So the pot was calling the kettle black when you wrote me
that I ought not to send you a print for your room sometimes
when I find one that I think you will like. In my turn I say,
Enough of that; but tell me if you have got some new
acquisitions for your collection lately.
Last evening at Uncle Cor's I saw a whole volume of that
magazine, L'Art; you have the issue with the wood engravings
after Corot. I was especially struck by wood engravings after
drawings by Millet, including “Falling Leaves,”
“The Ravens' Wedding,” “Donkeys in a
Marsh,” “The Woodcutters,” “Housewife
Sweeping Her Room,” “A Farm Courtyard” (night
effect), etc. Also by an etching after Corot, “The
Dune”; and “St. John's Eve” after Breton; and
others by Chauvin; and another after Millet, “The
Last Sunday Uncle Jan and I spent the whole afternoon and
evening at Uncle Cor's. It was a very pleasant day for me. I
got up very early and went to the French church in the morning.
A clergyman from the neighborhood of Lyons preached here - he
had come to collect money for an evangelical mission. His
sermon was mainly stories from the lives of the working people
in the factories, and though he was not particularly eloquent
and one could even hear that he spoke with some difficulty and
effort, his words were still effective because they came from
the heart - only such are powerful enough to touch other
At one o'clock I had to be at the Sunday school of an
English clergyman, Adler, in the Barndesteeg; he has a small
but very neat old church there. However, the school was held
in a little room where even at that hour, in the middle of the
day, the gaslight had to be turned on. There were perhaps
twenty children from that poor section. Though he is a
foreigner, he preaches in Dutch (but the service is in
English); he teaches his Bible class in Dutch too, and does it
very well. I had brought with me a sketch of the map of the
Holy Land which I made for Father's birthday, in red crayon and
on strong brown paper, and I gave it to him; I thought that
little room would be a nice place for it, and I am glad it
hangs on the wall there now. I had met him at Mr. McFarlane's,
the incumbent of the English church in the Beguinage whom I had
ventured to call on; he received me kindly and I hope to repeat
my visit someday.
Besides this English clergyman, I also ventured to call on
the Reverend Mr. Gagnebin. He took it in good part, and told me
to come again some evening; as he suggested tonight, I must go
there in a little while. I hope to write you all about it.
Father has also advised me to try and make some acquaintances.
I was so glad to speak French and English again - it is a
peculiar sensation when one hasn't for a long time.
The last two mornings I got up very early to work on a
sketch of the map of Paul's travels which I had begun and have
now finished; it looks well now (with the names in French),
even better than those I made for Father and for my own room. I
plan to give it to the Reverend Mr. Gagnebin, as I want to
emphasize that visit if possible: he is a learned man who can
perhaps give me some good advice later on if he realizes that
my intentions are serious….
I have just been to Gagnebin's, but I was told that he was
too busy to receive me (yet he had fixed this hour and this day
for my visit). I heard music in the house, so probably there
was something going on. I left what I had made for Gagnebin
with the servant, requesting that it be given to him.
There are so many, many things one has to know, and though
they try to reassure me, it constantly gives me a terribly
anxious feeling. There is no remedy but to set to work again,
since it is clearly my duty to do this, whatever it
costs. So I must push on, for standing still or going back is
out of the question: it would make things even more difficult
and cause confusion - and the end would mean the necessity of
beginning all over again.
I had a nice letter from home; the journey seems not to have
done Father any harm. It is pretty late, and I am not a little
tired, for I have walked quite a distance today. Have a good
time, and blessings on your work and on all you undertake;
write soon if you can. My regards to all at the Rooses', and a
warm handshake in thought. Good night and sleep well, believe
Your loving brother,
Tuesday morning. It is beautiful weather this morning, I
have to go to Mendes's in a few minutes.
At this time, Vincent was 24 year old
Vincent van Gogh. Letter to Theo van Gogh. Written 18 February 1878 in Amsterdam. Translated by Mrs. Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, edited by Robert Harrison, number 119.
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