Letter from Henri Matisse, Nice, to Paul Rosenberg, 1939 November 29 : typescript signed.

He says he's working, but, like every time he returns to Nice, getting back to work is difficult. Either he finds new ideas or nothing comes to him. He's rebelling/straining as much as he can. He says the strange thing is that often the paintings that made him the most unhappy don't seem to remember that when he sees them after having forgotten them. That's a kind of consolation for him. He thanks Rosenberg for his letter praising his exceptional talent., but talent with the torment of almost limitless demands doesn't amount to much. And it's these demands that make him unhappy, especially when they're accompanied by the torments of life that endlessly harass him. Painting makes one happy sometimes, but at what cost does one pay for these moments of happiness? His fate is composed of two things, one excellent and the other horribly bitter, and they don't mix together to create a happy medium. He says that when Rosenberg says that he's a great artist, he can't really believe it, because his strength [as an artist] comes from his almost constant doubt. Can one ever be sure? In any case, when he reads Rosenberg's letters, he can believe it a little and he can live with the illusion that Rosenberg creates in him. He feels obliged to believe it. He feels that he's the greyhound chasing a prey that always escapes him. In the end, he has put up a good chase that he doesn't suspect. The next day he'll begin the same chase for the same unattainable prize. He says that in this letter he's not going to tell him what is tormenting him the most. He wants to try forget, or at least not to make him unbearable to his friends. Matisse is well but must be careful. The weather has been good. He says he has to buck up and remember that now his days are numbered and he must try to overcome his torments.