So I really hope to do your portrait and Gauguin’s myself one day, the first time we get together. Which is bound to happen.  1v:2

One of these days I’m going to do the portrait of that second lieutenant of Zouaves whom I’ve spoken to you about, who’s now on the point of leaving for Africa.2

Why haven’t you replied to me about your plans regarding your military service?

Now let’s talk a little about what you say, that you’re thinking of coming to spend the winter in Arles.3 I’ve deliberately set myself up here in such a way as to be able to fit someone in if necessary. If Gauguin comes, however.4 He still hasn’t categorically said no, in any case.

And what if the thing that would tempt you the most — painting in the brothels — which is certainly excellent — couldn’t after all be done here for free? Wait for that until you have your uniform, then; here and elsewhere, soldiers can do a whole lot of things in it for free. I, for example — it’s true that I’ve just done that study of a night café5 — but that, although it’s a house of assignation, and from time to time you see a whore sitting there at a table with her fellow — I myself, I say, I haven’t yet been able to do a brothel as such, precisely because it would cost me more money than I’m forced to have, to do it reasonably well and seriously. And because I refrain from beginning it before I feel sufficiently sure, as far as the wallet goes, of being able to complete that painting properly. Now, all right. We’d drink some glasses of beer in there, we’d meet people there; we’d work half from the imagination, half with a model.6 And if we wanted to, I’m not saying that it might not be possible to do it. But I for one,  1r:4 I’m not in any hurry for anything, now. Projects so often fall through, and the best calculations you make; while by taking advantage of chance, and working from day to day without bias, you do a whole lot of unforeseen things.

So in no way can I encourage you to come here with the express purpose – excellent, without any doubt — of doing brothels. I repeat, once you’re a soldier, you’ll have a splendid opportunity for that, and in your own interest you would perhaps do well to wait until you have your uniform.

But, my dear old Bernard, I want to be very clear and plain in saying to you, do come and spend your time in Africa. The south will delight you and make you a great artist; Gauguin himself owes his superiority to the south.7 I’ve been looking at the stronger sun down here for months and months now. And the result is that, from the point of view of colour, what remains more than anything for me, having gained the experience, is Delacroix and Monticelli, those painters who nowadays are wrongly said to be pure romantics, people of exaggerated imagination. But anyway, do you see, the south, that was done so drily by Gérôme and Fromentin, is from this place on essentially a region whose intimate charm could only be interpreted by a colourist’s colour. I hope that you’ll write to me again soon. I daren’t take it upon myself to encourage just anyone to come here; if somebody comes of his own accord, well, that’s his business, but as far as advising the thing, I’ll never do it. For myself, I’m staying here, and naturally it would please me greatly if you were to spend the winter here. Handshake.