...a letter from Vincent and one from Ursula Loyer, both were very kind and amiable. She asks me to write her and Vincent wished very much we should be friends. I’ll tell what he writes about her. “Ursula Loyer is a girl with whom I have agreed that we’ll be each other’s brother and sister. You must also look on her as a sister and write to her, and I think that you will then soon discover what she is. I say no more than that I have never seen or dreamt of anything like the love between her and her mother.” Then there follows a discription of Christmas and New-year and then still the following phrase. “Old girl, you mustn’t think that there’s anything more behind it than what I have written to you. But don’t say anything about it at home, I must do that myself. Just this again, love that girl for my sake.” I suppose there will be a love between those two, as between Agnes and David Copperfield. Although I must say, that I believe there is more than a brother’s love between them; I send you here Ursula’s letter so you can judge for yourself.’
...of you to write to us. Stay well, my dear chap, and just take an interest in life, for our sakes too. Oh, we can make things so pleasant for each other. Is that not in itself a great goal in life? Theo, what do you think of Vincent surprising us again? He must take care. The key was that of the churchyard – thank you for...
...brother, I wish you a happy new year and all the very best. We are all very curious about the decision of the High Court in the Goupil case, and all hope that they will be favourable towards you in every respect. How delightful it was to be together with you again, but all the same it’s a pity about that was, isn’t it? Now I’m again looking forward to Easter, and that will be your bright spot too. What do you have to say...
...we’re so upset about Vincent, it was dutiful of you to write to us like that, he is determined to become...
...you to write about that worry concerning Vincent, it was very good of you, for there was a great deal going around in our heads and hearts, and it still is really. So we do not yet know where this crisis will lead. Because I did not wish him to be over-hasty I have said that for the time being he must continue with his lessons for three months and that in the meantime I would ponder the matter. In the meantime I wrote to the Rev. V.d. Brink, who is now the minister in Roeselare in West Flanders and thus in Belgium, whether he could be of use in that country. He thinks that it is not impossible. Or at least a place as an evangelist might fall vacant where knowledge of English and French would be a recommendation. He will keep me apprised and will help. So perhaps we shall hazard this one trial, but everything is still uncertain. It is a matter that affects us oh so much, but let us not lose heart. You have always said: who knows that he will not battle through and land on his feet. God grant it...
...you, asking for work and at the same time told me that you, Sir, wished to have information about him from me, his father, I hasten to satisfy your request by saying: That it was indeed my son, who has been in Belgium for three months, looking for a position as an evangelist, who came to see you in the hope that you might be able to give him the benefit of your wisdom and some advice and information, which he needs. That not only for the 3 months that he has spent in Belgium, but for a very long time in addition, for several years, he has been making efforts to find an opportunity to work for the Gospel. That he has found it far from easy, but that despite the difficulties he has encountered, he has persevered, and at this point is still of good courage, and he has no intention of giving up his vocation, as he calls it, to work as an evangelist. That for 3 months he has stayed in Brussels at my expense in the home of Mr Plugge (6, chemin de Halage, Laeken) since (on the first visit that he and I made to Brussels) Mr Pietersen, a minister in Malines, and also Mr de Jonge, a minister in Brussels, wished to make his acquaintance. Now, three months having passed – almost penniless – through his own fault – since he obstinately refuses to receive money from me or to be supported by me, knowing that I am far from being wealthy, he has gone in person to the place where he hoped to find work, and it was because of that that he came to see you. I end this letter, Sir, by recommending him to you, and I assure you that he has not failed to show that he is zealous and seriously wishes to work for the Gospel within the limits of his strength. That God may grant that he may find among you also the means to earn his daily bread through active work honestly performed. His path is hard, the obstacles that he will yet have to overcome are great, but they do not frighten him at all. So, Sir, permit me to recommend him to you...
...December 1878 (FR b2450). ‘We wrote to Vincent, you don’t yet know about the letter received this...
...you been well? We hope so, since Uncle Cent received a letter from you this week, and fortunately Uncle said nothing more about indisposition. In the meantime, will you receive our letter and, as we believe, good advice and, we hope, follow it? It is already so autumnal with that rain, a demi-saison is such a wonderful garment, useful and natty, and it comes in handy now. We had a pleasant week in Princenhage. Uncle is very well, but we were disturbed by the news of the worrying state of Mr De Jonge. Pa asked if he should come and the answer was “Please do”. Pa arrived Friday morning, went there immediately, and was there and supported Mr De Jonge body and soul at his death. That was fortunate, and was a great satisfaction for Pa. Pa will also be going to the funeral on Tuesday, it is fortunate that the man is out of his suffering, but it does move one. Pa came to Uncle and Aunt’s house on Saturday, and we had a lovely day in the Liesbos. So joys and sorrows ensured that Pa much enjoyed the outing. Vincent arrived on Friday afternoon, and you see that fortunately he had made a great success of his trip, which gave us great pleasure, and for the rest we hope for the best. Good news from Anna and Jo. And their little Sara, they write that they are in high spirits. We haven’t yet had any firm news as to whether Lies will come on Wednesday but think she will, and then she will stay until a week on Saturday for my birthday, which we hope will be nice with her at home. If only you could be there again, but we would have no complaints about you were it to be more often, and then a day longer for once. It is getting a bit busier, or doesn’t that start until September? Pa has gone to De Hoeve, I’m going out part of the way to meet him, the weather’s glorious now. Cor still in Baarn, tomorrow to Helvoirt, and Wednesday here. It has been lovely for him. This is just a good-day word and a kiss from your loving Ma. Pa asks to convey his warm regards. Came back so tired from De Hoeve due to a boot pinching. So wish you all the best...
...the studio of the painter Cormon. I believe I told you last summer what a solitary life the brother has...
...23 June 1886 (FR b1843). ‘Have I already told you that Van Gogh has moved to Montmartre. They now have...
...You would no longer recognize Vincent, he has changed so much, and that strikes others even more than me. He has had a major operation on his mouth, for he had lost almost all his teeth because of the poor state of his stomach. The doctor says that he is now completely recovered. He is making tremendous progress with his work, and proof of that is that he is starting to make a success of it. He hasn’t yet sold any paintings for money, but exchanges his work for other paintings. In this way we’re building up a fine collection, which is also worth something of course. There is a picture dealer who has already taken four of his paintings in this way and has promised to hold an exhibition of his work next year. He is painting flowers mostly, mainly in order to make his next paintings more colourful. He is also much more cheerful than before, and he goes down well with the people here. To give you an example, hardly a day passes without him being invited to visit the studios of painters of repute, or people come to him. He also has acquaintances from whom he receives a beautiful delivery of flowers every week which can serve him as a model. If we can keep this up then I think that his difficult period will be behind him and that he will go on to find his feet...
...deeply grateful that he’s having some success. You have no idea what a difficult life he has had, and...
...start to look after his health. He needs to. He has now decided to part from Vincent; living together is not possible. As I said, you must say nothing to Mrs [Van Gogh], should you see her, she knows nothing.’
...you advise long ago, and I’ve often asked myself whether it wasn’t perhaps wrong to help him all the time, and I’ve often been on the point of letting him muddle along on his own. I thought about it seriously again after getting your letter, and I believe that in the given situation I can’t do anything other than carry on. It’s absolutely certain that he is an artist, and what he’s making now may sometimes not be beautiful but will definitely stand him in good stead later, and then it may be sublime, and it would be disgraceful to keep him from his regular study. However unpractical he may be, if he will just be skilful there will definitely come a day when he starts to sell. Nor should you think that the money business weighs the heaviest on me. It’s above all the idea that we have so little affection for each other any more. There was a time when I loved Vincent very much and he was my best friend, but that’s over now. It seems to be even worse as far as he is concerned, for he loses no opportunity to let me see that he despises me and that I inspire aversion in him. This makes it almost intolerable for me at home. No one wants to come by any more because it always leads to rows, and he’s so filthy and slovenly that the household looks anything but inviting. What I just hope is that he’ll go and live on his own, he’s spoken about that for a long time, because if I told him that he had to go it would be the very reason for him to stay. Since I can’t do any good for him I ask just one thing, and that is that he do me no harm and he does that by staying, because it's heavy going. It's as if there are two people in him, the one marvellously gifted, sensitive and gentle, and the other self-loving and unfeeling. They appear by turn, so that first one hears one way of reasoning and then the other, and always with arguments both for and against. It’s a pity that he’s his own enemy, because he doesn’t just make life difficult for others but for himself as well. I’ve decided to carry on as I’ve been doing up until now, but I hope that he’ll change homes somehow, and I’ll do my best to bring it about. Now little sister, you’ll...
...you asked, I have spoken to Vincent about his things that are still in Nuenen. He says that you can do with the furniture as you please, but he is particularly attached to his collection of wood engravings, which would certainly be of no value to anyone in Nuenen and which he has put together with difficulty. There are also studies of his own that he would prefer to keep. If it were possible to pay off what he owes with the things he has left behind, and if there was enough left over to make a chest for the prints and studies and to pay the freight costs, even if it was only to Breda, that would certainly be a good arrangement. If I then come to you I can pick out what can be sent on to here. I hope this won’t cause you too much trouble and that you can cover the expenses with what there is...
...you had a letter from me, but if you knew how life is here and the kind of situations I’ve been through this winter it wouldn’t surprise you that there was no desire to repeat everything that had been going on. It’s better to keep silent about it, because it wasn’t heartening for others. What I do constantly reproach myself for is that I’m not involved enough with all of you, and I’m sorry above all that I naturally didn’t hear much from you all. But again, life is so different here, and there’s so much agitation and fighting that it would certainly not have been a good idea to disturb your tranquil life. However, I long so much to hear something from you again that I could delay no longer. However, do not think if I don’t go into particulars that all the fault lies with others. No, the main thing was that I’ve been ill, particularly in my spirit, and have had a great struggle with myself. I now feel much stronger again and hope that I’m back on my feet again. Life here is above all so lonely. There’s no family life, and so mixing with others is no more than with a few acquaintances and beyond that with people in the line of business. Can you understand that it’s sometimes difficult never to mix with anyone other than men who talk about business, with artists who are generally having a difficult time themselves, but never to know the intimate life with wife or children of the same class? You can hardly imagine the great loneliness there can be in a big city. Now, you will say: have you no hope, then, that that will change? Yes, but in the meantime it’s rough. Perhaps you can’t understand how it is that there are no folk with whom I mix, but remember that people here are busy from morning till night, and then don’t feel that the day is long enough to do what has to be done, and then I dislike mixing with just anyone and find it absurd to say that people turn out better than expected after a while and that everyone has his good qualities. I find that one very quickly discovers the kind of a person that one is dealing with, and that as a rule mixing with mediocrities doesn’t lead anywhere. There’s an enormous difference between that and being a misanthrope, because I find that on the contrary there are people whom I love very much and who are so good and special that I feel myself so small compared to them that I have difficulty mixing with them and above all to take the first step to becoming intimate with them. I don’t remember when I last wrote to you and whether I’ve already told you my secret. To come straight to the point, if you don’t know. I plan to propose to Jo Bonger some time. It’s true that I don’t know her well enough to be able to tell you much about her. As you know, I’ve only seen her a few times, but what I know of her pleases me. She gave me the impression that I can place my trust in her completely unreservedly, as I wouldn’t with anyone else. I would be able to speak to her about everything, and I believe that if she wanted to she could mean oh so much to me. Now the question is whether she, for her part, has the same idea, and whether it isn’t a completely egotistical business I’m embarking on. You girls usually think that there are heroes of every kind in the world, and that the man who proposes to you naturally ought to be one of those beings. I find that very beautiful and don’t want to rob you of the illusion, but for my part I believe that many are taken in if they count on that. In any event, in this case I don’t wish anyone to take me for what I am not, and if I get to know her a little better I’ll let her know that she mustn’t have too many illusions, and I’m still very doubtful whether she will have me. However, I can’t get her out of my thoughts. She is always with me, and how often I curse the impossibly great distance that lies between us. Why can I not see her more often and get to know her, to discover what she would wish and how she thinks about oh so many things? What can I do to come into contact with her in some other way than being in Amsterdam for a day or two once a year and then finish? I’ve already thought about starting to write to her, but even that wasn’t possible at that time because I was foolish enough not to ask her last year whether she wanted to correspond with me. If I do so now, or have someone ask her, then I’d be surrendering myself to her completely, and you’ll perhaps agree with me that she shouldn’t buy a pig in a poke. So I can ask your advice and so you must begin by telling me if you still correspond with her. Now there’s something else. At the moment I’m absolutely unable even to get engaged, since a change in my circumstances is imminent, which I’ll write to you about some other time. I hope that everything will be in order by this summer, but before then I don’t have enough certainty. So keep what I’m writing to you about to yourself, for I’ve written to no one about it and I’ve only spoken to her brother, who feels I should wait a little, at least until my affairs are settled. And how are things with you, little sister. Are you living happily, or rather are you really into life? For my part I feel that I’ve lived too much through the eyes and feelings of others, and that although I like reading and paintings there is something more that I know exists and that I’m not into it. Living simply with nature without poetry that comes from somewhere other than your own heart and own thoughts, that is the true thing. Certainly, everyone has that well-spring and it’s just a question of arranging life so that that spring wells up. Certainly, encouragement from outside is part of it, and that consists of two large components. In the first place mixing with congenial souls, and secondly, but that is an aid, by seeking it from other poets. That seeking is so difficult, and is actually sterile if one isn’t into real life oneself. I hope for your sake that you find much sympathy and some happiness in your life. How is your work and your writing getting along? Do you still have a great love of nature? How is it at home? And how is your health? There, a whole lot of questions, and I’m sure that you’ll soon answer them. Spring is slowly coming here, but it was raw and cold for oh so long. Now it’s becoming lovely, and people, like nature, sometimes thaw out when the sun shines. I needed that oh so much. Now little sister, a hearty kiss, and don’t grumble too much that I kept you waiting so long. Just think that it was winter and that that’s over now. Good-day and ever yours, Theo...
...you all sent to Vincent are wonderful, and I’m also profiting from them. I’ve finished A la recherche du bonheur and find it magnificent. Vincent read it too and found it very beautiful. A great deal has changed since I wrote to you all last. We have made peace, because it served no good to carry on in that way. I hope that it will last. So for the time being there’ll be no change, and I’m glad of that. I would find it odd living on my own again, and he wouldn’t have gained anything by it either. I’ve asked him to stay. It will strike you as odd after what I wrote to you recently, but it isn’t weakness on my part, and since I feel much stronger than I did last winter I have high hopes that I’ll be able to bring about an improvement in our relations. We’re already far enough apart that it would have served no good purpose to rend relations even further. I’ve read L’oeuvre that you write about, and before I read it I also thought, in keeping with the review, that there was much of the main character in Vincent. But that isn’t the case. That painter sought the unattainable, while Vincent loves what is far too much to fall into that trap. As to Zola’s books in general, I find them very beautiful, but I agree with you that it isn’t essential reading matter for Dutch girls. It’s a different matter here, where women’s lives are so much freer, and I believe it can’t do any harm, for Zola is absolutely not what many people wrongly think, a writer of vulgar things. He portrays the groups of people, miners, workers etc. as groups, just as they are, with their good and their bad sides, and lets a carter speak and act just like a carter, and shows both the good and the bad sides in those people. I believe that for those who wish to know the world that is the kind of reading matter from which one can learn a great deal; but just as a peasant can live off potatoes and rye bread and you can’t, likewise those books, according to me, are too heavy for some, and it’s certainly not necessary to overburden the stomach...
...you again and I’m doing so now because I need to tell you that I’m alone again. Vincent left for the south last Sunday, first to Arles to get his bearings and then probably on to Marseille. The new school of painters tries above all to get light and sun into paintings, and you can well understand that the grey days lately have supplied little material for subjects. Moreover, the cold was making him ill. The years of so much worry and adversity haven’t made him any stronger, and he felt a definite need for rather milder air. A day and a night’s travel and one is there, so the temptation was great and he accordingly decided swiftly to go there. I believe that it will definitely do him good, both physically and for his work. When he came here two years ago I never thought that we’d become so attached to each other, for there’s definitely an emptiness now that I’m alone in the apartment again. If I find someone I will live with him, but it’s not easy to replace someone like Vincent. It’s incredible how much he knows and what a clear view he has of the world. So I’m sure that if he has a certain number of years yet to live he’ll make a name for himself. It was through him that I came into contact with many painters who regarded him very highly. He’s one of the champions of new ideas, that’s to say there’s nothing new under the sun and it would therefore be more correct to speak of the regeneration of old ideas that have been corrupted and diminished by the daily grind. In addition, he has such a big heart that he’s always looking to do something for others, unfortunately for those who cannot or will not understand him. Since I had put my letter to one side, which I do more often if they’re not thrown straight into the fire, I can now tell you a little more about him and also send you a letter from him. He has arrived in Arles, and found 50 centimetres of snow there, which isn’t exactly what he’d been expecting, but he writes that he has made three studies all the same, which he wouldn’t have been able to do in Paris at this time, and he goes on to say: “At times it seems to me that my blood is more or less ready to start circulating again, which wasn’t the case the last few months, I really couldn’t stand it any more.” I hope that the milder air will do him good. I think that I’ll be getting a young painter, “Koning”, to come and live with me at the beginning of next month. He isn’t nearly as skilful as Vincent, but it will be more companionable than being on my own. How is your drawing coming along? Is it a success, or have you given it up? Will you let me know if there’s anything you need? I would so much like to know if there’s anything I can do for you. You mustn’t be angry if you don’t get any more letters. Vincent started writing to you ten times and I’ve read more letters to you than you’ve...
...you still remember the painting by Gauguin with the negresses that hangs above the couch? He recently sent twenty paintings to me at the gallery that he’d made in Brittany last year. You know, if you can see the painting in your mind’s eye, what a strange poetry there is in it. Now, the new paintings have the same thing, but since the subjects are closer to hand they’re easier to understand, and if they aren’t more beautiful they are more immediately enjoyable. There are winter landscapes with grey-green hills against the leaden sky where the colour is completely muted, and then one can’t help thinking of the inclemency of the undulating fields. Or the same landscape but with a few beech trees with the reddish brown withered leaves as a contrast to the green. There are also spring landscapes with the delicate branches of the trees from which the young leaves hang like little bells and tell of the jubilance of nature rejuvenated. Or a small village in the first days of spring hidden in a purple haze behind the more deeply coloured tree-trunks, the bright green leaves of which find their echo in the green fields that one sees stretching out against the hill in the distance beyond the village. You’d have to see them to get an idea of how diversely he expresses himself, and above all to sense the different moods in which he made them. Mostly the calm nature that fills his inner being with resignation, but sometimes also the fierce upwelling of all his suffering and struggles, which he expresses through the most powerful, deepest tones that reverberate above all when he saw nature swelling up under the benevolent and creative power of the sun. It’s impossible to describe everything that there is in those paintings, but it turns out that he’s even greater than anyone had supposed. The same thing could happen with him as formerly happened with Millet, who is now understood by everyone because the poetry he proclaimed is so powerful that everyone, from great to small, finds it satisfying. Monet, too, makes superb scenes of nature, but one has to be happy and healthy oneself to enjoy them, otherwise one might think: “Oh, if only I was there, then I’d be happy”. While from Gauguin consoling words are whispered, as it were, to those who are not happy or healthy. With him, nature itself speaks, while with Monet one hears the maker of the paintings speaking. Degas is surprisingly taken with Gauguin’s work. So much so that he wants to go to Arles to visit him. “Lucky dogs,” says Degas of Vincent and Gauguin, “that’s the life”. I don’t need to tell you what that means coming from the lips of the great Degas, who himself has such an understanding of life in its fullness. Vincent hasn’t sent me anything in a long time, but I suspect from his letters that he has made beautiful things. Gauguin’s company is naturally worth a great deal to him, and it’s absorbing him quite a lot at the moment. He recently painted portraits, and above all he seems to be satisfied with them. It’s in the figure that he finds the highest expression of his art...
[id29December1888-1] 29 December 1888 Félix Rey to Theo van Gogh. Arles, 29 December 1888 (FR b1055). ‘Dear Sir, As I promised you when you left Arles, I am hastening to give you the information you may wish concerning your brother’s condition: His mental state seems to have worsened since Wednesday. The day before yesterday, he got into bed with another patient and refused to leave, despite my comments. He then chased the...
...you for your love for the unhappy Vincent. God be with him and us. Oh, the poor boy! I had hoped things were going well and thought he could quietly devote himself to his work! I had just written him a note to tell him what Israëls and the others had said about his work, and for the New Year, because don’t think I forgot him. Oh Theo, what will happen now, how will things turn out? I would almost say, if only he would become really ill, it would bring things to a head, but he already is very ill, you might say, the worst that one could imagine. My consolation is that he is a child of our heavenly Father, and He will neither fail nor forsake him. If it was for me to say, I would ask, ‘Take him unto Thee’, but we must take things as God gives them. Oh Theo, if it is borne out, you remember what Prof. Ramaar in The Hague said – when Pa so much wanted him to go with him as a nerve patient, and Vincent said he was willing to go and ask for medicine, and just when they were supposed to leave, he refused and Pa went anyway to tell him – and he said, from what I now hear something is missing or wrong in the little brain. Poor thing, I believe he was always ill, and what he and we have suffered are the consequences of it. Poor brother of Vincent, sweet, dearest Theo, you too have been very worried and troubled because of him, your great love, wasn’t it too heavy a burden, and now you’ve again done what you could, Wil went to The Hague today, how disappointed she will be too, I am grievously saddened and anyway you will no doubt send me news as often as possible, honestly Theo, if things get even worse and Aix has to happen, tell me everything, otherwise I’ll think even worse. What a coincidence, your hoping for happiness now, and this deep sorrow, may she be a comfort to you, but Theo, I didn’t say anything, I wrote nothing to Jo before you had your answer from Amsterdam. Write to me as soon as you know anything, although I am saddened with grief, I can however be glad about happiness and being the bearer of good news, Jo and Anna also wanted to write. Oh Theo, must the year end with such a disaster? Where is Aix? Such suffering for both of you, how he must feel it all, how touching about Zundert, together on one pillow. Goodbye, dear Theo, may God be near with His comfort, and if possible bring help. God bless the remedies. Thanks for your love...
...You understand how it affected me, and I understand so well what you must be feeling. Poor, poor Vincent, it was foreseeable that such a thing should happen if it didn’t go the other way. But it’s so terrible. Do tell me in as much detail as possible how he is. How wonderful that you could go to him. When you write in this way, he becomes for me very different from an ordinary patient whom no one knows anything about. You won’t keep anything back, will you, and tell everything exactly as it is? You don’t know how much I’d like to go to him. If he were dying, I would, I have the money for it. Do the doctors talk only about mental faculties, which will probably not return, or do they fear for his life? It is those very moments of consciousness, and that he is alone then, that I find so terrible. Did you get the impression that he feels his own suffering very badly? I find it so fortunate for you that it didn’t happen last year when you were so alone. Now, with De Haan with you, and Jo, it’s surely easier to bear. How your whole heart must be with him. Touching, that story about the little room you two had in Zundert. Could I write to him? Do tell me where he is. And the exact truth about how he is. Do you hear something from a doctor now and then? Could it have been foreseen, did Gauguin see it coming, did he notice more than usual recently, or did something happen to cause the outburst? And you just happened to write that he himself was satisfied with what he’d made. I’m re-reading your letter about that, who is the man who has taken an interest in him, is it that postman? Fortunate that there’s at least someone. Sadness and happiness go together in a strange way...I think of Vincent all the time, if only he wasn’t so far away. Ma is also so upset about it. But what a difficult life, and how difficult things have always been for him. If only he could ever find some peace. That is possible, isn’t it, or is it too much a physical illness? I feel so awfully sorry for him, and I wish he knew that. Now dear Theo, the new year will also bring light and darkness, but I hope that there will be much light for you through all things. With a hearty kiss, ever your Wil One of these days you’ll...
...you information concerning your brother’s condition. I shall tell you straightaway that it is very difficult to give categorical answers to all the questions that you ask me. Nevertheless, I shall give you my personal assessment. The Protestant minister, Mr Salles, came looking for me this evening, and we went to visit him. He was very calm and seemed perfectly well. When he saw me enter his room he told me that he wished to have as little as possible to do with me. He remembered, no doubt, that it was I who had had him locked up. I then assured him that I was his friend and that I wished to see him recovered soon. I did not hide his situation from him, and explained to him why he was in a room by himself. I told him that his crises did not allow me to leave him in the wards, among all our patients. We talked like that for a little while, and then parted good friends. He asked me to write to you and to give you news of him, something that he did not want at the beginning of our discussion. When I tried to get him to talk about the motive that drove him to cut off his ear, he replied that it was a purely personal matter. In short, I find that his condition has improved a little, and I do not believe his life is in danger, at least not for the moment. He is eating fairly well and his physical strength is helping him bear his crises. My assessment is that he will be able to recover in a short time, while retaining the extreme excitability that must form the essence of his character. We are currently tending to his ear alone, and certainly not to his mental state. His wound is much better and is not causing us any concern. A few days ago, we issued a certificate of mental disturbance. The mayor signed an order leaving him in the hospital for the time being, while awaiting his transfer to an asylum. During this time, the chief of police will carry out his enquiry, and then the Prefect will give instructions for him to be taken to Aix or Marseille. I myself was a house physician in Marseille a few months ago, and I should be glad to recommend him to the colleague who took my place and who is a good friend of mine. Despite that, I shall permit myself to ask you a question and to offer you a piece of advice. Would you like to have your brother in an asylum close to Paris? Do you have resources? If so, you may very well send him to look for one; his condition easily allows him to make the journey. The matter has not progressed so far that it could not be halted, and for the chief of police to suspend his report. This is the information that I had to offer you concerning your poor brother. You ask me for my assessment; I shall give you it for what it is worth. I shall always be delighted to give you news of him, because I too have a brother; I too have been far away from my family. In a few months, when I submit my doctoral thesis in Paris, I too should be happy if somebody were able to take an interest in me at a difficult moment. With my sincerest regards, Rey Fe...
[id8January1889] 8 January 1889 Joseph Roulin to Willemien van Gogh. Arles, 8 January 1889 (FR b710). Roulin gave the year wrongly as 1888 at the top of the letter. ‘I acknowledge receipt of your kind letter, by which you do me too great an honour, and I hasten to reply in order to inform you that your dear brother Vincent has fully recovered, he left the hospital today on the 7th instant. What has delayed my reply by 24 hours is that we spent the whole day together, and I ask you to write to him. I have not given him your letter because he would be too distressed to know that he has caused you so much trouble. When you send him your news, let him remain unaware that you had knowledge of the causes of his illness, and tell him that you learned through your brother in Paris that he was unwell and that you are very pleased that he has recovered. We talked at length today about you and about your mother. Thank you for the kind things that you say about my wife and our little daughter. Reassure yourself about the health of my good friend Vincent; I am with him whenever my work permits me, and if anything should happen I would let you know at once. I do not believe I deserve all the thanks that you give me, but I shall always strive to deserve my friend Vincent’s respect, as well as that of all those who are dear to him. Permit me to pay my respects, and those of my family, to your mother. I ask you, Mademoiselle, to accept the sincere greetings of your good brother Vincent’s friend.’