I learn that you’re not yet better,1 which causes me much grief. I do so wish that you could tell me how you feel, for nothing is as distressing as uncertainty, and if you would tell me how things are going I can do something sooner 1v:2 to give you relief. You’ve done so much for me that it breaks my heart to know that now that I’ll probably have days of happiness with my dear Jo, you will actually have very bad days. She had the illusion that, since she wants to live my life as much as possible, you would have been a brother for her as you have always been for me. We hope from the bottom of our hearts that you can return to good health and that you can soon take up your work again. 1v:3

In arranging my new apartment I see your paintings again with so much pleasure. They make the rooms so jolly, and there’s such a note of truth, of real countryside in each one. It’s just as you said sometimes of certain paintings by other artists, that they seem to come like that directly from the fields. I would certainly have come to see you if it wasn’t so far, but I’m short of time and I ask myself if my visit could be useful to you in any way. Signac 1r:4 is to go to the south soon. He’ll go and see you.2 At the moment I have an exhibition by Claude Monet at my place, which is proving very successful.3 In a little while the public will certainly want paintings by the new school, for they’re certainly exercising the public mind. If you could you would be very kind in giving me or having me given news of you, for apart from the letters from Messrs Rey and Salles4 I don’t know anything about you.