My dear Theo,
I have been wanting to write you in a quiet moment for several
days already, but I've been absorbed in my work. This morning
your letter arrived, for which I thank you, and for the 50-fr.
note it contained. Yes, I think that for many reasons it would
be good if we could all be together again for a week of your
holidays, if longer is impossible. I often think of you, Jo,
and the little one, and I notice that the children here in the
healthy open air look well. And yet even here it is difficult
enough to bring them up, therefore it must be all the more
terrifying at times to keep them safe and sound in Paris on a
fourth floor. But after all, we must take things as they come.
M. Gachet says that a father and mother must naturally feed
themselves up, he talks of taking 2 liters of beer a day, etc.,
in those quantities. But you will certainly enjoy furthering
your acquaintance with him, and he already counts on all of you
coming, and talks about it every time I see him. He certainly
seems to me as ill and dazed as you or me, and he is older
and lost his wife a few years ago, but he is very much the
doctor, and his profession and faith still sustain him. We are
great friends already, and as it happens, he already knew Brias
of Montpellier and has the same idea of him that I have, that
there you have someone important in the history of modern
I am working on his portrait, the head with a white cap,
very fair, very light, the hands also a light flesh tint, a
blue frock coat and a cobalt blue background, leaning on a red
table, on which are a yellow book and a foxglove plant with
purple flowers. It is in the same sentiment as
the self-portrait I did when I left for this place.
M. Gachet is absolutely fanatical about this portrait,
and wants me to do one of him, if I can, exactly like it, which I should like to myself.
He has now managed to understand the last portrait of the
Arlésienne, of which you have one in pink; he
always comes back to these two portraits when he comes to see
the studies, and he accepts them completely, but completely,
as they are.
I hope to send you a portrait of him soon. Then I have
painted two studies at his house, which I gave him last week,
an aloe with marigolds and cypresses, then
last Sunday some white roses, vines and a white figure in it.
I shall most probably also do the portrait of his daughter,
who is 19 years old, and with whom I can easily imagine Jo would
quickly become friends.
Then I am looking forward to doing the portraits of all of
you in the open air; yours, one of Jo and one of the little one.
I have not yet found anything interesting in the way of a
possible studio, and yet we shall have to take a room to put
the canvases in which are taking up too much of Tanguy's or
your place. For I must still touch them up a lot. But anyway I
am living from day to day - the weather is so beautiful. And I
am well. I go to bed at 9 o'clock, but get up at 5 most
of the time.
But he also complains bitterly of the state of things
everywhere in the villages where he has gone as a total
stranger, that living there gets so horribly expensive. He says
he is amazed that the people I lodge with can give me board and
feed me for that amount, and that compared with others who have
been here and whom he has known I am even comparatively lucky.
And that if you come with Jo and the little one, you could not
do better than stay at this same inn. Now nothing, absolutely
nothing, is keeping us here but Gachet - but he will remain a
friend, I should think. I feel that I can do not too bad a
painting every time I go to his house, and he will continue to
ask me to dinner every Sunday or Monday.
Gachet is very, yes very like you and me. I read with pleasure
in your letter that M. Peyron asked for news of me when he
wrote you. I am going to write him this very evening that all
is well, for he was very good to me and I shall certainly not
Desmoulins, the man who has some Japanese pictures at the
Champ de Mars, has come back here and I hope to meet him.
What did Gauguin say of the last portrait of the
Arlésienne, which is done after his drawing? You
will see in the end, I think, that this is one of the least bad
things I have done. Gachet has a Guillaumin, a nude woman on a
bed, that I think very beautiful; he also has a very old
self-portrait by Guillaumin, very different from ours, dark but
But you will see that his house is full, full like an
antique dealer's, of things that are not always interesting.
But nevertheless there is this advantage, there is always
something for arranging flowers in or for a still life. I did
these studies for him to show him that if it is not a case for
which he is paid in money, we will still compensate him for
what he does for us.
Do you know the etching by Bracquemond, the Count's
portrait? It is a masterpiece.
Then as soon as you can send them, I am terribly anxious to
copy once more all the charcoal studies by Bargue, you know,
the nude figures. I can draw the 60 sheets comparatively
quickly, say within a month, so you might send a copy on
approval; I will be sure not to stain or soil it. If I neglect
to study proportion and the nude again, I shall be badly
muddled later on. Don't think this absurd or useless.
Gachet also told me, that if I wished to give him great
pleasure, he would like me to do again the “Pieta”
by Delacroix for him, he looked at it for a
long time. In the future he will probably lend me a hand in
getting models; I feel that he understands us perfectly and
that he will work with you and me to the best of his power,
without any reserve, for the love of art for art's sake. And he
will perhaps get me portraits to do. Only I think that all the babble
that has been started on account of the high prices paid for
Millets, etc., lately has made the chances of merely getting
back one's painting expenses even worse. It is enough to make
you dizzy. So why think about it? - it would exhaust us.
Better perhaps to seek a little friendship and to live
from day to day.
I hope that the little one continues well and you two the
same. Till I see you again, goodbye for now. A good
At this time, Vincent was 37 year old
Vincent van Gogh. Letter to Theo van Gogh. Written 3 June 1890 in Auvers-sur-Oise. Translated by Robert Harrison, edited by Robert Harrison, number 638.
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