Paris, 23 April 1890

My dear Vincent,

Your silence proves to us that you’re still suffering, and I need to tell you, my dear brother, that Jo and I are also suffering, knowing that you’re still ill.1 Oh, we’d be so happy if we could do something for you that might give you relief. Dr Peyron writes to us that we mustn’t worry, and that this crisis, although longer than the  1v:2 others, will also pass.2 If the distance weren’t so great I would certainly have come to see you already, and I’m counting on you, the day you need me, or feel that it could do you some good to talk with me, to let me know and I’ll come running immediately. Last week I had been married for a year already.3 How swiftly time passes. We have every reason to be satisfied with that year. I haven’t forgotten that you insisted a great deal on my getting married, and you saw rightly, for I feel much, much happier. It’s true that  1v:3 my wife isn’t just anyone, and that I was enormously lucky to find her. We get along very well and our domestic life is very agreeable. The little one gives Jo, especially, a great deal of work, but he’s growing amazingly. He’s nervous by nature, but very sweet. He can stay awake for hours without crying, and he’s beginning to laugh and to make sounds that must be the beginnings of speech. It would do you good if you could see him and play with him. At Whitsun we intend to go and spend the two feast days at Pissarro’s, who has invited us. This summer he’s going to London  1r:4 to work.4 Your paintings at the exhibition are very successful. The other day Duez stopped me in the street and said, give my compliments to your brother and tell him that his paintings are quite remarkable. Monet said that your paintings were the best in the exhibition. Many other artists have spoken to me about them. Serret came to the house to see the other canvases and was delighted. He says that if he didn’t have a genre in which he still had things to say he would change and search along the path where you’re searching.

Theo