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Dear Theo,
I would like to be closer to you. Oh! Why are we always at
odds with each other? Why? I am enclosing a letter from the
aunts at Zundert - you know that Aunt Bet had an accident. I
wrote to them that you and I would walk over to Zundert at
Christmas if possible.
I have copied a few of the psalms for you; perhaps you would
like to read them one of these days. 1 Drop me a
line as soon as you can.
I left here early at four o'clock in the morning. It was
beautiful in the park here, with the avenues of dark elm trees,
the wet road through it, and a grey rainy sky above it all; in
the distance there was a thunderstorm. At daybreak I was in
Hyde Park; the leaves were already falling from the trees and
the Virginia creeper was beautifully red against the houses,
and there was a fog. At seven o'clock I was in Kensington, and
rested a little in a church where I used to go so many Sunday
mornings.
In London I visited some friends and also Messrs. Goupil
& Co.'s gallery, and saw there the drawings that Van
Iterson had brought with him. It was delightful to see once
more the Dutch towns and meadows in that way. That picture by
Artz, the “Mill on the Canal,” I think very
fine.
You also have a beautiful life before you, Theo, keep
courage.
Has Van Iterson come back yet? I was so glad to see him
again. He is bringing you The Wide, Wide World; read it one of
these days - the first chapters especially are so fine, and so
true and simple. And read now and then in Longfellow, for
instance:
“I see the lights of the village, gleam through the
rain and the mist,
and a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, that my soul cannot
resist.” 2
And now, boy, a handshake for you and for Uncle Jan. Adieu,
keep courage and get better quickly; write soon how you are,
and send back the aunt's letter then. Poor Aunt Bet, we are
such old friends. O Zundert! Memories of you are sometimes
almost overpowering. Adieu, boy, may God unite us more and more
and make us true brothers. Compliments to Uncle Jan and to all
the Roos family, from
Your loving brother, Vincent
Paris will be beautiful now in autumn. Every Sunday last
year Gladwell and I visited many friends and as many churches
as possible; we went out in the morning and came home late.
Notre Dame is so splendid in the autumn evening amid the
chestnut trees. But there is something in Paris more beautiful
than the autumn and the churches, and that is the poor. I think
often of many a one over there.
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Psalms 23, 91 and 121; in addition, the hymns Daar is
een stem gehoord (“A voice is heard”);
“The light of stars; `t Hijgend het der jacht
ontkomen (“As pants the hart,” etc.); all in
full.
-
Copied in full in the letter.
At this time, Vincent was 23 year oldSource: Vincent van Gogh. Letter to Theo van Gogh. Written 3 October 1876 in Isleworth. Translated by Mrs. Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, edited by Robert Harrison, number 075. URL: https://www.webexhibits.org/vangogh/letter/4/075.htm.
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