Vincent van Gogh's Biography

Author: Owen Stone (USA)
Translator: Chang Tao
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2001-01-01
Features: Excerpt: She smiled brightly and prepared to leave. Vincent grabbed her arm. "I stayed up last night thinking of a name for you," he said, "I've named you the Angel of the Dolls."① Ursula lifted her face and laughed happily, "The Angel of the Dolls!"② She exclaimed loudly, "I should tell Mom this name!" She broke free from his grasp, turned and smiled, ran across the small garden, and ran into the house. (2) Gibb & Co. Vincent put on his top hat and gloves and walked down Clapen Street. It was far from the center of London, with sparse residential areas. The gardens of every house were filled with lilacs, hawthorns, and golden chain flowers. It was 8:15 now, and he just needed to arrive at Gibb & Co. by 9 o'clock. He was full of energy and walked briskly. Along the way, he noticed more and more houses and people heading to work. As he passed them, he felt a special fondness for each of them, for they too knew how wonderful love was! He walked along the Thames Embankment, crossed Westminster Bridge, passed Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament, and turned into Southampton 17, River, the London branch of Gibb & Co., which specialized in art and print publishing. As he passed through the main gallery, carpeted with thick carpets and draped with luxurious curtains, he saw a painting hanging there. It depicted a monster, about six yards long, which was neither a fish nor a dragon, with a little figure soaring above it. The title of the painting was "Archangel Michael Killing Satan."① "You have a package for you at the print counter," a shop assistant told Vincent as he walked through the hall. After passing through the painting gallery, which displayed works by Millais①, Burton, and Turner②, he came to the second room, which was dedicated to etchings and engravings. The third room was more commercial than the previous ones, and most transactions took place here. Vincent couldn't help but laugh when he recalled the last female customer from the previous night. "I really can't stand this one, Henry, what about you?" she asked her husband, "That dog looks just like the one that bit me last summer in Brighton." "Look, old man," Henry said, "Do our paintings really have to have a dog in them? They mostly tend to upset the ladies." Vincent knew that what he sold was indeed poor quality. However, most of the people who came here to buy paintings were not experts. They paid high prices for inferior works. But what did that have to do with him? He just needed to do a good job in the art business. He opened the package sent from the Gibb branch in Paris. It was from Caesar de Coque, with the painting inscribed: "To Vincent and Ursula Royer: My friend's friend is my friend.③" "I'll mention this to Ursula when I bring the paintings tonight," he murmured to himself, "I'll be twenty-two soon, and I'll have five pounds a month income. I don't have to wait any longer."