In chronological order below are fragments and complete letters with relevant information from the correspondence of members of Van Gogh’s family and people who knew him which could not be associated directly with any of the letters in this edition. They are nevertheless so germane in the context of Van Gogh’s correspondence that they are being printed separately here. Letters by others that were sometimes written on Van Gogh’s notepaper or were enclosed with a letter of his are also included. Unless otherwise stated, the original documents are preserved in the Van Gogh Museum (abbreviated as FR, for Family Records). We have added punctuation and accents without drawing attention to these changes.

Note written by Anna Cornelia van Gogh-Carbentus, 20 March 1852. She is awaiting the birth of her first child, Vincent van Gogh, who was stillborn on 30 March (VGM, Documentation BD 69). There is no other mention of this child in the entire family archive.

‘We spent three pleasant weeks with Mother Carbentus, who in that time enabled us to prepare for the impending arrival of a small member of the household for which God had given us hope. Returning to our own home another pleasure awaited us. Equipped for the winter we pass many an evening full of pleasure, each going about our work, and were happy above all too in the thought of the increase of our domestic blessings ... and now we await the arrival of our little child together, and now I put down my pen, and may my Friend, as we hope, write about the birth of our little child.’

Letter from Anna van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, written in English. Leeuwarden, Tuesday 6 January 1874 (FR b2679). It contains some phrases in Dutch from a letter by Vincent to Anna, that must have been written on or about Friday 2 January 1874.

‘Monday morning at breakfast I found a letter from London, which contained 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.”

Theodorus van Gogh to Theo van Gogh. Etten, 8 April 1877.

The Reverend Van Gogh added the following to Vincent’s letter 110 (FR b109).

‘Dear Theo!

It was dutiful 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 it. Warm regards from Ma and from everyone. Lies has to leave tomorrow.

Ever your loving father

T.v.G.’

Elisabeth van Gogh to Theo van Gogh. Etten, 30 December 1877.

She added this note to Vincent’s letter 138 (FR b136).

‘My dear 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 about that preaching. How about that? The Rev. Kuylman doesn’t realize by half how foolish it was of him to hurt his arm at such an inconvenient time. And now adieu. I must leave some space for Wil. So I end in haste. Ever

Your loving Lies’

Willemien van Gogh to Theo van Gogh. Etten, 30 December 1877.

She added this note to Vincent’s letter 138 (FR b136).

‘Dear Theo,

Warm wishes for a happy new year. Lies says that I must write that she wrote my dear brother by accident. We have to go to bed, goodnight, a pleasant day.

Your so loving

Wil’

Anna Cornelia van Gogh-Carbentus to Theo van Gogh. Etten, 7 June 1878 (FR b980).

‘Oh Theo, we’re so upset about Vincent, it was dutiful of you to write to us like that, he is determined to become a catechist, but that will take 2 years of study. Cannot then stay in Amsterdam, and even if he becomes one, nowadays with all that scrabbling along, a very uncertain position and very poorly paid. Pa has also written him a firm letter saying that he must continue with his lessons for 3 more months to acquire a better understanding and to give him peace and quiet for reflection. Pa also wrote to Belgium and a reply just came as I got to this point. In Belgium there is a lot of work and few workers, dutiful, clever people would certainly find a place there, even without examinations. Who knows if the light might not come from there, but I am always so worried that wherever Vincent goes and whatever he does he will cut it short everywhere as a result of his odd nature and peculiar ideas and views about life. Now, we must not fret, our dear Lord knows our cares and supports and strengthens, even through the letter from Mr V.d. Brink, who asked especially to convey his regards.’

Theodorus van Gogh to Theo van Gogh. Etten, 7 June 1878 (FR b981).

‘How dutiful it was of 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.’

Anna Cornelia van Gogh-Carbentus to Theo van Gogh. Etten, 23 June 1878 (FR b982).

‘Vincent admits that he is happy that it has come to this, and faces the future with more courage than when he was hopelessly devoting himself to his studies. Pa has had a reply from Mr Van den Brink that there will be a meeting soon at which the matter of V. will be discussed and that he will then send a reply. Vincent will continue his studies until the end of the month. He has asked Mr Jones for a reference and has received a very satisfactory one. He and we are of course happy about that, and now we must just wait. That is sometimes easier than at other times. He writes many letters, long ones too, and when reading them one is inclined to say: how can a simple clergyman come out of this, and then again there is nevertheless something good in them as well. God grant that his common sense gain the upper hand and that good opinions may prepare him and that he get his wish.’

Theodorus van Gogh to Theo van Gogh. Etten, 8 July 1878 (FR b984).

‘Vincent came home last Friday evening. He has written to Belgium and wishes to go there to speak to his interests, but so far no reply. I wrote again to the Rev. Pietersen to commend his case, and we are now awaiting a reply to that. In the meantime, there is still a great deal to be arranged, but God grant that a path opens up for him ...

Theodorus van Gogh to the Rev. Pierre Péron. Breda, 5 December 1878.

The original of this letter of recommendation is in the Archives synodales de l’église protestante Unie de Belgique, 5 Rue du Champs de Mars, 1050 Brussels. See also Lutjeharms 1978, p. 107; there is a Dutch translation in Hulsker 1985, p. 127.

‘Etten, near Breda, 5 Dec. 1878

to Mr Péron,

Protestant minister at Dour

Dear Sir!

Having received a letter from my son Vincent, who wrote to me that he had approached 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:

Protestant Minister at Etten

near Breda

(Holland)’

Anna Cornelia van Gogh-Carbentus to Theo van Gogh. Etten, 20 December 1878 (FR b2450).

‘We wrote to Vincent, you don’t yet know about the letter received this week. He has made the acquaintance of many there who ask him to speak or where he offers to do so. There was one place that he thought was vacant, may he give satisfaction and have a chance to obtain it! He wrote that he was very satisfied, no one suffered from the cold there, the coal was quite easily had, which is a great reassurance.’

Anna Cornelia van Gogh-Carbentus to Theo van Gogh. Etten, 28 August 1881.

She added this letter to Vincent’s letter 171 (FR b169). In it she reports the death of Jonkheer Joan de Jonge van Zwijnsbergen (1821-1881) on 26 August 1881 at 3.30 in the afternoon. He was buried on Tuesday 30 August.

Dear Theo!

‘That would be a little too harsh for us, for Vincent to send his letter off without us even saying good-day. Have 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.’

Andries Bonger to Hendrik Christiaan Bonger and Hermine Louise Bonger-Weissman. Paris, 17 March 1886 (FR b1838).

‘Have I already written to say Van G.’s brother, who works as a painter, has arrived here. As a result we don’t see much of Van G. any more, because they eat together in their neighbourhood. His mother and sisters are leaving Nuenen for Breda one of these days.’

Andries Bonger to Hendrik Christiaan Bonger and Hermine Louise Bonger-Weissman. Paris, 12 April 1886 (FR b1841).

‘Theo’s brother is here for good, he’s staying for at least three years to work in the studio of the painter Cormon. I believe I told you last summer what a solitary life the brother has lived. He doesn’t have any social graces at all. He rows with everyone. So Theo has a great deal to put up with because of him.’

Andries Bonger to Hendrik Christiaan Bonger and Hermine Louise Bonger-Weissman. Paris, 23 June 1886 (FR b1843).

‘Have I already told you that Van Gogh has moved to Montmartre. They now have a large, spacious apartment (by Parisian standards, anyway) and their own household. They now have an excellent kitchen-maid. Theo still looks terrible; he looks awfully haggard. The poor fellow has a lot of worries. On top of that, his brother is still making life difficult for him, and accuses him of all sorts of things of which he’s completely blameless.’

Theo van Gogh to Anna Cornelia van Gogh-Carbentus. Paris, June-July 1886 (FR b942).

‘Fortunately we’re doing well in our new home. 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.’

Willemien van Gogh to Line Kruysse. Breda, 26 August 1886 (FR b4536).

‘[Theo] said so many good things about Vincent, the eldest, who lives with him. His paintings are getting so much better and he is beginning to exchange them for ones by other painters, that’s how it must gradually come about. According to Theo he will definitely become someone of repute. We are under no illusions, though, but are nevertheless deeply grateful that he’s having some success. You have no idea what a difficult life he has had, and who knows what he will still have to contend with?’

Art dealer Joseph Baillarguet. Paris, 11 September 1886 (FR b1212).

‘Sold to Mr Vincent, an old painting and a drawing. Price 50 francs. Received Baillarguet Paris 11 September 1886’.

Andries Bonger to Hendrik Christiaan Bonger and Hermine Louise Bonger-Weissman. Paris, 31 December 1886 (FR b1867).

‘I’ve had little time to read because of Van Gogh’s indisposition. He has had severe fits of nerves, so much so that he was quite unable to move. Yesterday I was astonished to find him entirely back to normal; he still felt stiff, as if he had fallen over, but otherwise no after-effects. He will now finally 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.’

Andries Bonger to Hermine Louise Bonger-Weissman. Paris 18 February 1887 (FR b1846).

‘Van Gogh and Spijker send their regards. Van Gogh also has to be put back on his feet again. He still looks poorly and thin, and feels weak. If he wasn’t such an pig-headedly stubborn person he would have gone to see Gruby long ago.’

Theo van Gogh to Cor van Gogh. Paris, 11 March 1887 (FR b907).

‘Vincent continues to study, and he works with talent. It’s just a pity that his character gets in his way so much, because it’s absolutely impossible to get on with him in the long run. He was certainly troublesome when he came here last year, but one could see some improvement, I thought. But now he’s back to his old self again, and it’s impossible to reason with him. This doesn’t make it pleasant for me at home, and I’m hoping for a change. That will undoubtedly happen, but it’s a pity for him, because if we had worked on this together it would have been better for both of us.’

Theo van Gogh to Willemien van Gogh. Paris, 14 March 1887 (FR b908).

Theo went into more detail and was franker with his sister than with his brother Cor.

‘It’s such a strange situation here. Were he someone in a different line of business I would have done what 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 say: what a moanful letter. Don’t talk about it much.’

Theo van Gogh to Anna Cornelia van Gogh-Carbentus. Paris, 22 March 1887 (FR b909).

‘As 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.’

Theo van Gogh to Elisabeth van Gogh. Paris, 19 April 1887 (FR b910).

‘It’s a long time since 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.’

Theo van Gogh to Willemien van Gogh. Paris, 25 April 1887 (FR b911).

‘The books that 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.’

Theo van Gogh to Elisabeth van Gogh. Paris, 15 May 1887 (FR b912).

‘Vincent is still working hard and is making progress. His paintings are becoming lighter, and his great quest is to get sunlight into them. He’s an odd fellow, but what a head he has on him, it’s enviable.’

Theo van Gogh to Anna Cornelia van Gogh-Carbentus. Paris, 31 October 1887 (FR b913).

‘It is Sunday here tomorrow (All Saints). With Vincent and an English acquaintance we are going to spend part of the day with a picture dealer who likes Vincent’s work a lot.’

Theo van Gogh to Willemien van Gogh. Paris, 24 and 26 February 1888 (FR b914).

‘Paris 24 and 26 Feb 1888.

Dear Wil,

For a long time I have been wanting to write to 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.

Theo’

Theo van Gogh to Willemien van Gogh. Paris, 6 December 1888 (FR b916).

‘De Haan is a great painter who feels strongly attracted to the movement here, and as a result has a very great deal to worry about, since he clearly recognizes the uselessness of part of his earlier work but nonetheless realizes that he has made a few superb things since he has been here. His earlier work has something of Vincent’s work from Nuenen, but it doesn’t have Vincent’s tempestuousness but instead something resigned and Rembrandtesque that isn’t to be disdained. Isaäcson is far more fanatical, which in my opinion hampers his work; he hasn’t a bean and so he has it far from easy. If he didn’t have the good De Haan I don’t know how he’d get by. He busily paints portraits in families, above all to get the money for models. Both are extremely clever fellows as far as their brains are concerned, so they make interesting company. Since De Haan is weak he almost always stays at home, which is why rather more people drop by and we have a rather convivial time. It was through him that I visited a family where the piano was played beautifully. Do 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.’

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:

Rey Félix’

Chief house physician

Bouches du Rhône – Arles –

Anna van Gogh-Carbentus to Theo van Gogh. Leiden, 29 December 1888 (FR b2425).

See Jansen et al. 2003-2.

‘My dear Theo!

I was deeply moved by your letter. Oh Theo, what sorrow. Thank 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, God bless your endeavours. Anna is also sad, Jo and Wil are not at home. A kiss from your ma.’

Willemien van Gogh to Theo van Gogh. Leiden, 30 December 1888 (FR b2276).

‘Dearest Theo,

What terrible news I heard when I got home yesterday. 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?

your Wil

One of these days you’ll get Vincent’s money that I have for safe-keeping.’

Félix Rey to Theo van Gogh. Arles, 30 December 1888 (FR 1056).

‘Dear Sir

I hasten to reply to your letter and to give you information concerning your brother’s condition.

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.

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.

Félix Rey to Theo van Gogh. Arles, 12 February 1889 (FR b1057).

‘Dear Sir,

When I saw that your brother was more fatigued, I had the Rev. Salles informed, in order to ask him what he thought should be done.

Theo van Gogh to Jo van Gogh-Bonger. Paris, 14 February 1889 (FR b2035).

See Brief happiness 1999. pp. 160-162 (letter 46).

‘Jo, one of the main problems is that, whether sick or well, his life is so barren in terms of what he gets from outside. But if you knew him, you would appreciate twice as much how hard it is to solve the problem of what must and what can be done.

Petition, signed by 30 citizens of Arles, requesting that Mayor Jacques Tardieu have Van Gogh committed, shortly before 27 February 1889 (ACA).

Probably drawn up by François Damase Crévoulin, the first signatory. Reproduced in exhib. cat. Amsterdam 2016, p. 145.

‘Dear Mr Mayor

We the undersigned, residents of place Lamartine in the city of Arles, have the honour to inform you that for some time and on several occasions the man named Vood (Vincent), a landscape painter and a Dutch subject, living in the above square, has demonstrated that he is not in full possession of his mental faculties, and that he over-indulges in drink, after which he is in a state of over-excitement such that he no longer knows what he is doing or what he is saying, and very unpredictable towards the public, a cause for fear to all the residents of the neighbourhood, and especially to women and children.

your devoted constituents’

This is followed by 30 signatures, accompanied in some cases by the person’s profession. Only the legible signatures and professions are included below.

D. Crévoulin, grocer; Esprit Lantheaume; Fayard; Viany, retail tobacconist; Siletto François; Claude Reynaud; Conry, blacksmith; Maurice Villaret; Louis Cleheylan; Coste; Julien; Mrs Dayan; François Trouche; E.[?] Coulomb; Aubert Victor, Maréchal; Berthet Adrien, ganger plate-layer; Gion Joseph; Bonifay; the widow Nay; Mayé; the widow Vénissac; Soulè; Chareyre; J. Boissié; A.[?] Charabas.

Report drawn up by Joseph d’Ornano, Chief of Police, in response to the petition from local residents. Arles, 27 February 1889 (ACA).

D’Ornano also signed each statement. Reproduced in exhib. cat. Amsterdam 2016, pp. 149-151.

‘The year eighteen hundred and eighty-nine and the twenty-seventh of February;

Inquiry

1st Mr Bernard Soulè, aged 63, landlord, of 53 avenue Montmajour, who made the following declaration to me:

Soulè

2nd Mrs Marguerite Favier, married name Crévoulin, aged 32, provision merchant, of place de Lamartine, who told us the following:

3rd Mrs Maria Ortoul, married name Viany, aged 40, tobacconist, of place de Lamartine, who confirmed the previous witness’s declaration

4th Mrs Jeanne Corrias, married name Coulomb, aged 42, dressmaker, of 24 place de Lamartine, who made the following declaration:

5th Mr Joseph Ginoux, aged 45, café owner, of place de Lamartine, who agreed that the facts recounted by the previous witness are true and genuine, and has stated that he had nothing to add to her deposition

Findings

Mr Vincent van Gogh is truly suffering from mental disturbance; however, we have noted on several occasions that this madman has moments of lucidity. Van Gogh

is not yet a threat to public safety, but there are fears that he may become so. All his neighbours are frightened, and with good cause, because a few weeks ago, the madman concerned cut off an ear in a fit of insanity, a crisis that could be repeated and be harmful to somebody in his vicinity.

Conclusions

Given that the foregoing enquiries and our personal observations show that Mr Vincent Van Gogh is suffering from mental disturbance, and that he could become a threat to public safety; we are of the opinion that there are grounds for detaining this patient in a special asylum.

In view of which I have written this report, to be submitted for the purposes of the law, and have signed;

Arles, third March eighteen hundred and eighty-nine

Theo van Gogh to Théophile Peyron. Paris, 24 April 1889.

See Tralbaut 1969, p. 275.

‘Dear Director,

With the agreement of the person involved, who is my brother, I am writing to request the admission into your institution of: Vincent Willem van Gogh, painter aged 36, born at Groot Zundert (Holland) and at present living in Arles. I ask you to admit him with your 3rd-class residents. Since his confinement is requested primarily in order to prevent a recurrence of past crises, and not because his mental state is compromised at present, I hope you will have no objection to allowing him the freedom to paint outside the institution when he wishes to do so. Further, without elaborating on the attention that he will require, but which I assume is given with the same care to all your residents, I ask you to be so kind as to allow him to have at least 1/2 litre of wine with his meals.’

Le grand registre de l’asile de Saint-Rémy (Photograph: VGM, Documentation). Van Gogh was admitted on 8 May 1889 and discharged on 16 May 1890. See Tralbaut 1969, pp. 276-277; Hulsker, pp. 519-522, 596, exhib. cat. New York 1986, pp. 26, 73, and exhib. cat. Amsterdam 2016, pp. 156-159.

[Surnames, Forenames, Age, Place of Residence and Occupation of the person admitted]

Mr Vincent van Gogh, aged 36, Painter, born in Holland at Groot Zundert, at present living in Arles (Bouches du Rhône)

[Surnames, Forenames, Age, Place of Residence, Occupation and position of the person having the patient admitted]

Mr Théodore van Gogh, aged 32, born in Holland, living in Paris (Seine), patient’s brother

[Transcript of the Doctor’s Certificate attached to the request]

I the undersigned, Chief Medical Officer at Arles Hospital, certify that six months ago the man named Vincent van Gogh, aged 35, suffered an attack of acute mania with generalised delirium. At that time he cut off his ear. At present his condition has greatly improved, but he nevertheless thinks it helpful to be cared for in a mental asylum.

Arles 7 May 1889, Dr Urpar

certified accurate, Dr T. Peyron, Director

[Transcript of the 24-hour and two-week certificates issued by the asylum’s doctor]

‘I the undersigned, Doctor of medicine, Director of the St Rémy mental home, certify that the man named Vincent van Gogh, aged 36, a native of Holland and at present domiciled in Arles (Bouches du Rhône), under treatment at this city’s infirmary, suffered an attack of acute mania with visual and auditory hallucinations that led him to mutilate himself by cutting off his ear. Today he appears to have regained his reason, but he does not feel that he has the strength or the courage to live independently and has himself asked to be admitted to the home. Based on all the above, I consider that Mr Van Gogh is subject to attacks of epilepsy, separated by long intervals, and that it is advisable to place him under long-term observation in the institution.

St Rémy 9 May 1889, Dr T. Peyron

I the undersigned, Doctor of medicine, Director of the St Rémy mental home, certify that the man named Vincent van Gogh, aged 36, born in Holland, admitted on 8 May 1889 suffering from acute mania with visual and auditory hallucinations, has shown a perceptible improvement in his condition, but that it is advisable to keep him in the institution in order to continue his treatment.

St Rémy 25 May 1889, Dr T. Peyron’

[Date of admission] admitted 8 May 1889

[Monthly notes of the asylum doctor]

This patient comes from the hospital in Arles, where he has been under treatment for several months; he was admitted there following an attack of acute mania, which occurred suddenly, accompanied by visual and auditory hallucinations that terrified him. During that attack he cut off his left ear, but he has no more than a vague memory of all that, and is not aware of it.

The following entry was added when Van Gogh left the asylum

During his stay in the home, this patient, who was calm for most of the time, had several attacks lasting for between two weeks and a month; during these attacks, the patient is subject to terrifying fears, and on several occasions he has attempted to poison himself, either by swallowing colours that he used for painting, or by ingesting paraffin, which he had taken from the boy while he was filling his lamps.

[Date of discharge] discharged 16 May 1890

[Comments] Recovery.

Dr T. Peyron’

Théophile Peyron to Theo van Gogh. Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, on or about 2 September 1889.

Written on p. [2r:8] of Vincent’s letter 798 to Theo (FR b650).

‘Dear Sir

With my sincerest compliments,

Dr T. Peyron’

Theo van Gogh to Jo van Gogh-Bonger. Auvers-sur-Oise, 28 July 1890 (FR b2066).

See Brief happiness 1999, pp. 269-270 (letter 96).

‘This morning a Dutch painter who is also in Auvers brought a letter from Dr Gachet conveying bad news about Vincent and asking me to go there. I dropped everything and went immediately and found him better than I had expected, although he is indeed very ill. I shan’t go into detail, it’s all too distressing, but I should warn you, dearest, that his life could be in danger.

Dearest, if anything should happen to Vincent it would be better for you to be in Holland and I shall be strong. Is it not strange that I was so nervous and uneasy all of last week, as if I had a premonition that something would happen.

A photograph of the ‘Extrait du registre des acte de décés’ concerning Van Gogh was issued by Mayor E. Fauquert of Auvers-sur-Oise on 16 July 1906 and sent to Monsieur J. du Quesne de Bruchem, lawyer in Baarn (VGM, inv. no. bd6; the original is in the Nibbeling/Weenink Collection in De Bilt). Cf. also Ravoux 1957, p. 14. Van Gogh died at 1.30 in the morning.

Paris and Leiden, 29 July 1890 (FR b1494).

‘To

Mr T. van Gogh and his whole Family
are very sad to inform you of the loss that they
have suffered in the person of Mr

deceased, at the age of 37 years, on 29 July 1890, at
Auvers-sur-Oise.

Paris, 8, cité Pigalle
Leiden, Heerengracht (Holland)’

Theo van Gogh to Anna Cornelia van Gogh-Carbentus. Paris, 1 August 1890 (FR b934).

See Pickvance 1992, pp. 56-57. Note: ‘The other doctor’ was Dr. Mazery, the local practitioner. See exhib. cat. New York 1986, p. 216.

‘Dear beloved Mother,

One cannot write how sad one is nor find solace in pouring out one’s heart on paper. May I come to you soon? I still have to make all sorts of arrangements here but if it is possible I would like to leave here on Sunday morning to be with you in the evening. It is a sadness which will weigh upon me for a long time and will certainly not leave my thoughts as long as I live, but if one should want to say anything it is that he himself has found the rest he so much longed for. If he could have seen how people behaved to me when he had left us and could have seen the kindness which so many showed for him, he would for the moment not have decided that he wanted to die. Today I received your letter and the one from Wil and I thank you both. It would be better to tell you everything instead of writing. D^r Gachet and the other doctor were excellent and looked after him well, but they realized from the very first moment that there was nothing one could do. Vincent said: This is how I would like to go and half an hour later he had his way. Life weighed so heavily upon him, but as happens more often everyone is now full of praise for his talent too. Maybe it was fortunate that Jo was not here for it might have given her a shock. May she also come once I am there. Later we will go to Amsterdam for a couple of days. Oh Mother, I so much long to be with you. I suppose you have written to Lies. I can’t do it at the moment. Only tomorrow will I know for certain whether I can leave and if I cannot come I will send you another letter. Oh Mother, he was so very much my own brother. In my thoughts a kiss for you and Wil from your loving

Theo’

Theo van Gogh to Jo van Gogh-Bonger. Auvers-sur-Oise, 1 August 1890 (FR b2067).

See Brief happiness 1999, p. 279 (letter 101).

‘Fortunately, he was still alive when I reached Auvers and I didn’t leave his side until it was all over. I can’t write about it all, but I shall be with you soon and I’ll tell you everything. One of his last words was: this is how I wanted to go and it took a few moments and then it was over and he found the peace he hadn’t been able to find on earth. The two doctors were marvellous. Dr Gachet had summoned the village doctor because he didn’t trust himself, but nevertheless it was he who did everything. Afterwards he scarcely left me alone for a moment and was extremely kind. Everyone was splendid. The following morning 8 friends arrived from Paris and elsewhere, and in the room where the coffin had been placed they hung his paintings, which looked so very beautiful. There were masses of bouquets and wreaths. Dr Gachet arrived first with a magnificent bunch of sunflowers because he loved them so much. There are lots of artists living in Auvers and many of them came. Dries came, too. There was much to be done to have the funeral take place on time, but it was all arranged, and waiting the last hour was hard. He is buried in a sunny spot among the wheatfields, and the churchyard hasn’t the unpleasantness of Parisian churchyards. Dr Gachet spoke beautifully; I said a few words of thanks and then it was over. I managed to leave in the evening, but oh, how empty it is everywhere. I miss him so; everything seems to remind me of him.’

Caroline van Stockum-Haanebeek to Jo van Gogh-Bonger. The Hague, 23 October 1890 (FR b1140).

‘I did know that Vincent’s death had shocked him [Theo] terribly, but I and many in the family regarded it as a relief rather than a misfortune.

Arnold Hendrik Koning to Albert Plasschaert. Voorthuizen, 8 May 1912 (FR b3024).

See also Van Crimpen 1988, pp. 83-85.

‘Having arrived in Paris in September 1887, I knew his brother Theodoor there first through the art dealers Goupil, and he soon put me in touch with Vincent, who – having just emerged from his Brabant interiors – was working hard to familiarize himself with his new way of seeing things. Theodoor and he lived in a spacious upstairs apartment with many rooms, very high up on Montmartre, in rue des Abbesses I believe, and there Vincent found a superb location for him to work. However, I couldn’t reconcile myself at all with what he was making, the shock at first glance had been too great, and it remained a mystery to me that he exchanged the method he had pursued in Brabant for it. You are familiar with his way of working from that period, so I will restrict myself to what I remember of our daily life, and can add here right away that that autumn, winter and spring with him was a very relaxing period for me. I rented half of the upstairs apartment from Theodoor, who went to live closer to his business, and gradually began to penetrate Vincent’s realm of thought. He never stopped talking about his work and his ideas on colour, about which I will send you a couple of letters from that period for your perusal. I had some more, but they have disappeared as a result of numerous moves. We had the beautiful things close at hand. Montmartre was still an El Dorado then, and Vincent was always sitting out there somewhere in the sun, with his work and his pipe, at the brickyard, or painting a woman in a vegetable stall, with all the reflections in purple, blue and orange which the sunny environment conjured up in it. I had promised Theo to keep an eye on the material side, and when I had finally persuaded him to come out for a meal, I saw another side of him, because then he did drop everything right away. We then had to walk for 20 minutes to an eating-house, a kind of hall with a big glass roof like the central station, where it was good and cheap, and the walls were extremely suitable for exhibiting. The boss was an enterprising fellow but very quick-tempered, the doctor had said that he always had to count to 20 if he got angry. That did him a lot of good then, but even more so the interest our exhibitions aroused. It even attracted an art dealer, a red-haired Scotsman by the name of Alexander Reid. He never bought anything though, but the three of us always ate together. The restaurant had waitresses, about 30 of them, whom Vincent had given odd names in Dutch, which they couldn’t pronounce. There was a giantess among them, very white and fat, as if she was made of margarine. Vincent always called her “the invertebrate”. When we laughed about it, Reid, the art dealer, thought it applied to him, and didn’t want to eat with us any longer. I met him once again later on, constantly disparaging Vincent. About a coloured goat at a colourman’s he said “Look at that, a painting by Vincent”. A dog answering nature’s call: “Look at that, Vincent’s colours”. So that I said to him that he was probably sorry that Vincent was not associating with him any more, whereupon he also turned his back on me for good.

Jan Benjamin Kam to Albert Plasschaert. Helmond, 12 June 1912 (FR b3025).

Jan Benjamin Kam was the son of the Reverend Jan Gerrit Kam (1833-1917). See also Van Crimpen 1988, pp. 79-81.

‘I first met Van Gogh probably just before Christmas 1880 at Roosendaal station, and we travelled to Etten together. He was coming from Belgium, I presume from Antwerp, where he had been working at the academy and had drawn stoves for a blacksmith. It is possible that this meeting took place just before Easter 1881. I then saw a drawing by him of miners going to the pit through the snow in the early morning, very primitively drawn, without knowledge of perspective, quite small but very expressive. I would recognize the drawing immediately if I saw it again.

Anton Kerssemakers to Johan Briedé. Eindhoven, 23 June 1914.

Kerssemakers’s recollection of Van Gogh’s studio in Nuenen, with drawings of the studio, the numbers in which correspond to those in this letter (FR b1423). Below the drawings: ‘View from the outside’ and ‘Ground plan’.

‘The cupboards were neither old nor antique, in fact he owned nothing of value. Everything bespoke a lack of money but he put everything to good use, made many objects himself or had them made by an ordinary carpenter working to his instructions, such as an easel, paint-boxes, perspective frame, stool, everything! Only once did he order a small paint-box of lacquered tin from Schoenfeld of Düsseldorf, and he went to great trouble to get it.

Everywhere on the floor and chairs drawings, studies, illustrations, mainly from The Graphic, in short a complete mess ... As you will see, his studio was in two parts, and he worked there, where he had the best light.’