Dear Theo,
When I read your letter this morning, I was greatly touched
by what you wrote. 1 This is one of those things of
which the world sometimes says, “Why should he meddle
with it?” And yet it is not so much our own will as
circumstances which drive us to do it. And once we understand
the situation, such a deep, fathomless pity is roused in us
that we can no longer hesitate. And this is the case with you,
I think…what else can I say? but that it seems to me
that in such cases we must follow our impulses.
Victor Hugo says: “Par-dessus la raison il y a la
conscience.” [Above the intellect there is conscience];
there are things which we feel to be good and true, though many
things remain incomprehensible and dark in the cold light of
reason and calculation. And though the society in which we live
considers such actions thoughtless, or reckless, or foolish, or
I don't know what else - what can we say once the hidden forces
of sympathy and love have been aroused in us? And though it may
be that we cannot argue against the reasoning which society
usually employs, against those who allow themselves to be led
by sentiment and to act from impulse - arguing is not the
principal thing, and he who has kept his faith in God sometimes
hears the soft voice of conscience; then one does well to
follow it with the naïveté of a child, without
saying more about it to others than can be helped.
If one has such an encounter, one must expect it to cause a
struggle, especially a struggle with oneself, because sometimes
one literally does not know what to do or what not to do. But
isn't this struggle - and even the mistakes one may make -
better, and doesn't it develop us more than if we
systematically avoid emotions? The latter thing is, in my
opinion, what makes many so-called strong spirits into nothing
but weaklings in reality.
You have my full sympathy in this matter, and as I myself am
standing in the midst of realities and can tell you my
experience since we spoke about it last, if you wish to hear
something about it, or wish to speak about the future, or
consult about whatever it may be, I am always entirely at your
disposal.
And your writing that you will come to Holland before long
is very welcome news indeed.
Perseverance is the great thing in love, once it has taken
hold of us. That is, if the love is returned, for if it is
decidedly not returned, one is literally absolutely
helpless.
Well, I thank you for your confidence, and when I think it
over, I am relatively confident of the result. Such a feeling
is not “passion,” for a deep, fathomless pity is at
the root of it. Nor do I believe that such a thing makes you
unfit for thinking about other things; on the contrary, it has
a serious character which rouses and strengthens all your
faculties and augments rather than diminishes your energy.
So after this you will not object to my saying a few more
things about the drawings. I am very glad you think the old
man's head typical - the model is really typical,
I assure you. I did some more of him.
Did you receive the second roll with five heads sent
from here, I think, on the fifth or sixth of January? It was
the third roll mailed to you.
When you have looked at them for some time, I think you will
find the same thing in them as in the first two, for there
must be something of nature in them, as I literally
wrested them from nature and worked after the model from
beginning to end. I am very anxious to show you the studies -
not because I am satisfied with my own work, but because,
though I am not satisfied with it, I see that it is
progressing, and that something is developing in it which will
have some character.
When I came here to this town, what struck me most was, for
instance, the Geest and those neighbourhoods. And slowly it is
taking shape - but - what a struggle to bring such a thing to
an end.
Today I saw photos of drawings by Barnard, figures from
Dickens; at the time I saw the original drawings in London.
There is a force in them as in Nicolaes Maes, for instance, but
quite a modern sentiment and conception. Such things warm my
heart so much, and are so cheering, because I think of the
models here, how they would look if they were drawn in that
way, and then of course I say to myself, “Forward!”
Work on till we have quite mastered the Black and White. There
is a similarity between art and love, it is like swinging
between “je l'ai depuis longtemps” and “je ne
l'aurais jamais” [I have had it for a long time,
and I shall never have it], as Michelet expresses it,
and one passes from melancholy to animation and enthusiasm; and
this will always remain so - only the oscillations become
stronger. Victor Hugo speaks of “comme un phare à
éclipse” [like an occluding light], and that's
also a good comparison.
If you have received my letter of the fifth or sixth of
January, with the second roll of drawings, you will remember
that then I was already quite out of cash. Now today I had to
pay the rent and the three models whom I hadn't been able to
pay before, and I also absolutely needed various drawing
materials. I am working very hard at present, and I must not
stop, but really the models eat me out of house and home.
Well, it would certainly be good if I could have something
extra - would it be possible? I hesitate to ask it because of
what you just wrote me about yourself, and I understand
perfectly that it brings you cares, which I respect and with
which I sympathize. But the thing with me is that I got
somewhat in arrears by working so hard, and when I receive the
money, I at once have to pay out more than half of it. I
cannot live more economically than we do, I have
economized wherever possible; but the work is developing,
especially these last weeks, and I can hardly control it any
longer - that is, the expenses it causes. Would it be possible
for you to send me a little more? I think you will understand
it when you see the studies. Well, forgive me for mentioning
it, but I cannot do otherwise, I am in arrears for the daily
expenses, and that is why I am absolutely penniless before the
tenth day.
At all events, write me soon, and be assured of my full
sympathy in regard to what you wrote me. Adieu, boy. A
handshake in thought,
Yours sincerely, Vincent
-
At this time, Vincent was 29 year oldSource: Vincent van Gogh. Letter to Theo van Gogh. Written c. 11 January 1883 in The Hague. Translated by Mrs. Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, edited by Robert Harrison, number 259. URL: https://www.webexhibits.org/vangogh/letter/12/259.htm.
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