London, 9 February 1874
My dear Caroline,
I feel the need to write a few words to you.
What happy days those were ‘when we were together’.1 You must know that I haven’t forgotten you, but writing doesn’t come to me as easily as I’d like.
I have a rich life here, ‘having nothing, yet possessing all things’.2 Sometimes I start to believe that I’m gradually beginning to turn into a true cosmopolitan, meaning not a Dutchman, Englishman or Frenchman, but simply a man.
1v:2 With the world as my mother country, meaning that tiny spot in the world where we’re set down. But we aren’t there yet, but I follow after, if that I may apprehend.3
And as our ideal that which Mauve calls ‘that’s it’.
Old girl, adieu.
A handshake for you and Willem,4 like old times, so that it hurts your fingers.