1r:1
London, Oct. 1873
Dear Caroline and Willem,
Many thanks for your letter of this morning. It was a wonderful
surprise, I’m happy you’re doing so well.
Our Anna has passed her
examinations in English and in needlework, you can imagine how
delighted she and all of us are.1
Pa and Ma have suggested that she stay at school until next
April, and in that case attempt French, but if she’d rather not she
needn’t do it. I’d like it so much if something could be found for her
here; we’ve talked about this before, as you know.
You already know that Theo is coming to The Hague, I think
it a good change for him, even though it will be difficult for him 1v:2 to
leave beautiful, convivial Brussels.
I also received a letter from your Pa2 some time ago
and have already answered it, so you’ll probably have heard that
things are continuing to go well for me here, and also know a thing or
two about my new lodgings.
What you say about winter is quite right, I think so too.
I myself almost don’t know which season I like best; I believe all of
them, equally well.
It’s striking that the old painters almost never painted
the autumn and that the moderns have such a particular preference for
it.
Herewith a couple of small photos which I hope will be to
your liking. Here there are practically no albums like those we have
in Holland, but rather so- 1v:3 called ‘scrapbooks’ in which one puts
photographs, as I’ve done in this letter (which explains why we don’t
put the photos in mounts here),3 the
advantage of which is that one can arrange all shapes and sizes on the
same sheet however one wants. I would advise you to buy a kind of
writing-book with blank pages and to put these in it, for a
start.
‘A baptism’ is after Anker,4 a Swiss, who has
painted all manner of subjects, all equally sensitive and
intimate.
‘Puritans going to church’ is after Boughton,5 one of
the best painters here; an American, he’s very fond of Longfellow, and rightly so. I know 3 paintings by
him based on ‘The courtship of Miles Standish’.6 Seeing the paintings prompted me to read
Miles Standish and Evangeline7 again, I don’t know why, but I never knew
they were as beautiful as I find them now.
‘The good friar’ is after Van
Muyden, a Swiss painter,8
having ‘as yet more modesty than talent’.9
1r:4
Mr Post in The Hague has this
painting.10 If you visit our
gallery ask to see his (Van Muyden’s) ‘Refectory’.11 There are no more than 4 or 5 copies of
this photograph,12 because the
negative is broken. Show it to Mr
Tersteeg when you have the opportunity.13 ‘The honeymoon’ is after Eugène Feyen,14
one of the few painters who paint intimate modern life as it really is
and don’t turn it into fashion plates. I know the photo of ‘The
landlady’s daughter’15 and I find it
very beautiful. It’s good that you find Bouguereau beautiful. Not everyone is as capable as you
are of noticing and feeling good and fine things. And now I’ll stop;
I’m enclosing another picture of autumn, by Michelet.16
I hope you’ll be able to read this; I just kept on writing
without thinking that one should take care to make a letter legible.
Adieu, I wish you both the best; many regards to those in the
Poten17 and to any other
friends you might see.
Vincent.
2r:5
From here I see a lady,18 I see her
walking, pensive, in a garden that is not very big and has lost its
flowers quite early, but is sheltered, like the ones one sees behind
our cliffs in France or the dunes of Holland. The exotic shrubs have
already gone back into the greenhouse. The fallen leaves reveal some
statues. A sumptuousness of art, which contrasts slightly with the
very simple attire of the lady — modest, grave — the black (or grey)
silk of which is barely brightened by a plain lilac ribbon.
Unadorned, this we can say, she is no less elegant.
Elegant for her husband and simple for the benefit of the poor. She
reaches the end of the avenue, turns. We can see her. But have I not
seen her before in the museums of Amsterdam or The Hague? She reminds
me of a lady by Philippe de Champaigne (NB in the Louvre), who had
found 2v:6
her way into my heart, so ingenuous, so honest, sufficiently
intelligent, yet simple, without the subtlety to extricate herself
from the snares of the world. This woman has remained with me for
thirty years, obstinately returning to me, worrying me, making me say,
‘But what was she called? What became of her? Did she have a little
happiness? And how did she manage to get through life?’ She reminds me
of another portrait, a Van Dyck, a poor woman, very pale, unhealthy.
The pale satin of her incomparably delicate skin clothes a sickly
body, which is beginning to slacken. A great melancholy fills her
lovely eyes, the melancholy of old age? Of heartbreaks, of the climate
too, perhaps. It is the vague, distant look of someone who has lived
within sight of the vast North Sea, the great grey sea, deserted but
for the flight of the seagull.
Jules Michelet
Les aspirations de l’automne.19