Because it may be that you did not quite understand what I
asked you at the time, and in order to exclude the possibility
that later on there might be a misunderstanding, I will say it
Late in January or in the beginning of February I wrote you
that, on coming home, it suddenly became only too clear to me
that the money I was in the habit of receiving from you was
looked upon in the first place as something absolutely
uncertain, precarious - and secondly as something in the
nature of what I will call charity for a poor fool.
And at the same time I could establish the fact that this
idea was communicated to persons who had absolutely nothing to
do with it - for instance, the respectable natives of these
regions - and further that I was asked three times in one week
by absolute strangers, “Why is it you never sell your
To this must be added the fact that last summer, because of
your making me feel the bridle a little in order to impress
upon me that it was in my interest to be compliant in some
things, I had already made up my mind to let you feel in return
that I for my part, if I were inconvenienced by too much
tugging at the bridle, should be quite willing to leave the
bridle in your hands, as long as I was not attached to the
other end, or in other words - if I am not free in my
private life, I decline the subsidy. In short, that whether I
should be able to get along financially would depend on my
work (and not on my private life), at least as
far as the 150 francs a month was concerned.
Summing up these and similar things, I said in my letter of
the end of January that I should be unwilling to go on in the
same way as up to then, that is to say, without a
That however I should be willing to - nay, glad to - nothing
could be more pleasant to me than to go on in the same way on
condition that a definite agreement was made about the supply
of work. And that in order to make a trial I should send a
number of things toward the beginning of March.
Most positively I noticed that you did not simply write
something like this!
Well, I thought, towards the beginning of March I shall send
him some things and wait for the result. Then I sent you nine
watercolours and five pen drawings, I wrote you I had yet a
sixth pen drawing and the painted study of the old tower,
which at the time you said you were eager for.
But now that I see that your expressions remain as vague
as ever, I cannot but tell you without reserve that I do
not consider this the way to treat me.
As for my work - up to now it seemed incontrovertible that
you would rather I did not send anything than that I did.
If this is still the case - well then, I am of the opinion
that either I am not worth your protection, or you think
a little too frivolously of my work. I have never
withdrawn my proposal to send you my work regularly.
When I mention that I desire to look upon the 150 francs, or
more or less as the case may be, as equal in value to what I
send you, this is to a certain extent quite a private
matter, and in no way do we touch upon the question whether my
work has commercial value or not.
But in that case I shall be more justified in the eyes of
Tom, Dick and Harry, and shall not have to put up with being
reproached with idling away my time - or even being
absolutely looked upon as “having no means
At the same time it is proof on your part of your confidence
in my future, which, however, I shall most certainly not extort
from you - and I repeat that however you may decide in this
matter, it will have no influence on my opinion of the past,
and that I shall never ignore your help during these years, but
on the contrary, appreciate it highly.
But you will have to decide quite independently whether our
relations will be continued in the future or not - for instance
during the current year.
However, I end with the assurance that in case you refuse to
accept my proposal to send you my work regularly (you can do or
not do whatever you like with it, at least as far as doing
business with it is concerned, but at all events I insist on
your showing it from time to time, as you did at the very
beginning, and in my opinion rightly so), I shall carry through
the separation - so either this alteration - or
All yours, Vincent
I did not send you the sixth pen drawing because, just as I
insist on your showing my work now and then, I am going to show
Rappard something once in a while - as he knows a lot of people
- and that drawing was at Rappard's, and I should have had it
back, but up to now he has kept it, along with two other pen
drawings, “Winter Garden.”
Well, and as to the painted study, I said a few words in my
previous letter to the effect that I felt discouraged about
sending it, because you did not think the one from Drenthe any
good, and I do not think this one would please you either. If I
can trust my memory, there are some among those made in Drenthe
which I should do in exactly the same way if I had to do them
all over again. As for the current month I already have the
following drawings, which under other circumstances I should
have sent you in April:
Winter garden - pollard birches
- poplar avenue - kingfisher.
[Further enclosed in this letter]
Another thing I should not want to hear later on is that
what I call an agreement about this or that should be ascribed
to my interpretation instead of being considered the intention
of the other party - in other words, you. You know that you
told me that C. M. said something of the sort about me to you.
From this I learned how important it is to dot my i's
and cross my t's in the matter of agreements.
I think - seeing that in the past I repeatedly wrote you
about the proposed alteration, and that now I have given a
summary of it all - everything has been explained sufficiently
clearly, and I am now entitled to a plain Yes or a plain
[Another postscript obviously written after the receipt of a
letter from Theo]
I want to say a few words with regard to your letter about
my drawings - which you say I have interpreted in a most
What I say is:
Among the things you told me there were a few of which
the purport was that in tone and sentiment there were some
particulars that pleased you - well, all the better - if
you like it, I shall say, I am delighted to hear it.
In the letter there is a comparison between Millet's and
Lhermitte's methods. In what you said about Millet I found
better and more sensitive expressions than I am accustomed
to from you - however, this was overshadowed by the manner
in which you said that now you were sick of Lhermitte
again, and what I should like to say about your whole
dissertation is: Tu files ton coton trop fin, you
are cutting it too fine. Why not take a broader view of it
all, and feel one and the same enthusiasm for them both
(who bear the same relation to each other as Rembrandt to
Maes, as I see it), without getting engrossed in
hair-splitting casuistry about who is the greater man?
Something was missing from the letter - namely a reply
to the question of whether we should go on or not.
The question was urgent, and as my work is dependent on my
colours and tools - to an extent which I cannot ignore - and
these again on my receiving or not receiving money, it is
impossible for me to consider your letter very useful.
It would be less impossible for me to keep my temper in our
correspondence if, when on the critical date you have not got
the money, you should write, I haven't got it, you will get it
on such and such a date. Now you did not write a single word in
response to my saying, I am surprised that - taking into
consideration that you told me I could get the money by return
mail if I wanted it, and my having told you that I would rather
have it at once than later - I have not heard anything about
If you had written at the time, I am sorry, but I haven't
got it, I should not have tortured my brain with thoughts such
as that you commit this negligence on purpose in order
to make life a little more difficult for me. And - if you
haven't got the money, I cannot reproach you with anything -
but if you neglect sending it - on purpose or not on
purpose, that does not matter - then it is something I wish you
would unlearn - something that forces one to lose one's
What I said about my trying to do something with my work for
instance in Antwerp - this is definitely my intention - and I
should assuredly not accept but reject your letter, if in
addition you had not also written: [Here an ink line points to
the passage beginning “I am not conscious
of…” at the end of the paragraph following the
Your present frame of mind about me, and my frame of mind
about you, is cool enough to allow for coolly asking questions
and coolly answering them.
So to cut matters short - leaving caring for each other or
not out of it - can I count on it that there is a definite
agreement for one year that in exchange for the work I shall
supply you, I shall go on receiving the usual monthly amount?
The reason why I have to know this is that, if I can definitely
count on it, I shall get a more spacious apology of a studio
somewhere, a studio I need in order to work from the model.
The one I have at present has the following geographical
Studio immediately adjoining coal hole, sewers and dung pit,
and my imagination is not strong enough to see this an
advance on last year's situation. However, this does not
alter the fact that, as soon as I complain about something, I
find passages in your letters like “I (Theo) am of the
opinion that now your situation is better than last
summer” - you see? And I also draw the little ground plan
in answer to your expression, “I am not conscious
To this I have to say, I am indifferent to your being
conscious or not conscious of the fact that there is something
wrong with this or that - at least as long as you do not demand
that I should go about anesthetized on the point, and as long
as you provide me with the means of correcting things that are
wrong I haven't the slightest objection to your being
“conscious” of all manner of things.
I hope this letter is as cool as your own - and I thank you
very much for the money sent - which makes up for a good deal -
at least makes up for all the other things, because I can now
count on its continuing for a year, and I shall make no
additional demands on you, and shall be delighted to send you
And there is one little thing I should like to add to
this: if I should succeed in selling anything in Antwerp or
elsewhere, I shall inform you, and the amount will be deducted
from the 150 francs.
I never write Rappard about business matters - at least I
have not told him that the terms we have been on lately were
not as good as before.
Now please think over whether it is right that you, who know
Rappard, have seen nothing of his work, and have not the
remotest idea what he is about - that you do not take the
slightest notice of him any more, unless perhaps from hearsay,
when I tell you something. For all that he is one of the
fellows who will make their influence felt - whom they will
have to reckon with - of whose work they will be obliged to
take notice. At one time Rappard came to you, and felt small in
your presence because you knew so much about art. Since that
year he spent in Paris - what enormous progress he has made! -
but you - haven't you been resting on your laurels a
[On a separate leaf in this letter]
Your letter about Millet contains good passages, indicating
a better insight than what you say about Lhermitte, toward whom
you might continue to feel sympathetic, I think. Do not lose
yourself in that absolutely sterile twaddle about who is first,
and who is second, and so on - that is nothing but nonsense,
and stupid. There are plenty who do this; you be one of those
who think Millet very beautiful and Lhermitte too, so that no
room is left for idiotically pondering on who is the
best, who is the first - they are both above the
average level. What would be the use of drawing comparisons
between Rembrandt and Nicolaes Maes or Van der Meer? -
nonsense, isn't it? - so stop it.
I have this question to put to you about Millet. Do you
happen to think that Millet would have become Millet if he had
lived without children and without a wife? It was all the
easier for him to find his inspiration, his feeling for the
simple people was so much purer and deeper, because he himself
lived in the way a labourer's family lives - but with
infinitely more feeling than the common labourer. Millet's
maxim was, God blesses big families - and his life shows that
he meant this, because it was in harmony with what he said.
Would Millet have been able to do without Sensier? Perhaps
not. Why did Millet break with those men who were his friends
at first, and from whom he nevertheless received an annuity?
Sensier gives enough particular to suggest that the basic
trouble was that they thought Millet personally a mediocrity
and his work mediocre, and annoyed themselves and Millet with
it until at long last the pitcher broke. Yet Sensier does not
give a detailed account of the happenings in those days, as if
he understood that Millet thought that time a period of
execrable bother, and preferred not to be reminded of it.
Somewhere Sensier says, When Millet thought of his first wife
and the worries of those days, he clasped his head with both
hands in a gesture as if once again he were overwhelmed by the
huge darkness and unutterable melancholy of that period.
The second time his family life succeeded better - but then
he was no longer in contact with those big fellows.
At this time, Vincent was 31 year old
Vincent van Gogh. Letter to Theo van Gogh. Written early April 1884 in Nuenen. Translated by Mrs. Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, edited by Robert Harrison, number .
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