clothes dirty, his shoes muddy and battered.
But most worrisome of all was that he went alone. Anna, in particular, was deeply distrustful of solitude in all its forms. A popular parents’ handbook of the time warned sternly that all “country outings” had to be closely supervised, otherwise “the young man disappears into the woods and finds … all that is capable of intoxicating his imagination.” Vincent spent more and more of his time on these solitary cross-country treks, and less and less time “visiting” or playing with others. His schoolmates recalled him as “aloof” and “withdrawn”:a boy who “had little to do with other children.” “Vincent went off on his own for most of the time,” one of them said, “and wandered for hours … quite a long way from [town].”
His isolation extended even into the crowded parsonage.
Judging by his lifelong affection for babies and small children, Vincent must have found some pleasures at home during his time in Zundert—in the beginning, at least, when the parsonage was filled with both. He shared the attic rooms with them, played games with them, read to them, and undoubtedly played the parent to them in other ways, even as his own parental relationships deteriorated. As each grew up and began to assume an adult personality, however, the warm feelings faded. Anna, his oldest sister, looked and acted increasingly like their mother: humorless, judgmental, and cold (one brother described her as “a bit like the North Pole”). Sister Lies was six years younger and just developing into a poetic, fragile girl when Vincent’s adolescent angst began to disrupt the household peace. A lover of music and nature whose moody letters were filled with plaintive “oh!”s and weeping appreciations of family unity, Lies never fully forgave Vincent for threatening that unity. The last of the sisters, Willemina (called Wil), was born when Vincent was nine, during the tensest years in the parsonage. Unknown to Vincent at the time, the little girl running around under his feet was the only kindred spirit among his “siskins.” Dutiful and serious as a child, Wil later developed an intellectual and artistic ambition that made her the only one of Vincent’s sisters who ever appreciated his art.
Vincent’s inevitable companion in his early years was his brother Theo. Born in 1857, a month after Vincent turned four, Theo arrived at exactly the right moment. He was the first sibling toward whom Vincent could feel a truly parental devotion. The pair played together inseparably. Vincent taught Theo boys’ skills like shooting marbles and building sandcastles. In the winter, they skated, sledded, and played board games by the fire. In summer, they played “Jump the Ditch” and other “fun little games” that Vincent invented for his brother’s delight.
In a family that otherwise strictly rationed displays of parental affection, Theo repaid Vincent’s lavish attention with an attachment tantamount to “worship,” according to sister Lies. He considered Vincent “more than just a normal human being.” Writing decades later, Theo recalled, “I adored him more than anything imaginable.” Starting very early, the two brothers shared a tiny second-floor bedroom, and probably a bed. In the privacy of this attic redoubt, covered in a blue wallpaper that he would remember vividly for the rest of his life, Vincent practiced his ripening skills as a talker—a fast and furious talker—on his adoring brother.
But no matter how hard he tried, Vincent could not make Theo into the same person. They looked less and less alike as the years went by. Theo had his father’sslight build and delicate features, while Vincent’s body and face only thickened with age. Theo had blond hair to Vincent’s fiery red. They shared the same pale eyes, but in Theo’s refined face, they looked dreamy, not piercing. Theo did not share his older brother’s iron constitution. From an
But most worrisome of all was that he went alone. Anna, in particular, was deeply distrustful of solitude in all its forms. A popular parents’ handbook of the time warned sternly that all “country outings” had to be closely supervised, otherwise “the young man disappears into the woods and finds … all that is capable of intoxicating his imagination.” Vincent spent more and more of his time on these solitary cross-country treks, and less and less time “visiting” or playing with others. His schoolmates recalled him as “aloof” and “withdrawn”:a boy who “had little to do with other children.” “Vincent went off on his own for most of the time,” one of them said, “and wandered for hours … quite a long way from [town].”
His isolation extended even into the crowded parsonage.
Judging by his lifelong affection for babies and small children, Vincent must have found some pleasures at home during his time in Zundert—in the beginning, at least, when the parsonage was filled with both. He shared the attic rooms with them, played games with them, read to them, and undoubtedly played the parent to them in other ways, even as his own parental relationships deteriorated. As each grew up and began to assume an adult personality, however, the warm feelings faded. Anna, his oldest sister, looked and acted increasingly like their mother: humorless, judgmental, and cold (one brother described her as “a bit like the North Pole”). Sister Lies was six years younger and just developing into a poetic, fragile girl when Vincent’s adolescent angst began to disrupt the household peace. A lover of music and nature whose moody letters were filled with plaintive “oh!”s and weeping appreciations of family unity, Lies never fully forgave Vincent for threatening that unity. The last of the sisters, Willemina (called Wil), was born when Vincent was nine, during the tensest years in the parsonage. Unknown to Vincent at the time, the little girl running around under his feet was the only kindred spirit among his “siskins.” Dutiful and serious as a child, Wil later developed an intellectual and artistic ambition that made her the only one of Vincent’s sisters who ever appreciated his art.
Vincent’s inevitable companion in his early years was his brother Theo. Born in 1857, a month after Vincent turned four, Theo arrived at exactly the right moment. He was the first sibling toward whom Vincent could feel a truly parental devotion. The pair played together inseparably. Vincent taught Theo boys’ skills like shooting marbles and building sandcastles. In the winter, they skated, sledded, and played board games by the fire. In summer, they played “Jump the Ditch” and other “fun little games” that Vincent invented for his brother’s delight.
In a family that otherwise strictly rationed displays of parental affection, Theo repaid Vincent’s lavish attention with an attachment tantamount to “worship,” according to sister Lies. He considered Vincent “more than just a normal human being.” Writing decades later, Theo recalled, “I adored him more than anything imaginable.” Starting very early, the two brothers shared a tiny second-floor bedroom, and probably a bed. In the privacy of this attic redoubt, covered in a blue wallpaper that he would remember vividly for the rest of his life, Vincent practiced his ripening skills as a talker—a fast and furious talker—on his adoring brother.
But no matter how hard he tried, Vincent could not make Theo into the same person. They looked less and less alike as the years went by. Theo had his father’sslight build and delicate features, while Vincent’s body and face only thickened with age. Theo had blond hair to Vincent’s fiery red. They shared the same pale eyes, but in Theo’s refined face, they looked dreamy, not piercing. Theo did not share his older brother’s iron constitution. From an
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