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The Life of Van Gogh by Henri Perruchot

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Title: The Life of Van Gogh

About The Life of Van Gogh by Henri Perruchot

The Life of Van Gogh is a book interesting description life and creative activity outstanding post-impressionist painter Vincent van Gogh, whose work had great importance for the direction of twentieth-century painting.

Author this work is French writer Henri Perruchot, from whose pen many monographs came out, combining reliable facts from the life of famous painters along with the fictional liveliness of the story.

The work "The Life of Van Gogh" presents a lot of specific facts from the life of the artist: the events of his childhood, the background of his birth, as well as the influence of various life events on his creative aspirations and views.

Henri Perruchot traces in his book: the origin, formation, development and achievement of its peak of Vincent van Gogh's creative activity. The reliability of the description is facilitated by the use by the author of unique documents, the artist's letters, as well as the memoirs of his contemporaries.

The plot of the work "The Life of Van Gogh" is based on the gradual disclosure of all those aspects that make up life famous artist, full of contradictions, suffering, doubts, experiences, as well as difficult selfless searches for one's life purpose through which he could benefit the people.

At the beginning of the book, the family of Vincent van Gogh is described: his parents, brothers and sisters, their love for him, as well as the invaluable help of the brother of the famous artist, Theo, who supports him throughout his life. Description of the travels of Van Gogh, who colorfully spoke about them in his letters to his brother Theo.

Numerous paintings by the artist, admired by many art lovers, convey his vision of the world around, in which, despite all the difficulties, poverty and contradictory internal state, there was also a lot of room for joy and happiness, given the opportunity to create.

In the life of Vincent van Gogh, which was very different from the life of an ordinary average person, since its meaning was to create works of art and help the suffering and needy, there was still a time when the artist had a chance to test himself as a teacher and even a bookseller. Despite his many works, which the world accepted only after the death of this great master, he had to lead a very poor existence. This great person lived quite short life, which was cut short at the age of thirty-seven.

The book "The Life of Van Gogh" produces a very strong impression its drama and evokes a spiritual response from the reader.

Henri Perruchot was born in 1917. Thanks to the activities of the writer, on the pages of his books, together with their heroes, whole historical eras in French culture. The author's books include: "The Life of Cezanne", "The Life of Gauguin", "The Life of Renoir", "The Life of Manet" and others.

Current page: 1 (total book has 7 pages)

Henri Perruchot
Van Gogh's life

La Vie De Van Gogh

* * *

Part one. Barren Fig Tree (1853–1880)

I. Silent childhood

Lord, I was on the other side of being and in my insignificance I enjoyed endless peace; I was pulled out of this state in order to be pushed into a strange carnival of life.

Valerie

The Netherlands is not only a boundless field of tulips, as foreigners often believe. Flowers, the joy of life embodied in them, peaceful and colorful fun, inextricably linked in our minds by tradition with views windmills and canals - all this is characteristic of coastal regions, partially reclaimed from the sea and owing their flourishing to large ports. These areas - in the north and in the south - are Holland proper. In addition, the Netherlands has nine more provinces: they all have their own charm. But this charm is of a different kind - sometimes it is more severe: beyond the fields of tulips are poor lands, desolate places.

Among these regions, perhaps the most destitute is that which is called North Brabant, which is formed by a series of meadows and forests overgrown with heather, stretching along the Belgian border, and sandy heaths, peat bogs and marshes, a province separated from Germany only by a narrow, uneven strip of Limburg. through which the river Meuse flows. Her main city– 's-Hertogenbosch, where he was born Hieronymus Bosch, an artist of the 15th century, known for his whimsical fantasy. The soils in this province are poor, with much uncultivated land. It often rains here. The mists hang low. Dampness pervades everything and everything. The inhabitants here are mostly peasants or weavers. Meadows filled with moisture allow them to widely develop cattle breeding. In this flat land with rare ridges of hills, black and white cows in the meadows and a dull chain of marshes, you can see carts with dog sleds on the roads that are being taken to the cities - Bergen op Zoom, Breda, Zevenbergen; Eindhoven - copper milk cans.

The inhabitants of Brabant are overwhelmingly Catholic. Lutherans do not make up even a tenth of the local population. That is why the parishes run by the Protestant Church are the most miserable in this region.

Sower. (imitation of Millet)

In 1849, the 27-year-old priest Theodor van Gogh was appointed to one of these parishes - Groot-Zundert, a small village located at the very Belgian border, about fifteen kilometers from Roosendaal, where the Dutch customs house was located on the Brussels-Amsterdam route. This arrival is very unenviable. But it is difficult for a young pastor to hope for something better: he does not have either brilliant abilities or eloquence. His ponderously monotonous sermons are devoid of flight, they are just uncomplicated rhetorical exercises, banal variations on hackneyed themes. True, he takes his duties seriously and honestly, but he lacks inspiration. Nor can it be said that he was distinguished by a special earnestness of faith. His faith is sincere and deep, but true passion is alien to her. By the way, the Lutheran pastor Theodor van Gogh is a supporter of liberal Protestantism, the center of which is the city of Groningen.

This unremarkable man, who performs the duties of a priest with the accuracy of a clerk, is by no means devoid of merit. Kindness, calmness, cordial friendliness - all this is written on his face, a little childish, illuminated by a soft, ingenuous look. In Zundert, Catholics and Protestants equally appreciate his courtesy, responsiveness, and constant readiness to serve. Endowed in equal measure with a good disposition and good looks, this is truly a "glorious pastor" (de mooi domine), as he is called easily, with a subtle tinge of contempt by the parishioners.

Hieronymus Bosch. self-portrait

His father, Theodore's grandfather, at first chose the craft of a spinner, later became a reader, and then a priest at the monastery church in The Hague. He was made his heir by his great-uncle, who in his youth - he died at the very beginning of the century - served in the Royal Swiss Guard in Paris and was fond of sculpture. As for the last generation of the Van Goghs - and the Breda priest had eleven children, although one child died in infancy - then perhaps the most unenviable fate fell on the "glorious pastor", except for his three sisters who remained in the old virgins. Two other sisters married generals. His older brother Johannes is successfully making a career in the maritime department - vice-admiral galloons are just around the corner. Three of his other brothers - Hendrik, Cornelius Marinus and Vincent - run a large trade in works of art. Cornelius Marinus settled in Amsterdam, Vincent kept in The Hague art gallery, the most popular in the city and closely associated with the Parisian firm "Goupil", known throughout the world and having its branches everywhere.

And it is difficult to imagine that he will ever be able to satisfy, if only it is characteristic of him, the passion for travel that is so characteristic of his relatives. The Van Goghs willingly traveled abroad, and some of them even happened to marry foreigners: Pastor Theodore's grandmother was a Flemish from the city of Malin.

In May 1851, two years after his arrival in Groot-Sundert, Theodor van Gogh conceived on the threshold of his thirtieth birthday to marry, but he did not see the need to look for a wife outside the country. He marries a Dutch woman born in The Hague, Anna Cornelia Carbenthus. The daughter of a court bookbinder, she also comes from a respectable family - among her ancestors is even the Bishop of Utrecht. One of her sisters is married to the brother of the pastor Theodore - Vincent - thus, that sells paintings in The Hague.

Anna Cornelia, three years older than her husband, is almost nothing like him. Yes, and her family is much less strong root than her husband. One of her sisters has seizures of epilepsy, which indicates a severe nervous heredity, which also affects Anna Cornelia herself. Naturally gentle and loving, she is prone to sudden outbursts of anger. Lively and kind, she is often harsh; active, tireless, not knowing rest, she is at the same time extremely stubborn. An inquisitive and impressionable woman, with a somewhat restless character, she feels - and this is one of her noticeable features - a strong inclination towards the epistolary genre. She likes to be frank, writes long letters. “Ik maak vast een woordje klaar” - you can often hear these words from her: “Let me go and write a few lines.” At any moment, she may suddenly feel the desire to pick up a pen.

The pastor's house in Zundert, where thirty-two years old Anna Cornelia entered as mistress, is a one-story brick building. Facade he goes to one of the streets of the village - completely straight, like all the others. The other side faces the garden where they grow fruit trees, spruces and acacias, and along the paths - mignonette and levkoy. Around the village to the very horizon, the vague outlines of which are lost in the gray sky, endless sandy plains stretch. Here and there a sparse spruce forest, a bleak heath overgrown with heather, a hut with a mossy roof, a quiet river with a bridge thrown over it, an oak grove, clipped willows, a puddle covered with ripples. The edge of peat bogs breathes peace. Sometimes you might think that life has stopped here altogether. Then suddenly a woman in a cap or a peasant in a cap will pass by, otherwise a magpie will squeal on a high cemetery acacia. Life here does not give rise to any difficulties, does not raise questions. Days pass, invariably similar to one another. It seems that life once and for all from time immemorial has been put into the framework of old customs and mores, God's commandments and law. Let it be monotonous and boring, but it is reliable. Nothing will shake her dead calm.

Portrait of the artist's father

* * *

Days passed. Anna Cornelia is used to life in Zundert.

The salary of the pastor, according to his position, was very modest, but the spouses were content with little. Sometimes they even managed to help others. They lived in good harmony, often together visiting the sick and the poor. Now Anna Cornelia is expecting a baby. If a boy is born, he will be named Vincent.

And indeed, on March 30, 1852, Anna Cornelia gave birth to a boy. They named him Vincent.

Vincent - like his grandfather, a pastor in Breda, like an uncle in The Hague, like that distant relative, who served in the Swiss Guard in Paris in the 18th century. Vincent means Winner. May he be the pride and joy of the family, this Vincent van Gogh!

But alas! The child died six weeks later.

Portrait of the artist's mother

Vincent van Gogh at the age of 13

The days were full of desperation. In this dull land, nothing distracts a person from his grief, and it does not subside for a long time. Spring passed, but the wound did not heal. Happiness already, that the summer brought hope to the melancholy pastor's house: Anna Cornelia became pregnant again. Will she give birth to another child, whose appearance will soften, dull her hopeless motherly pain? And will it be a boy who can replace the parents of that Vincent, on whom they had placed so many hopes? The secret of birth is inscrutable.

Gray autumn. Then winter, frost. The sun is slowly rising above the horizon. January. February. The sun is higher in the sky. Finally - March. The child should be born this month, exactly one year after the birth of his brother ... March 15th. 20th of March. Day of spring equinox. The sun enters the sign of Aries, its favorite abode, according to astrologers. March 25, 26th, 27th ... 28th, 29th ... March 30, 1853, exactly one year - to the day - after the birth of little Vincent van Gogh, Anna Cornelia safely gave birth to her second son. Her dream came true.

And this boy, in memory of the first, will be named Vincent! Vincent Willem.

And he will also be called: Vincent van Gogh.

* * *

Gradually the parsonage was filled with children. In 1855, the Van Goghs had a daughter, Anna. On May 1, 1857, another boy was born. He was named after his father Theodore. Following little Theo, two girls appeared - Elizabeth Hubert and Wilhelmina - and one boy, Cornelius, the youngest offspring of this large family.

The parsonage resounded with children's laughter, weeping and chirping. More than once the pastor had to call for order, demand silence in order to think about the next sermon, to think about how best to interpret this or that stanza of the Old or New Testament. And silence reigned in the low house, only occasionally interrupted by a stifled whisper. The simple, poor decoration of the house, as before, was strict, as if constantly reminding of the existence of God. But, despite the poverty, it was truly a burgher's house. With all his appearance, he inspired the idea of stability, strength of the prevailing morals, of the inviolability of the existing order, moreover, a purely Dutch order, rational, clear and mundane, equally testifying to a certain stiffness and sobriety of life position.

Of the pastor's six children, only one needed to be silenced—Vincent. Taciturn and gloomy, he shunned his brothers and sisters, did not take part in their games. Vincent wandered around alone, looking at the plants and flowers; sometimes, watching the life of insects, he stretched himself on the grass near the river, in search of streams or bird nests, he ransacked the forests. He got himself a herbarium and tin boxes in which he kept collections of insects. He knew the names—sometimes even Latin—of all the insects. Vincent willingly communicated with peasants and weavers, asking them how the loom works. For a long time I watched the women washing clothes on the river. Even indulging in childish amusements, he chose games here in which you can retire. He loved to weave woolen threads, admiring the combination and contrast of bright colors. 1
The artist's heirs have preserved several similar woolen braids. According to Münsterberger, the color combinations found in them are characteristic of the works of Van Gogh. – Hereinafter, all notes not specifically indicated are by the author.

He also loved to draw. Eight years old, Vincent brought his mother a drawing - he depicted on it a kitten climbing an orchard apple tree. Around the same years, he was somehow caught in a new occupation - he was trying to fashion an elephant from pottery clay. But as soon as he noticed that he was being watched, he immediately flattened the molded figure. It was only with such silent games that the strange little boy amused himself. More than once he visited the walls of the cemetery, where his older brother Vincent van Gogh, whom he knew from his parents, was buried - the one whose name he was named.

Brothers and sisters would be happy to accompany Vincent on his walks. But they did not dare to ask him for such a favor. They were afraid of their unsociable brother, who, in comparison with them, seemed to be a strong man. From his squat, bony, slightly awkward figure exuded unbridled strength. Something disturbing was guessed in him, affecting already in appearance. There was some asymmetry in his face. Blond reddish hair hid the unevenness of the skull. Sloping forehead. Thick eyebrows. And in the narrow slits of the eyes, now blue, now green, with a gloomy, sad look, a gloomy fire flared up from time to time.

Of course, Vincent looked more like his mother than his father. Like her, he showed stubbornness and willfulness, reaching stubbornness. Uncompromising, disobedient, with a difficult, contradictory character, he followed exclusively his own whims. What was he striving for? No one knew this, and, certainly, least of all he himself. He was restless, like a volcano, sometimes declaring itself with a dull roar. It was impossible to doubt that he loved his family, but any trifle, any trifle, could cause him a fit of rage. Everyone loved him. Pampered. Forgive him strange antics. Moreover, he was the first to repent of them. But he had no control over himself, over these indomitable impulses that suddenly overwhelmed him. The mother, either from an excess of tenderness, or recognizing herself in her son, was inclined to justify his temper. Sometimes a grandmother, the wife of a Bred pastor, would visit Zundert. Once she became a witness to one of Vincent's antics. Without saying a word, she grabbed her grandson by the hand and, having treated him with a cuff, put him out the door. But the daughter-in-law considered that the delirious grandmother had exceeded her rights. For the whole day she did not part her lips, and the "glorious pastor", wishing everyone to forget about the incident, ordered a small britzka to be laid and invited the women to ride along the forest paths, bordered by flowering heather. An evening walk through the forest contributed to reconciliation - the splendor of the sunset dispelled the resentment of the young woman.

However, the quarrelsome disposition of young Vincent manifested itself not only in parental home. Entering a communal school, he first of all learned from the peasant children, the sons of local weavers, all kinds of curses and poured them recklessly, as soon as he lost his temper. Not wanting to submit to any discipline, he showed such unbridled behavior and behaved with fellow students so defiantly that the pastor had to take him out of school.

Theodor van Gogh, the artist's brother

However, hidden, timid sprouts of tenderness, friendly sensitivity lurked in the soul of a gloomy boy. With what diligence, with what love, the little savage drew flowers and then gave the drawings to his friends. Yes, he painted. I drew a lot. Animals. landscapes. Here are two of his drawings, dating back to 1862 (he was nine years old): one of them depicts a dog, the other shows a bridge. And he also read books, read tirelessly, indiscriminately devouring everything that came across his eyes.

Just as unexpectedly, he became passionately attached to his brother Theo, four years his junior, who became his constant companion in walks around the Zundert neighborhood in the rare hours of leisure left for them by a governess, recently invited by the pastor to raise children. Meanwhile, the brothers are not at all similar to each other, except that both have the same blond and reddish hair. It is already clear that Theo went to his father, inheriting his meek disposition and good looks. Calmness, subtlety and softness of facial features, fragility of addition, he is a strange contrast with his angular brother-strong man. Meanwhile, in the dismal disgrace of moors and plains, his brother revealed to him a thousand secrets. He taught him to see. See insects and fish, trees and grass. Zundert is drowsy. The whole boundless motionless plain is shackled by slumber. But as soon as Vincent speaks, everything around comes to life, and the soul of things is exposed. The desert plain is filled with a secret and domineering life. It seems that nature has stood still, but work is constantly being done in it, something is constantly being renewed and ripens. The trimmed willows suddenly take on a tragic appearance, with their crooked, knotty trunks. In winter, they protect the plain from wolves, whose hungry howl frightens peasant women at night. Theo listens to his brother's stories, goes fishing with him and is surprised by Vincent: every time the fish bites, instead of being happy, he is upset.

But, to tell the truth, Vincent was upset for any reason, falling into a state of dreamy prostration, from which he emerged only under the influence of anger, completely disproportionate to the cause that gave rise to it, or outbursts of unexpected, inexplicable tenderness, which Vincent's brothers and sisters accepted with timidity and even with apprehension.

Around is a poor landscape, the boundlessness of space, which opens up to the gaze beyond the plain stretched under low clouds; undivided kingdom gray color that swallowed earth and sky. Dark trees, black peat bogs, aching sadness, only occasionally softened by the pale smile of flowering heather. And in the pastor's house - a modest family hearth, restrained dignity in every gesture, strictness and abstinence, harsh books who taught that the fate of all living things is predetermined and all attempts to escape are futile, a thick black folio - the Book of Books, with words brought from the depths of centuries, which are the Word, the heavy look of the Lord God, watching your every move, this eternal dispute with the Almighty who you have to obey, but against whom you want to rebel. And inside, in the soul, there are so many questions, bubbling, not pouring into words, all these fears, storms, this unexpressed and inexpressible anxiety - fear of life, self-doubts, impulses, internal discord, a vague feeling of guilt, an indistinct feeling, that you have to redeem something...

A magpie built a nest on a high cemetery acacia. Perhaps occasionally she sits on the grave of little Vincent van Gogh.

* * *

When Vincent was in his twelfth year, his father decided to enroll him in a boarding school. He opted for educational institution, which was kept in Zevenbergen by a certain Mr. Provili.

Zevenbergen, a small town, is located between Rosendaal and Dordrecht, among wide meadows. Vincent was met here by a familiar landscape. In Mr. Provili's establishment, he became at first softer, more sociable. However, obedience did not make him a brilliant student. He read even more than before, with an ardent, insatiable curiosity that extended equally to everything from novels to philosophical and theological books. However, the sciences taught at the institution of Mr. Provili did not arouse the same interest in him.

Vincent spent two years at the Provili school, then a year and a half in Tilburg, where he continued his education.

He came to Zundert only for holidays. Here Vincent, as before, read a lot. He became even more attached to Theo and invariably took him with him on long walks. His love for nature did not weaken at all. He wandered around the neighborhood tirelessly, changing direction, and often, frozen in place, looked around, immersed in deep thought. Has he really changed that much? He still has outbursts of anger. The same sharpness in it, the same secrecy. Not enduring other people's views, he does not dare to go out into the street for a long time. Headaches, cramps in the stomach overshadow his adolescence. He constantly quarrels with his parents. How often, going together to visit a sick man, the priest and his wife stop somewhere on a deserted road and start talking about their eldest son, alarmed by his changeable disposition and unyielding character. They are concerned about how his future will turn out.

In these parts, where even Catholics have not escaped the influence of Calvinism, people are used to taking everything seriously. Entertainment is rare here, vanity is forbidden, any fun is suspicious. The measured course of days is broken only by rare family holidays. But how restrained their joy! The joy of life is not manifested in anything. This restraint gave birth to powerful natures, but it also pushed back into the recesses of the soul forces that one day, bursting out, are capable of unleashing a storm. Maybe Vincent lacks seriousness? Or, on the contrary, is he too serious? Seeing the strange nature of his son, the father, perhaps, wondered if Vincent was endowed with excessive seriousness, if he took everything too close to his heart - every trifle, every gesture, every remark dropped by someone, every word in every book he read . The passionate aspiration, the thirst for the Absolute, inherent in this rebellious son, confuses the father. Even his outbursts of anger and those are the result of a dangerous frankness. How will he fulfill his duty in this life, his beloved son, whose strangeness both attracts and annoys people at the same time? How can he become a man - sedate, respected by all, who will not lose his dignity and, skillfully doing business, will glorify his family?

Just like that, Vincent is returning from a walk. He walks with his head bowed. Slouching. A straw hat covering her short-cropped hair obscures a face that no longer has anything youthful in it. His brow is furrowed with early wrinkles above his furrowed brows. He is unattractive, clumsy, almost ugly. And yet ... And yet, this gloomy young man exudes a peculiar grandeur: “He has a deep inner life” 2
Elisabeth-Huberta du Quesne, Van Gogh: Souvenirs personnels.

What is he destined to accomplish in his life? And above all, who would he like to become?

He did not know this. He showed no inclination towards one profession or another. Work? Yes, you have to work, that's all. Labor is a necessary condition human being. In his family, he will find a set of strong traditions. He will follow in the footsteps of his father, his uncles, will do like everyone else.

Vincent's father is a priest. Three of my father's brothers successfully sell works of art. Vincent knows his uncle and namesake well, Vincent, or Uncle Saint, as his children called him, a Hague art dealer who now, having retired, lives in Prinsenhag, near the city of Breda. In the end, he decided to sell his art gallery to the Parisian company Goupil, which, thanks to this, turned into the Hague branch of this company, which extended its influence to both hemispheres - from Brussels to Berlin, from London to New York. In Prinsenhag, Uncle Saint lives in a luxuriously furnished villa, where he has moved the best of his paintings. Once or twice a pastor, no doubt deeply admiring the brother, took his children to Prinsenhag. Vincent stood for a long time, as if spellbound, in front of the canvases, in front of a new magical world first revealed to him, before this image of nature, slightly different from itself, before this reality, borrowed from reality, but existing independently of it, before this beautiful, ordered and bright world where the hidden soul of things is exposed by the power of a sophisticated eye and a skillful hand. No one knows what Vincent was thinking then, whether he thought that the Calvinist severity that accompanied his childhood did not fit well with this new dazzling world, so unlike the mean landscapes of Zundert, and whether vague ethical doubts clashed in his soul with sensual beauty. art?

Not a word has reached us about it. Not a single phrase. Not a single hint.

Meanwhile, Vincent was sixteen years old. It was necessary to determine its future. Pastor Theodore called family council. And when Uncle Saint spoke, inviting his nephew to follow in his footsteps and, like himself, gain brilliant success on this path, everyone understood that it would not be difficult for Uncle Saint to facilitate the young man's first steps - he would give Vincent a recommendation to Mr. Tersteh, director of the Hague branch of the company " Goupil". Vincent accepted his uncle's offer.

Vincent will be the art dealer.

Lord, I was on the other side of being and in my insignificance I enjoyed endless peace; I was pulled out of this state in order to be pushed into a strange carnival of life.

The Netherlands is not only a boundless field of tulips, as foreigners often believe. Flowers, the joy of life embodied in them, peaceful and colorful fun, inextricably linked in our minds by tradition with views of windmills and canals - all this is typical of coastal areas, partially reclaimed from the sea and owing their flourishing to large ports. These regions - in the north and in the south - are Holland proper. In addition, the Netherlands has nine more provinces: they all have their own charm. But this charm is of a different kind - sometimes it is more severe: behind the fields of tulips, poor lands, desolate places spread.

Among these regions, perhaps the most destitute is that which is called North Brabant, which is formed by a series of meadows and forests overgrown with heather, stretching along the Belgian border, and sandy wastelands, peat bogs and marshes, a province separated from Germany only by a narrow, uneven strip of Limburg. through which the river Meuse flows. Its main city is 's-Hertogenbosch, the birthplace of Hieronymus Bosch, a 15th-century artist known for his whimsical fantasy. The soils in this province are poor, with much uncultivated land. It often rains here. The mists hang low. Dampness pervades everything and everything. The inhabitants here are mostly peasants or weavers. Meadows filled with moisture allow them to widely develop cattle breeding. In this flat region with rare ridges of hills, black and white cows in the meadows and a dull chain of marshes, you can see carts with dog teams on the roads, which are being taken to the cities - Bergen op Zoom, Breda, Zevenbergen; Eindhoven - copper milk cans.

The inhabitants of Brabant are overwhelmingly Catholic. Lutherans do not make up a tenth of the local population. That is why the parishes run by the Protestant Church are the most miserable in this region.

In 1849, the 27-year-old priest Theodor van Gogh was appointed to one of these parishes - Groot-Zundert, a small village located at the very Belgian border, about fifteen kilometers from Roosendaal, where the Dutch customs house was located along the Brussels-Amsterdam route. This arrival is very unenviable. But it is difficult for a young pastor to hope for something better: he does not have either brilliant abilities or eloquence. His ponderously monotonous sermons are devoid of flight, they are just uncomplicated rhetorical exercises, banal variations on hackneyed themes. True, he takes his duties seriously and honestly, but he lacks inspiration. Nor can it be said that he was distinguished by a special earnestness of faith. His faith is sincere and deep, but true passion is alien to her. By the way, the Lutheran pastor Theodor Van Gogh is a supporter of liberal Protestantism, the center of which is the city of Groningen.

However, the ordinary appearance of pastor Theodor van Gogh, the modest existence that has become his lot, the vegetative life to which he is doomed by his own mediocrity, can cause a certain surprise - after all, the Zundert pastor belongs, if not to the famous, then, in any case, to the well-known Dutch family. He could be proud of his noble origin, family coat of arms - a branch with three roses. Since the 16th century, representatives of the Van Gogh family have held prominent positions. In the 17th century, one of the Van Goghs was the chief treasurer of the Dutch Union. Another Van Gogh, who first served as consul general in Brazil, then treasurer in Zeeland, traveled to England in 1660 as part of the Dutch embassy to greet King Charles II in connection with his coronation. Later, some of the Van Goghs became churchmen, others were attracted by crafts or the art trade, and still others by military service. As a rule, they excelled in their chosen field. Theodor Van Gogh's father is an influential man, the pastor of the large city of Breda, and even before, no matter what parish he was in charge of, he was everywhere praised for his "exemplary service." He is the descendant of three generations of gold spinners. His father, Theodore's grandfather, who at first chose the craft of a spinner, later became a reader, and then a priest at the monastery church in The Hague. He was made his heir by his great-uncle, who in his youth - he died at the very beginning of the century - served in the Royal Swiss Guard in Paris and was fond of sculpture. As for the last generation of Van Goghs - and the Breda priest had eleven children, although one child died in infancy - then, perhaps, the most unenviable fate fell on the lot of the "glorious pastor", except for his three sisters who remained in the old virgins. Two other sisters married generals. His older brother Johannes is successfully making a career in the maritime department - vice-admiral galloons are just around the corner. His other three brothers - Hendrik, Cornelius Marinus and Vincent - run a large art trade. Cornelius Marinus settled in Amsterdam, Vincent maintains an art gallery in The Hague, the most popular in the city and closely associated with the Parisian firm Goupil, known throughout the world and having its branches everywhere.

Van Goghs, living in prosperity, almost always reach old age, besides, they all have good health. The Breda priest, apparently, easily bears the burden of his sixty years. However, Pastor Theodore differs unfavorably from his relatives in this as well. And it is difficult to imagine that he will ever be able to satisfy, if only it is characteristic of him, the passion for travel that is so characteristic of his relatives. The Van Goghs willingly traveled abroad, and some of them even happened to marry foreigners: Pastor Theodore's grandmother was a Flemish from the city of Malin.

In May 1851, two years after his arrival in Groot-Sundert, Theodor van Gogh conceived on the threshold of his thirtieth birthday to marry, but he did not see the need to look for a wife outside the country. He marries a Dutch woman born in The Hague, Anna Cornelia Carbenthus. The daughter of a court bookbinder, she also comes from a respectable family - among her ancestors is even the Bishop of Utrecht. One of her sisters is married to the pastor's brother Theodore, Vincent, who sells paintings in The Hague.

Henri PERRUCHOT

THE LIFE OF VAN GOGH

Part one. THE BARREL fig tree

I. SILENT CHILDHOOD

Lord, I was on the other side of being and in my insignificance I enjoyed endless peace; I was pulled out of this state in order to be pushed into a strange carnival of life.

The Netherlands is not only a boundless field of tulips, as foreigners often believe. Flowers, the joy of life embodied in them, peaceful and colorful fun, inextricably linked in our minds by tradition with views of windmills and canals - all this is typical of coastal areas, partially reclaimed from the sea and owing their flourishing to large ports. These regions - in the north and in the south - are Holland proper. In addition, the Netherlands has nine more provinces: they all have their own charm. But this charm is of a different kind - sometimes it is more severe: behind the fields of tulips, poor lands, desolate places spread.

Among these regions, perhaps the most destitute is that which is called North Brabant, which is formed by a series of meadows and forests overgrown with heather, stretching along the Belgian border, and sandy wastelands, peat bogs and marshes, a province separated from Germany only by a narrow, uneven strip of Limburg. through which the river Meuse flows. Its main city is 's-Hertogenbosch, the birthplace of Hieronymus Bosch, a 15th-century artist known for his whimsical fantasy. The soils in this province are poor, with much uncultivated land. It often rains here. The mists hang low. Dampness pervades everything and everything. The inhabitants here are mostly peasants or weavers. Meadows filled with moisture allow them to widely develop cattle breeding. In this flat region with rare ridges of hills, black and white cows in the meadows and a dull chain of marshes, you can see carts with dog teams on the roads, which are being taken to the cities - Bergen op Zoom, Breda, Zevenbergen; Eindhoven - copper milk cans.

In 1849, the 27-year-old priest Theodor van Gogh was appointed to one of these parishes - Groot-Zundert, a small village located at the very Belgian border, about fifteen kilometers from Roosendaal, where the Dutch customs house was located along the Brussels-Amsterdam route. This arrival is very unenviable. But it is difficult for a young pastor to hope for something better: he does not have either brilliant abilities or eloquence. His ponderously monotonous sermons are devoid of flight, they are just uncomplicated rhetorical exercises, banal variations on hackneyed themes. True, he takes his duties seriously and honestly, but he lacks inspiration. Nor can it be said that he was distinguished by a special earnestness of faith. His faith is sincere and deep, but true passion is alien to her. By the way, the Lutheran pastor Theodor Van Gogh is a supporter of liberal Protestantism, the center of which is the city of Groningen.

In May 1851, two years after his arrival in Groot-Sundert, Theodor van Gogh conceived on the threshold of his thirtieth birthday to marry, but he did not see the need to look for a wife outside the country. He marries a Dutch woman born in The Hague, Anna Cornelia Carbenthus. The daughter of a court bookbinder, she also comes from a respectable family - among her ancestors is even the Bishop of Utrecht. One of her sisters is married to the pastor's brother Theodore, Vincent, who sells paintings in The Hague.

The pastor's house in Zundert, where thirty-two years old Anna Cornelia entered as mistress, is a one-story brick building. Facade he goes to one of the streets of the village - completely straight, like all the others. The other side faces the garden, where fruit trees, spruces and acacias grow, and mignonette and levkoi grow along the paths. Around the village to the very horizon, the vague outlines of which are lost in the gray sky, endless sandy plains stretch. Here and there a sparse spruce forest, a bleak heath overgrown with heather, a hut with a mossy roof, a quiet river with a bridge thrown over it, an oak grove, trimmed willows, a puddle covered with ripples. The edge of peat bogs breathes peace. Sometimes you might think that life has stopped here altogether. Then suddenly a woman in a cap or a peasant in a cap will pass by, otherwise a magpie will squeal on a high cemetery acacia. Life here does not give rise to any difficulties, does not raise questions. Days pass, invariably similar to one another. It seems that life once and for all from time immemorial has been placed within the framework of ancient customs and mores, God's commandments and law. Let it be monotonous and boring, but it is reliable. Nothing will shake her dead calm.

Perruchot's life of van gogh. Life of wonderful people -

About The Life of Van Gogh by Henri Perruchot

Henri Perruchot Van Gogh's life

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Part one. Barren Fig Tree (1853–1880)

I. Silent childhood

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Henri Perruchot
Van Gogh's life