It is Sunday night and I am going to write to you again, for
I would so like to get another letter from you; write again
soon, my thoughts are so often with you. I certainly hope you
have had a pleasant Sunday.
As you know, father has come to see me. That gave me a great
pleasure. Together we went to see Mendes, to Uncle Stricker's,
to Uncle Cor's and at the two Meyes families. The most
agreeable part to remember of Father's visit is the morning we
spent together in my bedroom correcting some of my work and a
heap of other things. You can imagine how the days flew by.
This morning I was in the English Church, and met Wierda as
I was leaving. We walked part of the way together, and he asked
me if I would come to see his room - he lives on the
Weeringstraat. I went home with him and stayed for lunch, until
about three o'clock, and saw his books and heard various things
about his life. Then home again, and translated a page or so
from Caesar. This afternoon I was at Uncle Stricker's;
It is foggy here today; luckily the weather was fine during
Father's visit so that we could take many walks. Probably Uncle
Jan will come back on Tuesday.
I suppose you are very busy at the beginning of the year,
like most people; things are becoming more and more serious for
me as the examination draws nearer; I shall be glad when it
gets light earlier in the morning.
Has Father thought of giving you that photograph of that
picture by Maris? The wood engraving after Van Goyen,
“Dordrecht,” is hanging in its place; the other day
I went to see the picture again at the museum - it is very,
very fine. When you come back here I should like to look
through the etchings by Dürer at the museum with you, the
way we did Rembrandt's last time. Scheveningen must be
beautiful these grey days, do you go there often? Perhaps it is
like the picture by Ruysdael in the museum at The Hague. Have
you got the lithograph of it which appeared in the Kunstkronyk
long ago? It is a very good one.
How is Mauve? I hope he is well; have you seen him
I have lessons from Uncle Stricker twice a week now. I
profit a great deal from it, as Uncle is very clever, and I am
glad he has found time for it.
Well, boy, a warm handshake in thought; I must set to work,
write soon and believe me always,
Your loving brother, Vincent
Remember me to Mauve when you see him. Good night, boy, I
have been writing until twelve o'clock.
At this time, Vincent was 24 year old
Vincent van Gogh. Letter to Theo van Gogh. Written 10 February 1878 in Amsterdam. Translated by Mrs. Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, edited by Robert Harrison, number 118.
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