This morning I received your letter; in many respects the
contents do not surprise me. It does surprise me a little that
you should credit me with the slightest insight into business,
as I am considered a dreamer in that respect, as you know, and
I could not suppose that you thought differently about it. In the first place, one is not obliged to wait for the
moment when the employers will arrive at a better insight; and
in the second place, if one considered oneself obliged to do
so, one might go on waiting forever and ever, and a young
employee might doubt whether, when that moment came, he would
not be too tired to redress things; how much more would this be
the case with the old “pochards pleins” themselves.
The latter will have lost their wits entirely by then; and
decadence being decadence, a deserved ruin of a business will
follow, the fatal consequence of certain mistakes. I don't mean
to say it is if it happens through thoughtlessness, but if it
happens through that odious, wanton, capricious, reckless way
of outliving one's fame, and through supposing that everything
is only a question of money, and that anything is allowed; it
may succeed many a time, but the end is a breakdown, and such a
managing director is the only man who gets off safely for the
Well - it's the old, old story - but of course all those
departments, officious as well as official, all that
bookkeeping, it's all nonsense, and that's not the way
to do business. Doing business is surely also
action, a measure of personal insight and energy.
That does not count now - that is handicapped - thence your
com-plaint, There are not enough pictures.
Suffit, in my opinion the house of G. & Co. is going in
for gambling now, and who sows the wind shall reap the
whirlwind. I - who was with them for six years - though I was
one of the lowest employees - even now after at least ten
years, I still feel that part of my heart is in it. I think it
very, very sad. In Uncle Vincent's time they started with a few
employees who were not treated nearly so arrogantly and as if
they were machines. Then there was real cooperation, then one
could be in it with all one's heart. Since then the
number of employees has increased, but has consisted less and
less of persons who really put their hearts into the business
and whose knowledge is sound.
I myself witnessed some curious instances of this. In the
meantime the gentlemen became more and more haughty, and I am
of the opinion that now they are absolutely blind to reality.
And if I may express my thoughts frankly, I believe that the
best thing that could happen to them would be that their
business go to the dogs. In their disenchantment, although they
would be too old to redress things, it might be possible for
them to be redressed themselves as human beings.
I note with pleasure that you don't mention the gentlemen
personally; that is right - indeed, I didn't expect anything
else from you. But for the rest, for you yourself it is indeed
curiously difficult. Your heart is in it, and you are more
faithful to them than any of the others. I think you would
rather stay on if possible, even in case another situation were
more advantageous, because the house is what it is. All that is
counted for nothing, at least it seems so; though for instance
old Mr. Goupil felt a certain affection for you, he would
probably say nothing about it, because they themselves keep
silent, and let things accumulate quietly.
Now from your letter I see that the situation in which you
are placed at the moment is pretty well untenable. Perhaps it
would be a good thing if, for instance, you went to see old Mr.
Goupil privately, and told him that you had kept silent as long
as you could, but that now you cannot wait any longer, so that
you feel obliged to ask what the gentlemen really want, because
if it goes on like this, you will no longer be a party to it.
Something like this - for which you will hardly find an
opportunity - there will hardly be a question of that - I
realize that - but something to the effect that you might
accept an equally good situation, not nearly so well-paid at
first and still to be created, instead of your present one -
which, as I see it, might act as an eye opener. I do not think
that anything of the sort would lead to results or to an
amelioration of things, but, whatever might happen, old Mr.
Goupil would trust you, and there is the possibility that in
any case you might still be of service to him.
But I must not lose myself in situations which I can only
estimate quite in general, and now speak about what you say
further about a project of your own. Under the circumstances -
always taking the necessity of a change for granted - excellent
- a modern business, in which energy might achieve something -
where one is not hampered by so much routine and so complicated
an administration that everything, absolutely everything is
paralyzed by it. You tell me there is capital: there is (and
this means more than capital) a good apparatus for
reproductions - and if in addition the directors of this
concern are people who mean well, and who intend to sell good
things, quand même to seek their success in honesty,
then, as I said, it is excellent. But Wisselingh at Collier's
collided too violently with his employer's character (although
he never told me or anybody else so, but I have drawn
this conclusion independently, which tallies with Wisselingh's
saying, “I wasted my time at Collier's”). And I am
disposed to think that the latter's character is the kind that
will talk grandly rather than act grandly, so I
say: Are those people at the head of the other concern
The being able is rather more the result of these two
items than people are ready to admit in most cases. After all,
one should know one's own mind.
Now I come to what you write about myself.
Is that possible? It would be if it did not get you into too
much trouble. I should like it well enough.
I should love to talk with you about what you wrote, but
what would be the use? It is better to lend a helping hand when
there is a chance. “N'importe comment.”
For I think that it would greatly help me in my work if I
had an opportunity to see more of printing, for instance. I
have had some years' practice in painting now, so I stick to
that. But if I could get some work in a printer's office or
something, that would be a help rather than a hindrance - but I
should have to learn all that. I think, however, I should be
able to draw reproductions myself, for instance. And I am
willing to try my hand at anything of that kind,
especially if a living may be earned in that way over there.
Indeed, I believe that the time will come when I will not have
to earn a living in any other way than by painting; but be sure
that I shall not have the slightest objection to going to
Paris, whenever you think it would be useful or necessary for
some reason or other.
My advising you in business matters would
hardly be the thing. I have been out of it too long, but if I
came into it again, we would be of the same opinion in a great
many things. And I do know I have seen what I have seen, and in
matters of reproduction or publication I daresay I know what is
good. And I am willing to lend a helping hand as to carrying
things out, no matter in what way.
But I need not tell you that here on this beautiful moor I
haven't the slightest longing for Paris, and I wouldn't think
about it at all if it hadn't been for your letter. And I simply
say this, If it must be, all right, I shall go to Paris; if it
must be, all right, I shall stay on the moors.
I shall find things to paint everywhere. It is splendid
here, and I think I learn to paint somewhat better while
painting. And my heart is in it, I need not tell
Besides, I believe that knowing a handicraft is the most
solid profession after all, one reason more for me to stick to
But if it might happen for some reason or other - on account
of its being more convenient to you, or because of urgent
necessity - that we should be together in Paris - I dare
predict that I shall tell you, start drawing, and I would give
you a few hints in the beginning.
I know how much I still have to learn myself, yet I begin to
see light, and in some way or other, by practice or by learning
from others what can be of use to me, I will stick to my
painting with all my heart. And if it might be that you came to
a point where you saw light, well, so much the
You say your heart is in the art business, all right, but
even more in art itself, I believe.
Well, boy, write soon again - if you kept silent about it
now, I should imagine all kinds of worries. So if something is
the matter, write that; if nothing is the matter, write that;
but don't keep it all to yourself, for that's not worth
Oh, I have had a letter from the poor woman; she was glad
that I wrote her, but she is worried about the children, and
she goes out working as a charwoman. She is obliged to live
with her mother. Poor things.
But we must keep courage notwithstanding everything.
I enclose a few scratches from here. The country is so
beautiful that I cannot describe it. As soon as I can
paint a little better - then! You can arrange things for me
exactly as you think best, I shall learn here, and I should
learn out there, too, I think
However things may go, I don't suppose it will make you more
unhappy, and perhaps you have already put up with things too
long. The best thing would be, if it turned out so, that you
were more appreciated by your directors, and that they left you
more liberty to do business as you think best. But I should be
surprised if things took this turn seeing that Uncle Vincent
himself was not treated very fairly when he left.
But leaving that out of it, it seems to me that the whole
art business is rotten - to tell you the truth, I doubt if the
present enormous prices, even for masterpieces, will last. A
“je ne sais quoi” has passed over it which has
chilled everything - and enthusiasm has been put to flight. Is
this of great influence on the artists? Not at all, for
generally the greatest of them personally profited but little
from those enormous prices, except in their last period, when
they were already famous, and they - Millet and others,
particularly Corot - would not have painted less, or less
beautifully, without that enormous rise. And whatever may be
said of art business, for the present it will remain so that he
who can make a thing worth seeing will always find certain
persons interested in it, who will make it possible for him to
earn a living.
I would rather have 150 francs a month as a painter than
1500 francs a month in another position, even as an art
I think one feels more a man among other men as a painter,
than in a life which is founded on speculation, and in which
one has to heed conventions. I wonder how it will all turn out,
but it is all the same to me, one way or another.
And as to you, I don't consider it would be such bad luck if
the consequences were that you became a painter in your
thirtieth year. I should consider it great good fortune. One's
real life begins at thirty, in fact, that is to say, its most
Friends and family may consider you old, or I don't know
what, but you can feel a renewal of energy for all that.
But then it is necessary to reflect well, and to have a
will, and to be wide-awake. But in that period, a change is
really necessary; one must wipe out the whole thing and start
anew. Just as one does when a boy - but more maturely.
Tom, Dick and Harry, who drowse away in the same old way, think
this foolish, and say they don't see any good in it; all right,
leave Tom, Dick and Harry alone, as long as they don't attack
you; they are as little awake as a somnambulist. For oneself
one must not doubt that it is the way of nature, and that one
works against nature only by not changing. There is an
old saying, They have ears but they hear not, they have eyes
but they see not, they have a heart but feel not; their heart
is hardened, and they have closed their ears and eyes because
they do not want to hear and do not want to see.
I think that in any case you and I are honest enough so that we
need not be afraid to open our eyes and look at things as they
are and as they occur. That little old saying means so much,
expresses it all so exactly, that I cannot help thinking of it
again and again.
This is people gathering peat eating together behind a mound
of peat, with a little fire in the foreground.
This painting was of peat loaders, but I fear the scratches
are absolutely indecipherable.
Here are a couple of evening effects; I am still working on
that weed burner, which is better than before in a painted
study, so that it renders more strongly the
immensity of the plain and the gathering twilight, the fire
with a bit of smoke being the only spot of light. I went again
and again to look at it in the evening, and I found this
cottage on a muddy evening after the rain; seen on the spot, it
I repeat, I think that there are things for me to learn in
Paris as well as here on the moor; in the city, I should have
an opportunity to learn from other people and to see what they
are doing, and that is worth something; but working here, I
think I can make progress even without seeing other painters.
And for my own pleasure I would much rather stay here. But if a
change in your position made it desirable for me to go to you,
perhaps to earn something in the same business, it is all
right, and I haven't the slightest objection.
Be sure to write me about all these things, which of course
I shall not mention to anybody else.and after I had made some
more progress, and if you decided to become a painter, it would
be an excellent place for study here - excellent.
Has C. M. been to see you already? Once more, keep good
courage, I will try to do the same; and if you ever decide to
become a painter, do so with inner cheerfulness and all
possible optimism. Then, taking a broad view of things, you
would have to consider the time between now and your thirtieth
year as a rather hard experimental time; but at the end of it
you would find all things renewed, and a rich future before
you. Think of what you told me when those Swedish painters were
in Paris; one must have pluck, the more so because one sees how
shaky and tottering everything is. “Efforts de perdu, que
soit” [efforts of lost souls, so be it] - but they are
our duty in the times which we live in, and very often one has
to choose between that and dreaming one's life away.
Well, boy, good luck, write again soon, with a
Yours sincerely, Vincent
At this time, Vincent was 30 year old
Vincent van Gogh. Letter to Theo van Gogh. Written c. 22 October 1883 in Drenthe. Translated by Mrs. Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, edited by Robert Harrison, number 335.
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