TEXTUAL FRAGMENTS

TEXTUAL FRAGMENTS Gauguin in his memoires, Avant et Après, 1903: „THE PINK SHRIMPS‟ Winter of '86 The snow is beginning to fall, it is winter. I will spare you the shroud, it is simply the snow. The poor are suffering. The landlords often do not understand that. On this December day, in the rue Lepic of our good city of Paris, the pedestrians are in more than usual haste, having no desire to stroll. Among them is a fantastically dressed, shivering man who is hurrying to reach the outer boulevards. He is wrapped in a sheepskin coat with a cap that is undoubtedly of rabbit-fur and he has a bristling red beard. He looks like a drover. Do not take a mere half-look; cold as it is, do not go on your way without carefully observing the white, graceful hand and those blue eyes that are so clear and childlike. It is some poor beggar, surely. His name is Vincent Van Gogh. Hurriedly he goes into a shop where they sell old ironwork, arrows of savages and cheap oil paintings. Poor artist! You have put a fragment of your soul into this canvas which you have come to sell! It is a small still-life, pink shrimps on a piece of pink paper. „Can you give me a little money for this canvas to help me pay my rent?‟ „Mon Dieu, my friend, my trade is getting difficult too. They ask me for cheap Millets! Then, you know,‟ adds the shopkeeper, „your painting is not very gay. The Renaissance is the thing nowadays. Well, they say you have talent and I should like to do something for you. Come, here are a hundred sous.‟ And the round coin rings on the counter. Van Gogh takes it without a murmur, thanks the shopkeeper and goes out. He makes his way painfully back up the rue Lepic. When he has nearly reached his lodging a poor woman, just out of St. Lazare, smiles at the painter, hoping for his patronage. The beautiful white hand emerges from the overcoat. Van Gogh is a reader, he is thinking of the girl Elisa, and his five-franc piece becomes the unhappy woman's property. Quickly, as if ashamed of his charity, he makes off with an empty stomach. A day will come, I see it as if it had already come. I enter room no. 9 at the auction gallery. The auctioneer is selling a collection of pictures as I go in. „400 francs for 'The Pink Shrimps,' 450! 500! Come, gentlemen, it is worth more than that!‟ No one says anything. „Gone! 'The Pink Shrimps' by Vincent Van Gogh.‟ [459a] Van Gogh to the painter H. M. Livens, between August and October 1886: „Trade is slow here. The great dealers sell Millet, Delacroix, Corot, Daubigny, Dupré, a few other masters at exorbitant prices. They do little or nothing for young artists. The second class dealers contrariwise sell those at very low prices. If I asked more I would do nothing, I fancy. However I have faith in colour. Even with regards the price the public will pay for it in the long run. But for the present things are awfully hard. Therefore let anyone who risks to go over here consider there is no laying on roses at all. What is to be gained is progress and what the deuce that is, it is to be found here. I dare say as certain anyone who has a solid position elsewhere let him stay where he is. But for adventurers as myself, I think they lose nothing in risking more. Especially as in my case I am not an adventurer by choice but by fate, and feeling nowhere so much myself a stranger as in my family and country.‟ [462] Vincent to Theo, Summer 1887: „One must have ambition to succeed, and ambition seems to me absurd. I wish above all I were less of a burden to you – and that needn‟t be impossible from now on, for I hope to make such progress that you‟ll be able to show what I do in full confidence without compromising yourself. And then I‟ll retire somewhere down south and get away from the sight of so many painters who fill me with disgust as human beings.‟ [W 1] Vincent to his sister Wil, Summer or Fall 1887: „As soon as possible I plan to spend some time in the south, where there is even more colour and even more sun. But what I really hope to do is to paint a good portrait. So there.‟ [463] Vincent to Theo, 21 February 1888: „And now I‟ll begin by telling you that there‟s about two feet of snow everywhere, and more is still falling. Arles doesn‟t seem to me any bigger than Breda or Mons. Before getting to Tarascon I noticed a magnificent landscape of huge yellow rocks, piled up in the strangest and most imposing forms. In the little village between these rocks were rows of small round trees with olive-green or grey-green leaves, which I think were lemon trees. But here in Arles the country seems flat. I have seen some splendid red stretches of soil planted with vines, with a background of mountains of the most delicate lilac. And the landscapes in the snow, with the summits white against a sky as luminous as the snow, were just like the winter landscapes that the Japanese have painted.‟ [GAC 28] Gauguin to Vincent, end of February 1888: Dear Vincent, I wanted to write to your brother, but I know that you see each other daily. I hesitate to bother him, as he is occupied with business from morning until night. I have gone to work in Brittany (still caught up in the frenzy of painting) and had hoped to have the money for that. The few items I sold enabled me to pay some nagging debts, and in a month I will be penniless. Zero is a negative force. I do not wish to pressure your brother, but a brief note from you on the subject would reassure me or would at least help me wait. How awful money issues are for an artist! Don‟t worry about giving discounts. I just need to raise some money. I have been confined to my bed with a fever for two weeks and have resumed work. If I keep at it for 5 or 6 months, I will produce with some good paintings. If possible, please send me a word of encouragement. Yours, Paul Gauguin Pont Aven c/o Madame Gloanec Finistère [468] Vincent to Theo, 10 March 1888: „Perhaps it would be easier to get a few dealers and collectors to agree to buy the impressionist pictures than to get the artists to agree to go equal shares in the price of their pictures over to the association, and share the proceeds of the sales, so that the society could at least guarantee its members a chance to live and to work.‟ „I am continually thinking about the association of artists, and the plan has developed further in my mind; but Tersteeg must be in it, a lot depends on that.‟ [469] Vincent to Theo, c. 14 March 1888: „But, old boy, you know, I feel as though I were in Japan – I say no more than that, and mind, I haven‟t seen anything in its usual splendour yet. That‟s why – even though I‟m vexed that just now expenses are heavy and the pictures worthless – that‟s why I don‟t despair of the future success of this idea of a long sojourn in the Midi. Here I am seeing new things, I am learning, and if I take it easy, my body doesn‟t refuse to function. For many reasons I should like to get some sort of little retreat, where the poor cab horses of Paris – that is you and several of our friends, the poor impressionists – could go out to pasture when they get too beat up.‟ [475] Vincent to Theo, c. 4 April 1888: You will please ask old Tasset or old L‟Hôte his absolutely lowest price for 10 yards of his canvas prepared with plaster or absorbent, and let me know the result of the discussion, which you will probably have with the good man, about the delivery of the above-mentioned goods. Here is the list: 20 Flake white, 10 zinc white 15 Malachite green 10 Chrome yellow 10 Chrome yellow (No. two) 3 Vermilion 3 Chrome yellow „No. three‟ 6 Germanium lake big tubes Ditto double tubes citron ditto double tubes Ditto ditto small   Newly pounded if they are 12 Crimson lake 2 Carmine 4 Prussian blue 4 Cinnabar green, very light 2 Orange lead 6 Emerald green tubes “ “ “ “ small tubes small tubes “ “ “ “  greasy I‟ll send them back This is a pretty heavy order (but without counting the difference between the discount which I can hope for, and the cost of carriage); we shall make on it as much as the carriage will cost me, even without taking into account that I get no discount here. Urgent: 10 6 3 3 1 1 3 6 2 4 Flake white Malachite green Chrome yellow, citron “ “ No. 2 “ “ No.3 Vermilion Geranium lake, Crimson lake Prussian blue Emerald green Large tubes Double tubes   Double tubes  Double tube Small tubes “ “ “ “ “ “ Then – at once if possible – the actual price, to me, of 10 yards of the absorbent canvas, please. The colour merchant here made me absorbent canvas, but he is so slow about it that I decided to have it sent from Paris or Marseilles, and I have given up all hope of getting him to do it, having lost all patience with him. While I was waiting for one size 30 absorbent canvas I painted two on canvas that was nonabsorbent. You see of course that if you buy the paints for me, my expenses here will be at 50%. So far I have spent more on my paints, canvas, etc., than on myself. I have still another orchard for you, but for heaven‟s sake send me the paints without delay. The flowering time is over so soon, and you know this kind of subject delights everybody.‟ [476] Vincent to Theo, c. 11 April 1888: „And the weather today has been fine. This morning I worked on an orchard of plum trees in bloom; all at once a fierce wind sprang up, an effect I had seen nowhere else but here, and returned at intervals. The sun shone in between, and all the little white flowers sparkled. It was so lovely. My friend the Dane came to join me, and I went on painting at the risk and peril of seeing the whole show on the ground at any moment – it‟s a white effect with a good deal of yellow in it, and blue and lilac, the sky white and blue.‟ [480] Vincent to Theo, 1 May 1888: „I don‟t see the whole future black, but I do see it bristling with difficulties and sometimes I ask myself if they won‟t be too much for me. But this is mostly in moments of physical weakness, and last week I had such a fierce toothache that much against my will I had to waste time. However, I have just sent you a roll of small pen-and-ink drawings, a dozen I think. By which you will see that if I have stopped painting, I haven‟t stopped working. You will find among them a hasty sketch on yellow paper, a lawn in the square as you come into the town, with a building at the back, rather like this: Well, today I‟ve taken the right wing of this complex, which contains 4 rooms, or rather two with two closets. It is painted yellow outside, whitewashed inside, in full sunlight. I have taken it for 15 Fr. a month. Now my idea would be to furnish one room, the one on the first floor, so as to be able to sleep there. This [house] will remain the studio and the storehouse for the whole campaign, as long as it lasts in the South, and now I am free of all the innkeepers‟ tricks: they‟re ruinous and they make me wretched. Just now Bernard writes me that he also has a whole house, but he has his for nothing. What luck! I‟ll be sure to make you a better drawing of it than the first sketch. And after this I can venture to tell you that I mean to invite Bernard and others to send me pictures, to show them here if there is an opportunity, which there certainly will be in Marseilles. I hope I have landed on my feet this time, you know – yellow outside, white inside, with all the sun, so that I shall see my canvases in a bright interior – the floor is red brick; outside, the garden of the square, of which you will find two more drawings. I think I can promise you that the drawings will get better and better.‟ „I could quite well share the new studio with someone, and I should like to. Perhaps Gauguin will come south? Perhaps I could come to some arrangement with McKnight. Then the cooking could be done in one‟s own place. In any case, the studio is too public for me to think it might tempt any little woman, and a petticoat crisis couldn‟t easily end in a liaison.‟ [B 5] Van Gogh to Emile Bernard, c. 20 May 1888: „You are damned right to think of Gauguin. That is high poetry, those Negresses, and everything his hands make has a gentle, pitiful, astonishing character.‟ [G 3] Gauguin to Theo, 22 May 1888: Dear Sir, I have intended to write to you for some time but have not for fear of being indiscreet or at least annoying. Still, my concerns worry me deeply. For three months I have not paid the boarding house. I find this situation extremely embarrassing. When I left you I was hopeful. I did not expect to strike gold but thought I would have enough work to get by. If you have even the tiniest bit of hope, it would be most encouraging. Is your brother still in the South basking in the sun? He must have done some interesting work. He has an inquisitive eye, and I hope that will not change. I know you have returned from Belgium; this country offers many opportunities for young people, but the business prospects seem rather modest. I look forward to hearing from you and send you regards. Please give my best to Vincent as well, if he is in Paris. Paul Gauguin [493] Vincent to Theo, 28 May 1888: „I have been thinking about Gauguin, and look here. If Gauguin wants to come here, there is Gauguin‟s journey, and there are two beds or two mattresses, which in that case we absolutely must buy. But afterward, as Gauguin is a sailor, we shall probably manage to eat at home. And the two of us will live on the same money that I now spend by myself. You know that I have always thought it idiotic the way painters live alone, etc. You always lose by being isolated. This is in reply to your wish to get him out of his trouble. You can‟t send him what will keep him going in Brittany and me what keeps me going in Provence. But you may think it a good idea for us to share, and fix a sum – say 250 a month, if every month, besides and in addition to my work, you get a Gauguin. Provided that we did not exceed this sum, wouldn‟t it even mean a profit? Besides, it has always been my idea to join hands with other people. So here is a rough draft of a letter to Gauguin, which I will write, if you approve, with whatever changes that will doubtless have to be made in the phrasing. But this is how I wrote it first. Take the thing as a plain matter of business, that is the best way for everyone, and let‟s treat it squarely as such. Only, seeing that you are not in business for yourself, you may perhaps see fit to let me take it upon myself, and to let Gauguin join in with me as a comrade. I judged that you wanted to help him, just as I myself am distressed at his being ill, and it‟s a thing that doesn‟t get better overnight. We cannot suggest something better than this, and others would not do so much. As for me, it worries me to spend so much money on myself alone, but the only way to remedy it is for me to find a woman with money, or some fellows who will join me to paint pictures. I don‟t see the woman, but I do see the fellows. If this will suit him, we must not keep him dangling. And this would be the beginning of an association. Bernard, who is also coming South, will join us, and truly, I can see you at the head of an Impressionist Society in France yet. And if I can be of any use in getting them together, I would willingly look upon them all as better artists than I.‟ [494a] Concept of a letter of Vincent to Gauguin, 28 May 1888: My dear comrade Gauguin, I have thought of you very often, and the reason why I did not write sooner is that I did not want to write empty phrases. The deal with Russell has not come off yet, but for all that Russell has bought some impressionists, e.g. Guillaumin and Bernard, so bide your time – he will come to it of his own accord, but after two refusals I could not possibly insist any longer, as the refusals also contained a promise for the future. I wanted to let you know that I have just rented a four-room house here in Arles. And that it would seem to me that if I could find another painter inclined to work in the South, and who, like myself, would be sufficiently absorbed in his work to be able to resign himself to living like a monk who goes to the brothel once a fortnight – who for the rest is tied up in his work, and not very willing to waste his time, it might be a good job. Being all alone, I am suffering a little under this isolation. So I have often thought of telling you so frankly. You know that my brother and I greatly appreciate your painting, and that we are most anxious to see you quietly settled down. Now the fact is that my brother cannot send you money in Brittany and at the same time send me money in Provence. But are you willing to share with me here? If we combine, there may be enough for both of us, I am sure of it, in fact. Once having attacked the South, I don‟t see any reason to drop it. I was ill when I came here, but now I am feeling better, and as a matter of fact, I am greatly attracted by the South, where working out-of-doors is possible nearly all the year round. However, it seems to me that life is more expensive here, but on the other hand the chances of getting more pictures done are better. However this may be, if my brother were to send 250 francs a month for both of us, we might share, should you care to come. Only in this case it would be necessary to have our meals at home as much as possible; we might engage some kind of charwoman for a few hours a day, so as to avoid all the expense of going to an inn. And you would give my brother one picture a month; you could do what you like with the rest of your work. Well, the two of us would immediately start exhibiting at Marseilles, thus clearing the way for other impressionists as much as for ourselves. You must not forget that now there would be the cost of moving and of buying a bed, which would also have to be paid for in pictures. Of course you are free to exchange views with my brother about this business, however I must warn you that in all probability he will decline responsibility for it. He will only assure you that up to the present the only means we have found of coming to your aid in a more practical way is this combining, if it should appeal to you. We have thought it over carefully. It seems to me that what your health requires above all is quiet. If I should be mistaken, and if the heat of the South should be too strong for you – well, then we must try to find another solution. As for myself, I am feeling quite well in this climate. I want to tell you a great many other things – but business must come first. Send us both your answer at your earliest convenience. [498] Vincent to Theo, c. 15 June 1888: „In case of doubt it is better to do nothing, I think that is what I said in the letter to Gauguin, and that is what I think now, having read his answer. If he on his part returns to the idea, he is very welcome, but we should look too – I don‟t know just what – if at the moment we pressed him to say Yes.‟ „I do not want to discuss Gauguin‟s project, having once thought the situation over this winter – you know the result. You know that I think a Society of Impressionists would be something of the same nature as the Society of the Twelve English Pre-Raphaelites, and I think that the artists would guarantee each other a livelihood, each consenting to give a considerable number of pictures to the society, and that the profits as well as the losses should be had in common. I do not think that this society would last indefinitely, but I think that while it lasted we should live courageously, and produce.‟ [535a] Vincent to Theo, 21 June 1888: „Here is the letter for Gauguin – I know that there is the following passage in the letter: “I insist that, supposing the capital is got together, or half of it got together, your brother will exert his powers to lead the enterprise to success, and will be its director.” I know quite well that he also writes: “In principle I accept your proposition.” But I think it would be going a bit too far if we did not firmly point out to him that our proposal was meant without all those special considerations, and that we ourselves are too short of money to be able to risk anything but living together and sharing the monthly money. And it is true I did not know that he had such a big family; because of this he might prefer to stay in the North. The utmost one could do would be for me to leave the South and go and join him in Brittany, if this would solve his difficulties. And my longing to work in the South is naturally subordinate to the interests of fellows like him. For all that, one should not think lightly of a change. Besides, I am a bit afraid of being scolded for having separated him from his family, or [for having stirred up] some such hornets‟ nest. My God, if he has such a big family, it is probably his duty not to absent himself any more. And possibly he would be much happier if you simply bought a picture from him once in a while.‟ [503] Vincent to Theo, 28 June 1888: „Nothing from Gauguin. I certainly hope to get your letter tomorrow.‟ [507] Vincent to Theo, 29 June 1888: „Your letter brings great news, namely that Gauguin agrees to our plan. Certainly the best thing would be for him to come rushing here at once. Instead of getting out of a mess, he will probably get into one if he goes to Paris first. Perhaps he might make a deal with the pictures he will be bringing along with him, which would be great luck. Herewith the reply. I only want to say this, that not only am I enthusiastic about painting in the South, but equally so about the North, because I am in better health than six months ago. So that if it is wiser to go to Brittany, where you get board and lodging so cheaply – from the point of view of expense I am certainly ready to come back to the North. But it would be good for him too to come to the Midi, especially as it will already be winter in the North in four months. And it seems so certain to me that two people doing precisely the same work ought, if circumstances prevent them spending more, to be able to live at home on bread, wine, and anything in short that you‟d want to add. The difficulty is eating at home alone. The restaurants here are expensive because everybody eats at home.‟ [G5] Gauguin to Theo, c. 6 July 1888: Dear Mr. Van Gog [sic], A while ago I wrote you a categorical and affirmative response to your proposal that I go to Arles. Have your arrangements changed? I am amazed that you have not sent me any confirmation. I have received a letter from this lady who was supposed to buy my Negro ladies telling me that she will not be able to buy [the work] until January. Yet another disappointment. Please send me word to reassure me. Yours, Paul Gauguin [GAC 30] Gauguin to Vincent, c. 25 July 1888: Dear Vincent I have just read your interesting letter and agree entirely with you that precision contributes little to art. Art is an abstraction, and unfortunately we are increasingly misunderstood. I would very much like for us to achieve our objectives, namely my trip to Provence. I have always been infatuated with depicting the bullfights as I perceive them. I am regaining control of my faculties: my illness had weakened me, and I feel that my latest works are an improvement over what I have done thus far. Of course the herd of buffoons here thinks I am crazy. This pleases me, as it proves that I am not. I have just completed a Breton struggle, which I am sure you will like. Two small boys clad in blue and vermilion knickers. The boy at the top right is climbing out of the water. Green lawn / green fading into unfinished chrome yellow like Japanese crepons. Above a waterfall with bubbling white-pink water and a rainbow at the edge near the frame. At the bottom a white spot a black hat and blue blouse. Russel Granchi told me he saw him 2 months ago in Paris, and that Russel deeply admired my work and had to go to Belle Isle. I do not understand why an affluent man does not purchase what he admires. Well, let us hope. Who is this Thomas you mention, perhaps Thomas de Bojano? Unless he might be the merchant who stays near Place Vendôme. My friend Laval has returned from Martinique with some most remarkable watercolours. You will like them when I show them to you: they are art. I speak as if we were already together. Once I decide to do something, I am always in a hurry to get on with it. If not for this horrid money, I would quickly pack my bags. I do not know why, but for the past ten days, my head has been filled with wild ideas for paintings that I hope to carry out in the South. I attribute them to my health, which I have fully recovered. I feel a need to struggle: to invest all my energies. After all the research I have just done here, I believe I will be able to move ahead easily. I look forward to our affectionate reunion. Paul Gauguin [W 5] Vincent to his sister Wil, 31 July 1888: „Now as regards what you ask, as to whether it is hot here, and whether I am going to live with somebody else. Well, this rather probably, and with a very clever painter too who, like the other impressionists, is leading a life full of cares, and who is the proud owner of a liver complaint besides. Some time ago Theo bought a large picture from him portraying Negresses in pink, blue, orange and yellow cotton dresses under tamarind, coconut and banana trees with the sea in the distance. Like Le mariage de Loti, that description of Otaheite. The fact is that he has been in Martinique, and has painted amid the tropical scenery there.‟ [518] Vincent to Theo, 6 August 1888: „I have already told you that I always have to fight against the mistral, which makes it absolutely impossible to be master of your stroke. That accounts for the “haggard” look of the studies. You will tell me that instead of drawing them, I ought to paint them again on fresh canvases at home. I think so myself now and then, for it is not my fault in this case that the execution lacks a livelier touch. What would Gauguin say about it if he were here, would he advise seeking a more sheltered place?‟ [521] Vincent to Theo, 9 August 1888: „I am thinking about Gauguin a lot, and I am sure that in one way or another, whether it is he who comes here or I who go to him, he and I will like practically the same subjects, and I have no doubt that I could work at Pont-Aven, and on the other hand I am convinced that he would fall in love with the country down here. Well, by the end of the year, supposing he gives you one canvas a month, which would make altogether a dozen a year, he will have made a profit on it, not having incurred any debts and working steadily without interruption; certainly he won't have been the loser, as the money which he will have had from us would be largely made good by the economies that will be possible if we set up house in the studio instead of both of us living in cafés. Besides that, provided we keep on good terms and are determined not to quarrel, we shall be in a stronger position as far as reputation goes.‟ [524] Vincent to Theo, c. 15 August 1888: „Nature and fine weather are the advantages of the South; but I think that Gauguin will never give up the fight in Paris, he has it too much at heart, and believes in a lasting success more than I do. That will do me no harm; on the contrary, perhaps I am too pessimistic. Let's leave him this illusion then, but let's realize that what he will always need is his daily bread and shelter and paints. That is the crack in his armor, and it is because he is getting into debt now that he will be knocked out in advance. If we two come to his aid, we are in fact making his victory in Paris possible. If I had the same ambitions as he, we probably should not agree. But I neither care about success for myself nor about happiness; I do care about the permanence of this vigorous attempt by the impressionists, I do care about this question of shelter and daily bread for them. And I think it's a crime that I should have it when two could live on the same money.‟ [B 15] Van Gogh to Emile Bernard, c. 18 August 1888: „Oh! that beautiful midsummer sun here. It beats down on one‟s head, and I haven‟t the slightest doubt that it makes one crazy. But as I was so to begin with, I only enjoy it.‟ [523] Vincent to Theo, c. 18 August 1888: „Many thanks for your kind letter, and the 100-fr. note enclosed. And it‟s very good of you to promise the two of us, Gauguin and me, that you‟ll put us in the way to carrying out our combination. I have just had a letter from Bernard, who went some days ago to join Gauguin, Laval and somebody else at Pont-Aven. It was a very decent letter, but not one syllable in it about Gauguin intending to join me, and not a syllable either about wanting me to come there. All the same it was a very friendly letter. From Gauguin himself not a word for almost a month.‟ [526] Vincent to Theo, c. 21 August 1888: „I write in great haste to tell you that I have had a note from Gauguin, saying that he has not written much, but that he is quite ready to come South as soon as the opportunity arises. They are enjoying themselves very much painting, arguing and fighting with the worthy Englishmen; he speaks well of Bernard‟s work, and B. speaks well of Gauguin‟s. I am hard at it, painting with the enthusiasm of a Marseillais eating bouillabaisse, which won‟t surprise you when you know that what I‟m at is the painting of some big sunflowers. I have three canvases going – 1st, three huge flowers in a green vase, with a light background, a size 15 canvas [F 453, JH 1559]; 2nd, three flowers, one gone to seed, having lost it‟s petals, and one a bud against a royal-blue background, size 25 canvas [F 459, JH 1560]; 3rd, twelve flowers and buds in a yellow vase (size 30 canvas) [F 456, JH 1561]. The last one is therefore light on light, and I hope it will be the best. Probably I shall not stop at that. Now that I hope to live with Gauguin in a studio of our own, I want to make decorations for the studio. Nothing but big flowers. Next door to your shop, in the restaurant, you know there is a lovely decoration of flowers; I always remember the big sunflowers in the window there. If I carry out this idea there will be a dozen panels. So the whole thing will be a symphony in blue and yellow. I am working at it every morning from sunrise on, for the flowers fade so soon, and the thing is to do the whole in one rush. You were quite right to tell Tasset that he must give us some tubes of colour for the 15 francs carriage not prepaid on the two packages. When I have finished these sunflowers, I may need yellow and blue perhaps. If so I will send a small order accordingly. I very much like the ordinary canvas of Tasset‟s which was 50 centimes more expensive than Bourgeois‟s; it is very well prepared. I am very glad that G. is well. I am beginning to like the South more and more.‟ [532] Vincent to Theo, 4 September 1888: „Neither Gauguin nor Bernard has written again. I think that Gauguin doesn't care a damn about it, because it isn't going to be done at once, and I for my part, seeing that Gauguin has managed to muddle along by himself for six months, am ceasing to believe in the urgent necessity of helping him. So let‟s be prudent. If it does not suit him here, he may be forever reproaching me with, “Why did you bring me to this rotten country?” And I don‟t want any of that. Naturally we can still remain friends with Gauguin but I see only too clearly that his mind is elsewhere. So I say, let‟s behave as if he were not there; then if he comes, so much the better – if he doesn‟t, so much the worse. How I‟d like to settle down and have a home! I keep thinking that even it we had spent 500 francs on furniture at the start, we should already have recovered all of it and I should have the furniture and should already have been delivered from innkeepers. I do not insist on it, but there is no sense in what we are doing now. Here there will always be artists coming and going, anxious to escape from the severity of the North. And I think myself that I shall always be one of them. It's true that it would probably be better to go a little lower down where we‟d be more sheltered. It‟s true that it wouldn‟t exactly be easy to find, but that‟s another reason for settling here, for the cost of moving from here to Bordighera, for instance, or else somewhere near Nice, could not be enormous. Once settled, we would stay there all our lives. It's a poor way of doing things to wait till one is very rich, and that is what I do not like about the de Goncourts, that whatever the truth of it may be, they ended by buying their home and their tranquillity for 100,000 francs. But we‟d have it at less than a thousand, so far as having a studio in the South where we could give someone a bed goes. But if we must make a fortune first…we shall be complete nervous wrecks when we enter upon our rest, that is, worse than our present condition, in which we are still able to stand the racket. But let‟s be sensible enough to realize that we are going to seed all the same. It is better to put other people up than to have nowhere to put oneself up, especially here where lodging with a landlord doesn‟t get you the sort of place where you can feel at home, even when you pay for it. As for Gauguin, perhaps he is letting himself drift with the current, not thinking of the future. And perhaps he thinks that I shall always be here and that he has our word. But it is not too late to withdraw, and really I am strongly tempted to do so, because failing him, I should naturally think of another partnership, whereas at present we are bound. All the same, if Gauguin can find enough to live on, have we the right to bother him? I avoid writing Gauguin for fear of saying too bluntly – “Look how many months we have managed to get the wherewithal to keep us in lodgings, and yet all the time pretended we couldn‟t afford to join hands, and meantime wearing ourselves out for the time to come. “If you wanted me to, why didn‟t you tell me to come North, I should have done so by now. “It would have cost a one-way ticket at 100 francs, whereas now, during the months this has been hanging fire, I have already paid the price of the ticket to my landlord, and you have had to do the same to yours, or else you are in his debt up to 100 francs. That means a dead loss of at least 100 francs for nothing at all.” That is what I have on my mind and that is what makes me feel that he and I both are really behaving like fools. Is it true or not? Certainly the truth is still more serious. If it is not necessary for him to alter his way of life, he has either a lot more money than I or considerably better luck. Being ruined costs more than being successful, and certainly it is our own fault if we do not have more peace.‟ [534] Vincent to Theo, 9 September 1888: „I wanted to arrange the house from the start not for myself only, but so as to be able to put someone else up too. Naturally this has swallowed up the greater part of the money. With the rest I have bought 12 chairs, a mirror and some small necessities. Altogether it means that next week already I shall be able to go and live there. For a visitor there will be the prettier room upstairs, which I shall try to make as much as possible like the boudoir of a really artistic woman. Then there will be my own bedroom, which I want extremely simple, but with large, solid furniture, the bed, chairs and table all in white deal. Downstairs will be the studio, and another room, a studio too, but at the same time a kitchen. Someday or other you shall have a picture of the little house itself in bright sunshine, or else with the window lit up, and a starry sky. Henceforth you can feel that you have your country house in Arles. For I am very anxious to arrange it so that you will be pleased with it, and so that it will be a studio in an absolutely individual style; that way, if say a year from now you come here and to Marseilles for your vacation, it will be ready then, and the house, as I intend it, will be full of pictures from top to bottom. The room you will have then, or Gauguin if he comes, will have white walls with a decoration of great yellow sunflowers. In the morning, when you open the window, you see the green of the gardens and the rising sun, and the road into the town. But you will see these great pictures of the sunflowers, 12 or 14 to the bunch, crammed into this tiny boudoir with its pretty bed and everything else dainty. It will not be commonplace. And in the studio, the red tiles of the floor, the walls and ceiling white, rustic chairs, white deal table, and I hope a decoration of portraits. It will have a feeling of Daumier about it, and I dare predict it will not be commonplace. And now do look for some lithographs of Daumier‟s for the studio, and some Japanese things, but there is no hurry at all for that; it‟s only when you find duplicates of them. And some things of Delacroix‟s, and ordinary lithographs by modern artists. There is not the slightest hurry, but I have my own plan. I want to make it really an artists‟ house – not precious, on the contrary nothing precious, but everything from the chairs to the pictures having character. About the beds, I have bought country beds, big double ones instead of iron ones. That gives an appearance of solidity, durability and quiet, and if it takes a little more bedding, so much the worse, but it must have character. I am very lucky to have a faithful charwoman; except for that I should not have dared to begin living at home; she is quite old and has many and varied offspring, and she keeps my tiles clean and red.‟ [GAC 31] Gauguin to Vincent, c. 10 September 1888: Dear Vincent, I received your letter when I was about to write to you. I apologize for writing so infrequently and for being so brief. I am terribly bored and have been having stomach trouble; it rains all the time here. I work but do nothing in the sense that I draw from the hand, the head and the heart with a view to what I would like to do later. You are right to want paintings with colouring that suggests poetic ideas. I agree with you, except that I do not know any poetic ideas; I must lack a sense of them. I find everything poetic from the bottom of my heart. Sometimes mysteriously I think I glimpse poetry there. The shapes and colours depicted in harmony generate poetry themselves. Without allowing myself to be overwhelmed by the motif, I feel a different sensation about the painting. The feeling puts me in a poetic state, releasing the painter‟s intellectual forces. Quibbling about the subject is pointless; we will talk about it at length. I am quite disappointed to be detained at Pont Aven; every day my debt increases and renders my journey less likely. The life of an artist is full of trials and tribulations! And perhaps this is what makes us live. Passion enlivens us, and we die if we allow our passion to whither. Let us abandon these paths filled with briars, despite their wild poetry. I am examining little Bernard. I know him less well than you; I believe you can give him the help he needs. He has obviously suffered and is embarking on life filled with bile from experiencing the evil of mankind. I hope that with his intelligence and his love for art he will come to understand that the power of goodness overcomes all others and is a consolation for our own sorrows. He loves and admires you. You could have a very good influence on him. We need to unite our hearts and minds to get the future we deserve. Is your brother travelling? I have not heard from him lately. Cordially yours, Paul Gauguin [535] Vincent to Theo, c. 12 September 1888: „I think now is a good opportunity for you to ask Gauguin bluntly when he writes to you, "Are you coming or not? If you have not made up your mind one way or the other, we shall not feel bound to carry out the scheme." If the plan of a more serious combination cannot be carried out, all right, but then each should regain his freedom of action.‟ [538] Vincent to Theo, c. 17 September 1888: „Listen to me. If we set up a studio and refuge here for some comrade who is hard up, no one will ever be able to reproach either you or me with living and spending for ourselves alone. Now to establish such a studio requires a floating capital, and I have eaten that up during my unproductive years, but now that I am beginning to produce something, I shall pay it back. I assure you that I think it is essential for you as well as me, and no more than our right, too, to always have a louis or two in our pockets, and some stock of goods to do business with. But my idea is that in the end we shall have founded and left to posterity a studio where one's successor could live. I do not know if explain myself clearly enough, but in other words we are working for an art and for a business method that will not only last our lifetime, but can still be carried on by others after us. For your part you do this in your business, and it is certain that you will make good in the end, even though you have plenty to harry you at the moment. But for my part I foresee that other artists will want to see colour under a stronger sun, and in a more Japanese clarity of light. Now if I set up a studio and refuge right at the gates of the South, it's not such a crazy scheme. And it means that we can work on serenely. And if other people say that it is too far from Paris, etc., let them, so much the worse for them. Why did the greatest colourist of all, Eugene Delacroix, think it essential to go south and right to Africa? Obviously, because not only in Africa but from Arles onward you are bound to find beautiful contrasts of red and green, of blue and orange, of sulphur and lilac. And all true colourists must come to this, must admit that there is another kind of colour than that of the North. I am sure if Gauguin came, he would love this country; if he doesn't it's because he has already experienced more brightly coloured countries and he will always be a friend, and one with us in principle. And someone else will come in his place.‟ [GAC 32] Gauguin to Vincent, c. 28 September 1888: Dear Vincent, It has taken me a very long time to answer your letter. What can I do when my illness and sadness often leave me prostrate or secluded in inertia. If you knew my life, you would understand that after such a struggle (in all respects), I am catching my breath and am presently dozing. Your exchange idea – to which I have yet to respond – welcomes me. I will paint the portrait that you want, but not yet. I am not yet able to do it, assuming that you want a portrait according to my interpretation rather than a copy of a face. I have observed little Bernard but have not yet mastered him. I may do it from memory, but that would be an abstraction. Perhaps tomorrow it will come to me all at once. The present wave of fine weather has led both of us to try lots of things. I have just done a religious painting that was very bad but held my interest and pleases me. I have offered it to the church of Pont Aven. Of course they do not want it. Breton women pray together in very intense black outfits. The very bright white yellow bonnets very bright. The two bonnets to the right are like monstrous helmets. An apple tree extends across the dark violet canvas and the foliage drawn by masses such as emerald-green clouds with yellow-green splashes of sun. The site (pure vermilion) At the church it sets and turns reddish brown. The angel is dressed in brilliant ultramarine and Jacob in bottle green. The wings of the yellow angel are pure chrome 1. The angel‟s hair is chrome 2, and the feet are orange flesh. I find that the figures have a rustic and superstitious simplicity. Everything (continued) very stern. The cow under the tree is much tinier than in reality and is bucking. In this painting I perceive the countryside and the struggle only in the imaginations of people praying following the sermon. This is why there is a difference between natural people and the struggle in his unnatural and disproportionate countryside. In your letter you seem angry at our laziness about the portrait. This saddens me. Friends do not get angry (at a distance words cannot be interpreted as they were intended. Another thing. You rub salt in my wounds when you try to prove to me that I must come to the South, since it pains me not to be there right now. When you suggested I come there with your arrangement, I wrote you a last joyous letter accepting your brother‟s offer. I cannot possibly open a studio in the North, as every day I hope to make a sale that would enable me to leave here. The people who feed me here the physician who took care of me did so on credit and did not take from me a single painting or a single piece of clothing and are perfect toward me. Leaving them would be a terrible act that would trouble me enormously. If they were rich or thieves, I would not care. So I will wait. Suppose this day arrives, and you change your mind and tell me Too late … … I would prefer that you did it straight away. I fear that your brother, who appreciates my talent, may overestimate it. If he found an amateur or a speculator tempted by the low prices he charges. I am a man of sacrifices and I wish he would understand that whatever he does will satisfy me. Soon little Bernard will take several of my paintings to Paris. Laval expects to join me in the South around February. He has found somebody who will pay him F 150 a month for a year. You seem to have miscalculated my dear Vincent. I know the prices in the South; aside from the restaurants, I manage to feed three people on F 200 a month. I manage my budget and can get by …even more efficiently when there are four of us. As for accommodations, aside from yours, Laval and Bernard could take a small, furnished room nearby. I adore your description of your dream house and can‟t wait to see it. Finally! I no longer want to think about the wonderful promises. Waiting for better days, unless I rid myself of this horrid existence, which – aside from the work – is such a serious burden to me. Cordially yours P. Gauguin [543] Vincent to Theo, c. 29 September 1888: „Also a sketch of a size 30 canvas representing the house and its surroundings in sulphurcoloured sunshine, under a sky of pure cobalt [F 464, JH 1589]. The subject is frightfully difficult; but that is just why I want to conquer it. For it‟s terrific, these yellow houses in the sun, and the incomparable freshness of the blue. And everywhere the ground is yellow too. I shall send you a better drawing than this rough improvised sketch out of my head later on. The house on the left is pink with green shutters, I mean the one in the shadow of the tree. That is the restaurant where I go for dinner every day. My friend the postman lives at the end of the street on the left, between the two railway bridges. The night café I painted is not in the picture, it is on the left of the restaurant.‟ [G 11] Gauguin to Theo, c. 29 September 1888: „The letter from your brother worries me a lot; his kind heart leads him to overlook his own needs. The portrait that I did for him is not to sell but for him to exchange or not to exchange. Moreover, it is very hastily done, and I fear he will be disappointed with it. The description of what I thought and wanted to depict is considerably more beautiful in his imagination than on the canvas. I will rejoin him soon. The 300 francs have made a huge difference, and I will leave for Arles around the end of the month: with the expectation that I fear the journey at this point, now that I am weakened by the tremendous loss of blood that has been pouring into my receptacle in recent days. Let us not continue on this prosaic note. I will pay the physician, the pharmacist and some paint that I purchased on credit. Then I will pay a bit of my account at the boarding house. I will pay off the rest as things proceed. If you could send me another 100 francs for the journey, that would cover everything. At any rate, my travel plans are definitive, and I will write Vincent to tell him straight away.‟ [553a or 544a] Vincent to Gauguin, 3 October 1888: My dear Gauguin, This morning I received your excellent letter, which I have again sent on to my brother. Your view of impressionism in general, of which your portrait is a symbol, is striking. No one could be more anxious than I am to see it – but I am sure even now that this work is too important for me to take in exchange. But if you would like to keep it for us, my brother will, if you agree, buy it at the first opportunity – and I immediately asked him to do so – so let‟s hope it happens soon. For we are trying once more to make it as easy as possible for you to come here soon. I must tell you that even while working I think continually about the plan of setting up a studio in which you and I will be permanent residents, but which both of us want to turn into a shelter and refuge for friends, against the times when they find that the struggle is getting too much for them. When you left Paris, my brother and I stayed on together for a time, which will always remain an unforgettable memory for me. The discussions ranged further and wider – with Guillaumin, with the Pissarros, father and son, and with Seurat, whom I had not met before (I visited his studio only a few hours before my departure). These discussions often dealt with something so near to my brother‟s heart and mine, namely what steps to take in order to safeguard the material existence of painters, to safeguard their means of production (paints, canvases) and to safeguard their true share in the price their pictures fetch these days – though not until long after they have left the artist‟s possession. When you are here, we can mull over all these discussions. Anyway, when I left Paris I was in a sorry state, quite ill and almost an alcoholic after driving myself on even while my strength was failing me – and then withdrawing into myself, still bereft of hope! Now, hope is vaguely beckoning on the horizon again, that flickering hope which used sometimes to console my solitary life. I should so much like to imbue you with a large share of my faith that we shall succeed in starting something that will endure. When we have had a talk about those strange days spent in discussion in run-down studios and the cafés of the Petit Boulevard, you will understand the full scope of this idea of my brother‟s and mine – as yet unrealized when it comes to setting up a society. Still, you will appreciate that in order to remedy the terrible situation of the last few years something is needed, either along the precise lines we proposed or else very much like them. That much we have taken for our unshakeable foundation, as you will gather when you have the full explanation. And you will agree that we have gone a good way beyond the plan we have already communicated to you. That we have gone beyond it is no more than our duty as picture dealers, for you probably know that I, too, spent several years in the trade and do not despise a profession in which I used to earn my living. Suffice it to say that I‟m sure that, although you have apparently isolated yourself from Paris, you haven‟t stopped feeling a fairly close rapport with Paris. I am having an extraordinary spell of feverish activity these days. Right now I am tackling a landscape with a blue sky above an immense green, purple and yellow vineyard, with black and orange vines. Little figures of ladies with red parasols and little figures of grape pickers with their small cart make it even gayer. Grey sand in the foreground. Another size 30 square canvas to decorate the house. I‟ve a portrait of myself, all ash grey. The ashen colour – which has been obtained by mixing malachite green with orange lead – on pale malachite background, all in harmony with the reddish-brown clothes. Not wishing to exaggerate my own personality, however, I aimed rather for the character of a bonze, a simple worshipper of the eternal Buddha [F 476, JH 1581]. Though I have taken rather a lot of trouble with it, I shall have to go over it again if I want to express the idea properly, and I shall have to recover even further from the stultifying effect of our so-called state of civilization if I am to have a better model for a better picture. One thing that gives me enormous pleasure is the letter I received yesterday from Boch (his sister is one of the Belgian Vingtistes), who writes that he has settled down in the Borinage to paint miners and coal mines there. He nevertheless intends to return to the south – to vary his impressions – and if he does he is certain to come to Arles. I consider my views of art excessively ordinary compared with yours. I have always had the coarse tastes of an animal. I neglect everything for the external beauty of things, which I cannot reproduce because I render it so ugly and coarse in my pictures, albeit nature seems so perfect to me. At present, however, my bony carcass is so full of energy that it makes straight for its objective. The result is a degree of sincerity, perhaps original at times, about what I feel, but only if the subject lends itself to my crude and clumsy touch. I feel sure that if from now on you were to consider yourself head of this studio, which we shall try to ensure will become a refuge for many – little by little, as our unremitting labour provides us with the means of completing it – I‟m sure that you would then feel more or less consoled for the present ordeals of penury and ill-health, seeing that we shall probably be devoting our lives to a generation of painters that will last a long while to come. This part of the country has already seen the cult of Venus – in Greece, primarily artistic – followed by the poets and artists of the Renaissance. Where these things could flourish, impressionism can as well. I have made a special decoration, the Poet‟s garden, for the room you will have (there is a first draft of it among the sketches in Bernard‟s possession – it was later simplified). The ordinary public garden contains plants and shrubs that conjure up landscapes in which one can readily imagine Botticelli, Giotto, Petrarch, Dante and Boccaccio. I have tried to distil in the decoration the essence of what constitutes the immutable character of this country. And I set out to paint that garden in such a way that one is put in mind of the old poet from these parts (or rather from Avignon), Petrarch, and of the new poet from these parts – Paul Gauguin – . However clumsy this attempt may be, it may show you perhaps that I have been thinking of you with very great emotion as I prepared your studio. Let‟s be of good heart about the success of our venture, and please keep thinking of this as your home, for I feel very sure that all this will last for a very long time. A warm handshake, and believe me Ever yours, Vincent I am only afraid that you will think Brittany more beautiful, indeed, that you will find nothing more beautiful here than Daumier, the figures here are often pure Daumier. It shouldn‟t take you long to discover that antiquity and the renaissance lie dormant under all this modernity. Well, you are free to revive them. Bernard tells me that he, Morel, Laval and somebody else will be making exchanges with me. In principle I am very much in favour of the system of exchanges between artists because I have seen the important part it played in the life of the Japanese painters. Accordingly, one of these days I shall be sending you what studies I have that are dry and that I can spare, so that you may have first pick. But I shall make no exchanges at all with you if it means that on your side it costs you something as important as your portrait, which is sure to be too beautiful. Truly, I wouldn‟t dare, because my brother would gladly buy it from you for a whole month‟s money. [549] Vincent to Theo, 10 October 1888: A letter from Gauguin, paying me heaps of undeserved compliments, and adding that he will not be coming till the end of the month. And that he has been ill, and dreads the journey. What can I do about it…but after all, when you come to think of it, is it such a devastating journey when the worst lung cases undertake it? When he comes, he will be welcome. If he does not come, well, it‟s his own lookout; but isn‟t it or oughtn‟t it to be clear that he is coming here for the very purpose of getting better? And he asserts that he has to stay where he is to recover! The absurdity of it, really. Thanks for your postal order for 20 francs. I put 35 francs for the dressing table and chest of drawers on my list of necessary purchases. Well now, I have just bought one at 14 francs, and paid for it, of course. Send me an order for those 14 francs, I beg you. I felt less hesitant about getting this piece of furniture because I want to be ready in case Gauguin should come sooner. I enclose a copy of my answer to his rather too complimentary letter. Since he is not coming at once, I want all the more to try to have everything in good order, and in readiness for him when he does come. I have done a new size 30 canvas, and I expect to begin a new one this evening, when the gas is lit. The one I have just done is another garden. These days I always have the feeling that I am spending money, but every day too it astonishes me to find how I get it back from the house. Truly, it does you good to come home, and it gives you new ideas for work. Gauguin writes very nicely, but all the same he does not say why he is not coming at once. He says – “because he is ill,” but wasn‟t he coming here to recover? I thought that was precisely what we had in mind. Anyway – let them do just as they please.‟[…] […] P.S. to Gauguin. If you are not ill, do please come at once. If you are too ill, a wire and a letter, please. P.S. to Theo. Perhaps you will think the P.S. to Gauguin too curt, but let him say whether or not he is ill, and anyhow he will recover better here. Have you received my canvases??? [B 22] Vincent to Gauguin, 17 October 1888 My dear Gauguin, Thanks for your letter, and above all thanks for your promise to come here as early as the twentieth. Surely the reason you mention [not feeling well] will hardly contribute towards making your train journey a pleasure trip, and it is only right that you should put off your journey until you can manage it without trouble. But apart from that I almost envy you your journey, which is going to show you miles and miles of landscapes in the splendour of autumn. There is still present to my mind the emotion by my own journey from Paris to Arles last winter. How I peered out to see whether it was like Japan yet! Childish, wasn‟t it? Listen, the other day I wrote you that my eyesight was strangely tired. All right, I rested for two and a half days, and then set to work again, but without daring to go out into the open air yet. I have done, still for my decoration, a size 30 canvas of my bedroom with the white deal furniture that you know. Well, I enormously enjoyed doing this interior of nothing at all. Of a simplicity à la Seurat. With flat tints, but brushed on roughly, with a thick impasto, the walls pale lilac, the ground a faded broken red, the chairs and the bed chrome yellow, the pillows and the sheet a very pale green-citron, the blanket blood red, the washstand orange, the washbasin blue, the window green. By means of all these very diverse tones I have wanted to express an absolute restfulness, you see, and there is no white in it at all except a little note produced by the mirror with its black frame (in order to get the fourth pair of complementaries into it). Well, you will se it along with the other things, and we will talk about it, for I often don‟t know what I am doing when I am working almost like a sleepwalker. It is beginning to turn cold, particularly on the days when the mistral blows. I have had gas laid on in the studio, so that we shall have good light in winter. Perhaps Arles will disappoint you, if you come here in mistral weather; but you wait … It is only in the long run that the poetry of this place penetrates. You will not find the house as comfortable yet as we shall gradually try to make it. There are so many expenses! And it can‟t be done all at once. But I believe after all that once you are here you will be seized like me with a rage for painting the autumnal effects in the intervals between the spells of mistral, and that you will understand why I insisted on your coming here, now that we are having very fine weather. Well, we‟ll se each other. Ever yours, Vincent [557] Vincent to Theo, 24 October 1888 „As you learned from my wire, Gauguin has arrived in good health. He even seems to me better than I am. Of course he is very pleased with the sale you have effected, and I no less, since in this way certain expenses absolutely necessary for the installation need not wait, and will not weigh wholly on your shoulders. Gauguin will certainly write you today. He is very interesting as a man, and I have every confidence that we shall do loads of things with him. He will probably produce a great deal here, and I hope perhaps I shall too. And then I dare hope that the burden will be a little less heavy for you, and I even hope, much less heavy.‟ [559] Vincent to Theo, c. 6 November 1888: „I have done two canvases of falling leaves, which Gauguin liked, I think, and I'm working now on a vineyard all purple and yellow [F 495, JH 1626]. Then I have an Arlésienne at last, a figure (size 30 Canvas) slashed on in an hour, background pale lemon, the face grey, the clothes black, deep black, with unmixed Prussian blue. She is leaning on a green table and seated in an armchair of orange wood [F 489, JH 1625]. Gauguin has bought a chest of drawers for the house, and various household utensils, also 20 metres of very strong canvas, and a lot of things that we needed, and that at any rate it was more convenient to have. Only we have kept an account of all he has paid out, which comes almost to 100 francs, so that either at the New Year or say in March we can pay him back, and then the chest of drawers etc. will naturally be ours. I think this is right on the whole, since he intends to put money by when he sells, till the time (say in a year) when he has enough to risk a second voyage to Martinique. We are working hard, and our life together goes very well.‟ [562] Vincent to Theo, c. 16 November 1888: „I have been working on two canvases. A memory of our garden at Etten [F 496, JH 1630], with cabbages, cypresses, dahlias, and figures, then a Woman reading a novel in a library like the Lecture Française, a woman all in green [F 497, JH 1632]. Gauguin gives me the courage to work from my imagination, and certainly things from the imagination take on a more mysterious character.‟ [563] Vincent to Theo, c. 23 November 1888: „Gauguin, in spite of himself and in spite of me, has more or less proved to me that it is time I was varying my work a little. I am beginning to compose from memory, and all my studies will still be useful for that sort of work, recalling to the things I have seen.‟ „It does me a tremendous amount of good to have such intelligent company as Gauguin‟s, and to see him work. You will see that some people will soon be reproaching Gauguin with no longer being an impressionist. His last two canvases, which you will soon be seeing, are very firm in the impasto, there is even some work with the palette knife.‟ [560] Vincent to Theo, c. 4 December 1888: „Our days pass in working, working all the time, in the evening we are dead beat and go off to the cafe, and after that, early to bed! Such is our life. Of course it winter here with us too, though it's still very fine from time to time. But I do not dislike trying to work from imagination, since that allows me to stay in. It does not worry me to work in the heat of a stove, but cold does not suit me, as you know. Only I have spoiled that thing that I did of the garden in Nuenen, and I think that you also need practice for work from the imagination.‟ Gauguin to Emile Bernard, Fall 1888: „I am entirely out of place in Arles. I find the countryside and the people so small and shabby. Vincent and I rarely agree. Especially about painting. He admires Daudet, Daubigny, Ziem and the great Rousseau, none of whom appeal to me. On the other hand, he despises Ingres, Raphaël, Degas, all people I admire. I respond "Corporal, you are right" for the sake of peace and quiet. He likes my paintings very much, but when I do them, he constantly finds some problem here or there. He is a Romantic, and I am more inclined to a primitive state. As for colour, he sees the dangers of the paste as with Monticelli, whereas I detest tampering with the workmanship and so on…‟ [564] Vincent to Theo, second half of December 1888: „Gauguin and I talked a lot about Delacroix, Rembrandt, etc. Our arguments are terribly electric, we come out of them sometimes with our heads as exhausted as an electric battery after it has run down. We were in the midst of magic, for as Fromentin well says: Rembrandt is above all else a magician and Delacroix is a man of damn for haven‟s sake. I tell you this in connection with our Dutch friends de Haan and Isaäcson, who have so sought after and loved Rembrandt so as to encourage you all to pursue your researches. You must not be discouraged in them. You know the strange and magnificent “Portrait of a Man,” by Rembrandt, in the Lacaze Gallery. I said to Gauguin that I myself saw in it a certain likeness in family or in race to Delacroix or to Gauguin himself, I do not know why, but I always call this portrait “The Traveller,” or “The Man Come from Far.” It is a similar and parallel idea to the one I‟ve already spoken to you about, that I always look on the portrait of old Six, the fine portrait of the “Man with a Glove,” as you in the future, and the etching by Rembrandt, “Six reading near a window in a shaft of sunlight,” as you in the past and present. This is how things stand. Gauguin was saying to me this morning when I asked him how he felt “that he felt his old self coming back,” which gave me enormous pleasure.‟ Gauguin in his memoires Avant et Après, 1903 „For a long time I have wanted to write about Van Gogh, and I shall certainly do so some fine day when I am in the mood. I am going to tell you now a few rather timely things about him, or rather about us, in order to correct an error which has been going round in certain circles. It so happens that several men who have been a good deal in my company and in the habit of discussing things with me have gone mad. This was true of the two Van Gogh brothers, and certain malicious persons and others have childishly attributed their madness to me. Undoubtedly some men have more or less influence over their friends, but there is a great difference between that and causing madness. A long time after the catastrophe, Vincent wrote me, from the private asylum where he was being cared for. He said, “How fortunate you are to be in Paris. That is where one finds the best doctors, and you certainly ought to consult a specialist to cure your madness. Aren't we all mad?” The advice was good and that was why I didn't follow it, - from a spirit of contradiction, I dare say. Readers of the Mercure may have noticed in a letter of Vincent's, published a few years ago, the insistence with which he tried to get me to come to Arles to found an atelier after an idea of his own, of which I was to be the director. At that time I was working at Pont-Aven, in Brittany, and either because the studies I had began attached me to this spot, or because a vague instinct forewarned me of something abnormal, I resisted a long time, till the day came when, finally overborne by Vincent's sincere, friendly enthusiasm, I set out on my journey. I arrived at Arles toward the end of the night and waited for dawn in a little all-night café. The proprietor looked at me and exclaimed, “You are the pal, I recognize you!” A portrait of myself which I had sent to Vincent explains the proprietor's exclamation. In showing him my portrait Vincent had told him that it was a pal of his who was coming soon. Neither too early nor too late I went to rouse Vincent out. The day was devoted to my getting settled, to a great deal of talking and to walking about so that I might admire the beauty of Arles and the Arlesian women, about whom, by the way, I could not get up much enthusiasm. The next day we were at work, he continuing what he had begun, and I starting something new. I must tell you that I have never had the mental facility that others find, without any trouble, at the tips of their brushes. These fellows get off the train, pick up their palette and turn you off a sunlight effect at once. When it is dry it goes to the Luxembourg and is signed Carolus-Duran. I don't admire the painting but I admire the man. He so confident, so calm. I so uncertain, so uneasy. Wherever I go I need a certain period of incubation, so that I may learn every time the essence of the plants and trees, of all nature, in short, which never wishes to be understood or to yield herself. So it was several weeks before I was able to catch distinctly the sharp flavour of Arles and its surroundings. But that did not hinder our working hard, especially Vincent. Between two such beings as he and I, the one a perfect volcano, the other boiling too, inwardly, a sort of struggle was preparing. In the first place, everywhere and in everything I found a disorder that shocked me. His colour-box could hardly contain all those tubes, crowded together and never closed. In spite of all this disorder, this mess, something shone out of his canvasses and out of his talk, too. Daudet, Goncourt, the Bible fired his Dutch brain. At Arles, the quays, the bridges, the ships, the whole Midi took the place of Holland to him. He even forgot how to write Dutch and, as may be seen in his published letters to his brother, never wrote anything hut French, admirable French, with no end of whereases and inasmuches. In spite of all my efforts to disentangle from this disordered brain a reasoned logic in his critical opinions, I could not explain to myself the utter contradiction between his painting and his opinions. Thus, for example, he had an unlimited admiration for Meissonier and a profound hatred for Ingres. Dégas was his despair and Cézanne nothing but a faker. When he thought of Monticelli he wept. One thing that angered him was to have to admit that I had plenty of intelligence, although my forehead was too small, a sign of imbecility. Along with all this, he possessed the greatest tenderness, or rather the altruism of the Gospel. From the very first month I saw that our common finances were taking on the same appearance of disorder. What was I to do? The situation was delicate, as the cash-box was only very modestly filled (by his brother, a clerk at Goupil's, and on my side through an exchange of pictures). I was obliged to speak, at the risk of wounding that very great susceptibility of his. It was thus with many precautions and much gentle coaxing, of a sort very foreign to my nature, that I approached the question. I must confess that I succeeded far more easily than I should have supposed. We kept a box,-so much for hygienic excursions at night, so much for tobacco, so much for incidental expenses, including rent. On top of it lay a scrap of paper and a pencil for us to write down virtuously what each took from this chest. In another box was the rest of the money, divided into four parts, to pay for our food each week. We gave up our little restaurant, and I did the cooking, on a gas-stove, while Vincent laid in the provisions, not going very far from the house. Once, however, Vincent wanted to make a soup. How he mixed it I don't know; as he mixed his colours in his pictures, I dare say. At any rate, we couldn't eat it. And my Vincent burst out laughing and exclaimed: „Tarascon! la casquette au père Daudet!‟ On the wall he wrote in chalk: Je suis Saint Esprit. Je suis sain d’esprit. How long did we remain together? I couldn't say, I have entirely forgotten. In spite of the swiftness with which the catastrophe approached, in spite of the fever of work that had seized me, the time seemed to me a century. Though the public had no suspicion of it, two men were performing there a colossal work that was useful to them both. Perhaps to others? There are some things that bear fruit. Op het ogenblik dat ik in Arles aankwam, ging Vincent geheel op in de neoimpressionistische school, en hij zat behoorlijk in de knoei, wat hem verdriet deed; niet omdat die school, net als alle scholen, slecht is, maar omdat ze niet overeen kwam met zijn zo weinig geduldige en zo onafhankelijke aard.‟ Gauguin to Theo, c. 12 December 1888: Dear Mr. Van Gogh, Please send me some of the money for the paintings that have been sold. My calculations indicate that I will have to return to Paris. Vincent and I are simply unable to live together. Our personalities are incompatible, and we both need calm to do our work. He is remarkably intelligent, and I deeply respect him. I am sorry to leave him but repeat that it is necessary. I hope you will be discreet about this and will excuse my decision. Very cordially yours, Paul Gauguin Gauguin to Theo, c. 20 December 1888 : „Please regard my trip to Paris as a figment of the imagination and the letter I sent you as a bad dream.' 'Recently I made a portrait of your brother the theme of canvas 30 paintings (the sunflower painter). There may be no strong geographic resemblance, but I believe there is something intimate about him. If it is no trouble for you, keep it, unless you dislike it. We have been to Montpellier, and Vincent is writing you about his impressions.‟ Gauguin to Emile Schuffenecker, 22 December 1888 „I am in a difficult situation here; I owe much to van Gog and Vincent and despite some discord, I cannot blame an excellent heart that is sick, that suffers and needs me. Remember the life of Edgar Poë, who, following his sorrows and his nervous state, became an alcoholic. One day I will explain everything to you. At any rate, I will remain here. But my departure will remain dormant.‟ [565] Vincent to Theo, 23 December 1888: My dear Theo, Thank you very much for your letter, for the 100 Fr. note enclosed and also for the 50 Fr. money order. I think myself that Gauguin was a little out of sorts with the good town of Arles, the little yellow house where we work, and especially with me. As a matter of fact there are bound to be for him as for me further grave difficulties to overcome here. But these difficulties are rather within ourselves than outside. Altogether I think that either he will definitely go, or else definitely stay. Before doing anything I told him to think it over and reckon things up again. Gauguin is very powerful, strongly creative, but just because of that he must have peace. Will he find it anywhere if he does not find it here? I am waiting for him to make a decision with absolute serenity. A good handshake, Vincent Gauguin in his memoires Avant et après, 1903: „During the latter days of my stay, Vincent would become excessively rough and noisy, and then silent. On several nights I surprised him in the act of getting up and coming over to my bed. To what can I attribute my awakening just at that moment? At all events, it was enough for me to say to him, quite sternly, „What's the matter with you, Vincent?‟ for him to go back to bed without a word and fall into a heavy sleep. The idea occurred to me to do his portrait while he was painting the still-life he loved so much - some ploughs. When the portrait was finished, he said to me, „It is certainly I, but it's I gone mad‟.‟ Gauguin in his memoires Avant et après, 1903: „That very evening we went to the café. He took a light absinthe. Suddenly he flung the glass and its contents at my head. I avoided the blow and, taking him bodily in my arms, went out of the café, across the Place Victor Hugo. Not many minutes later Vincent found himself in his bed where, in a few seconds, he was asleep, not to awaken again till morning. When he awoke, he said to me very calmly, „My dear Gauguin, I have a vague memory that I offended you last evening.‟ Answer: „I forgive you gladly and with all my heart, but yesterday's scene might occur again and if I were struck I might lose control of myself and give you a choking. Se permit me to write to your brother and tell him that I am coming back.‟ My God, what a day! When evening had come and I had bolted my dinner, I felt I must go out alone and take the air along some paths that were bordered by flowering laurel. I had almost crossed the Place Victor Hugo when I heard behind me a well-known step, short, quick, irregular. I turned about en the instant as Vincent rushed toward me, an open razor in his hand. My look at that moment must have had great power in it, for he stopped and, lowering his head, set off running towards home. Was I negligent en this occasion? Should I have disarmed him and tried to calm him? I have often questioned my conscience a out this, but I have never found anything to reproach myself with. Let him who will fling the stone at me. With one bound I was in a good Arlesian hotel, where, after I had enquired the time, I engaged a room and went to bed. I was so agitated that I could not get to sleep till about three in the morning, and I awoke rather late, at about half-past seven. Reaching the square, I saw a great crowd collected. Near our house there were some gendarmes and a little gentleman in a melon-shaped hat who was the superintendent of police. This is what had happened. Van Gogh had gone back to the house and had immidiately cut of his ear close to the head. He must have taken some time to stop the flow of blood, for the day after there were a lot of wet towels lying on the flag-stones in the two lower rooms. The blood had stained the two rooms and the little stairway that led up to our bedroom. When he was in a condition to go out, with his head enveloped in a Basque beret which he had pulled far down, he went straight to a certain house where for want of a fellowcountrywoman one can pick up an acquaintance, and gave the manager his ear, carefully washed and placed in an envelope. „Here is a souvenir of me,‟ he said. Then he ran off home, where he went to bed and to sleep. He took pains, however, to close the blinds and set a lighted lamp on a table near the window. Ten minutes later the whole street assigned to the filles de joie was in commotion and they were chattering over what had happened. I had no faintest suspicion of all this when I presented myself at the door of our house and the gentleman in the melon-shaped hat said to me abruptly and in a tone that was more than severe, „What have you done to your comrade, Monsieur?‟ „I don't know. . . .‟ „Oh, yes'. . . you know very well . . . he is dead.‟ I could never wish anyone such a moment, and it took me a long time to get my wits together and control the beating of my heart. Anger, indignation, grief, as well as shame at all these glances that were tearing my person to pieces, suffocated me, and I answered, stammeringly- „All right, Monsieur, let us go upstairs. We can explain ourselves there.‟ In the bed lay Vincent, rolled up in the sheets, humped up like a guncock; he seemed lifeless. Gently, very gently, I touched the body, the heat of which showed that it was still alive. For me it was as if I had suddenly got back all my energy, all my spirit. Then in a low voice I said to the police superintendent: „Be kind enough, Monsieur, to awaken this man with great care, and if he asks for me tell him I have left for Paris; the sight of me might prove fatal to him.‟ I must own that from this moment the police superintendent was as reasonable as possible and intelligently sent for a doctor and a cab. Once awake, Vincent asked for his comrade, his pipe and his tobacco; he even thought of asking for the box that was downstairs and contained our money, - a suspicion, I dare say! But I had already been through too much suffering to be troubled by that. Vincent was taken to a hospital where, as soon as he had arrived, his brain began to rave again.‟ Theo from Paris to his fiancée (and later wife) Jo Bonger, 28 December 1888 (from: Crimpen, Han van (ed.), Brief Happiness: The Correspondence of Theo van Gogh and Jo Bonger, Amsterdam 1999): „While I was with him, there were moments when he was fine, only shortly thereafter to begin brooding again about philosophy & theology. It was deeply disheartening to witness this, for at times all of his suffering welled up and he tried to weep, but could not. Poor fighter and poor, poor sufferer, no one can do anything about it, soften his suffering, & yet he feels it profoundly & grievously. Had it been possible for him to find someone to whom he could pour out his heart things might never have come to this point.‟ Jo Van Gogh-Bonger in her introduction to the Dutch publication of Vincent‟s collected letters, 1913: „The day before Christmas – Theo and I had just become engaged and were going to travel to Holland - (I was staying in Paris with my brother A. Bonger, Theo and Vincent‟s friend) – a telegram from Gauguin arrived summoning Theo to Arles. On the night of 23 December, in a state of severe agitation, „a fit of burning fever,‟ Vincent had cut off a piece of his ear and brought it to a woman in a brothel, the police became involved, found Vincent in bed bleeding and unconscious and took him to the hospital. Theo found him there in an acute state of nervous crisis and spent the Christmas days with him. The doctor considered his condition critical.‟ Report in Le Forum Républicain, the Arles Sunday paper, 30 December 1888: „Last Sunday, at 11.30 p.m., Vincent Vangogh, a painter from Holland, appeared at licensed brothel No. 1, asked to speak with Rachel and presented her with … his ear, telling her: "Keep this object carefully." Then he disappeared. Upon being notified of this incident, which could only be the work of an unfortunate lunatic, the police visited this individual the next morning and found him in his bed, barely alive. This poor person was rushed to the hospital.‟ [567] Vincent to Theo, 2 January 1889: „So as to reassure you completely on my account, I write to you these few lines in the office of the intern, M. Rey, whom you have yourself met. I shall stay here at the hospital for a few more days, then I think I can count on quietly returning to the house. Now I only beg of you one thing, not to worry, because that would cause me too much of a worry. Now, let‟s talk about our friend Gauguin, have I terrified him? In short, why hasn‟t he given me any sign of life? He must have left with you. Besides, he had a need to return to Paris, and in Paris perhaps, he will feel more at home than here. Tell Gauguin to write to me, and that I think about him all the time. A good handshake, I have read and re-read your letter about your meeting with the Bongers. It is perfect. As for me, I am content to stay just as I am.‟ [567] Dr. Rey to Theo, 2 January 1889: „I add a few words to your brother‟s letter to reassure you, in my turn, on his account. I am happy to tell you that my predictions have been realized and that this over-excitement has only been temporary. I strongly feel that he will be himself in a few days. I have made a point of his writing to you himself, to tell you in his own words his condition. I made him come down to my office to talk for a bit. It will entertain me and it will do him good. Please accept my kind regards, I am, yours very truly, Rey.‟ [566] Vincent to Theo, 4 January 1889: My Dear Lad, I hope that Gauguin will completely reassure you, and a bit about the painting business too. I expect to begin work again soon. The charwoman and my friend Roulin had taken care of the house, and have put everything in order. When I come out I shall be able to take my little road here again, and soon the fine weather will be coming and I shall begin again on the orchards in bloom. My dear lad, I am so terribly distressed at your journey. I should have wished you had been spared that, for after all no harm came to me, and there was no reason why you should put yourself to that trouble. I cannot tell you how glad I am that you have made peace, and even more than that, with the Bongers. Say that to André from me, and give him my cordial handshake. What would I not have given for you to have seen Arles when it was fine, as it is you have seen it in black. However, keep good heart, address letters direct to me at Place Lamartine 2. I will send Gauguin‟s pictures that are still at the house as soon as he wishes. We owe him the money that he spent on the furniture. A handshake, I must go back to hospital, but shall soon be out for good. Yours, Vincent Write a line to Mother too for me, so that no-one will be worried. [566] Vincent to Gauguin, 4 January 1889: My dear friend Gauguin, I take the opportunity of my first outing from the hospital to write you a couple of words of my profound and sincere friendship. I have often thought of you in the hospital and even in full fever and relative weakness. Tell me – was my brother Theo‟s trip necessary – my friend? Now, at least, completely reassure everyone, and I pray you yourself to have confidence that, all in all, nothing bad exists in this best of worlds where everything is always for the best. Then, I would like you to give my kind regards to the good Schuffenecker, that you refrain until more mature reflection on both our parts, from speaking ill of our poor little yellow house, that you give my respects to the painters that I saw in Paris. I wish you prosperity in Paris, with a good handshake, Ever yours, Vincent [569] Vincent to Theo, 7 January 1889: „I assure you that some days at the hospital were very interesting, and perhaps it is from the sick that one learns how to live. I hope I have just had simply and artist‟s fit, and then a lot of fever after very considerable loss of blood, as an artery was severed; but my appetite came back at once, my digestion is all right and my blood recovers from day to day, and in the same way serenity returns to my brain day by day. So please quite deliberately forget your unhappy journey and my illness.‟ [573] Vincent to Theo, 23 January 1889: „You can see just what a disaster Gauguin‟s leaving is, because it has thrust us down again just when we had made a home and furnished it to take in our friends in bad times. Only in spite of it we will keep the furniture, etc. And though everyone will now be afraid of me, in time that may disappear. We are all mortal and subject to all the ailments there are, and if the latter aren‟t exactly of an agreeable kind, what can one do about it? The best thing is to try to get rid of them. I feel remorse too when I think of the trouble that, however involuntarily, I on my side caused Gauguin. But up to the last days I saw one thing only, that he was working with his mind divided between the desire to go to Paris to carry out his plans, and the life at Arles. What will come of all this for him? You will doubtless be feeling that though you have a good salary, nevertheless we lack capital, except in goods, and that in order really to alter the unhappy position of the artists that we know, we need to be in a stronger position. But then we often run up against sheer distrust on their part, and the things they are perpetually scheming among themselves, which always end in – a blank. I think that at Pont-Aven they had already formed a new group of 5 or 6, perhaps already broken up. They are not dishonest, it is something without a name and one of their enfant terrible faults.‟ [579] Vincent to Theo, 19 March 1889: „I hope this will teach you all right. Do not be afraid of anything, I am quite calm now. Let them alone. Perhaps it would be well if you wrote once more, but nothing else for the time being. If I have patience, it can only strengthen me so as to leave me in less danger of a relapse. Of course, since I really had done my best to be friendly with people, and had no suspicion of it, it was rather a bad blow. Good-by, my dear boy, for a little while, I hope, and don't worry. Perhaps it is a sort of quarantine they are forcing on me, for all I know.‟ [592] Vincent to Theo, 22 May 1889: „What you say about “La Berceuse” pleases me; it is very true that the common people, who are content with chromos and melt when they hear a barrel organ, are in some vague way right, perhaps more sincere than certain men about town who go to the Salon. If he will accept it, give Gauguin the copy of “La Berceuse” that was not mounted on a stretcher, and Bernard also, as a token of friendship, but if Gauguin wants the sunflowers, it is only fair that he should give you something you like equally well in exchange. Gauguin himself liked the sunflowers better later on when he had been looking at them for a good while. What you also have to know is that if you arrange them this way, namely “La Berceuse” in the middle and the two canvases of sunflowers to the right and left, it makes a sort of triptych. And then the yellow and orange tones of the head will gain in brilliance by the proximity of the yellow wings. And then you will understand what I wrote you, that my idea had been to make a sort of decoration, for instance for the end of a ship‟s cabin. Then, as the size increases, the summary technique is justified. The frame for the central piece is the red one. And the two sunflowers which go with it are the ones framed in narrow strips. You see that this frame of plain laths does quite well, and a frame like this costs only a very little. It would perhaps be a good idea to frame the green and red vineyards that way, the “Sower” and the “Furrows” and the bedroom interior as well.‟ [GAC 38] Gauguin to Vincent, c. 18 January 1890: Dear Vincent, Life is very long and very sad. Since your previous letter, I have been too depressed to write, simply wanting for the day to turn to evening and spending the night waiting for morning. After working the land, man plants the seed. After protecting himself from the likelihood of bad weather every day, he harvests. What about us poor artists? What happens with the seed we plant, and when will we harvest? In the 3 months I have been in Pouldu, I have made 30 francs; I am certainly wasting my energy and cannot continue painting. In addition to these money problems, I have other reasons to be sad. I lost one of my children, who fell to the street from three flights up. You understand that back home in Copenhagen they were in turmoil, and that the expenses arising from this accident have caused great disorder (disorder that I am powerless to remedy at this time. All this has plunged me into a depression, and I lack the courage to paint or write. Why should I paint? I like the 2 sketches you sent me very much, especially the one of the women picking olives. I am happy you have exhibited [your work] in Brussels; do you have news about this exhibition. Please share it with me. Like us you are in the middle of winter, and I know this is a difficult period for you. You must long for the heat to work outside again. I am trying hard to leave for Tonkin at the government‟s expense, but this is difficult, especially because I am an artist and as such am considered to lack any business acumen whatsoever. In the colonies there is something to do for the rest of us from the West. I hope to learn new things in art while being rid of money worries for a while. De Haan still works here with me and has made considerable progress but is unwilling to return to Holland until he feels strong enough to remove the ground from under the feet of his compatriots who will make cruel remarks about his transformation. These new questions about colour bothered him a lot. Now that he is starting to see the light along this new path, he is full of ardour. Excuse my delay in answering your letter, and always believe me. tàv Cordially yours, Paul Gauguin [GAC 40] Gauguin to Vincent, c. 20 March 1890 Dear Vincent, I have observed your work with great interest since we parted: first at your brother‟s place and at the exhibition of the Independents. This place is especially good for judging your work, both because the works are exhibited alongside each other and because of its proximity. I am deeply impressed, and many artists find your work the most remarkable at the exhibition. With things from nature, you are the only one who thinks. I have spoken with your brother, and there is one that I would like to exchange with you for your choice. I am referring to the mountain landscape. Two very small travellers appear to be climbing in search of the unknown. There is a Delacroix-style emotion with a highly suggestive colour. Here and there are red marks like lights, all in a violet tone. It is beautiful and grandiose. I have discussed it extensively with Aurier Bernard and many others. All are very impressed with your work. Only Guillaumin shrugged his shoulders when he heard about it. I understand him, since he looks at the material only with his eyes and not with his mind. He feels the same way about my painting in recent years and understands none of it. I hesitated to write to you, knowing that you have just been through a fairly long depression. Please do not answer my letter until you feel fully recovered. Let us hope that when the warm weather returns, you will finally heal. Winter is always a bad time for you. Sincerely tàv Paul Gauguin [GAC 41] Gauguin to Vincent, 13 June 1890: Dear Vincent, Your letter made me think that you had returned to the North – I mean to Holland – and I did not answer, as I was waiting for your address. I have seen the painting of Madame Ginoux. Very beautiful and very mysterious, I like it better than my own drawing. Despite your sickly condition, you have never worked with such equilibrium while preserving the feeling and the inner warmth necessary for a work of art, at the very time that art is arbitrarily calculated in advance. Do you remember the conversations we once had at Arles, where we talked about opening a studio in the Tropics. I am about to carry out this plan, provided I raise the modest sum I need to set things up. In this case I will go to Madagascar with a gentle tribe without money that lives off the land. I have obtained very specific information from various sources. I will use my two hands to turn a small clay and wood hut into a comfortable home. I will plant all kinds of things to eat there, chickens, cows etc. … and I will soon be able to satisfy my material needs. Those who want to come there afterwards will find all the materials to work very cheaply. The studio of the Tropics may train the future Saint-Jean Baptiste of painting, invigorated there by a life that is more natural, more primitive and especially less decadent. Right now, I would be happy to part with all my paintings for 100 francs each to realize my dream. I am certain that in Madagascar I will find the Calm I need to work well. For now, I am going to Brittany to spend two months with de Haan. The address remains the same (Pouldu near Quimperlé Finistère) Let us hope that you will re-establish yourself fully in Antwerp. Cordially yours tàv P. Gauguin [GAC 42] Gauguin to Vincent, 27 June 1890: Dear Vincent, Upon returning from a short journey I found both your letter and your trial etching. De Haan and I had spent 5 days at Pont-Aven, my former residence, which is 6 towns away from Pouldu. Your letter contains little that I did not already know. If you have seen the studies I did in Paris with Goupil, you would be amazed! If you find my plans to travel to Madagascar unreasonable. I dream about it every day, to the point that I hardly work at this time, hoping to rest up and gather new strength for over there. You are insatiable. I see that you have lost no time in Antwerp. Still, resting body and soul from time to time is a good idea. Your idea about coming to Pouldu in Brittany sounds wonderful, if you can do it. De Haan and I are in the middle of nowhere far away from the city with no means of communication other than a hired vehicle. This is dangerous for a sick man who needs to see a doctor sometimes. Pont Aven is different: there is a doctor, and there are people. Moreover, if I manage to arrange to go to Madagascar, I will no longer be [here] at the beginning of September, and de Haan will return to Holland as well. Quite honestly, that is the way things are. Even though God knows how delighted I would be to have Vincent‟s friend near us. I do not know Dr. Gachet, but Father Pissarro has often spoken about him. You must enjoy being around somebody who appreciates your work, your ideas. Unfortunately, I meet with less and less appreciation, and I have to force myself to follow my course alone, live without family like a pariah. Thus, a future of solitude in the woods seems like a new paradise and almost a dream. The wild beast returns to the wilderness. Finally! Written fate cannot be reversed. Regards from our friend de Haan Cordially yours tàv Paul Gauguin Mourning card (translated from: Gogh, Vincent van, De brieven van Vincent van Gogh, 4 delen. Edited by Han van Crimpen and Monique Berends-Albert, The Hague 1990, no. 909): Mister Th. van Gogh and family announce with deep regret the decease of mister Vincent Willem van Gogh painter passed away at the age of 37 , 27 July 1890 at Auvers-sur-Oise Paris, 8 cité Pigalle Leiden, Herengracht (Holland)