Old boy,
I cannot make out from the letter Father and Mother received
today what you think of my last two letters. But since you did
not mention their receipt or enclose a letter for me, I suppose
I shall soon get one from you. And in this case I think it much
better if you write after reading my two - or including this
one, my three - letters which, though written singly,
complement each other, than if you had immediately answered the
first one only. How cold and harsh my first letter must have
sounded, and I suppose you must have thought me very obstinate
and obdurate then. But was I wrong in this, and you will
reproach me for not laying before you my most intimate and
tender feelings - since you, oh man of business, would have
received them during your daily fever of affairs, when not
exactly in the mood to appreciate love stories? So I thought,
No, first we must awaken him, and only then sow the seeds of
soft words in him. We must first prepare the soil for that man
who “hammers away at business.” Therefore, the
first letter was as cold as a ploughshare. But as to the
second, was I wrong in asserting that it would be more serious
and more intimate? And now that we are speaking more
intimately, we shall continue to.
But “in the meantime,” just another little bit
of the ploughshare. Here it comes… Though you have gone
pretty far in the world without a “she, and no
other,” though you stand firmly in your shoes without a
she, and no other, though you know how to bring off business
deals without a she, and no other, though you are a man of will
power, energy and character without a she, and no other, though
you have knowledge of men and experience without a she, and no
other, though you have high spirits, buoyancy and courage
without a she, and no other, though you dare to take sides and
hate halting between two opinions without…
Yet you will get further in the world, stand more
firmly in your shoes, be a man of more will power, energy and
character, obtain more knowledge of men and experience, have
higher spirits, more buoyancy and courage, take sides more
decidedly, be more averse to halting between two opinions, to
wavering, oscillating, etc., than you have until now as soon as
you have somebody, to whom “she, and no other”
then applies. In short, you will be more yourself with
an honestly meant and deeply felt “she, and no
other” than without the same.
This little bit of the ploughshare is still going on - don't
get cross at it.
Your letter to Father was rather melancholy and, to tell you
the truth, I did not understand it and did not know what to
make of it. Is there anything serious, yes or no? And some
expressions astonished me, first, because it was you who used
them and, second, because you wrote them to Father and
Mother.
For you, more than anyone else, keep all your “grandes
et petites misères de la vie humaine” to yourself;
and if you did speak about them, it would be to those
whom you knew to be strong in the things in which you might
feel more or less weak. I believe that if you felt yourself
weak in anything, you would only confess that weakness to
someone whom you knew would be able to cure you of it. Besides,
only this summer you told me yourself that you thought it
better not to speak about the difficulties in life, but to keep
them to yourself in order not to lose your buoyancy, as you put
it. I thought this a very impressive resolve, though, indeed, I
was far from sympathizing with it; I know only too well that my
need for sympathy has often induced me to seek it from people
who, instead of strengthening, unnerved me.
However, there is a resting place better, more necessary,
more indispensable than our home with our parents, however
good, however necessary, however indispensable it may be - and
that is our own hearth and home, with our respective
“she, and no other.”
There you are, oh man of business, closing profitable deals,
your biggest deal - your own home with your own “she, and
no other.”
In my opinion this is the point you would do well to bear in
mind, the stimulant which more than any other
”tonic” will keep alive your courage, strength,
energy and love of life, and renew them more and more every
day. Some expressions in your letter of today induce me to say
now, Suppose there might be some special reason why you should
be more than ever on the qui vive, and act more energetically
and intelligently, suppose they try to undermine your position,
or there is some other trouble or moment of danger. Do not
forget you are twenty-six, and in “la saison du
renouveau” [the season of renewal]. Close the biggest
deal of your life! Renew yourself radically by being
principally on the qui vive in that you look at girls
more seriously and attentively, and be very careful to find out
if your “she, and no other” is not among
them.
This is the end of the ploughshare.
You remember perhaps that this summer we spoke about women,
both with a kind of desolation. That we felt, or thought we
felt, “La femme est la désolation du
juste.”
And - and - I felt, perhaps you did too, rather like
Monsieur le Juste above - I am not able to decide whether this
saying is true or untrue, because since this summer I have
begun to doubt, if I ever knew distinctly, “qu'est-ce que
c'est qu'une femme, et qu'est-ce que c'est qu'un
juste?”
And I have resolved to examine these two problems, the
result being that I often say to myself, Tu ne sais pas encore
ce que c'est qu'une femme. Tu ne sais pas encore ce qu'est
qu'une juste, si non toutefois que tu n'en es pas encore
un” [You don't yet know what a woman is. You don't yet
know what a just man is, except that you aren't one yet for
sure].
All of which is quite different from my opinion of this
summer. Not I, but Father Michelet says to all young men like
you and me:
Il faut qu'une femme souffle sur toi pour que tu sois homme.
Elle a soufflé sur moi, mon cher!
Faut-il de même et par rencontre qu'un homme souffle
sur une femme pour qu'elle soit femme?
Je le pense très certainement.
[A woman must breathe on you for you to be a man. She has
breathed on me, dear chap!
On the other hand, must a man breathe on a woman for her to
be a woman?
I most certainly think so.]
So, man of business, there is a love story for you! Do you
think it very dull and very sentimental? When I had firmly
resolved not to leave her, even if it should arouse her
displeasure at first, not to turn away from her, when I clung
only to that “she, and no other” and “aimer
encore” then I felt a certain calm and firmness come over
me.
Then my melancholy left me, then all things became new for
me, then also my energy increased.
I know there are persons who think I ought to resign myself,
and that it is against the rules not to consider myself beaten;
but if they say of my proposal this summer, “If you sing
before breakfast, you will cry before night,” then you
know the verse,
He lost his feather in a fight
But knew they'd grow again all right,
Far finer than before.
However, now it is one of the little miseries of human life
for me that I cannot go to see her once in a while or write to
her, and that some people, who might have a good influence in
undermining that “never, no, never,” on the
contrary, feed that “never, no, never.” I wish that
she found no sympathy anywhere for her “never, no,
never” and that everyone would join in efforts to
bankrupt the “never, no, never.” That they would
quite reduce it to a warning monument for other “never,
no, never” - saying ladies and for the encouragement of
those who say, “Aimer encore.” But we have not come
that far.
I should like it very much if you could persuade Father and
Mother to be less pessimistic and to have more good courage and
humanity, for they are awfully pessimistic, and call what I did
this summer “premature and indelicate” (till I
requested them quite firmly and definitely not to use such
expressions any more).
A word from you perhaps influences them more than anything I
can say, and it would be so much better, for them as well as
for me, to let me go my way quietly.
They want me to stop all correspondence, for instance, with
Uncle and Aunt; of course I cannot promise such a thing, and
even if I did stop writing awhile, I would certainly start
again with new vigour later.
She refuses to read my letters but - but - but the
frost and the winter cold are too bitter to last very
long.
I think it much more natural and sensible that when I spoke
to her for the first time about these things, she at once
uttered that “never, no, never” so energetically.
That very thing convinces me that there was some fatal disease,
and I hope I have touched the core of the fatal disease of
burying herself too much in the past; now a crisis of
indignation follows, but the surgeon laughs up his sleeve and
says, “Touché!” This is just between
ourselves, however, Theo - she must not know that I laughed up
my sleeve over the result of the knife's thrust. Toward her I
am of course more or less repentant: “Did I hurt you? Oh,
how brusque and rough I was! How could I be so?” That is
my attitude toward her. A very repentant and humble letter to
Uncle; but still I told him, “she, and no other.”
You will not betray me, brother? To act as if nothing had
happened between us is all nonsense and humbug. None of that.
Boy, I am so glad with my “never, no, never,” I
should like to shout with glee; but I must not show it, and
must attack her again in some other way. But how to approach
her, how to come near her? I must do it someday quite
unexpectedly and take her unawares. For if I do not stick with
it, then the fatal evil of burying herself in the past will
come back with sevenfold strength, and yet “aimer
encore” is such a good thing, and worth all the efforts
of one's soul.
Now, I have been complaining a little about Father and
Mother, but except that they do not understand the least bit of
it and do not understand anything of the “aimer
encore” and could only call it “untimely and
indelicate” until I put a stop to that - after all, they
are very good to me and kinder than ever. But I would rather
they could understand more of my thoughts and opinions on many
things. Theirs is a system of resignation in many matters to
which I cannot resign myself. Now I think a letter from you,
speaking lightly about that “never, no, never,”
would perhaps be very effective. One word from Mother this
summer would have given me the opportunity of saying many
things to her which could not be said in public. But
Mother very decidedly refused to say that word; on the
contrary, she cut off every opportunity for me.
And she came to me with a face full of pity and with many
comforting words, and I am sure she had prayed a beautiful
prayer for me, that I might receive strength for
resignation.
But until now that prayer has found no hearing; on the
contrary, I have received strength for action.
You understand that a man who wants to act cannot quite
approve of the fact that his mother prays for his resignation.
And that he also thinks her words of comfort a little out of
place as long as he does not despair, but, on the contrary,
says from the bottom of his heart, “Je n'accepte point le
joug du déspoir” [I won't accept the yoke of
despair]. I wish she had not prayed for me, but had given me
the chance of having an intimate conversation with her.
And instead of agreeing with that “never, no,
never,” she might have taken my part with a little more
sympathy when Kee spoke to her in confidence and poured out her
heart to her. I tell you these things to convince you that an
energetic word from you to Father and Mother would be of great
help to me. For it is true, is it not, brother, that we are not
only brothers, but friends and congenial spirits?
Since I really love, there is more reality in my drawings,
and I sit writing to you now in the little room with quite a
collection around me of men, women and children from the
“Heike,” etc. Mauve is ill, but Father and Mother
have invited him to come here to recover as soon as he can
undertake the journey.
Adieu. Write soon, a handshake in thought, believe me,
Ever yours, Vincent
At this time, Vincent was 28 year oldSource: Vincent van Gogh. Letter to Theo van Gogh. Written 9-10 November 1881 in Etten. Translated by Mrs. Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, edited by Robert Harrison, number 155. URL: https://www.webexhibits.org/vangogh/letter/10/155.htm.
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