Michelet’s dictum in ‘Les aspirations de l’automne’, as quoted by Van Gogh, that ‘a woman is a “quite different being” from a man, & a being we do not yet know’ became harsh reality for Van Gogh during this period, when he expressed his feelings for Eugenie Loyer, the nineteen-year-old daughter of his landlady, by proposing to her. There are no letters extant in which Van Gogh refers to being in love, but the situation may be inferred from the family correspondence. We have only one letter from Vincent himself mentioning Eugenie. In it he describes her as ‘a girl with whom I have agreed that we should be as brother and sister to each other’. When Van Gogh asked for her hand, it transpired that Eugenie was secretly engaged to someone else and that there could be no question of a serious relationship between them. When he nevertheless continued to press Eugenie to call off her engagement, the situation became intolerable and Vincent and his sister were obliged to move out.
Following a very enthusiastic and harmonious start to his stay in London, at most marked by a little homesickness, Van Gogh’s unrequited love for Eugenie cast a shadow over the second half of his London period. Vincent and Anna moved to lodgings at Ivy Cottage, 395 Kennington Road, but very soon afterwards Anna found a post as a lady’s companion, whereupon she moved again, this time to Welwyn, then a village some twenty-live miles north of London. Her new home, too, happened to be called Ivy Cottage. Left behind alone in London, Vincent sent his parents gloomy letters. His father judged it high time to take a hand and once again consulted his brother. ‘Uncle Cent’ arranged a posting for his nephew to Paris, for which Vincent departed very reluctantly in the middle of November. Though put out at his parents’ interference, he went home to Helvoirt for Christmas and had an emotional reunion there with Theo, which strengthened their bond even further. Then he returned with Anna to London.
In the middle of May 1875, Van Gogh was again transferred to Goupil in Paris, this time ostensibly for one or two months. However, it was eventually decided to keep him on longer and in the end he remained until March of the following year. At first this was very much against his will, and his parents received grumpy and somewhat confused letters, which worried them. He seemed to be overworked. However, these problems proved to be short-lived and it was not long before he clearly began to enjoy Paris. He lived in Montmartre, then still a semi-rural part of the capital, in a small room not far from Goupil’s establishment in the rue Chaptal. He went to the annual exhibition at the Salon, and visited the Louvre and the museum of modern art in the Palais du Luxembourg. At a Corot exhibition he was greatly impressed by a painting whose subject matter was to preoccupy him later - Lejardin des oliviers. A high point of his stay in Paris was a visit to the sale of Millet drawings at the auctioneering firm Drouot. In the presence of these masterpieces he felt as awed as Moses had before the burning bush: ‘When I stepped into the hall of the Drouot salerooms, I felt like telling myself, take off your shoes, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.’
His preferences can, as ever, be gathered from the prints and photographs of paintings he stuck to the walls of his small room. The work of artists from The Hague and Barbizon Schools rubbed shoulders with that of Ruysdael and with Rembrandt’s Lecture de la Bible.
30 [D]
[letterhead] Goupil & Cie, Paris
Paris, 6 July 1875
My dear Theo,
Many thanks for your letter. Yes, my boy, I thought as much. You must let me know how your English is getting on. Have you done anything about it? If not, it’s not the end of the world.
I’m renting a little room in Montmartre I’m sure you’d like. It’s small, but it looks out over a little garden full of ivy & Virginia creeper. I’ll tell you what prints I have on the wall:
Ruysdael, Le buisson
d° Blanchisseries
Rembrandt, Lecture de la bible (a large Old-Dutch room, evening, a candle on the table. A young mother sits reading the Bible beside her baby’s cradle. An old woman is listening. It reminds one of, ‘Verily I say unto you, where 2 or 3 are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them’. It’s an old copper engraving as big as Le buisson, superb). Ph. de Champaigne, Portrait d’une dame Corot, Soir
d°d°
Bodmer, Fontainebleau
Bonington, Une Route
Troyon, Le Matin
Jules Dupré, Le Soir (la hake)
Maris, Blanchisseuse
d° Un baptême
Millet, (woodcuts, 4 proofs) Les heures de la journee
v. d. Maaten, Enterrement dans les blés
Daubigny, L’aurore (coq chantant)
Charlet, L’hospitalité, Ferme entourée de sapins, l’hiver dans la
nuit, Un paysan & un soldat devant la porte
Ed. Frére, Couturiéres
d° Un tonnelier
Anyway, my boy, look after yourself, you know how, be as meek & mild as you can. Let us always remain good friends. Goodbye,
Vincent
Theo sent him a poem by Ruckert, but Vincent was beginning to show a preference for devotional texts. The tone of the letters from Paris began to change. Passages with a religious slant appeared more and more often alongside innumerable accounts of his favourite paintings and reproductions. Museum and church visits went hand in hand, and in the letters art and religion were increasingly bracketed together. ‘When I have the opportunity,’ he wrote to Theo, ‘I shall send you a French Bible & [Thomas à Kempis’s] limitation de Jésus Christ, which was probably the favourite book of that lady painted by Ph. de Champaigne. There is a portrait of her daughter, a nun, in the Louvre, also by Ph. de Ch. She has l’Imitation on the chair beside her.’ The letters to Theo began to sound appreciably more austere and didactic, and he now expressly advised his brother not to read Michelet, an author he himself had so warmly commended. A note of religious fanaticism was gaining the upper hand in his correspondence.
38 [D]
Paris, 17 Sept. 1875
My dear Theo,
A feeling, even a fine feeling, for the beauties of nature is not the same as a religious feeling, though I believe these two are connected.*
Nearly everyone has a feeling for nature, some more, some less, but there are some who feel: God is a Spirit, and they that worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth. Father is one of those few, Mother too, and Uncle Vt1 as well, I think.
You know that it is written, ‘The world passeth away, and the lust thereof, and that on the other hand we are also told about ‘that good part which shall not be taken away’, and about ‘a well of water springing up into everlasting life’. Let us also pray that we may grow rich in God. Still, do not dwell too deeply on these matters - in the fullness of time they will become clearer to you of their own accord - and just take the advice I have given you.
Let us ask that it may fall to us to become the poor in the Kingdom of God, God’s servants. We are still a long way from that, however, since there are often beams in our eye that we know not of. Let us therefore ask that our eye may become single, for then we ourselves shall become wholly single.
Regards to Roos & to anyone who may ask after me, and believe me, always,
Your loving brother
Vincent
You are eating properly, aren’t you? In particular eat as much bread as you can. Sleep well, I must go and polish my boots for tomorrow.
43 [D]
[letterhead] Goupil & Cie, Paris
Paris, 14 October 1875
My dear Theo,
Just another few words to cheer myself up as well as you. I advised you to dispose of your books, and advise it still. Be sure to do it, it will give you peace of mind. But at the same time be careful not to become narrow-minded, or afraid of reading what is well written, quite the contrary, such writings are a source of comfort in life.
‘Que toutes les choses qui sont veritables, toutes les choses qui sont honnêtes, toutes les choses qui sont justes, toutes les choses qui sont pures, toutes les choses qui sont a
imables, toutes les choses qui sont de bonne réputation, et ou il y a quelque vertu, et qui sont dignes de louange; que toutes ces choses occupent vos pensées.’1
Seek only light and freedom and do not immerse yourself too deeply in the worldly mire.
How I should like to have you here, to show you the Luxembourg and the Louvre, &c., but I have the feeling that you, too, will be coming here one day.
I have had quite a good letter from Anna, I am sending it on to you, but please let me have it back when you have read it.
Father once wrote to me, ‘Do not forget the story of Icarus, who wanted to fly to the sun, and having reached a certain height lost his wings & fell into the sea.’ You may often feel that neither Anna nor I are what we hope to become and that we still lag a long way behind Father and other people, that we lack soundness and simplicity and sincerity. One does not become simple and true overnight. But let us persevere, and above all have patience. He who believes, does not hasten. Still, there is a difference between our desire to become Christians and that of Icarus to fly to the sun.
To my mind, there is nothing wrong with having a reasonably strong body, so make sure you feed yourself properly, and if you feel very hungry sometimes, or rather, have a good appetite, then eat well. I assure you that that is what I do myself often enough, and above all used to do. Especially bread, in my opinion, my boy, and don’t be too shy about it. ‘Bread is the staff of life’,2 the English say (although they like meat as well, on the whole far too much).
And now, write again soon and about everyday matters, too, for a change. Take care of yourself and give my regards to anyone who asks after me. Let us hope we see each other in a month or two. I shake you warmly by the hand in my thoughts, and am always,
Your loving brother
Vincent
Theo was to receive a whole series of such edifying epistles and notes, all seemingly written with the intention of bolstering his faith.
In 1875 Van Gogh again spent Christmas with his family in Brabant. However, when he returned to Paris in January he was summoned by his employer, given a serious talking to and dismissed as from 1 April. The official explanation was his absence during the busy Christmas season, but that was plainly not the whole story. Van Gogh’s increasing religiosity had gone hand in hand with a growing aversion to the art trade, nor had he become more adroit in his dealings with clients. He apparently took his dismissal as inevitable, for his report of the matter to Theo is fairly laconic. ‘When the apple is ripe, a soft breeze will make it fall from the tree, and such was the case here. I have probably done things that in a certain sense have been very wrong, so I cannot complain […]. Well, my boy, I am not at all clear what I should do next, but we shall try to maintain hope and courage.’ Only later, during his Drenthe period, would he look back on this episode with some bitterness. If only they had given him a little more guidance, if only they had given him another chance, then everything might have turned out better.
Reading seemed to be the best remedy for this setback. The writers to engage his attention during these last months in Paris included Heine, Uhland, Erckmann-Chatrian, Jules Breton (a writer as well as a painter), Hans Christian Andersen, Longfellow and George Eliot. The last-named’s Scenes of Clerical Life appealed to him particularly because the book told ‘the story of a clergyman who lived chiefly amongst the inhabitants of the back streets of a town’. Literature helped his search for the paths that were open to him in real life. Knowing that his days with Goupil were now numbered, he immersed himself in Bulwer-Lytton’s Kenhelm Chillingly, which seemed to parallel his own situation: it told of the ‘adventures of a rich Englishman’s son who could find no rest or peace in his own social circles and sought it among other walks of life. He ended up returning to his own class, but did not regret what he’d done.’ This strong identification with literary characters is a recurrent feature of Van Gogh’s letters. The Bible, however, prevailed over all other writings. Although his future course was not yet clear to him, Van Gogh came gradually to look on life as a pilgrimage and upon the Lord as his shepherd.
He read the Bible at night, after work, with his English friend Harry Gladwell. The way in which he describes this friend in a letter to Theo has all the plasticity of the portraits he was to paint later: ‘… a young Englishman, Harry Gladwell, an employee in the business, 18 years old, the son of a London art dealer, who will probably join his father’s business later. He had never been away from home before and was fearfully uncouth, especially during his first weeks here, for instance eating 4 to 6 sous’ worth of bread morning, noon and night […] and filling up with pounds of apples & pears, &c. For all that as thin as a rake, with two strong rows of teeth, big red lips, sparkling eyes, a pair of large, usually red, protruding ears, a close-cropped head (black hair), &c, &c. A quite different being from the Lady by Philippe de Cham-paigne, I can assure you.’
Having at the very last moment bought a few etchings after Millet in Paris, Van Gogh returned to Brabant when his job with Goupil ended and lived for a short time with his parents, who had moved to Etten the previous October. For the first time we read that he had already started to toy with the idea of becoming an artist. However, even before his departure from Paris, he had received a letter from one William Stokes, a schoolmaster in the small English town of Ramsgate, offering him the post of assistant at his boarding school. On 4 April 1876 Van Gogh wrote to Theo from their parents home: ‘As you know, Ramsgate is a seaside resort. I saw in a book that there are 12,000 inhabitants, but I know no more about it.’ A fortnight later he enthusiastically sent his brother a small piece of seaweed from there. A letter to Theo at the end of May betrayed the painter’s eye with a beautiful description of a storm off the Kent coast.
Ramsgate and Isleworth
67 [D]
Ramsgate, 31 May 1876
My dear Theo,
Bravo on going to Etten on 21 May, so that happily 4 of the 6 were at home. Father wrote to me at length how everything went on the day. Thanks also for your last letter.
Did I write to you about the storm I watched not long ago? The sea was yellowish, especially close to the shore. On the horizon a streak of light and above it immensely large dark grey clouds, from which one could see the rain coming down in slanting streaks. The wind blew the dust from the little white path among the rocks into the sea and shook the hawthorn bushes in bloom and the wallflowers that grow on the rocks. To the right, fields of young green corn, and in the distance the town, which, with its towers, mills, slate roofs, Gothic-style houses and the harbour below, between 2 jetties sticking out into the sea, looked like the towns Albert Dürer used to etch.
I watched the sea last Sunday night as well. Everything was dark grey, but on the horizon the day was beginning to break. It was still very early and yet a skylark was already singing. And the nightingales in the gardens by the sea. In the distance, the light of the lighthouse, the guard-ship, &c.
That same night I looked out of the window of my room at the roofs of the houses you can see from there, and at the tops of the elms, dark against the night sky. Above the roofs, a single star, but a beautiful, big, friendly one. And I thought of us all and I thought of my own years gone by and of our
Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, 31 May 1876 | 19
words and this sentiment sprang to my mind, ‘Keep me from being a son who brings shame, give me Thy blessing, not because I deserve it but for my Mother’s sake. Thou art Love, cover all things. Without Thy constant blessing we shall succeed in nothing.’
Enclosed is a little drawing of the view from the school window through which the boys follow their parents with their eyes as they go back to the station after a visit. Many a one will never forget the view from that window.
You really ought to have seen it this week, when we had rainy days, especially at dusk when the lamps are lit and their light is reflected in the wet streets. On such days Mr Stokes can sometimes be in a bad temper, and if the boys make more of a noise tha
n he likes they occasionally have to go without their bread and tea in the evening. You ought to see them looking out of the window then, there is something so melancholy about it. They have so little apart from their meals to look forward to and to see them through from one day to the next.
I wish you could also see them going down the dark stairs and through the narrow passage to where they have their dinner. The sun does shine pleasantly in there. Another peculiar place is a room with a rotten floor where there are 6 basins in which they wash, and a dim light is all that reaches the washstand through the broken panes of the window. That is certainly quite a melancholy sight. I should like to spend, or to have spent, a winter with them, just to see what it is like.
The youngsters have made an oil stain on your little drawing, please forgive them.
Enclosed, a few lines for Uncle Jan. And now, good night. Should anyone ask after me, my greetings to them. Do you still visit Borchers from time to time? If you see him, remember me to him as well as to Willem Valkis and everybody at the Rooses’. A handshake in my thoughts from
Your loving
Vincent
Van Gogh was a formidable walker. At the end of March he had written to Theo from Paris about the pleasure with which he thought back on his walking-tour to Brighton during an earlier stay in England. This time he went on a few brisk walks from Ramsgate to London. He saw life in the metropolis largely from the point of view of his religious faith, informing Theo that there was a great ‘longing for religion among the people in the large cities. Many a worker in a factory or shop has had a strange, beautiful and pious youth. But city life sometimes removes “the early dew of morning”. Even so, the longing for “the old, old story” remains. What is at the bottom of the heart stays at the bottom of the heart. In one of her books, [George] Eliot describes the life of factory workers, &c, who have formed a small community and hold religious services in a chapel in “Lantern Yard”, and she says of it, “It is the Kingdom of God on earth, no more and no less.’”
The Letters of Vincent van Gogh Page 5
