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" "My good Mama, I am always the same.. ..always the same happy life, always fresh for seeing, vigorous for running, and diligent for one end.. .The Mont Blanc is our alarm clock in the morning, our vis-a-vis are the folk on the other side of the lake of Geneva, (8 leagues). I could not say that we get along badly, though we do dispense with the ceremony of saluting each other and saying bon jour when we look out at the window, for we don't meddle in our neighbors' affairs. Our sight carries fifty leagues about us, and we are equally everywhere, although only occupying the space of our two feet. I am delighted with having received my stretchers in order to commence my view of the Alps. I burn with the desire of fulfilling the difficult task of giving upon canvas an idea of the immensity which surrounds me in order to distribute its benefits to those less fortunate than myself.. .I ask without scruple, because it seems to me that I have something to give. I have so much confidence in myself, mon Dieu, when I examine myself.
Pierre Théodore Rousseau (April 15, 1812 – December 22, 1867) was an important French painter of the Barbizon school. His landscape paintings are mainly grave in character, with an air of melancholy.
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* Charles Jacque to Th. Rousseau: 'I should think you got weary here'.
* Rousseau: 'That depends; when you wish to do so, one can always find beautiful things to study and understand. Look here at this charcoal-burner [in the field] before us, with his big felt hat - who is thinking of his sacks and of his faggots sees how the shadow of those large brims gives a clear yet grave tint to his face'.
* Charles Jacque: 'Draw him, Rousseau, in this pensive attitude, he does not doubt that he is handsome, and if he posed himself he would become repellent. See, here is a sketch-book, go on!'
What has art to do with those things [Revolution, socialism]? Art will never come except from some little disregarded corner where some isolated man is studying the mysteries of nature, fully assured that the answer which he finds and which is good for him is good also for humanity, whatever may be the number of succeeding generations.
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..everything has conspired to keep from me the leisure and quiet which I could wish in order to answer you. I have also made two journeys to Paris, the last one to attend the funeral of poor Emile Diaz [son of the Barbizon-painter Narcisse Virgilio Díaz,] of whom you ask news. His poor father was almost mad with grief, which, however, we managed to calm. You were as if present, and our thoughts associated you with the sad scene. During the return my wife was taken ill, and day by day a neuralgic attack came on which has left her very feeble. I do not know what to do, my dear friend. At the commencement I had thought of leaving her at Martigues, but now her mental condition would not permit of my leaving her. She would be afraid of being ill without me there beside her. I think I had better wait until the result of this last attack shall have left her.