2/1889: "… that heartbroken tenderness, that glimpse of a superhuman infinite which appears so natural then, one encounters it in many places in Shakespeare."
Context:
BVG 597, 7/2/1889: "And so what Rembrandt has alone or almost alone among painters, that tenderness of gaze which we see, whether it's in the 'Men of Emmaus' or in the 'Jewish Bride' or in some such strange angelic figure as the picture you have had the good fortune to see, that heartbroken tenderness, that glimpse of a super-human infinitude that seems so natural there …."
JLB 784, 7/2/1889: "So what Rembrandt alone, or almost alone, has among painters, that tenderness in the gazes of human beings we see either in the Pilgrims at Emmaus, or in the Jewish bride, or in some strange figure of an angel as in the painting you had the good fortune to see -- that heartbroken tenderness, that glimpse of a superhuman infinite ..."
Context:
JLB 801, 9/10/1889: "The emotions that that causes are too strong though, I wouldn't survive it -- but later, later, I don't say that I won't mount a fresh attack."
Context:
JLB 781, 6/16/1889: "Think of the still lifes and of the flowers Delacroix did when he went to the country to stay with G. [George] Sand. It's true that afterwards he had a reaction by doing the Education of the Virgin, and that's not to say that in doing as I tell you you won't make a masterpiece afterwards."
Context:
BVG W11, 4/30/1889: "However this may be, I think it very brave of you, Sister, not to shrink from this Gethsamane."
JLB 764, 4/28/1889-5/2/1889: "Whatever the case, you're very brave, my sister, not to recoil before these Gethsemanes."
Context:
JLB 801, 9/10/1889: "And then do you know why the paintings of E. Delacroix -- the religious and historical paintings, Christ's barque -- the Pietà, the Crusaders, have this allure? Because E. Delacroix, when he does a Gethsemane, went to see on the spot beforehand what an olive grove was like, and the same for the sea whipped up by a hard mistral, and because he must have said to himself, these people whom history talks to us about, doges of Venice, crusaders, apostles, holy women, were of the same type and lived in a manner analogous to those of their present-day descendants.”
Context:
JLB 801, 9/10/1889: "I spoke with her from time to time when I was doing olive trees behind their little farmhouse, and then she told me that she didn't think that I was ill -- anyway, you would say that too at present if you saw me working, with my thoughts clear and my fingers so sure that I drew that Delacroix Pietà without taking a single measurement, though there are those four outstretched hands and arms -- gestures and bodily postures that aren't exactly easy or simple.”
Context:
BVG 587, 4/25/1889-4/28/1889: "It is like the pollard willows of our Dutch meadows or the oak bushes of our dunes, that is to say the rustle of an olive grove has something very secret in it, and immensely old. It is too beautiful for us to dare to paint it or be able to imagine it."
JLB 763, 4/28/1889: "It's like the lopped willows of our Dutch meadows or the oak bushes of our dunes, that's to say the murmur of an olive grove has something very intimate, immensely old about it. It's too beautiful for me to dare paint it or be able to form an idea of it."
Context:
BVG 597, 7/2/1889: "It is just in learning to suffer without complaint, in learning to look on pain without repugnance, that you risk vertigo, and yet it is possible, yet you may even catch a glimpse of a vague likelihood that on the other side of life we shall see good reason for the existence of pain, which seen from here sometimes so fills the whole horizon that it takes on the proportions of a hopeless deluge."
JLB 784, 7/2/1889: "It is precisely in learning to suffer without complaining, learning to consider pain without repugnance, that one risks vertigo a little; and yet it might be possible, yet one glimpses even a vague probability that on the other side of life we'll glimpse justifications for pain, which seen from here sometimes takes up the whole horizon so much that it takes on the despairing proportions of a deluge."
Context:
BVG 597, 7/2/1889: "… on the other side of life we shall see good reason for the existence of pain, which seen from here sometimes so fills the whole horizon that it takes on the proportions of a hopeless deluge."
JLB 784, 7/2/1889: "… on the other side of life we'll glimpse justifications for pain, which seen from here sometimes takes up the whole horizon so much that it takes on the despairing proportions of a deluge."
Context:
BVG 594, 6/9/1889: "I went once, still accompanied, to the village; the mere sight of people and things had such an effect on me that I thought I was going to faint and I felt very ill. Face to face with nature it is the feeling for work that supports me. But anyway, this is to show you that there must have been within me some too powerful emotion to upset me like that, and I have no idea what can have caused it."
JLB 779, 6/9/1889: "I once went into the village -- accompanied, at that. The mere sight of the people and things had an effect on me as if I was going to faint, and I felt very ill. In the face of nature it's the feeling for work that keeps me going. But anyway, that's to tell you that there must have been some over-strong emotion inside me that brought that about, and I have no idea what could have caused it."
Context:
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "I'm going to Arles tomorrow to fetch the canvases that are still over there ... This morning I talked a little with the doctor here ... He offered to take my furniture here so that we don't have double expenses. Tomorrow I'll go and talk about that in Arles with M. Salles."
Context:
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "Then he offered to take my furniture here so that we don't have double expenses. Tomorrow I'll go and talk about that in Arles with M. Salles."
Context:
BVG 599, 7/6/1889: "This morning I talked a little with the doctor here -- he told me exactly what I already thought -- that I must wait a year before thinking myself cured, since the least little thing might bring on another attack."
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "This morning I talked a little with the doctor here -- he told me -- which was absolutely what I had already thought -- that one must wait a year before believing oneself to be cured, since the smallest thing could bring on another attack."
Context:
BVG B21, 11/20/1889: "All year I was doing little things after nature, without giving a thought to impressionism or whatever else."
JLB 822, 11/26/1889: "And the whole year, have fiddled around from life, hardly thinking of Impressionism or of this or that."
Context:
BVG T11, 7/5/1889: " My dear brother, … I am now going to tell you a great piece of news, on which we have concentrated a good deal of our attention lately -- it is that next winter, toward February probably, we hope to have a baby, a pretty little boy -- whom we are going to call Vincent, if you will consent to be his godfather."
JLB 786, 7/5/1889: " My dear brother, … I'm going to begin by telling you a great piece of news which has greatly occupied us lately -- it is that this winter, around February probably, we're hoping to have a baby, a pretty little boy -- whom we'll call Vincent if you'll consent to be his godfather."
Context:
JLB 786, 7/5/1889: "This time I'll try to write to you in French, first I know that you like it more, and then with both of us expressing ourselves in the same language we'll eventually understand each other better, I believe. Only I'm not at all accustomed to writing in French, and I fear I may make mistakes which will seem very ridiculous to you -- but I'm going to do my best."
Context:
BVG T11, 7/5/1889: "My dear brother, … I am now going to tell you a great piece of news, on which we have concentrated a good deal of our attention lately -- it is that next winter, toward February probably, we hope to have a baby, a pretty little boy -- whom we are going to call Vincent, if you will consent to be his godfather."
JLB 786, 7/5/1889: "My dear brother, … I'm going to begin by telling you a great piece of news which has greatly occupied us lately -- it is that this winter, around February probably, we're hoping to have a baby, a pretty little boy -- whom we'll call Vincent if you'll consent to be his godfather."
Context:
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "Dear brother and sister."
Context:
BVG 599, 7/6/1889: "Jo's letter told me a very great piece of news this morning. I congratulate you on it and I am very glad to hear it. I was much touched by your thought when you said that neither of you being in such good health as seems desirable on such an occasion, you felt a sort of doubt, and in any case that a feeling of pity for the child who is to come passed through your heart."
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "Jo's letter tells me a very great piece of news this morning, I congratulate you on it, and am very pleased to hear it. I was very touched by your reasoning when you say that as neither of you are in as good health as appears desirable on an occasion like this, you had a kind of doubt, and in any case a feeling of pity for the child to come traversed your soul."
Context:
BVG 599, 7/6/1889: "As for what you say about Theo's health, although, my dear sister, I share your anxiety with all my heart, I must comfort you, just because I have realized that his health is, like mine too, more changeable and uneven than feeble."
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "As to what you say about Theo's health, my dear sister, while sharing your anxieties with all my heart I must nevertheless reassure you, precisely because I've seen that his health is changeable and uneven rather than weak, as is mine, for that matter."
Context:
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "When I came here I left 50 francs with M. Salles to settle up with the hospital in Arles, he'll certainly have some over. But having again quite often needed various things, the surplus that M Peyron had here is exhausted. I'm a little surprised myself that in living with the greatest possible sobriety and regularity for the last 6 months, without having my independent studio, I'm not spending less or producing more than the previous, relatively less sober year."
Context:
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "I'm not spending less or producing more than the previous, relatively less sober year. And inwardly I feel neither more nor less remorse &c. if you like. Suffice to say that everything one calls good and bad is however quite relative, it seems to me. ... Only instead of paying money to a landlord we're giving it to the asylum, I don't see the difference -- and it's scarcely cheaper. The work is a thing apart, and has always cost me a lot."
Context:
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "I live soberly here because I have the opportunity to. I drank before because I no longer knew how to do otherwise. Anyway it's all the same to me!!!"
Context:
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "I'm very pleased that he's no longer alone, and truly I don't doubt that he'll regain his former temperament after a while."
Context:
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "Outside the cicadas are singing fit to burst, a strident cry ten times louder than that of the crickets, and the scorched grass is taking on beautiful tones of old gold. And the beautiful towns of the south are in the state of our dead towns along the Zuiderzee, which were formerly lively. While in the downfall and the decline of things, the cicadas dear to good old Socrates have remained. And here, certainly, they're still singing old Greek."
Context:
JLB 784, 7/2/1889: "I still have canvases in Arles that weren't dry when I left, I very much want to go and get them one of these days in order to send them to you. There are half a dozen of them."
Context:
JLB 789, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "We went to M. Salles's house, who had gone away on holiday for two months, then to the hospital to see M. Rey, whom I didn't find either."
Context:
JLB 789, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "We went to M. Salles's house, who had gone away on holiday for two months, then to the hospital to see M. Rey, whom I didn't find either."
Context:
JLB 789, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "Someone told me that M. Rey had taken an examination and had been to Paris, but the porter at the hospital said he didn't know."
Context:
JLB 789, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "Someone told me that M. Rey had taken an examination and had been to Paris, but the porter at the hospital said he didn't know."
Context:
BVG 600, 7/9/1889: "Then we spent the day with my former neighbors, such as my old charwoman and some others."
JLB 789, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "So we spent the day with my former neighbours, as well as my charwoman from those days and a few others."
Context:
JLB 789, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "The orderly from here accompanied me."
This is unclear -- perhaps intentionally so. Is Vincent associating drinking with painting in bright colors or gray tones? The words seem to point in one direction while common sense points in the other (i.e., drink muddies your thoughts and your colors). A few sentences later, he adds, "My health is good, though, and I have a feeling quite similar to the one I had when I was much younger, when I was also very sober, too much so, I believe they used to say. But it's all the same, I'll try to get by." (ibid.) The references to being " too much so" and "try[ing] to get by" can be read as a threat -- or at least a wish -- to drink more, while the multiple exclamation marks point to a return of the old volatility that is the opposite of the serenity (and sobriety) that Vincent has been professing since arriving at the asylum (ibid.). In a letter a few months later (October) to his sister Wil, Vincent further explains the relationship between drinking and his disease in a way that sounds like a confession of excessive drinking on his trip to Arles in July (the only real opportunity for excess since being admitted to the asylum): "So it isn't alcohol either that was the cause [of my illness], although of course it doesn't do one any good. But how difficult it is, how difficult it is to resume one's ordinary life without being absolutely too demoralized by the certainty of unhappiness. And one clings on to the affections of the past." (JLB 812, 10/21/1889.)
Tellingly, before Peyron's October visit to Paris, when he meets with Theo, Vincent advises his brother, "Don't speak too much about this to the doctor when you see him" (JLB 801, 9/10/1889). In the same letter, Vincent complains about Peyron being "evasive" but, at the same time, expresses gratitude for the director's loose hand at the helm: "He's very kind and very indulgent towards me, and whilst he isn't the absolute master here, far from it, I owe him many freedoms" (ibid.). This seems to be Vincent's final judgment about both Peyron and his institution: that it does virtually nothing for its patients: "The treatment of the patients in this hospital is certainly easy to follow, even on a journey, for they do absolutely nothing about it, they leave them to vegetate in idleness and feed them with stale and slightly spoiled food" (ibid.; emphasis in original). Peyron's own final evaluation of Vincent may show how little knowledge of his patient he had acquired in the year that Vincent spent at Saint Paul: "I do not believe that he gives himself over to any excess when he is at liberty, for I have always known him sober and reserved" (b1062 V/1962, ''Peyron, Th.'' to ''Gogh, Theo van'', 2/24/1890; quoted in Hulsker, p. 43).
Context:
JLB 777, 5/31/1889-6/6/1889: "As the establishment is a little moribund, the man appears to take only a rather half-hearted enjoyment in this profession, and besides there's reason enough for it."
Context:
JLB 807, 10/4/1889: "He tells me that as your trip to Arles brought on a crisis one would have to see if you can now bear a change before changing residence. If you bear these ordeals well, he sees nothing against your leaving him."
Context:
JLB 801, 9/10/1889: "And I'll tell you now that from the first day I refused to take this food, and until my crisis I ate nothing but bread and a little soup, which I'll continue to do as long as I remain here. It's true that after this crisis Mr. Peyron gave me some wine and meat, which I willingly accept in these first days but wouldn't want to make an exception to the rule for a long time, and it's right to respect the establishment according to their ordinary regime."
Context:
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "You should know that Roulin's child [Marcelle] came to them smiling and very healthy, while the parents were at bay. So take it as it is, wait with confidence and possess your soul with a long patience as an old saying has it, and with good will. Let nature take its course."
Context:
JLB 786, 7/5/1889: "Do you remember the portrait of the Roulin baby you sent Theo? Everyone admires it greatly, and many times now people have asked 'but why have you put this portrait in this out-of-the-way corner?' It's because -- from my place at table I can just see the child's big blue eyes, its pretty little hands and round cheeks, and I like to imagine that ours will be as strong, as healthy and as beautiful as that one -- and because his uncle will consent to do his portrait one day!"
Context:
BVG 599, 7/6/1889: "Remember that Roulin's child came to them smiling and very healthy when the parents were in straits."
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "You should know that Roulin's child came to them smiling and very healthy, while the parents were at bay."
Context:
BVG 603, 7/6/1889: "After all, realities of this kind must be like a good mistral, not very caressing but purifying."
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "Realities of this sort must anyway be like a good gust of the mistral, not very soothing, but health-giving."
Context:
BVG 603, 7/6/1889: "After all, it is something to get back one's interest in life, when I think that I am about to pass into the state of an uncle to this boy planned by your wife."
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "Anyway, there's enough to bring back the taste for life a little when I think that I myself am going to be promoted uncle of this boy planned by your wife."
Context:
JLB 788, 7/8/1889-7/12/1889: "In the summer here it's not much hotter than at home. ... One can sometimes see that the sun can be quite strong from the way the wheat turns yellow quickly. But the fields at home are infinitely better farmed, more regularly than here, where the rockiness of the soil in many places means it's not suitable for everything. ... One never sees buckwheat or rape here, and generally speaking there's rather less variety than at home. ... The hills here, full of thyme and other aromatic plants, are very beautiful, and because of the clarity of the air one can see from the heights so much further than at home. ... Here one also never sees the mossy peasant roofs on the barns or cottages like at home, and no oak coppices and no spurry and no beech hedges with their red-brown leaves and whitish tangled old stems. Also no proper heathland and no birches, which were so beautiful in Nuenen. ... [nor] the Virginia creeper [we see] in Holland."
Context:
BVG 598, 7/2/1889: "Nor the real heather, nor the birches which were so beautiful in Nuenen."
JLB 788, 7/8/1889-7/12/1889: "Also no proper heathland and no birches, which were so beautiful in Nuenen."
Finally, he addresses the deeper issues of departure and separation, the issues that touch his own situation: "Now, my dear mother, as regards the sorrow that we have and retain about parting and loss, it seems to me that it's instinctive, that without it we wouldn't be able to accept partings, and it will probably serve us on later occasions to recognize and find one another again. Things simply can't stay in one place" (ibid.). This leads to another of Vincent's paralytically anodyne (and ultimately inner-directed) lessons (drawn from his reading) on the importance of serenity in the face of adversity and suffering, the message of which is nothing more comforting than "don't worry": "The main thing is possibly this: do you remember a story in that book 'De pruuvers', where there's an account of a sick person who watched the maid sweep the floor every morning and thought that she -- had 'something reassuring'?" JLB correct Vincent's faulty (and perhaps faltering) memory on this obscure reference (JLB 788, 7/8/1889-7/12/1889; n. 5): De Pruuvers (The Tasters) is the first in a volume of stories about Brabant life by H. Hollidee (pseudonym of Elard Albert Rovers) called Etsen Nar Het Leven (Etchings from Life), which included a frontispiece by Jozef Israëls and was mentioned by Vincent once before while in Nuenen (May 1885) in a letter to his friend Anton Kerseemakers (JLB 498). But the incident Vincent describes here comes from a different novella in the Etsen collection, "Gekleurde figuren" (Colored Figures), about a sick boy who finds comfort and security in the everyday sounds of household chores. (ibid.)
Context:
JLB 788, 7/8/1889-7/12/1889: "The news about Cor -- no wonder you're taken up with it and it will be hard on both sides to have to part."
Context:
BVG 598, 7/2/1889: "As far as the sorrow, dear Mother, is concerned, which we have and continue to have in separation and loss, it seems to me it is instinctive, that without that we could not resign ourselves to separations, and that probably it will help us to recognize and find each other again later."
JLB 788, 7/8/1889-7/12/1889: "Now, my dear mother, as regards the sorrow that we have and retain about parting and loss, it seems to me that it's instinctive, that without it we wouldn't be able to accept partings, and it will probably serve us on later occasions to recognize and find one another again."
Context:
BVG 598, 7/2/1889: "As far as the sorrow, dear Mother, is concerned, which we have and continue to have in separation and loss, it seems to me it is instinctive, that without that we could not resign ourselves to separations, and that probably it will help us to recognize and find each other again later."
JLB 788, 7/8/1889-7/12/1889: "Now, my dear mother, as regards the sorrow that we have and retain about parting and loss, it seems to me that it's instinctive, that without it we wouldn't be able to accept partings, and it will probably serve us on later occasions to recognize and find one another again."
Context:
JLB 788, 7/8/1889-7/12/1889: "So, cruel as this may be, I should simply leave the disquiet about whether or not Theo's constitution is strong to her, and let her worry and work at it for a year or so before we concern ourselves about it, and it occurs to me that our appearing not in the least anxious about it could turn out to be a sign of our own confidence in 'something reassuring' in nature in general."
Context:
BVG 599, 7/6/1889: "I very much like to think that illness sometimes heals us, that is to say, when the discomfort comes to a crisis, it is necessary for the recovery of the body's normal condition. No, after he has been married for some time, he will recover his strength, as he still has a reserve of youth and power to restore him."
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "I very much like to believe that illnesses sometimes cure us, i.e. that when the illness comes to a crisis it's a thing necessary to the recovery of a normal state of body. No, subsequent to the marriage he'll regain his strength, still having the reserve of youth and power to restore him."
Context:
BVG 599, 7/6/1889: "Altogether I think it is all going very well, and once more, while sharing with all my heart all possible uneasiness about Theo's health, with me the hope predominates that in this case a more or less sickly condition is only the result of nature's efforts to right herself."
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "Anyway, I think that's going very well, and once again, while sharing with all my heart all possible worries about Theo's health, within me the hope predominates that in this case a more or less sickly condition is only the result of the efforts of nature to right itself.
Context:
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "And you -- my dear fellow -- how are things, and so write me a few words one of these days -- for I can imagine that the emotions which must move the forthcoming father of a family, emotions of which our good father so loved to speak, must be great and of sterling worth in you."
Context:
JLB 785, 7/2/1889: "So although yesterday more than half a million francs were paid for Millet's Angelus, don't go believing that more souls will feel what was in Millet's soul."
Context:
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "When I came here I left 50 francs with M. Salles to settle up with the hospital in Arles, he'll certainly have some over. But having again quite often needed various things, the surplus that M. Peyron had here is exhausted. I'm a little surprised myself that in living with the greatest possible sobriety and regularity for the last 6 months, without having my independent studio, I'm not spending less or producing more than the previous, relatively less sober year. And inwardly I feel neither more nor less remorse &c. if you like."
Context:
BVG W13, 7/2/1889: "Don't think that for such a reason those painters who are still at work among the peasants in Brittany should become more encouraged or suffer less under the black need that always tortured Millet, need of courage above all."
JLB 785, 7/2/1889: "Don't go believing that the painters who are still working in Brittany among the peasants will have more encouragement for that matter, less of the same black famine that always surrounded Millet, above all more courage."
But, as everywhere in the same letter, Vincent hears a warning of mortality in Jo's news of new life. He hears a kind of taunt in the cicadas song -- the indifference of all nature to the comings and goings of mortals: "The beautiful towns of the south are in the state of our dead towns along the Zuiderzee, which were formerly lively. While in the downfall and the decline of things, the cicadas dear to good old Socrates have remained. And here, certainly, they're still singing old Greek" (ibid.). The same dual nature of the cicadas' song (as both comfort and mockery) fills Vincent's last letter to Theo before his breakdown. (JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889.) On the one hand, he uses it to reaffirm the brothers' shared love of nature and (largely imagined) shared childhood on the heath: "Their song in times of great heat holds the same charm for me as the cricket in the peasant's hearth at home" (ibid.). (To reify the role of the cicadas as fraternal intermediaries, Vincent enclosed a drawing of three cicadas [Three Cicadas (F 1445 JH 1765)] in his letter.) This image opens a long, obscure passage in which Vincent tries to cement the brothers' unbreakable bonds even as he feels those bonds giving way under the demands of Theo's new family: "So take your fatherhood as a good fellow from our old heaths would take it, those heaths that remain ineffably dear to us through all the noise, tumult, fog, anguish of the towns, however timid our tenderness may be. That's to say, take your fatherhood there, from your nature as an exile and a foreigner and a poor man, henceforth basing himself with the poor man's instinct" (ibid.).
This, of course, is almost purely wishful delusion. Theo, unlike Vincent, never felt any kinship with the poor and was never exiled or estranged; and although he loved Naturalist painting and literature, he rarely stayed long in the countryside, except to visit family in bourgeois comfort. At some level, Vincent knew this, but refused to admit it explicitly -- which probably accounts to some extent for the passage's tortured logic and syntax. Vincent's sense of a continued brotherhood in memory and imagination is reduced to this grim image: "Things are so closely connected that here one sometimes finds cockroaches in the food as if one were really in Paris, on the other hand it can happen in Paris that you sometimes have a real thought of the fields. It's certainly not much, but it's reassuring anyway" (ibid.). This image is "reassuring" in the same way the cicadas song is reassuring -- which is to say, not reassuring at all: Vincent will think of Theo when he sees a cockroach in the asylum refectory and Theo will think of Vincent when he sees a tree in a Paris park. So the cicadas sing to Vincent not only of the brothers' eternal bond through nature (i.e., "we will always have the heath") but also of the evanescence of all human bonds and the perishability of all human endeavor. In this way, they act as the unwelcome reminders of mortality -- the Furies of religious longing -- that he is trying desperately, and increasingly unsuccessfully, to keep at bay.
Context:
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "I enclose a croquis of the cicadas from here. Their song in times of great heat holds the same charm for me as the cricket in the peasant's hearth at home. My dear fellow -- let's not forget that small emotions are the great captains of our lives, and that these we obey without knowing it."
Context:
BVG 603, 7/6/1889: "Old man -- don't let's forget that the little emotions are the great captains of our lives, and that we obey them without knowing it."
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "My dear fellow -- let's not forget that small emotions are the great captains of our lives, and that these we obey without knowing it."
Context:
BVG 603, 7/6/1889: "The doctor here said to me about Monticelli that he always thought him an eccentric, but that as for madness, he had only been a little that way toward the end."
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "The doctor was telling me about Monticelli, that he had always considered him eccentric, but as for mad, he had only been a little that way towards the end" (emphasis in original).
Context:
BVG 603, 7/6/1889: "The doctor here said to me about Monticelli that he always thought him an eccentric, but that as for madness, he had only been a little that way toward the end."
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "The doctor was telling me about Monticelli, that he had always considered him eccentric, but as for mad, he had only been a little that way towards the end" (emphasis in original).
Context:
BVG 603, 7/6/1889: " Considering all the misery of Monticelli's last years, is there any reason to be surprised that he gave way under too heavy a load, and has one any right to deduce from this that artistically speaking he fell short in his work?"
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: " Considering all the miseries of M's last years, is it any surprise that he bowed beneath a weight that was too heavy, and is one right in trying to deduce from that that he failed in his work, artistically speaking?"
Context:
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "If I'm writing to you again today it's because I'm enclosing a few words that I've written to our friend Gauguin, feeling sufficient calm return to me these last few days for my letter not to be absolutely absurd, it seemed to me."
Context:
JLB 804, 9/19/1889: "I've painted a few for myself, too, these past few weeks -- I don't much like seeing my own paintings in my bedroom, so I've copied one by Delacroix and a few by Millet."
Context:
BVG 603, 7/6/1889: "If it is still hard for me to take courage again in spite of faults committed, and to be committed, which must be my cure, don't forget henceforth that neither our spleen nor our melancholy, nor yet our feelings of good nature or common sense, are our sole guides, and above all not our final protection and that if you too find yourself faced with heavy responsibilities to be risked if not undertaken, honestly, don't let's be too much concerned about each other, since it so happens that the circumstances of living in a state so far removed from our youthful conceptions of an artist's life must make us brothers in spite of everything, as we are in so many ways companions in fate."
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "If it's still hard for me to regain courage over faults committed and to be committed, which would be my recovery, let's not forget from that moment on that neither our spleens and melancholies nor our feelings of good nature and good sense are our sole guides, and above all not our final custodians, and that if you yourself also find yourself facing hard responsibilities to venture, if not to take, my word let's not be too concerned with each other, while it so happens that life's circumstances in situations so far removed from our youthful conceptions of the life of the artist would render us brothers after all, as being companions in fate in many respects" (emphasis in original).
Context:
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "If it's still hard for me to regain courage over faults committed and to be committed, which would be my recovery, let's not forget from that moment on that neither our spleens and melancholies nor our feelings of good nature and good sense are our sole guides, and above all not our final custodians, and that if you yourself also find yourself facing hard responsibilities to venture, if not to take, my word let's not be too concerned with each other, while it so happens that life's circumstances in situations so far removed from our youthful conceptions of the life of the artist would render us brothers after all, as being companions in fate in many respects" (emphasis in original).
Context:
BVG 603, 7/6/1889: "If it is still hard for me to take courage again in spite of faults committed, and to be committed, which must be my cure, don't forget henceforth that neither our spleen nor our melancholy, nor yet our feelings of good nature or common sense, are our sole guides, and above all not our final protection and that if you too find yourself faced with heavy responsibilities to be risked if not undertaken, honestly, don't let's be too much concerned about each other, since it so happens that the circumstances of living in a state so far removed from our youthful conceptions of an artist's life must make us brothers in spite of everything, as we are in so many ways companions in fate."
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "If it's still hard for me to regain courage over faults committed and to be committed, which would be my recovery, let's not forget from that moment on that neither our spleens and melancholies nor our feelings of good nature and good sense are our sole guides, and above all not our final custodians, and that if you yourself also find yourself facing hard responsibilities to venture, if not to take, my word let's not be too concerned with each other, while it so happens that life's circumstances in situations so far removed from our youthful conceptions of the life of the artist would render us brothers after all, as being companions in fate in many respects" (emphasis in original).
Context:
BVG 603, 7/6/1889: "… don't let's be too much concerned about each other, since it so happens that the circumstances of living in a state so far removed from our youthful conceptions of an artist's life must make us brothers in spite of everything, as we are in so many ways companions in fate."
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "… let's not be too concerned with each other, while it so happens that life's circumstances in situations so far removed from our youthful conceptions of the life of the artist would render us brothers after all, as being companions in fate in many respects" (emphasis in original).
Context:
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "So take your fatherhood as a good fellow from our old heaths would take it, those heaths that remain ineffably dear to us through all the noise, tumult, fog, anguish of the towns, however timid our tenderness may be. That's to say, take your fatherhood there, from your nature as an exile and a foreigner and a poor man, henceforth basing himself with the poor man's instinct on the probability of the real existence of a native country, of a real existence at least of the memory, even while we've forgotten every day."
Context:
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "Thus sooner or later we find our fate. But certainly for you, as well as for me, it would be a little hypocritical to forget completely our good humour, the confident sloppiness we had as the poor devils we were as we came and went in that Paris, so strange now -- and to place too much weight upon our cares."
Context:
BVG 603, 7/6/1889: "That is to say, let this be your notion of fatherhood, exile and stranger and poor man that you are, and henceforth, find strength, with the instinct of the poor, in the probability of a real, real life of one's fatherland, a real life at least in memory, even though we may forget it every day."
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "That's to say, take your fatherhood there, from your nature as an exile and a foreigner and a poor man, henceforth basing himself with the poor man's instinct on the probability of the real existence of a native country, of a real existence at least of the memory, even while we've forgotten every day."
Context:
BVG 603, 7/6/1889: "So take your fatherhood as a good soul on our old heaths would take it, those heaths which, through all the noise, tumult and fogginess of the cities, still remain with us, inexpressibly dear -- however timid our tenderness may be."
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "So take your fatherhood as a good fellow from our old heaths would take it, those heaths that remain ineffably dear to us through all the noise, tumult, fog, anguish of the towns, however timid our tenderness may be."
Context:
BVG 603, 7/6/1889: "Sooner or later, such as it is, we meet our destinies, but certainly it would be a sort of hypocrisy if I were to forget all the good humour, the happy-go-lucky carelessness of the poor devils that we were, coming and going in this Paris that has become so strange, and to let it weigh us down out of proportion to our real load of cares."
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "Thus sooner or later we find our fate. But certainly for you, as well as for me, it would be a little hypocritical to forget completely our good humour, the confident sloppiness we had as the poor devils we were as we came and went in that Paris, so strange now -- and to place too much weight upon our cares."
Context:
BVG 603, 7/6/1889: "That is to say, let this be your notion of fatherhood, exile and stranger and poor man that you are, and henceforth, find strength, with the instinct of the poor, in the probability of a real, real life of one's fatherland, a real life at least in memory, even though we may forget it every day."
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "That's to say, take your fatherhood there, from your nature as an exile and a foreigner and a poor man, henceforth basing himself with the poor man's instinct on the probability of the real existence of a native country, of a real existence at least of the memory, even while we've forgotten every day."
Context:
BVG 603, 7/6/1889: "Sooner or later, such as it is, we meet our destinies, but certainly it would be a sort of hypocrisy if I were to forget all the good humour, the happy-go-lucky carelessness of the poor devils that we were, coming and going in this Paris that has become so strange, and to let it weigh us down out of proportion to our real load of cares."
JLB 790, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "Thus sooner or later we find our fate. But certainly for you, as well as for me, it would be a little hypocritical to forget completely our good humour, the confident sloppiness we had as the poor devils we were as we came and went in that Paris, so strange now -- and to place too much weight upon our cares."
Context:
BVG 626a, 2/10/1890-2/11/1890: "Until now, I have not been able to do them as I feel them; the emotions that come over me in the face of nature can be so intense that I lose consciousness, and the result is a fortnight during which I cannot do any work."
JLB 853, 2/9/1890 or 2/10/1890: "Until now I have not been able to do them as I feel it; in my case the emotions that take hold of me in the face of nature go as far as fainting, and then the result is a fortnight during which I am incapable of working."
Context:
JLB 789, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "I've also received the second consignment of canvases and colours, and I thank you very much for them. The latest canvas I've done is a view of mountains with a darkish hut among olive trees at the bottom."
Context:
BVG 600, 7/9/1889: "The last canvas I have done is a view of mountains with a dark hut at the bottom among some olive trees."
JLB 789, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "The latest canvas I've done is a view of mountains with a darkish hut among olive trees at the bottom."
Context:
JLB 797, 8/22/1889: "Whilst not liking Rod's book excessively, I've nevertheless done a canvas of that passage in which he speaks of the darkish mountains and huts."
Context:
JLB 789, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "I imagine that you'll be very absorbed by thoughts of the child to come, I'm very pleased that this should be so, with time I dare believe that you'll thus find much inner serenity."
Context:
BVG 600, 7/9/1889: "I expect you will be greatly absorbed by the thought of the child who is to come; I am very glad it is so; I dare think that in time you will find a good deal of inner tranquility that way."
JLB 789, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "I imagine that you'll be very absorbed by thoughts of the child to come, I'm very pleased that this should be so, with time I dare believe that you'll thus find much inner serenity."
Context:
JLB 789, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "I imagine that you'll be very absorbed by thoughts of the child to come, I'm very pleased that this should be so, with time I dare believe that you'll thus find much inner serenity."
Context:
BVG 600, 7/9/1889: "The fact that in Paris you take on, as it were, a second nature, which over and above the preoccupation of business and art makes you less strong than the peasants -- that fact does not prevent you from linking yourself through the bonds of a wife and child, with this simpler and truer nature, the ideal of which keeps haunting us."
JLB 789, 7/14/1889 or 7/15/1889: "The fact that one takes on a kind of second nature in Paris, that moreover preoccupations with business and art make one less strong than the peasants, doesn't prevent one, through the bonds of having wife and child, from reattaching oneself all the same to that simpler and truer nature whose ideal sometimes haunts us."
Context:
BVG B20, 10/8/1889: "Such subjects certainly have a fine melancholy, but then it is fun to work in rather wild places , where one has to dig one's easel in between the stones lest the wind should blow the whole caboodle over."
JLB 809, 10/8/1889: "These motifs certainly have a beautiful melancholy, and it's enjoyable to work in really wild sites where you have to bury your easel in the stones so that the wind doesn't send everything flying to the ground."
Context:
JLB 805, 9/20/1889: "Myself I quite like the Entrance to a quarry which I did when I felt this attack beginning, because to my taste the dark greens go well with the ochre tones, there's something sad in them that's healthy, and that's why it doesn't annoy me."
Context:
JLB 797, 8/22/1889: "This new crisis, my dear brother, came upon me in the fields, and when I was in the middle of painting on a windy day."
His two favorite Old Testament characters were Jacob, who wrestled with an angel at the entrance to a cave (JLB 816, 11/3/1889) and the Christ-like Elijah (also in Kings) who went to the wilderness and lodged in a cave: "And [Elijah] came thither unto a cave, and lodged there; and, behold, the word of the Lord came to him, ... Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave. And, behold, there came a voice unto him." (JLB 118, 5/31/1877.) (Vincent cited the same passage in a letter to Tersteeg in 1877 [JLB 124, 8/3/1877].)
In The Hague, Vincent wrote, "Then staring melancholically into the abyss is fatal too, and the way to make that go away is hard work" (JLB 383, 9/7/1883 or 9/8/1883). The image was still vivid in Vincent's imagination in the summer of 1889 not least because of a print of Delacroix's Pietà that had hung on his wall throughout his time in Arles and came with him to Saint-Rémy. Vincent described the Delacroix image as "a dead Christ with the Mater Dolorosa. The exhausted corpse lies bent forward on its left side at the entrance to a cave." (JLB 804, 9/19/1889.) This image of Christ resurrected from a cave played a role in Vincent’s month-long series of attacks that summer (see Chapter 40) and may well have played a role in the initial attack described in the text. Vincent also would have noted with special interest the recurrent nightmare reported by Serge, Zola's hero in The Sin of Father Mouret: "Always the same nightmare; it made me crawl alone in an endless cavern. And then I would be in great pain and the cavern would suddenly be walled up; a pile of rocks would fall from the ceiling, the walls would come to get me." (Zola, La faute de l'abbé Mouret [The Sin of Father Mouret], p. 101.)
Context:
BVG 599, 7/6/1889: "In my life as a painter, and especially when I am in the country, it is less difficult for me to be alone, because in the country you feel more easily the ties that unite us all."
JLB 787, 7/6/1889: "In my life as a painter, and above all when I'm in the country, it's not so difficult for me to be alone, because in the country one feels the bonds that unite us all more easily."
Context:
BVG W14, 9/19/1889: "And it is also a fact that since my disease, when I am in the fields I am overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness to such a horrible extent that I shy away from going out."
JLB 804, 9/19/1889: "And it's also that since my illness the feeling of loneliness takes hold of me in the fields in such a fearsome way that I hesitate to go out."
Context:
JLB 853, 2/9/1890 or 2/10/1890: "Until now I have not been able to do them as I feel it; in my case the emotions that take hold of me in the face of nature go as far as fainting, and then the result is a fortnight during which I am incapable of working.
