Dear Theo,
Thanks for your last letter, which I enjoyed very much. Yes,
boy, that etching after Jules Goupil is splendid, and with all
that is linked to it, it makes a good and beautiful whole,
which is a good thing to treasure in one's heart. I almost envy
your having read Carlyle's French Revolution; I have read a
little of it, but not all - I found fragments of it in a book
by Taine.
I am busy making an excerpt from Motley, including
“The Conquest of Den Briel,” and the siege of
Haarlem, Alkmaar and Leyden; I also drew a map of it, thus
making a whole of the two.
I keep my work together, to help me to pass the
examinations; I consult Mendes in everything and arrange my
studies according to what he has done, for I should like to do
it in the same way. The history of the Eighty Years' War is
magnificent! Whoever should make such a good fight in his life,
would do well. In truth, life is a battle, it is necessary to
defend and protect ourselves, and we must plan and calculate
with a cheerful and brave spirit in order to make progress.
As we get older, it becomes more and more difficult, and it
may rightly be said:
Does the road go uphill all the way?
“Yes, to the very end.”
And will the journey take all day long?
“Yes, from morn till night, my friend.”
But the inmost strength of the heart is developed by
fighting the difficulties. On grandit dans la tempête
[one grows in the storm], if only we always strive after
keeping the heart - out of which all that goes forth into life
is good and simple and rich - in God, so that we may have a
clear conscience before God and man.
Even as we look at others, so we in turn are watched by the
many eyes belonging to that conscience - God's greatest gift
and the proof that His eye is upon us, but is the shade of our
right hand, and when He delivers us from evil, then that light
enters the darkness of life and of the world. And if we feel,
as it were, that there is an eye looking down upon us, it would
be well for us to lift up our eyes at times, as if to see the
Invisible.
I know the history of Frederick the Great, illustrated by
Menzel; it is a good acquisition. Go on with your collection; I
also know that wood engraving after Jacque, “The
Sheepfold.” Don't forget to bring these things with you
when you come home for Christmas.
I bought from a Jew a lithograph after L. Steffens; you once
showed me the picture - an old and a young clergyman talking
together in a garden - it is a good lithograph. The scene
reminded me of a picture by Jacquand - I think it is called
“The New Vicar” - it has the same sentiment; it
also reminded me of “The Novice” by G.
Doré.
Old son, the study of Latin and Greek is arduous;
nevertheless, it still makes me happy, I have finally dived
into studies of which I have always dreamt. I cannot sit up so
late in the night any more - Uncle has strictly forbidden it.
Still, the legend under the etching by Rembrandt continues to
haunt me: “In medio noctis vim suam lux exterit”
[the light shines better in the middle the night]. All night, I
leave the gas light on low, and often it comes to me to
contemplate this poor light in medio noctis, while planning my
work for the next day and thinking of the best means to
study.
I hope to light the fire early in the morning this winter,
the winter mornings have something peculiar about them,
Frère painted it in his picture of the workman,
“Un Tonnelier” [a cooper]; the etching is hanging
in your room, I think.
Remplis mon âme d'une sainte amertume qui te soit
agréable, et je passerai humblement toutes les
années de ma vie dans ton service, dans l'amertume de
mon âme [fill my soul with a holy bitterness as it may
please Thee, and I shall spend all the years of my life in Thy
service, in the bitterness of my soul; immediately after this,
written in English], “yea, even in Thy service, O man of
sorrows and acquainted with grief.” This certainly is a
good prayer, and I thought of it when in simplicity I said to
you that it is a good thing in this world to soak oneself in
coffee. Man is full of needs, and requires strength and
reinvigorating in order to be able to work. What cannot be
cured must be endured, and one must use the weapons within
one's reach and the means at one's disposal to make the most of
one's powers and gain advantage. (You see by the handwriting
that it was getting dark; now the lamp is burning.)
One afternoon at Uncle Stricker's, I ate hotchpotch, and on
this occasion it occurred to me to make an excerpt from Motley;
I'll show it to you at Christmas. Because I have such a
frightful number of stone thresholds and church floors and
stone stoops of houses under my eyes and feet, I hit on the
idea of making those maps of rocky Scotland and colouring them
(red and green). The soul of man
is singularly strange, and I think it is excellent to have one
- like a map of England, made with loving devotion - and to
have in it as much as possible of the love which is holy in all
things and believes in all things and hopes all things and
suffers all things, and never perishes. This love is the light
of the world, the true life which is the light of man. Surely
knowledge of languages is a precious possession, and I am
anxious to grasp something of it too.
When one eats a crust of black rye bread, it is well to
think of the words, “Tunc justi fulgebunt ut sol in
regnum Patris sui” [then the righteous shall shine like
the sun in the kingdom of their Father], or, too, when one
often has muddy boots or wet black clothes. May all of us
someday enter the kingdom which is not of this world, where
they neither marry, nor are given in marriage, where the sun
shall no longer be the light of day, and the moon shall no
longer shine to be a brightness, but where the Lord will be a
light eternal, and God our glory, where the sun shall no more
go down; and the light of the moon shall not wane, for the Lord
shall be there as an eternal light, and the days of thy
mourning shall be ended, and God shall wipe away all tears [see
Is. 60:19-20]. And thus we can be leavened with the leaven of
“sorrowful yet always rejoicing,” being what we are
by the Grace of God, and carrying in the secrecy of our hearts
the words, “I never despair,” because we have faith
in God. And then “set your face as a flint” is a
good precept in many circumstances, and also “as a pillar
of iron or as an old oak tree.” It is a good thing to be
fond of thorns, like the thorn hedges around English country
churches, or of the roses in a churchyard - they are so
beautiful these days - yea, if we could make ourselves a crown
of the thorns of life, wearing it before men and so that God
may see us wearing it, we should do well.
Maybe you know the wood engravings by Swain; he is a very
clever man, his studio is in such a pleasant part of London,
not far from that part of the Strand where the offices of the
illustrated papers (The London News, Graphic, etc.) are, nor
from Bookseller's Row, which is full of all kinds of bookstores
and shops where one sees everything - from etchings by
Rembrandt to the Household Edition of Dickens and the Chandos
Classics. Everything there has a greenish tone, especially
during foggy weather in autumn or the dark days before
Christmas; it reminds one of Ephesus as it is described so
remarkably and simply in the Acts. (The bookshops in Paris are
very interesting, too, including those in the Faubourg St.
Germain.)
I spent Monday evening at Uncle Cor's, and saw Aunt and the
whole family; all send you their kindest regards. Uncle showed
me that book, L'Oeuvre Gravé de Ch. Aubigny.
From there I went to Uncle Stricker's and had a long talk
with him and Aunt, for Mendes had been to see them a few days
ago (one must not talk too lightly about genius, even though
one believes there is more of it in the world than many
suppose, but Mendes certainly is a very remarkable person, and
I am and will remain grateful for my contact with him). I am
glad to say he did not make an unfavourable report about me,
but Uncle asked me if I did not find it very difficult, and I
acknowledged that I did indeed, and that I tried my best, in
every possible way, to remain strong and keep myself alert in
all possible ways. He told me not to lose heart.
But now that terrible algebra and mathematics still remain;
well we must see - after Christmas I must have lessons in those
also, it is necessary. Besides, I cling to the church for aid
and to the bookshops; I invent some errand to go there whenever
possible. Today I was at Schalekamp's and at Brinkman's in the
Hartestraat (that shop of Schalekamp's is very interesting),
and I bought a few Teacher's Society maps - there are about a
hundred of them at a penny apiece, including the Netherlands in
every different historical period. So often, in the past too, a
visit to a bookshop has cheered me and reminded me that there
are good things in the world.
The picture by Israëls which you describe must have
been very beautiful; I can imagine it well from your vivid
description. I saw a small picture by him at Uncle Cor's, also
a very fine one by Mauve - a shepherd with a flock of sheep
crossing the dunes.
I had a nice, cheerful letter from home; I was glad to hear
that things are somewhat better at Prinsenhage. How I look
forward to Christmas; bring as many things as you can with you,
it will be good for us all. Take your time about sending the
tobacco, I have some left; it is a good and necessary
help in studying.
I wrote a long letter to Harry Gladwell, who left today; I
sent your regards, too.
When you have a chance, don't forget Michelet, you know, and
J. Breton; but you know what it's for, and that there is no
hurry and Christmas will be soon enough. Now I must set to
work, this sheet is almost covered. Have a good time, and write
me soon. Uncle sends you his greetings, also Uncle and Aunt
Stricker. Give my compliments to the Roos family, also to Mauve
and his wife and to Tersteeg and Van Stockum - how is
Carolien?
A blessing on all you undertake, keep courage and good cheer
during these autumn days, and may Christmas come soon and you
and I be together again before we know it. À Dieu, a
handshake in thought and believe me,
Your loving brother, Vincent
Saw two photographs of pictures by Gabriel von Max, the
raising of Jairus's daughter and a nun in a convent garden; the
former was particularly fine.
[Written in the margin] I also have an abridged edition of
Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, and am working all day, every day,
so I shall get something done, too.
Do you know an engraving after Landseer, “The
Highlander” it is called, I think - a highlander in a
snowstorm at the top of a mountain, with an eagle he has shot
in his hand?
At this time, Vincent was 24 year oldSource: Vincent van Gogh. Letter to Theo van Gogh. Written 30 October 1877 in Amsterdam. Translated by Mrs. Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, edited by Robert Harrison, number 112. URL: https://www.webexhibits.org/vangogh/letter/6/112.htm.
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