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690 To Emile Bernard. Arles, between Thursday, 27 September and Monday, 1 October 1888.

metadata
No. 690 (Brieven 1990 693, Complete Letters B17)
From: Vincent van Gogh
To: Emile Bernard
Date: Arles, between Thursday, 27 September and Monday, 1 October 1888

Source status
Original manuscript

Location
New York, Thaw Collection, The Morgan Library & Museum

Date
In letter 689 of Wednesday, 26 September, Vincent told Theo that he was expecting a letter from Bernard at any moment, following up on the sketches that the latter had sent (ll. 140-142). He had not yet had the letter that he was expecting when he wrote this one. One can assume that he would have replied not long after receiving Bernard’s sketches, and he had told Theo on Tuesday, 25 September that he had got them (in letter 687). Because, moreover, he now writes: ‘the weather’s really beautiful’ (ll. 6-7 (from Wednesday, 26 September until 1 October it was dry, with scattered clouds and a temperature of 25ºC), and because on Wednesday, 3 October he told Theo that he had now received a letter from Bernard, we have dated this one between Thursday, 27 September and Monday, 1 October 1888. Pickvance placed it between letters 686 and 687, but in those Van Gogh reported that the weather was autumnal. Cf. exhib. cat. New York 1984, p. 260.

Additional
In the bottom margin of p. 1 there is the counter-impression of ‘t a v Vincent’. We have not been able to find any manuscript from which it could have come. It is possible that it was left by the draft letter to Gauguin, a crossed-out fragment of which has been preserved on the back of a sketch sent to Boch on 2 October 1888 (letter 693), or by some other letter to Gauguin in reply to letter 688), which may have been enclosed with this one to Bernard. In any event, Van Gogh usually signed his letters to Gauguin with ‘t. à v.’.

Ongoing topics
Bernard’s military service (575)
Bernard’s father’s refusal to support his son (687)
Gauguin coming to Arles (602)

original text
 1r:1
Mon cher copain Bernard,
j’écris un mot pour bien te remercier de tes dessins, je les trouve un peu trop faits à la hâte et j’aime le mieux les deux dessins des putains,1 d’ailleurs il y a une idee dans tous. Je suis surchargé de travail de ces jours ci car le temps est bien beau et il faut profiter des beaux jours qui sont courts.
Je ne peux pas me dédire du prix que je t’ai nommé, 3 francs rien que pour la nourriture, en plus enfin ce qu’il y aurait en plus.2 Mais tout ce que te dit Gauguin sur les prix d’ici je ne doute pas que cela soit juste. Mais moi je te vois près de ton depart pour faire ton service et desirerais pouvoir decider ton père à te fournir de quoi bien te fortifier avant, sans que ton travail en souffre.
Qu’il se fende enfin jusqu’à te donner pendant cet intervalle d’ici et ton service tout ce qui est juste.
Je n’ai cessé de t’ecrire toujours cette même chose que si tu vas en Afrique tu y travailleras et verras juste la  1v:2 nature qu’il faut voir pour developper dans toute son etendue ton talent de peintre et de coloriste. Mais cela ne peut se faire qu’au detriment de ta pauvre carcasse si ton père ne te met pas en mesure d’eviter de devenir anémique ou d’attrapper de la dyssenterie débilitante par manque d’une nourriture fortifiante avant cette epreuve Africaine.
Se faire des forces là-bas c’est guère possible et si on va dans un climat chaud je suis loin de dire qu’il faille s’engraisser avant mais je dis qu’il faut soigner sa nourriture quelque temps d’avance. Et je ne sors pas de là, m’étant trouvé bien ici de ce régime, et la chaleur en Afrique est encore autre chose que celle d’Arles.
Tu sortiras de cette épreuve de ton service beaucoup plus fort et fort assez pour toute une carriere d’artiste ou – cassé.
 1v:3
Quoi qu’il en soit j’aimerais énormement que tu viennes et si Gauguin vient aussi il ne nous restera à regretter seulement que ce soit l’hiver et non la belle saison. De plus en plus je commence à croire que la cuisine a quelque chôse à faire avec notre faculté de penser et de faire des tableaux, moi pour un, cela ne contribue pas à la reussite de mon travail si mon estomac me gène. Enfin je crois que si ton père veut tranquillement garder tes tableaux et te faire un credit un peu genereux, au bout du compte il y perdra moins qu’en faisant autrement. Dans le midi les sens s’exaltent, la main devient plus agile, l’oeil plus vif, le cerveau plus clair, à une condition pourtant que la dyssenterie ou autre chôse ne vous gâte pas tout cela en vous debilitant trop. Là-dessus j’ose bien me fonder pour croire que celui qui aime le travail artistique verra dans le midi ses capacités productrices se developper mais gare au sang et gare à tout le reste.
 1r:4
Et maintenant tu vas peutêtre me dire que je t’emmerde bien avec tout cela.
Que tu veux aller au bordel et que tu te fous du reste.– Ma foi cela depend, mais je ne peux pas parler autrement que comme cela.– L’art est long et la vie est courte3 et il nous faut patienter en cherchant à vendre cher notre peau. Je voudrais bien moi avoir ton âge et partir avec ce que je saurais, faire mon service en Afrique. Mais par exemple je me ferais un meilleur corps que celui que j’ai. Si Gauguin et moi sommes ici, comme il est probable, ensemble – ici alors certes, nous ferons tout notre possible pour t’eviter des dépenses. Mais de son côté ton père devrait bien faire son possible aussi et avoir confiance en nous, que nous ne cherchons pas à lui tirer des carottes inutiles. Mais pour faire du bon travail il faut bien manger, etre bien logés, tirer son coup de temps en temps, fumer sa pipe et boire son café en paix. Je ne dis pas que le reste ne vaut rien & laisse à chacun sa liberté de faire comme il l’entend mais je dis que ce système me semble préferable à bien d’autres. bonne poignee de main.

t. à t.
Vincent

translation
 1r:1
My dear old Bernard,
I’m writing a line to thank you kindly for your drawings; I find them done in a bit too much of a rush, and I like the two drawings of whores the most;1 but there’s an idea in all of them. I’ve been overloaded with work these past few days, because the weather’s really beautiful and you have to make the most of the fine days, which are short.
I can’t alter the price that I quoted to you, 3 francs for food alone, and in addition, well, whatever there would be on top of that.2 But I have no doubt that everything Gauguin tells you about the prices down here is correct. But I see you near your departure to do your service, and would like to be able to persuade your father to supply you with enough to strengthen you thoroughly first, without your work suffering as a result.
Let him stump up at last, to the point of giving you whatever’s fair during the interval between now and your service.
I haven’t ceased writing this same thing to you all the time, that if you go to Africa you’ll work there and you’ll see just the  1v:2 kind of nature you have to see in order to develop your talent as a painter and colourist to its full extent. But that can be done only to the detriment of your poor carcass, if your father doesn’t make it possible for you to avoid becoming anaemic or to catch debilitating dysentery through lack of strengthening food before this African ordeal.
It’s scarcely possible to make yourself strong over there, and if you go to a hot climate, I’m far from saying you have to fatten yourself up beforehand, but I do say you have to pay attention to your food for some time in advance. And I’m sticking to that, having found myself doing well here on that regime, and the heat of Africa is something different again from that of Arles.
You’ll emerge from this ordeal of your service much stronger, and strong enough for a whole career as an artist or — broken.  1v:3
In any event, I’d like you to come enormously, and if Gauguin comes too, all that will be left for us to regret will be that it’s winter and not the warm season. I’m beginning to believe more and more that food has something to do with our power to think and to make paintings; as for me, it doesn’t contribute to the success of my work if my stomach’s bothering me. Anyway, I believe that if your father wanted quietly to keep your paintings and to fund you fairly generously, on balance he’ll lose less than by doing otherwise. In the south, the senses are elated, the hand becomes nimbler, the eye livelier, the brain clearer, on one condition, though: that dysentery or something else doesn’t spoil all that by debilitating you too much. On that point, I really dare to take my stand in believing that he who loves artistic work will see his productive capacities develop in the south, but watch your blood, and watch everything else.  1r:4
And now you’ll perhaps tell me that I’m bloody well getting on your nerves with all that.
That you want to go to the brothel, and that you don’t give a damn about all the rest. My word, that depends, but I can’t say other than that. Art is long and life is short,3 and we must wait patiently while trying to sell our skin dearly. Me, I’d really like to be your age and go off with whatever knowledge I had to do my service in Africa. But for example, I’d get myself a better body than the one I have. If Gauguin and I are here, as is probable, together — then here for certain we’ll do our level best to spare you expenses. But on his side, your father should certainly do his best too, and have confidence in us that we’re not trying to extract money from him pointlessly. But in order to do good work you have to eat well, be well housed, have a screw from time to time, smoke your pipe and drink your coffee in peace. I’m not saying that the rest counts for nothing, and leave everyone free to do as he sees fit, but I do say that this system seems preferable to many others to me. Good handshake.

Ever yours,
Vincent
notes
1. See letter 687, n. 14, for the drawings Bernard sent. Van Gogh discusses the two sketches Prostitute, which are both on one side of a sheet. Brothel scene is on the back.
2. Van Gogh had written about the cost of living in Arles in his previous letter to Bernard (684).
3. A well-known saying that derives from the first aphorism of Hippocrates. It is known chiefly through Seneca, in the Latin translation: ‘Ars longa, vita brevis’ (De brevitate vitae, 1, 1).