The time may come when I shall look back with a certain
melancholy on the “fleshpots of Egypt,” connected
with other situations - that is, the bigger salaries and the
higher worldly esteem - this I foresee.
There is indeed “plenty of bread” in the houses
that I shall enter if I continue along the road which I have
taken, but there is not plenty of money. And yet I see a light
in the distance so clearly; if that light disappears now and
then, it is generally my own fault.
It is very doubtful whether I shall make great progress in
this profession, whether the six years spent in the house of
Messrs. Goupil and Co., - during which time I ought to have
prepared myself for this profession - will not always
remain an insuperable obstacle. However, I think I cannot now
draw back in any way, even if a part of me should wish to
(later on - at present this is not the case).
I think it must be a
peculiar profession to be a London missionary; one has to go
around among the labourers and the poor to preach the Bible,
and as soon as one has some experience, talk with them, find
foreigners who are looking for work or other persons who are in
difficulties and try and help them, etc., etc. Last Sunday, I
went to London two or three times to find out if there was a
chance of becoming one of them, as I speak a number of
languages and have mixed, especially in Paris and London, with
people of the lower classes and foreigners. Being a foreigner
myself, I thought I might be fit for it and might become
increasingly so. However, one must be at least twenty-four
years old, and at all events I shall have to wait another
Mr. Stokes says that he definitely cannot give me any salary
because he can get teachers enough for just board and lodging,
and that is true. But will it be possible for me to continue
this way? I am afraid not; it will be decided soon enough.
But, my boy, however this may be, one thing I can repeat:
these few months have bound me so strongly to the sphere that
extends from schoolmaster to clergyman, as much by the
pleasures connected with those professions as by the thorns
which have pricked me, that I cannot draw back any more. So I
have to go on!
I can assure you that some very peculiar difficulties will
present themselves right away, and others are looming in the
distance; one is in quite a different world from that of
Messrs. Goupil and Co.
When will I get those small engravings, “Christus
Consolator” and “Remunerator,” which you
promised me? Write to me as soon as you can find a moment, but
send your letter to Father, as my address will probably change
very soon, and he will know it first.
Last week, I was at Hampton Court to see the beautiful
gardens and long avenues of horse chestnuts and lime trees, in
the tops of which a multitude of crows and rooks have built
their nests, and also to see the palace and the paintings.
Among other things there are many portraits by Holbein which
are very beautiful; two splendid Rembrandts (the portrait of
his wife, and of a rabbi); beautiful Italian portraits by
Bellini, Titian; a picture by Leonardo da Vinci; cartoons by
Mantegna; a beautiful picture by S. Ruysdael; a still life of
fruit by Cuyp, etc. I wish you had been there with me; it was a
pleasure to see pictures again.
And involuntarily I thought of the persons who had lived
there at Hampton Court, of Charles I and his wife (she is the
one who said: “Thank you, Lord, for making me a Queen,
but an unhappy Queen”) at whose tomb Bossuet spoke from
the fullness of his heart. Do you have Bossuet's Oraisons
Funèbres? In it you will find that speech (there is a
very cheap edition, I think for 50 centimes); and I thought
also of Lord and Lady Russell, who must have been there very
often, too (Guizot described their lives in L'amour dans le
mariage - you must read that when you can lay your hands on
Enclosed, a feather from one of the rooks there.
Write as soon as you can, I long to hear from you, believe
me with a handshake,
Your loving brother, Vincent
[Sketch of houses in Isleworth included with letter.]
At this time, Vincent was 23 year old
Vincent van Gogh. Letter to Theo van Gogh. Written 5 July 1876 in Isleworth. Translated by Mrs. Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, edited by Robert Harrison, number 070.
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