My dear Theo,
Yesterday, I went to see Gladwell, who is home for a few
days. A terrible blow has struck them, his young sister, so
full of life, with dark eyes and hair, had fallen from a horse
at Blackheath; they found her unconscious and she died five
hours later, without regaining consciousness. She was seventeen
years old.
As soon as I heard the news, I went to see them, knowing
that Gladwell was home. I left at eleven o'clock; and had a
long walk to Lewisham. I crossed London from one end to the
other and didn't arrive at my destination until almost five
o'clock.
They had all just come back from the funeral; the whole
household was in mourning.
“Blessed
are they that mourn, blessed are they that sorrow, but always
rejoice, blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God.
Blessed are those that find love on their road, who are bound
together by God, for to them all things will work together for
their good.”
I chatted for a long time, until evening, with Harry, about
everything, the kingdom of God, the Bible; we chatted further,
we walked up and down the station platform. Never will we
forget the moments before we said goodbye.
He and I, we know each other intimately; his work is mine, I
know as well as he the people that he knows down here, their
lives are as mine. From him, I have been given an urge to dive
into the history of this family; I love these people, more now
that I know their history in detail, because now I can
sympathize with them on their existence and style of life.
So then, we walked up and down the platform of the station,
an ordinary world, but we were animated by thoughts that were
not ordinary. Such moments do not last long, and soon we had to
part.
From the train the view of London was beautiful, squatting
in its gloom, with Saint Paul's and the other churches in the
distance. I went by train to Richmond, and by foot to
Isleworth, along the Thames. A fine walk. To the left, there
are parks with their poplars, their oaks and gigantic elms; to
the right, the river which reflects their images. The evening
is fine, somewhat solemn. I got back home at quarter past
ten.
Thanks for your last letter. You had not yet written that
Mrs. V. was dead; how often I accompanied her home in the
evening. How I should have liked to walk with you all to the
Hoeve!
I often teach the boys Bible history, and last Sunday
morning, I read the Bible with them. Every morning and evening
we read the Bible and sing hymns and pray. And that is a good
thing. We also go to Ramsgate. While these twenty-one boys of
the London streets and markets pray Our Father, who art in
heaven, give us this day our daily bread, I imagine
the cry of a young crow which the Lord hears, and it did me
good to pray with them and to bow my head lower than they
probably did at the words, “Lead us not into temptation
but deliver us from evil.”
Have you ever read A Life for a Life, by the author of John
Halifax? 1 I am sure you would like that. How is
your English coming? It was delightful to take a long walk once
more; here at school they walk very little. When I think of my
life full of struggle in Paris last year and compare it with
this, where I sometimes do not get out-of-doors the whole day -
at least not farther than the garden - I sometimes wonder; When
shall I come back to that other world? If I go back to it, it
will probably be doing other work than last year. But I think I
like teaching Bible history to the boys better than walking;
one feels more or less safe in doing the former. And now kind
regards to Roos and to anybody who may ask after me. A
handshake in thought and best wishes from
Your loving brother, Vincent
Enclosed is a letter for Mauve which you may read. I think
it is right not to forget one's former acquaintances, therefore
I occasionally write to some of them, also to Soek in Paris and
others.
I write between school hours and rather in a hurry as you
can see; if you can persuade somebody to read Eliot's Scenes
from Clerical Life and Felix Holt, you will be doing a good
deed. The former is so splendid!
-
Dinah Maria Mulock, later Mrs. Craik.
At this time, Vincent was 23 year oldSource: Vincent van Gogh. Letter to Theo van Gogh. Written 18 August 1876 in Isleworth. Translated by Mrs. Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, edited by Robert Harrison, number 073. URL: https://www.webexhibits.org/vangogh/letter/4/073.htm.
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