Notes

Subsequent commentators have taken up this loose memory, no doubt because it neatly accounts for Theo's odd eagerness to leave Vincent's bedside. But it is not consistent with the record and also would have been inappropriate social behavior (an unmarried, unengaged couple traveling alone together). Theo's delay in traveling to Holland would also have been dictated by the firm's business, which usually accelerated around the holiday (Jansen and Robert, p. 25). Jo might have preferred to stay longer with Theo in Paris but apparently the domestic situation in the household of Andries Bonger's, where she was staying while in Paris, became inhospitable. In his letter to his mother on December 21, Theo had written, "Jo might leave here on Monday [December 24] as André's wife [Anne Marie-Louise Bonger-Van der Linden] is displeased with us for some reason, so it might be best for her to go home if things don't work out, much as I should like to keep her here." (See Jansen and Robert, p. 69, n. 2; also p. 67, n. 4: "Theo advised Jo, who was staying with her brother Andries and his wife Annie in Paris, to return to Amsterdam as planned, not only because of his own departure for Arles but also because of problems with Andries and Annie.")

In the last few days before Christmas, Jo moved her trip home from December 24 to December 26, perhaps in order to spend the holiday with Theo. On Christmas Eve, as he hastily made arrangements for his unexpected trip to Arles, Theo wrote Jo apologizing for the last-minute disruption in their plans: "Goodbye, dearest, rather different from what I had expected for your last day here [i.e., Christmas Day]" (b2018 V/1982, ''Gogh, Theo van'' to ''Bonger, Jo'', 12/24/1888). According to Jansen and Robert, Jo did leave on December 26, just about the time Theo was returning from Arles (ibid., p. 69, n. 2).

Although this clearly represents a conflation of sources, subsequent accounts continue to assume that Gauguin's telegram included, at the least, the phrase "an attack of high fever" (see, e.g., Merlhès, Correspondence de Paul Gauguin, p. 307). In fact, Jo appears to have borrowed this phrase from a letter Theo wrote her on December 28, after returning from Arles: "I found Vincent in the hospital in Arles. ... He had been showing symptoms of that most dreadful illness, of madness, and an attack of fièvre chaude, when he injured himself with a knife, was the reason he was taken to hospital." (b2020 V/1982, ''Gogh, Theo van'' to ''Bonger, Jo'', 12/28/1888.)

The most intriguing possibility raised by Theo's letters to Jo is that there was some additional exchange of information (presumably between Theo and Gauguin and presumably by telegram) before Theo left for Arles. In another note to Jo sent on December 24, Theo wrote, "I hope it is not as bad as I had thought at first. He is very sick but he might still recover." (b2018 V/1982, ''Gogh, Theo van'' to ''Bonger, Jo'', 12/24/1888.) This at least raises the possibility that Theo requested and received a more detailed (and less distressing) report about Vincent's condition after the initial telegram from Gauguin.

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "How can Gauguin claim to have feared disturbing me by his presence when he would have difficulty denying that he knew I asked for him continually, and people told him time and again that I was insisting on seeing him that very moment? Precisely to tell him to keep it between himself and me without disturbing you. He wouldn't listen."

Context:
BVG W15, 10/20/1889-10/22/1889: "I have read an article about Dostoevsky, who wrote a book Souvenirs de la maison des morts, and this induced me to resume a large study I had begun in the fever ward at Arles."
JLB 812, 10/21/1889: "I had read an article on Dostoevsky, who had written a book, Souvenirs de la maison des morts, and that spurred me on to begin work again on a large study that I'd begun in the fever ward in Arles."

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "How can Gauguin claim to have feared disturbing me by his presence when he would have difficulty denying that he knew I asked for him continually, and people told him time and again that I was insisting on seeing him that very moment?"

Context:
JLB 741, 1/22/1889: "During my illness I again saw each room in the house at Zundert, each path, each plant in the garden, the views round about, the fields, the neighbours, the cemetery, the church, our kitchen garden behind -- right up to the magpies' nest in a tall acacia in the cemetery. That's because I still have the most primitive memories of all of you, of those days; to remember all this there's now only Mother and me."

Despite this logic, Hulsker maintains that Gauguin left immediately on December 24, citing Émile Bernard's letter of January 1, 1889, to Albert Aurier in which he quotes Gauguin saying that Vincent's breakdown took place "the day before I left" (Hulsker, Vincent and Theo: A Dual Biography, pp. 330-331). But Gauguin's account, as filtered through Bernard's melodramatic intent ("My best friend, my dear friend Vincent is mad") is neither reliable nor internally consistent. For example, Bernard writes on January 1 that Gauguin had returned to Paris "four days ago" -- which would put his arrival at December 27th. Whereas, if he had left on the 24th, he would have arrived in Paris on the 25th at the latest. Also, the "incident" Gauguin was dating from may not have been the street encounter near midnight on the night of December 23rd (as Hulsker and perhaps Bernard assumed), but the discovery of Vincent's seemingly lifeless body by the police the next morning, the 24th, and the considerable chaos that ensued, including questioning of Gauguin by the police. If all of this constituted "the incident," then Gauguin's statement that it happened "the day before I left" is consistent with his returning with Theo on the evening train on December 25th.

Roskill aggregates persuasive evidence that Gauguin was in Paris no later than December 28 when he witnessed and made sketches of a public execution (Roskill, p. 270). Roskill believes Gauguin may have stayed several days after Christmas, but he assumes that Theo did too, which has since been shown not to be the case (ibid.). It seems doubtful to us that Gauguin would have stayed longer in Arles than Theo and the postscript in a letter from Roulin to Theo dated December 26 ("My family sends greetings to Mr. Paul Gauguin") strongly suggests that Gauguin was gone by that day, which further supports a return to Paris with Theo (Roulin, quoted in Hulsker, Vincent and Theo: A Dual Biography, p. 23). When Vincent finally weighed in on the subject, on January 2, he, too, assumed that Gauguin had joined Theo on the train back to Paris: "In short, why doesn't he [Gauguin] give me a sign of life? He must have left with you." (JLB 728, 1/2/1889.) This indicates, at the least, that he had heard nothing to the contrary from Theo or from visitors like Roulin, Frédéric Salles, a clergyman in Arles, and Rey, who would have been in a position to know when Gauguin left Arles.

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "And if he's unhappy with the exchange he made with me he can take back his little canvas of Martinique and his portrait that he sent me from Brittany, giving me back for his part both my portrait and my two canvases of sunflowers which he took in Paris."

Context:
JLB 728, 1/2/1889: In order to reassure you completely on my account I'm writing you these few words in the office of Mr. Rey, the house physician, whom you saw yourself. I'll stay here at the hospital for another few days -- then I dare plan to return home very calmly.

Context:
BVG 567, 1/2/1889: "I am happy to tell you that my predictions have been realized and that this over-excitement has only been temporary. I strongly feel that he will be himself in a few days."
JLB 728, 1/2/1889: "I am happy to tell you that my predictions have been borne out, and that this over-excitement was only fleeting. I strongly believe that he will have recovered in a few days' time."

Context:
BVG 567, 1/2/1889: "I am happy to tell you that my predictions have been realized and that this over-excitement has only been temporary. I strongly feel that he will be himself in a few days."
JLB 728, 1/2/1889: "I am happy to tell you that my predictions have been borne out, and that this over-excitement was only fleeting. I strongly believe that he will have recovered in a few days' time."

Context:
BVG 576, 2/3/1889: "So let us work very calmly, look after ourselves as best we can, and not exhaust ourselves in futile attempts at mutual generosity."
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "So let's work very calmly, look after ourselves as much as we can and not wear ourselves out in sterile efforts at reciprocal generosity."

Context:
BVG 576, 2/3/1889: " You do your duty and I will do mine, and as far as that's concerned, we've both already paid for it -- and not just in words -- and at the end of the road we may quietly come together again."
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: " You'll do your duty and I'll do mine, as far as that's concerned both of us have already paid for it other than in words and, at the end of the road, possibly we'll see each other calmly again."

Context:
BVG W11, 4/30/1889: "I have had in all four great crises, during which I didn't in the least know what I said, what I wanted and what I did."
JLB 764, 4/28/1889-5/2/1889: "In all I've had 4 big crises in which I hadn't the slightest idea of what I said, wanted, did."

Context:
BVG 582, 3/29/1889: "These last three months do seem so strange to me. Sometimes moods of indescribable mental anguish, sometimes moments when the veil of time and the fatality of circumstances seemed to be torn apart for an instant."
JLB 753, 3/29/1889: "How strange these last three months appear to me. Sometimes nameless moral anguish, then moments when the veil of time and of the inevitability of circumstances seemed to open up a little way for the space of a blink of an eye."

Context:
BVG 592, 5/22/1889: "I like to think that once you know what it is, once you are conscious of your condition, and of being subject to attacks, then you can do something to prevent your being taken unawares by the anguish or the terror."
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "I dare to believe that once one knows what it is, once one is aware of one's state and of possibly being subject to crises, that then one can do something about it oneself so as not to be caught so much unawares by the anguish or the terror."

Context:
BVG W11, 4/30/1889: "I am unable to describe exactly what is the matter with me; now and then there are horrible fits of anxiety, apparently without cause, or otherwise a feeling of emptiness and fatigue in the head."
JLB 764, 5/2/1889: "I can't precisely describe what the thing I have is like, there are terrible fits of anxiety sometimes -- without any apparent cause -- or then again a feeling of emptiness and fatigue in the mind."

Context:
BVG 582, 3/29/1889: "These last three months do seem so strange to me. Sometimes moods of indescribable mental anguish, sometimes moments when the veil of time and the fatality of circumstances seemed to be torn apart for an instant."
JLB 753, 3/29/1889: "How strange these last three months appear to me. Sometimes nameless moral anguish, then moments when the veil of time and of the inevitability of circumstances seemed to open up a little way for the space of a blink of an eye."

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "The most fearsome thing is the insomnia ... I was very fearful of sleeping alone in the house, and I felt anxious that I wouldn't be able to sleep, but it went very well and I dare to believe that it won't recur. My suffering in that way in the hospital was appalling, and yet in the midst of it all, though I was more than insensible."

Context:
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "For I've been unable to write for several days, but you can clearly see that that's over now" (emphasis in original).

Context:
BVG 574, 1/28/1889: "However, the unbearable hallucinations have ceased, and are now getting reduced to a simple nightmare, in consequence of my taking bromide of potassium, I think."
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "However, the unbearable hallucinations have stopped for now, reducing themselves to a simple nightmare on account of taking potassium bromide, I think."

Context:
BVG 585, 4/21/1889: "What comforts me a little is that I am beginning to consider madness as a disease like any other and accept the thing as such, whereas during the crises themselves I thought that everything I imagined was real."
JLB 760, 4/21/1889: "What consoles me a little is that I'm beginning to consider madness as an illness like any other and accept the thing as it is, while during the actual crises it seemed to me that everything I was imagining was reality."

Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "I observe in others that, like me, they too have heard sounds and strange voices during their crises, that things also appeared to change before their eyes."

Context:
BVG 586, 4/24/1889: "There remains, however, the idea of an association of painters, of lodging them in common, some of them; though we did not succeed, though it is a deplorable and melancholy failure, the idea is still true and reasonable, like so many others. But we won't begin again."
JLB 761, 4/24/1889: "Remains, however, the fact that the idea of association of painters, of housing them together, some of them, although we haven't succeeded, although it's a deplorable and painful failure -- this idea remains true and reasonable -- like so many others. But no beginning again."

Context:
BVG 588, 4/30/1889: "That was a blow to me, since not only the studio had come to grief, but even the studies that would have been reminders of it. It is all so final, and my urge to found something very simple but lasting was so strong. I was fighting a losing battle, or rather it was weakness of character on my part, for I am left with feelings of deep remorse about it, difficult to describe."
JLB 765, 4/30/1889: "That had an effect on me, not only the studio having foundered, but even the studies which would have been the memories of it damaged, it's so final, and my urge to found something very simple but durable was so strong. It was fighting against insurmountable odds, or rather it was weakness of character on my part, for I still have feelings of grave remorse difficult to define."

Context:
JLB 765, 4/30/1889: "I think that was the cause of my crying out so much during the crises, that I wanted to defend myself and could no longer manage to."

Context:
JLB 776, 5/23/1889: "At present this horror of life is already less pronounced, and the melancholy less acute. ... And it's even only in these very last days that the repulsion for life has changed quite radically. There's still a way to go from there to will and action." (Emphasis in original.)

Context:
BVG W11, 4/30/1889: "There can be no doubt that much of this is my own fault, and at times I have attacks of melancholy and of atrocious remorse."
JLB 764, 4/28/1889-5/2/1889: "No doubt a large part of it is my fault, and from time to time I have fits of melancholy, atrocious remorse."

Context:
BVG 570, 1/9/1889: "My suffering from this in the hospital was frightful and yet through it all, even when I was so far gone that it was more than a swoon, I can tell you as a curiosity that I kept on thinking about Degas."
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "My suffering in that way in the hospital was appalling, and yet in the midst of it all, though I was more than insensible, I can tell you as a curiosity that I kept thinking about Degas."

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "My suffering in that way in the hospital was appalling, and yet in the midst of it all, though I was more than insensible, I can tell you as a curiosity that I kept thinking about Degas. Gauguin and I had talked about Degas before."

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "How can Gauguin claim to have feared disturbing me by his presence when he would have difficulty denying that he knew I asked for him continually, and people told him time and again that I was insisting on seeing him that very moment?"

Context:
JLB 764, 4/28/1889-5/2/1889: "The floor tiled with red bricks. At the far end a door surmounted by a crucifix."

Context:
JLB 741, 1/22/1889: "During my illness I again saw each room in the house at Zundert, each path, each plant in the garden, the views round about, the fields, the neighbours, the cemetery, the church, our kitchen garden behind -- right up to the magpies' nest in a tall acacia in the cemetery."

Context:
BVG 572a, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: " In my mental or nervous fever, or madness -- I am not too sure how to put it or what to call it -- my thoughts sailed over many seas."
JLB 739, 1/21/1889: " In my mental or nervous fever or madness, I don't know quite what to say or how to name it, my thoughts sailed over many seas."

Although Vincent doesn't specify the offenses against his brother that haunted him, the subject of his guilt probably is revealed in his fevered promises later in January to repay the debts he owed: "You'll have been poor all the time to feed me, but I'll return the money or turn up my toes" (JLB 743, 1/28/1889). The same guilt appears to be the subject of a later description of the memories that plagued him in subsequent attacks: "Having nothing else to do I think about all those I know all day and night long. What misery -- and all of it, so to speak, for nothing. I won't hide from you that I would have preferred to die than to cause and bear so much trouble." (JLB 750, 3/19/1889.) Clearly, Theo is one of these "people" to whom Vincent has returned "nothing" for their kindness to him and whom he has "caused such trouble." Still later, in St. Rémy, Vincent recalls his earlier attacks in Arles and those descriptions are heavy with guilt and remorse: "At present this horror of life is already less pronounced, and the melancholy less acute. ... And it's even only in these very last days that the repulsion for life has changed quite radically." (JLB 776, 5/23/1889; emphasis in original.)

The next most contemporaneous account is the letter that Bernard wrote to Aurier on January 1, 1889, which is based, inter alia, on the account that Gauguin gave him immediately after returning from Arles. In it, Gauguin is quoted as saying that after spending the night in a hotel, "when I returned [to the Yellow House] the entire population of Arles was in front of our house. It was then that the gendarmes arrested me, for the house was full of blood." (Bernard to Aurier, 1/1/1889; quoted in Hulsker, p. 323.) There is nothing in this account about how or when Vincent was taken to the hospital except this: "The police set off and came to the house" (ibid.). Jo Bonger, in her Memoir decades later, added a new player to the drama of rescue: Joseph Roulin. "On the evening of December 24 [sic] Vincent had in a state of violent excitement ... cut off a piece of his ear and brought it as a gift to a woman in a brothel. A big tumult had ensued. Roulin the postman had seen Vincent home; the police had intervened, had found Vincent bleeding and unconscious in bed, and sent him to the hospital." (Van Gogh-Bonger, in Van Gogh, p. xlvi.) This garbled account suggests both that Vincent cut off his ear someplace other than at the Yellow House and was brought home by Roulin. Such a scenario comports with neither the known record (see Doiteau and Leroy, pp. 180-181) nor common sense (why would Roulin take Vincent home rather than to the hospital?).

In his later version of Vincent's rescue in Avant et après, Gauguin places Vincent's self-mutilation at the Yellow House but puts the police at the house that same night, not the next morning, which contradicts both the newspaper account and his own contemporaneous account to Bernard: "I had not the slightest inkling of all this when I appeared on the threshold of our house and the gentleman with the bowler hat [i.e., the policeman] said to me point-blank, in a more than severe tone: 'What have you done, sir, to your comrade?' -- 'I don't know.' -- 'Oh, yes ... you know very well, ... he is dead.'" (Gauguin, "Avant et Après," in Stein, ed., p. 127.) Gauguin's account portrays himself both as falsely-accused suspect and rescuer-in-chief: "I would not wish anyone such a moment, and it took me a few long minutes to be able to think clearly and to repress the beating of my heart. Anger, indignation, and grief as well, and the shame of all those gazes that were tearing my entire being to pieces suffocated me, and I stuttered when I said, 'Alright, sir, let us go upstairs, and we can explain ourselves up there.' In the bed, Vincent lay completely enveloped in the sheets, curled up like a gun hammer; he appeared lifeless. Gently, very gently, I touched the body, whose warmth surely announced life. For me it was as if I had regained all my powers of thought and energy. Almost in a whisper, I said to the commissioner of police: 'Be so kind, sir, as to awaken this man with great care and, if he asks for me, tell him that I have left for Paris. The sight of me could be fatal to him.' I must avow that from this moment on the commissioner of police was as reasonable as possible and intelligently sent for a doctor and a carriage." (ibid.) Note how Gauguin slyly accounts for the fact that he had no contact with Vincent in Arles after the incident ("the sight of me could be fatal to him") -- a hasty withdrawal for which he had been much criticized. Among the many ways this story differs from the other accounts, including the newspaper article, is that it has Vincent waking up in his room in the Yellow House and asking for his pipe and tobacco -- as well as for Gauguin -- before being taken to the hospital. Almost all commentators dismiss this Horla-like tale as a farrago of invention designed to deflect many of the criticisms that had been directed at Gauguin's behavior in Arles over the intervening years.

The question of whether Vincent was found soon after he delivered the ear-piece to the brothel or the next morning may be a semantic one. According to the newspaper account, the events of December 23 occurred near midnight. Thus the same account's reference to the police arriving "the following day" could refer to the early morning hours on December 24. That would be consistent with the recollection of the policeman on duty that night, a "M. Robert" (Alphonse Robert), who later told Doiteau and Leroy: "[The prostitute] gave me a newspaper containing the ear saying here is the gift the painter gave us; I ask them a few questions ... It's my duty to tell my boss about it directly; police superintendent [Joseph d']Ornano started a search for [Vincent] without further ado and went off to his house with some other officers." (Doiteau and Leroy, p. 174; emphasis added.)

If this is correct, of course, it means that either Gauguin's claim to Bernard to have spent the night in a hotel, or his later claim to have returned to the Yellow House to find the police and Vincent still there and conscious, or both, are fabrications. As to what role, if any, Roulin played in the dramatic events of that night and morning, we have only Bonger's otherwise distorted version, which we suspect incorporates something Theo told her that is not in the written record. Whatever role Roulin played, large or small, one can be certain that he made much of it in the subsequent sensation-mongering over Vincent's hospitalization.

In particular, Roulin is suspiciously detailed, specific, and emphatic about the amount of time that he spends in his duties as Vincent's caretaker, protector, and advocate -- an accounting that indicates, to us, an effort to convince Theo that he is worth every franc that Theo is sending him -- or might send him. Here is an example: "I went to the hospital to get my friend Vincent and take him for a little fresh air. We went to the house, he was pleased to see his paintings again; we stayed together four hours, he has completely recovered." (b1068 V/1962, ''Roulin, Joseph'' to ''Gogh, Theo van'', 1/4/1889; quoted in Hulsker, "Vincent's Stay in the Hospitals at Arles and St.-Rémy," p. 27.) Hulsker takes rare exception to Bonger's Memoir where she argues that Roulin did not write some of his letters to Theo himself but, because of his poor penmanship, dictated them to one of his two sons, Armand or Camille (see Van Gogh-Bonger, p. xlvi). Hulsker writes, "I have found no evidence to support this contention, which seems somewhat doubtful given Roulin's profession" (Hulsker, "Vincent's Stay in the Hospitals at Arles and St.-Rémy," pp. 20-21). We think it entirely likely that Roulin dictated his letters, not as a compensation for poor penmanship but as a function of his grandiosity, dictating his florid language to a "secretary" because that is how important people communicated -- especially when corresponding with someone so grand (in Roulin's estimation) as a gérant from the famous House of Goupil in Paris. We believe this is how Roulin conceived his correspondence with Theo (and his oversight of Vincent): more as a formal employment by a gentleman of high standing, than as an act of charity toward a beloved friend.

In his ambivalence, Salles seems to propose two incompatible conclusions: (1) that Vincent's "undefineable" condition is characterized by "sudden and complete changes" and (2) that, as long as Vincent is in one of his good periods, "there can be no question of taking him out of circulation." Also, why does Salles describe the act of taking Vincent out of circulation (i.e., keeping him in the hospital or sending him to an asylum) as an act of "sad courage" [triste courage]? Why would it take "courage" to do something that shouldn't be done? This ambivalence comes to full puzzling flower a month later (April 1889) when Salles agrees with Vincent's decision to institutionalize himself: "[Vincent] is infinitely better, as you have been able to see from his letters; it has sometimes seemed as if not a trace of the trouble, which so much affected him, has remained. I add that those who know your brother and particularly the doctors, approve the decision and regard it as very wise, in view of the state of isolation in which your brother will find himself after leaving the hospital." (b1050 V/1962, ''Salles, Frédéric'' to ''Gogh, Theo van'', 4/19/1889; quoted in Hulsker, p. 32-33.)

But if Vincent is "infinitely better," the logic of Salles's previous correspondence is that there should be "no question" of institutionalization, whether voluntary or involuntary. His statement that the "the doctors, approve [Vincent's] decision [to enter an asylum] and regard it as very wise," appears to stand in direct contradiction to the previous letter in which he wrote, "It is clear that so long as he remains as I have just seen him [i.e., 'infinitely better'] there could be no question of taking him out of circulation" (ibid.). Either Salles's earlier positive comments were just empty niceties, or he is a feather in the breeze and, ultimately, just wants everyone to be happy -- exactly Theo's paralyzing predicament.

We think this may misread the passage. In our opinion, Theo is either unconsciously or consciously (for Jo's benefit) conflating his friends' sympathy for his predicament with their "opinion of Vincent's mental condition" (b2022 V/1982, ''Gogh, Theo van'' to ''Bonger, Jo'', 1/1/1889; quoted in Jansen and Robert, p. 77). While Degas, Gauguin, and Bonger may have been supportive of Theo in his dilemma and in his concern for Vincent, their support was not based on an objective assessment or personal experience of Vincent's current mental state or medical condition. We know that both Bonger and Gauguin -- who knew Vincent far better than Degas -- thought Vincent was mad -- an assessment that comes out most clearly in Bernard's letter to Aurier of January 1, 1889, which adopts Gauguin's melodramatic (and defensive) tone on the subject ("My best friend, my dear friend Vincent is mad" [Bernard, "Letter from Émile Bernard to Alphonse Aurier," n.p.]). Degas probably had absolutely no direct information or experience on the issue but was merely sympathetic to Theo's plight in "losing" a brother, whether to madness, death, or both.

Theo's family, who knew Vincent better than anyone, had no doubt that he was insane (see Ch. 37, n. 159). And while Wil's letter of December 30 is sympathetic to both Vincent's fate and Theo's suffering, it is not ambivalent or "supportive" on the issue of Vincent's mental condition. "Poor, poor Vincent ... Do the doctors say there is no possibility that he will ever return to a normal state of mind? ... What a difficult life and he has always had such a hard time. Do you think he will ever have peace of mind? That is possible, isn't it, or is it too much of a physical illness?" (b2022 V/1982, ''Gogh, Theo van'' to ''Bonger, Jo'', 1/1/1889.) (It should be noted that only a week earlier, Wil had written Jo urging her to teach Theo to be more "egoistic ... to take care of himself better and to think of himself more often" -- a clear call for him to disengage from his self-destructive relationship with Vincent [b2387 V/1982, ''Gogh, Willemina van'' to ''Gogh, Theo en Jo van'', 12/23/1888] -- a frequent refrain in family commentary about Theo and Vincent.) What is truly interesting about the instant passage is that Theo appears to want to hear words of consolation that he knew to be insincere (as in the case of Gauguin) or unfounded (as in the case of Degas) -- rather than the knowing honesty of his own family.

Context:
JLB 728, 1/2/1889: "Good handshake, I've read and re-read your letter about the meeting with the Bongers. It's perfect. As for me, I'm content to remain as I am."

Context:
JLB 728, 1/2/1889: "Good handshake, I've read and re-read your letter about the meeting with the Bongers. It's perfect. As for me, I'm content to remain as I am."

Given the bureaucratic paperwork already underway, it is highly doubtful that the hospital administrator had the authority or the desire to release Vincent on the basis of Roulin's back-channel bluster. Roulin's tale has all the earmarks of the confabulation of a puffed-up petit-bureaucrat looking to aggrandize his role in the resolution of an embarrassing family problem for the gentleman gérant from Paris. The fact that Roulin claims the administrator said Vincent could leave "when he wished" on January 3, but he didn't finally leave until January 7, probably points to a different scenario behind his release.

Revealingly, Roulin's story changes the very next day, when Vincent is allowed to return to the Yellow House for a brief day-visit accompanied by Roulin: "The house doctor [Rey] was rather uneasy about letting him go, so I told him that I would take it upon me to accompany him and bring him back to the hospital" (ibid.). This supports the argument that Roulin was, at the least, exaggerating his influence with the administrator. It is unlikely that Rey was able to overrule the administrator. And if Rey's advice was purely advisory, it is even more unlikely that Vincent would have stayed in the hospital for an additional four days voluntarily. Perhaps Roulin could only persuade the administrator to allow the supervised day-trip, not a full release. This would explain the telegram that Roulin supposedly sent Theo on January 3 announcing that Vincent had made a complete recovery and would be discharged from hospital within a few days. Since that telegram has not survived (see b2023 V/1982, ''Gogh, Theo van'' to ''Bonger, Jo'', 1/3/1889; quoted in Jansen and Robert, p. 81) -- which is odd in itself -- we have only Roulin's characterization of it in a letter written later that day. The telegram, if it existed, may have suffered from the same hasty inflation of expectations as the letter in which it is described.

Context:
BVG 567, 1/2/1889: " My dear Theo, So as to reassure you completely on my account, I write to you these few lines in the office of the intern, M. Rey, whom you have yourself met. I shall stay here at the hospital for a few more days, then I think I can count on quietly returning to the house. Now I only beg of you one thing, not to worry, because that would cause me too much of a worry."
JLB 728, 1/2/1889: " My dear Theo, In order to reassure you completely on my account I'm writing you these few words in the office of Mr. Rey, the house physician, whom you saw yourself. I'll stay here at the hospital for another few days -- then I dare plan to return home very calmly. Now I ask just one thing of you, not to worry, for that would cause me one worry too many."

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "This morning I went to the hospital again to have my wound dressed, and walked for an hour and a half with the house physician, and we talked a little about everything, even natural history" (emphasis in original).

Context:
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "Mr. Rey came to see the painting with two of his doctor friends, and they at least understand darned quickly what complementaries are."

Context:
JLB 764, 4/28/1889-5/2/1889: "And do you see, the doctors of whom you say, sometimes they can't do very much (which I leave you free to say as much as you consider right) -- very well -- do you know what they can do all the same -- they give you a more cordial handshake, gentler than many other hands, and their presence can really be very pleasant and reassuring sometimes."

Context:
BVG 571, 1/17/1889: "Of course I did not mention anything else, but what I did say was that I myself should always regret not being a doctor, and that those who think painting is beautiful would do well to see nothing in it but a study of nature."
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "Naturally I didn't speak of anything else, but what I said is that I would always regret not being a doctor, and that those who believe painting is beautiful would do well to see in it only a study of nature."

Context:
BVG 585, 4/21/1889: "Rey is a very nice fellow, a tremendous worker, always on the job. What men the modern doctors are!"
JLB 760, 4/21/1889: "Rey is a really good fellow, terribly hard-working, always at the daily grind. What people today's doctors are!"

Context:
BVG 570, 1/9/1889: "Don't forget the 'Anatomy Lesson' for M. Rey. He had already told me before this morning that he was fond of painting, though he knew nothing about it, and that he wished to learn. I told him that he ought to turn collector, but that he should not try to paint himself."
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "Don't forget The anatomy lesson for Mr. Rey. He had already told me before this morning that he likes painting, although he knows little about it, and that he would like to learn. I told him that he should become an art lover but that he shouldn't try to do painting himself." (Emphasis in original.)

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "Don't forget The anatomy lesson for Mr. Rey. He had already told me before this morning that he likes painting, although he knows little about it, and that he would like to learn. I told him that he should become an art lover but that he shouldn't try to do painting himself." (Emphasis in original.)

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "I told him that he should become an art lover but that he shouldn't try to do painting himself" (emphasis in original).

Context:
BVG 569, 1/7/1889: "If ever you want to make the house surgeon Rey very happy, this is what would please him hugely. He has heard of a picture by Rembrandt, the 'Anatomy Lesson.' I told him that we would get him the engraving after it for his study."
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "If ever you want to make the house physician Rey very happy, this is what would give him great pleasure: he has heard about a painting by Rembrandt, The anatomy lesson. I told him that we'd get an engraving of it for his study."

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "I would very much have liked to give another painting to Rivet precisely because I wholly agree with you that it would be good to put Mr. Rey in touch with Rivet."

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "This means that perhaps we'll find 2 doctor friends here, Rey and the Parisian doctor I spoke to you about before."

Context:
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "Last Sunday I met another doctor who, in theory at least, knows what Delacroix and Puvis de Chavannes are all about, and who's very curious to know about Impressionism. I dare hope to get to know him better."

Context:
BVG 569, 1/7/1889: "Last Sunday I met another doctor, who knows his Delacroix and Puvis de Chavannes at least theoretically, and who is very curious about Impressionism. I think I can hope to become better acquainted with him."
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "Last Sunday I met another doctor who, in theory at least, knows what Delacroix and Puvis de Chavannes are all about, and who's very curious to know about Impressionism. I dare hope to get to know him better."

Context:
BVG 569, 1/7/1889: "Last Sunday I met another doctor, who knows his Delacroix and Puvis de Chavannes at least theoretically, and who is very curious about Impressionism. I think I can hope to become better acquainted with him."
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "Last Sunday I met another doctor who, in theory at least, knows what Delacroix and Puvis de Chavannes are all about, and who's very curious to know about Impressionism. I dare hope to get to know him better."

Context:
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "Mr. Rey came to see the painting with two of his doctor friends, and they at least understand darned quickly what complementaries are."

Context:
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "Mr. Rey came to see the painting with two of his doctor friends, and they at least understand darned quickly what complementaries are."

Context:
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "Now I'm planning to do Mr. Rey's portrait and possibly other portraits as soon as I've accustomed myself a little to painting once again."

Context:
BVG 571a, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: "At any rate, on leaving the hospital, I made a portrait of my own doctor. And I haven't wholly lost my equilibrium as a painter."
JLB 740, 1/22/1889: "In any event, on leaving the hospital I painted my own doctor's portrait. And haven't yet altogether lost my equilibrium as a painter."

Context:
BVG 576, 2/3/1889: "But I've already told Rey that at the first sign of a serious symptom I would come back and submit myself to the alienists in Aix, or to himself."
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "But I've already told Rey that at the slightest serious symptom I'd come back and then subject myself to the alienist doctors of Aix or to himself."

Context:
BVG 567, 1/2/1889: " I am happy to tell you that my predictions have been realized and that this over-excitement has only been temporary. I strongly feel that he will be himself in a few days."
JLB 728, 1/2/1889: " I am happy to tell you that my predictions have been borne out, and that this over-excitement was only fleeting. I strongly believe that he will have recovered in a few days' time."

Context:
JLB 729, 1/4/1889: "I am, my dear brother, so heartbroken by your journey, I would have wished that you'd been spared that, for all in all no harm has come to me, and it wasn't worth troubling you" (emphasis in original).

Context:
BVG 568, 1/7/1889: "I do so regret that you had all that trouble for such a trifle. Forgive me, who am after all probably the primary cause of it all."
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "How I regret that you were troubled for such a little thing, forgive me, for I am after all probably the primary cause of it."

Context:
JLB 739, 1/21/1889: "Today I made a fresh start on the canvas I had painted of Mrs Roulin, the one which had remained in a vague state as regards the hands because of my accident."

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "My fear that my indisposition might prevent your very necessary journey, which I've hoped for so much and for so long -- now that this fear has disappeared I feel completely normal."

Context:
BVG 576, 2/3/1889: "Yesterday I went to see the girl to whom I had gone when I was off my head. They told me that there's nothing surprising about things like that in this part of the world."
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "Yesterday I went back to see the girl I went to when I went out of my mind. I was told there that things like that aren't at all surprising around here."

Context:
BVG 575, 1/30/1889: "I will finish this letter like Gauguin's, by telling you that there certainly are signs of previous overexcitement in my words, but that is not surprising, since everyone in this good Tarascon country is a trifle cracked."
JLB 744, 1/30/1889: "I'll end this letter like the one to Gauguin by telling you that there are indeed still signs of the previous over-excitement in my words, but that there's nothing surprising about that, since in this good Tarascon country everyone is a touch cracked."

Context:
BVG 579, 3/19/1889: "In present-day society we artists are only the broken pitchers."
JLB 750, 3/19/1889: " We artists in present-day society are no more than the broken pitcher."

Context:
BVG 578, 2/22/1889: "I understand what Gauguin must suffer more than ever, for in the tropics he caught the very same thing, this excessive sensitivity."
JLB 748, 2/25/1889: "More than ever I understand the sufferings of Gauguin, who caught the same thing in the tropics, an excessive sensitivity."

Context:
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "For your part, simply tell them that I've been a bit ill like the time when I had the clap in The Hague, and that I got myself treated at the hospital."

Context:
BVG 569a, 1/7/1889: "As for myself, my having been indisposed for a few days has in fact refreshed me considerably, and I think there is a chance that there will be nothing the matter with me for a long time to come."
JLB 733, 1/7/1889: "As for me, precisely because I've been unwell for a few days I'm actually very refreshed, and have a chance of not having anything else wrong for a very long time."

Context:
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "But my appetite came back immediately, my digestion is good, and the blood is recovering day by day, and likewise serenity is returning to my mind day by day."

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "Physically I am well, the wound is closing very well and the great loss of blood is balancing out, since I'm eating and digesting well."

Context:
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "But my appetite came back immediately, my digestion is good, and the blood is recovering day by day, and likewise serenity is returning to my mind day by day."

Context:
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "So please deliberately forget your sad journey and my illness."

Context:
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "But that it's not worth the trouble of mentioning, since I got off with a fright and that I was only in the aforesaid or mentioned hospital for a few days."

Context:
BVG 569, 1/7/1889: "… but my appetite came back at once, my digestion is all right and my blood recovers from day to day, and in the same way serenity returns to my brain day by day."
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "But my appetite came back immediately, my digestion is good, and the blood is recovering day by day, and likewise serenity is returning to my mind day by day."

Context:
BVG 568, 1/7/1889: "Only I think that we must still keep quiet with regard to my own painting. If you want any pictures, certainly I can send you some already, but when my peace of mind comes back to me, I hope to do different things. However, as to the Independents, do what seems best to you, and what the others do."
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "I just think that we must still keep calm regarding my own painting. If you want some I can certainly send them to you now, but when calm returns to me I hope to do something else. In any case, as regards the Independents, do what seems best to you and what the others will do."

Two days later, he has collected his thoughts and launched, we believe, a fully rational campaign to minimize the events around Christmas and especially the damage inflicted on his association with Gauguin. It seems to us calculated, not inadvertent or absent-minded, that on January 4 Vincent wrote a letter to Gauguin on the back of a letter to his brother, allowing Theo to "eavesdrop" on his relationship with Gauguin as Vincent wanted him to see it: "My dear friend Gauguin I'm taking advantage of my first trip out of the hospital to write you a few most sincere and profound words of friendship" (JLB 730, 1/4/1889). The letter reinforces the same arguments Vincent is simultaneously making directly to Theo about his trip to Arles being unnecessary ("Tell me. Was my brother Theo's journey really necessary -- my friend?" [ibid.]) and the severity of his condition, exaggerated. (In the accompanying letter to Theo, Vincent writes, "I hope that Gauguin will also completely reassure you" [JLB 729, 1/4/1889].) The letter to Gauguin closes with the usual pleasantries: "So I want you to give my warm regards to good [Émile] Schuffenecker... [and] give my regards to the painters I saw in Paris. I wish you prosperity in Paris. With a good handshake Ever yours, Vincent." (JLB 730, 1/4/1889.)

Vincent's next few letters continue to pursue this theme of continuity: "What is Gauguin doing? As his family are in the north, and as he's been invited to exhibit in Belgium and has some success in Paris at the moment, I like to think that he's found his way." (JLB 732, 1/7/1889.) "What you tell me about Gauguin gives me enormous pleasure, that's to say that he hasn't abandoned his plan to return to the tropics. That's the right path for him. I think I can see clearly into his plan, and I approve of it with all my heart." (JLB 738, 1/9/1889.) "If you were to compare this portrait which Gauguin did of himself then with the one I still have of him, which he sent to me from Brittany in exchange for mine, you would see that all in all he grew more serene here, personally" (ibid.).

Over the course of January, however, as he learns that Gauguin is spreading the truth about the events of December, Vincent withdraws from this posture of normality and turns to damage control, questioning Gauguin's behavior in December and afterward ("the strange phenomenon of Gauguin preferring not to speak to me again while at the same time making himself scarce" [JLB 736, 1/17/1889]) and filling Theo's ear with doubts about Gauguin's trustworthiness: "I've heard two or three things said of him in the same vein -- but I, who saw him at very, very close quarters, I believed him led by his imagination, by pride perhaps but -- -- quite irresponsible" (ibid.). Eventually, Vincent will turn to veiled accusations of betrayal and cowardice (JLB 736, 1/17/1889; see later in this chapter).

Context:
BVG 570, 1/9/1889: "If you compare the self-portrait Gauguin did then with the one that I still have of him, which he sent me from Brittany in exchange for mine, you will see that on the whole he himself got rested here."
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "If you were to compare this portrait which Gauguin did of himself then with the one I still have of him, which he sent to me from Brittany in exchange for mine, you would see that all in all he grew more serene here, personally."

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "The mistake in pal Gauguin's calculations was, in my opinion, that he's a little too accustomed to closing his eyes to the inevitable expenses of house rental, charwoman and a whole heap of earthly things of that kind. Now, all these things weigh a little heavily on the shoulders of the two of us. But once we bear them, other artists could lodge with me without having those costs."

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "The mistake in pal Gauguin's calculations was, in my opinion, that he's a little too accustomed to closing his eyes to the inevitable expenses of house rental, charwoman and a whole heap of earthly things of that kind. Now, all these things weigh a little heavily on the shoulders of the two of us. But once we bear them, other artists could lodge with me without having those costs."

Context:
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "If I remain here it's because I might not be able to transplant myself for the moment. After a little while we can review the pros and cons of the situation and do the calculations again."

Context:
JLB 744, 1/30/1889: "Everyone here is good towards me, the neighbours &c., good and attentive as in one's native country."

Context:
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "As to it being a hot country -- my word, I can't help but think of a certain country Voltaire speaks of -- and without even counting the simple castles in the air. Those are the thoughts that come to me as I return home."

Context:
BVG 571a, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: "Thanks for having wished me a happy New Year all the way from the North of our native country. I received your postcard in the hospital at Arles, where I had been quartered following an attack of something the matter with my brains, or otherwise fever, which had nearly passed off already."
JLB 740, 1/22/1889: "Thank you for sending me New Year's greetings from the far north of our old native country. I received your postcard in the hospital in Arles, where I was quartered at the time because of an attack of brain or some other fever that had already pretty much passed off."

As if this were not clear enough, he adds this emphatic explanation, laying bare his stratagem even though normally he would leave it to indirection and implication: "Thus you'll doubtless find yourself in agreement with the short note that I've made them swallow down there at home in Holland. And by so doing it will be pretty difficult for them to get worked up about it. In fact, they'll imagine that I almost had the clap. I hope that you'll find this stratagem innocent enough." (ibid.) Then, as if recovering his composure and covering his tracks, he adds, "Also you'll see from this that I haven't yet forgotten how to jest sometimes" (ibid.). Just a few days later, when he learns that Theo has been to Holland, he drives the point home again: "Above all, reassure Mother about me" (JLB 738, 1/9/1889).

Vincent's desire to "protect" his family (including Theo) from the truth of his condition does not diminish over the months prior to his commitment to the asylum at Saint-Rémy. In late April, right before committing himself, he wrote Theo, sounding the same theme: "I'll be very happy to have a little news of what you say about Mother and Sister and whether they're well, tell them to take my story, my word, as a thing they mustn't upset themselves about excessively, for I'm relatively unfortunate, but in spite of that, after all, I perhaps still have some almost ordinary years ahead of me: it's an illness like any other, and currently almost all those we know among our friends have something. So is it worth talking about?" (JLB 760, 4/21/1889.)

Context:
BVG 569a, 1/7/1889: "Be so kind as to take good note of the fact that I am writing you these few words, in case Theo has told you about my having been indisposed for a while. However, I hope he understood of his own accord that it was not worth troubling to inform you of it."
JLB 733, 1/7/1889: "Would you be so good as to take note that I'm dropping you this line in case Theo should have told you something about my being indisposed for a few days. I hope that he understood of his own accord that it wasn't worthwhile telling you about it."

Context:
JLB 733, 1/7/1889: "I do hope all is going well with all of you, particularly your health. As for me, precisely because I've been unwell for a few days I'm actually very refreshed, and have a chance of not having anything else wrong for a very long time."

Context:
BVG 569a, 1/7/1889: "My having been unwell has provided the opportunity for getting acquainted with quite a number of people, and I think it's probable that I shall have to do a number of portraits."
JLB 733, 1/7/1889: " I acquired quite a few acquaintances here just at the time I wasn't well, and will probably get several portraits to do."

Context:
JLB 728, 1/2/1889: "Now let's talk about our friend Gauguin, did I terrify him? In short, why doesn't he give me a sign of life?"

Context:
BVG 566, 1/4/1889: "Now, at least, completely reassure everyone, and I pray you yourself to have confidence that all in all nothing bad exists in this best of worlds where everything always is for the best."
JLB 729 and 730, 1/4/1889: "Tell me. Was my brother Theo's journey really necessary -- my friend? Now at least reassure him completely, and yourself, please."

Context:
JLB 729 and 730, 1/4/1889: "Tell me. Was my brother Theo's journey really necessary -- my friend? Now at least reassure him completely, and yourself, please. Trust that in fact no evil exists in this best of worlds, where everything is always for the best."

The last line is poised between playful mockery and genuine bitterness over his mistreatment at Gauguin's hands. These contradictory feelings of fondness and resentment will express themselves within days as Vincent withdraws from his offer to send the fencing equipment immediately and instead clings to it, and Gauguin's other belongings, in the deluded hope that Gauguin might still return to Arles. His excuse for not sending them combines lame excuse and light-hearted ribbing: "I'll send you your things, but at times weakness overcomes me again, and then I can't even make the gesture of sending you back your things. I'll pluck up the courage in a few days. And the 'fencing masks and gloves' (make the very least possible use of less childish engines of war), those terrible engines of war will wait until then. I now write to you very calmly, but I haven't yet been able to pack up all the rest." (JLB 739, 1/21/1889; emphasis in original.) Over the next months, as the fantasy of Gauguin's return recedes, the darker side of Vincent's emotional conflict over Gauguin, with its themes of danger and treachery, emerges. In his paranoia, Vincent will see threats all around him -- all derived from the original threat from Gauguin. And, significantly, he will not return Gauguin's fencing equipment until May 1889 (JLB 767, 5/2/1889), four months after he promised to do so.

Context:
JLB 739, 1/21/1889: "My dear friend Gauguin, …"

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "Have you seen the portrait of me that Gauguin has, and have you seen the portrait that Gauguin did of himself during those final days? If you were to compare this portrait which Gauguin did of himself then with the one I still have of him, which he sent to me from Brittany in exchange for mine, you would see that all in all he grew more serene here, personally."

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "Have you seen the portrait of me that Gauguin has, and have you seen the portrait that Gauguin did of himself during those final days? If you were to compare this portrait which Gauguin did of himself then with the one I still have of him, which he sent to me from Brittany in exchange for mine, you would see that all in all he grew more serene here, personally."

Context:
BVG 570, 1/9/1889: "What you tell me about Gauguin gives me tremendous pleasure, that is to say that he has not given up his project of returning to the tropics. That is the right road for him. I think I see light in his plan, and I approve of it heartily. Naturally I regret it, but you understand that provided all goes well with him, that is all I want."
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "What you tell me about Gauguin gives me enormous pleasure, that's to say that he hasn't abandoned his plan to return to the tropics. That's the right path for him. I think I can see clearly into his plan, and I approve of it with all my heart. Naturally I have regrets about it, but you can understand that provided it goes well for him that's all I need."

Context:
BVG 570, 1/9/1889: "What you tell me about Gauguin gives me tremendous pleasure, that is to say that he has not given up his project of returning to the tropics. That is the right road for him. I think I see light in his plan, and I approve of it heartily. Naturally I regret it, but you understand that provided all goes well with him, that is all I want."
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "What you tell me about Gauguin gives me enormous pleasure, that's to say that he hasn't abandoned his plan to return to the tropics. That's the right path for him. I think I can see clearly into his plan, and I approve of it with all my heart. Naturally I have regrets about it, but you can understand that provided it goes well for him that's all I need."

Context:
BVG 573, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: "Gauguin would be glad to have one, and I should very much like to give Gauguin a real pleasure. So if he wants one of the two canvases, all right, I will do one of them over again, whichever he likes."
JLB 741, 1/22/1889: "Gauguin would be pleased to have one of them, and I very much enjoy doing Gauguin quite a big favour. So, he wants one of those two canvases, well I'll do one of them over again, the one he wants."

Context:
BVG 572, 1/19/1889: "Fortunately one thing is certain, I dare say that basically Gauguin and I are by nature fond enough of each other to be able to begin again together if necessary."
JLB 738, 1/19/1889: " What is fortunately certain is that I dare believe that at heart Gauguin and I like each other enough as characters to be able to start over again together if necessary."

Context:
BVG 572, 1/19/1889: "Fortunately one thing is certain, I dare say that basically Gauguin and I are by nature fond enough of each other to be able to begin again together if necessary."
JLB 738, 1/19/1889: "What is fortunately certain is that I dare believe that at heart Gauguin and I like each other enough as characters to be able to start over again together if necessary."

Context:
BVG 572a, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: "I reproach myself now that it was I -- perhaps insisting too much that you stay on here to await events and giving you so many good reasons for doing so -- I reproach myself now that perhaps it was I who was the cause of your departure -- unless, of course, that departure was planned beforehand?"
JLB 739, 1/21/1889: "Now I feel remorse at having perhaps, I who so insisted that you should stay here to await events and gave you so many good reasons for doing so, now I feel remorse at having indeed perhaps prompted your departure -- unless, however, that departure was premeditated beforehand?"

Context:
BVG 572a, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: "I reproach myself now that it was I -- perhaps insisting too much that you stay on here to await events and giving you so many good reasons for doing so -- I reproach myself now that perhaps it was I who was the cause of your departure -- unless, of course, that departure was planned beforehand?"
JLB 739, 1/21/1889: "Now I feel remorse at having perhaps, I who so insisted that you should stay here to await events and gave you so many good reasons for doing so, now I feel remorse at having indeed perhaps prompted your departure -- unless, however, that departure was premeditated beforehand?"

Context:
BVG 572a, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: " Be that as it may, I hope we still like each other enough to be able, if need be, to start afresh, assuming that the wolf at the door, alas ever-present for those of us artists without means, should necessitate such a measure."
JLB 739, 1/21/1889: " Whatever the case, I hope we like each other enough to be able to begin again if need be, if penury, alas ever-present for us artists without capital, should necessitate such a measure."

Context:
JLB 698, 10/5/1888: "I really urge you to study the portrait; make as many as possible and don't give up -- later we'll have to attract the public through portraits -- in my view that's where the future lies."

Context:
BVG 525, 8/15/1888: "I would rather wait for the next generation, which will do in portraiture what Claude Monet does in landscape, the rich, daring landscape

Context:
JLB 740, 1/22/1889: "In any event, on leaving the hospital I painted my own doctor's portrait. And haven't yet altogether lost my equilibrium as a painter."

Context:
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "When you visited I think you must have noticed in Gauguin's room the two no. 30 canvases of the sunflowers. I've just put the finishing touches to the absolutely equivalent and identical repetitions."

Context:
BVG 574, 1/28/1889: "During your visit I think you must have noticed the two size 30 canvases of sunflowers in Gauguin's room."
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "When you visited I think you must have noticed in Gauguin's room the two no. 30 canvases of the sunflowers."

Context:
BVG 573, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: "It is a kind of painting that rather changes in character, and takes on a richness the longer you look at it. Besides, you know, Gauguin likes them extraordinarily."
JLB 741, 1/22/1889: "It's a type of painting that changes its aspect a little, which grows in richness the more you look at it. Besides, you know that Gauguin likes them extraordinarily."

Context:
BVG 576, 2/3/1889: "So, if Gauguin, who is completely infatuated with my sunflowers, takes these two pictures, I should just like him to give your fiancée or you a couple of pictures of his, not second-rate ones but better than that."
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "So I would like only, should Gauguin, who has a complete infatuation with my sunflowers, take these two paintings from me, that he gives your fiancée or you two of his paintings, not mediocre ones but better than mediocre."

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "Have you seen the portrait of me that Gauguin has, and have you seen the portrait that Gauguin did of himself during those final days?"

Context:
BVG 573, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: "You know that the peony is [Georges] Jeannin's, the hollyhock belongs to [Ernest] Quost, but the sunflower is somewhat my own."
JLB 741, 1/22/1889: "You know that Jeannin has the peony, Quost has the hollyhock, but I have the sunflower, in a way."

Context:
BVG 573, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: "It is a kind of painting that rather changes in character, and takes on a richness the longer you look at it."
JLB 741, 1/22/1889: "It's a type of painting that changes its aspect a little, which grows in richness the more you look at it."

Context:
BVG 573, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: "I have just finished a new canvas which almost has what one might call a certain chic about it, a wicker basket with lemons and oranges, a cypress branch and a pair of blue gloves.
JLB 741, 1/22/1889: "I've just finished a new canvas which has an almost chic little look to it, a willow basket with lemons and oranges -- a cypress branch and a pair of blue gloves."

Context:
BVG 574, 1/28/1889: "I am furiously at work from morning till night, to prove to you (unless my work is another hallucination), to prove to you that indeed and indeed we are following [Adolphe] Monticelli's track, and what's more, that we have a light before our feet and a lamp upon our path in the powerful work of Brias [Alfred Bruyas] of Montpellier, who did so much to create a school in the South."
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "I'm working furiously from morning till night to prove to you (unless my work is yet another hallucination), to prove to you that really, truly, we're following in Monticelli's track here and, what's more, that we have a light on our way and a lamp before our feet in the powerful work of Bruyas of Montpellier, who has done so much to create a school in the south."

Context:
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "What can you say, we've gone all-out for the Impressionists, now as regards myself I'm trying to finish the canvases which will indubitably guarantee my little place that I've taken among them."

Context:
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "What can you say, we've gone all-out for the Impressionists, now as regards myself I'm trying to finish the canvases which will indubitably guarantee my little place that I've taken among them."

Context:
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "I can imagine these canvases precisely between those of the sunflowers -- which thus form standard lamps or candelabra at the sides, of the same size; and thus the whole is composed of 7 or 9 canvases."

Context:
JLB 733, 1/7/1889: "I acquired quite a few acquaintances here just at the time I wasn't well, and will probably get several portraits to do."

Context:
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "I would have preferred to reply to you immediately about the very kind letter containing 100 francs, but as I was very tired at that precise moment, and as the doctor had absolutely ordered me to go for walks without mental work, because of that it's only today that I write to you."

Regarding the second self-portrait that Vincent mentions in this passage ("I have another one new one for you too"), JLB suspect that he was referring to Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear (F 527 JH 1657). According to JLB, it could not have been Self-Portrait (F 525 JH 1665), as Hulsker believes, because as JLB note, it must have been "one of two recent self-portraits," (Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear [F 527 JH 1657] or Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear and Pipe [F 529 JH 1658]). (See JLB 736, n. 28 and n. 5.)

Context:
BVG 574, 1/28/1889: " As for me, being in this little country of mine, I have no need at all to go to the tropics. I believe and I shall always believe in the art that is to be created in the tropics, and I think it will be marvellous, but personally I am too old and (especially if I have a papier mâché ear put on) too jerry-built to go there."
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: " As for me, with this little country here I have no need at all to go to the tropics. I believe and will always believe in the art to be created in the tropics, and I believe it will be marvellous, but well, personally I'm too old and (especially if I get myself a papier-mâché ear) too jerry-built to go there."

Context:
JLB 732, 1/7/1889: "I hope that it won't amaze you too much that although I wrote to you this morning I'm adding a few words this same evening."

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "In short, the result of all that was that I was broke around the 8th. But one or two days after that I borrowed 5 francs. We were barely at the tenth. I was hoping for a letter from you around the tenth, but as that letter only arrived today, 17 January, the interval has been a fast of the most rigorous sort, all the more painfully so because my recovery couldn't take place under those conditions." (Emphasis added.)

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "In short, the result of all that was that I was broke around the 8th. But one or two days after that I borrowed 5 francs. We were barely at the tenth. I was hoping for a letter from you around the tenth, but as that letter only arrived today, 17 January, the interval has been a fast of the most rigorous sort, all the more painfully so because my recovery couldn't take place under those conditions."

Context:
BVG 580, 3/22/1889: "There is one very good thing in your letter, where you say that one must not let oneself have any illusions about life."
JLB 751, 3/22/1889: "What I find excellent in your letter is that you say that one mustn't on any account have illusions about life."

Context:
BVG 582, 3/29/1889: "Certainly you are right after all, damn well right -- even allowing for hope, the thing to do is to accept the probably disastrous reality."
JLB 753, 3/29/1889: "Certainly, you're right after all, darned right -- even allowing for hope, one probably has to accept the rather distressing reality."

Context:
BVG T5, 4/24/1889: "It is very painful for me to know that you are still in an imperfect state of health."
JLB 762, 4/24/1889: "It pains me to know that you're still in a state of incomplete health."

Context:
JLB 766, 5/2/1889: "For myself, I attribute a large part of your illness to the fact that your material existence has been neglected too much."

Context:
BVG 571, 1/17/1889: "Just because you wrote a line to M. Rey saying that you would give him introductions in Paris, I understood you to mean Rivet. I did not think I was doing anything to compromise you by telling M. Rey that if he went to Paris I'd be pleased if he took a picture to M. Rivet as a keepsake from me. Of course I did not mention anything else."
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "Just because you wrote a note to Mr. Rey saying you would introduce him in Paris, I thought you meant to Rivet. I didn't think I was doing anything compromising by saying to Mr. Rey myself that if he went to Paris it would give me great pleasure if he wanted to take a painting from me to Mr. Rivet as a keepsake. Naturally I didn't speak of anything else."

Given this warning visit, Vincent's history of acrimonious relations with his landlords, the landlord's understandable concern about renting to a strange foreigner who was increasingly considered dangerous both to himself and others, and add to that Vincent's absolute determination not to worry Theo, one has to be skeptical of Vincent's Panglossian version of how this showdown over the rent played out a few days later: "Ah well, as for the little yellow house, when I paid my rent the landlord's agent was very nice and behaved like an Arlesian, treating me as an equal. So I told him that I had no need of a lease, nor of a written statement of intent, preferably in writing, and that in the case of illness I would only pay by friendly agreement. Here the people have their hearts in the right place, and a spoken word is more binding than a written one. So I'm keeping the house for the time being, since I need to feel at home here for the sake of my mental recovery." (JLB 745, 2/3/1889.) This passage should be seen in light of the similar claims of kinship with the Arlesians that turned out to be so disastrously wrong and either delusionally or intentionally misleading.

Context:
JLB 738, 1/9/1889: "I've just been told that in my absence the owner of my house here apparently made a contract with a fellow who has a tobacco shop, to turn me out and give him, the tobacconist, the house."

Context:
BVG 571, 1/17/1889: "But what is to be done? It is unfortunately complicated in various ways, my pictures are valueless, it is true they cost me an extraordinary amount, perhaps even in blood and brains at times. I won't harp on it, and what am I to say to you about it?"
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "But what can one do, unfortunately it's complicated in several ways, my paintings are worthless, they cost me an extraordinary amount, it's true, perhaps sometimes even in blood and brain. I won't press the point, and what do you want me to say about it."

Context:
BVG 571, 1/17/1889: "But what is to be done? It is unfortunately complicated in various ways, my pictures are valueless, it is true they cost me an extraordinary amount, perhaps even in blood and brains at times. I won't harp on it, and what am I to say to you about it?"
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "But what can one do, unfortunately it's complicated in several ways, my paintings are worthless, they cost me an extraordinary amount, it's true, perhaps sometimes even in blood and brain. I won't press the point, and what do you want me to say about it."

The defense goes on for so long (twelve handwritten pages) that it inevitably grows exasperated and indignant: "In any case it has been completely lamentable, and indeed I would count myself fortunate if finally you might pay some serious attention to the way things are and have been for so long" (ibid.). A few days later, he writes on the subject again, this time in a more amenable, but no less elusive, way: "The sum we're working with [i.e., his allowance] is certainly quite respectable, but a lot of it runs away and we must above all be watchful to ensure that not everything slips through the net from year to year. It's also the fact that even if the month goes on I'm always trying to strike more or less a balance through production, at least relative." (JLB 741, 1/22/1889, emphasis in original.) We suspect that "a balance through production" is a variation on something in Theo's scolding letter. The purpose of this appears to be to withdraw somewhat from the earlier defiant letter and indicate to Theo that he has, indeed, gotten the message about minding his money and budgeting better.

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "As to answering all your questions, can you do it yourself, at the moment I don't feel up to it. On reflection I do indeed want to seek a solution, but I must re-read your letter again &c."

Context:
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "Only don't be absolutely too amazed if, in the course of the coming month, I would be obliged to ask you for the month in full, and even the relative extra included. After all, it's only right if in these productive times when I expend all my vital warmth I should insist on what is necessary to take a few precautions."

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "I'm not giving up work, because at moments it's going well, and I believe that it's precisely with patience that I'll arrive at this result of being able to recover the previous expenses with paintings I've done."

Context:
BVG 573, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: "If I am not yet devoting much thought to direct sales, it is because my count of pictures is not yet complete, but it is getting on, and I have set to work again with a nerve like iron."
JLB 741, 1/22/1889: "If I'm not yet busying myself with selling directly it's because my tally of paintings isn't yet complete, but it's coming along and I've set to work again with this iron resolve."

Context:
JLB 741, 1/22/1889: "If, for example, our Monticelli bouquet is worth 500 francs to an art lover, and it's worth that, then I dare assure you that my sunflowers are also worth 500 francs to one of those Scots or Americans."

Context:
BVG 574, 1/28/1889: "And once again, either shut me up in a madhouse right away -- I shan't oppose it, for I may be deceiving myself -- or else let me work with all my strength, while taking the precautions I speak of. If I am not mad, the time will come when I shall send you what I have promised you from the beginning."
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "And once again, either lock me up in a madhouse straightaway, I won't resist if I'm wrong, or let me work with all my strength, while taking the precautions I mention. If I'm not mad the time will come when I'll send you what I've promised you from the beginning."

Context:
BVG 574, 1/28/1889: "And once again, either shut me up in a madhouse right away -- I shan't oppose it, for I may be deceiving myself -- or else let me work with all my strength, while taking the precautions I speak of."
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "And once again, either lock me up in a madhouse straightaway, I won't resist if I'm wrong, or let me work with all my strength, while taking the precautions I mention."

The problem that Gauguin did not recognize at the time was that the more he portrayed Vincent as a madman possessed by a violent, messianic vision, the more his quick flight from Arles looked like indifference to suffering -- or, worse, cowardice. Thus, he was forced to quickly amend his story to defend his hasty flight by casting himself as the potential first victim of Vincent's crazed passions (see Ch. 36, n. 265). Within the month, Gauguin was writing letters to explain his actions in Arles (see Druick and Zegers, p. 265), an indication that by this early date, his story had, in fact, begun to percolate through the artistic community -- as he undoubtedly expected it would (see Ch. 37, n. 382). The other way in which the story backfired, of course, is that it brought Vincent to the attention of the opinion-maker Aurier, who, as a twenty-three-year-old student of À rebours by Joris-Karl Huysmans (see Chapter 27), genuinely believed that aberrant/criminal/mad behavior held the key to true creativity. Thus the letter from Bernard in January 1889 laid the groundwork for the extravagantly appreciative review that Aurier gave Vincent's work a year later (see Chapter 41) -- a review that launched Vincent toward immortality just months before his life ended.

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "How can Gauguin claim to have feared disturbing me by his presence when he would have difficulty denying that he knew I asked for him continually, and people told him time and again that I was insisting on seeing him that very moment? Precisely to tell him to keep it between himself and me without disturbing you. He wouldn't listen. It wearies me to recapitulate all this and calculate and recalculate things of this kind."

Context:
BVG 566, 1/4/1889: "Then, I would like you to give my kind regards to the good Schuffenecker, that you refrain until more mature reflection on both our parts, from speaking ill of our poor little yellow house, that you give my respects to the painters that I saw in Paris."
JLB 729 and 730, 1/4/1889: "So I want you to give my warm regards to good Schuffenecker -- to refrain from saying bad things about our poor little yellow house until more mature reflection on either side -- to give my regards to the painters I saw in Paris."

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "I can't praise you enough for paying Gauguin in such a way that he couldn't but congratulate himself on the relations he's had with us. Unfortunately, that's another expense, perhaps more sizeable than it should have been, but anyway, I glimpse hope in it. Mustn't he, or at least shouldn't he begin to see a little that we weren't his exploiters, but that on the contrary we were anxious to safeguard his existence, his possibility of work and … and ... his integrity."

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "But as for him ... upon my word, let him do what he wants, let him have his independences????? (in what way does he consider his character independent), his opinions ... and let him go his own way, as it seems to him that he knows it better than we do."

Context:
BVG 571, 1/17/1889: "On various occasions I have seen him do things which you and I would not let ourselves do, because we have consciences that feel differently about things. I have heard one or two things said of him, but having seen him at very, very close quarters, I think that he is carried away by his imagination, perhaps by pride, but … practically irresponsible."
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "Several times over I've seen him do things that you or I wouldn't permit ourselves to do, having consciences that feel things differently -- I've heard two or three things said of him in the same vein -- but I, who saw him at very, very close quarters, I believed him led by his imagination, by pride perhaps but -- -- quite irresponsible."

Context:
BVG 573, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: "You can see just what a disaster Gauguin's leaving is, because it has thrust us down again just when we had made a home and furnished it to take in our friends in bad times."
JLB 741, 1/22/1889: "You're right in seeing that Gauguin's departure is terrible, right because it pushes us back down when we had created and furnished the house to take in friends in bad times."

Context:
JLB 741, 1/22/1889: "You're right in seeing that Gauguin's departure is terrible, right because it pushes us back down when we had created and furnished the house to take in friends in bad times. I find remorse, too, in thinking of the trouble that I've occasioned on my side, however involuntarily it may be -- to Gauguin. But prior to the last days I could see only one thing, that he was working with his heart divided between the desire to go to Paris to carry out his plans, and life in Arles."

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "It now seems to me impossible, at least quite improbable, that Impressionism will organize itself and calm down. Why will the same not happen as happened in England at the time of the Pre-Raphaelites? The association is dissolved."

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "However long this letter may now be, in which I've tried to analyze the month and in which I complain a little about the strange phenomenon of Gauguin preferring not to speak to me again while at the same time making himself scarce, it remains for me to add a few words of appreciation."

Daudet revived Bompard for Tartarin sur les Alpes (1885) and the scene that Vincent recommends Theo read in order to "recognize Gauguin pretty well" and explain what really happened in the Yellow House is the climactic scene of the latter book in which Tartarin and the clownish Bompard are caught in a blinding snowstorm in the Alps. After grandly pledging to come to each other's rescue, the two tie a rope between them. But at the height of their peril, when the rope becomes knotted, each hastily severs the rope to save himself, even though he thinks by doing so he dooms his companion to die. They return separately to Provence, both thinking the other is dead, but both filled with tales of heroism. They eventually encounter each other again with a mix of shock, shame, and fear that their perfidy will be revealed. The book underscores the double betrayal by illustrating the knotted rope, cut at both ends, which is discovered after the storm. This is the image that Vincent scornfully invokes: "Does he remember the knot in a rope rediscovered high up in the Alps after the fall?" (JLB 736, 1/17/1889). He also pointedly refers to Gauguin as "the illustrious pal" (ibid.) -- a clear parallel to Tartarin's "illustrious pal," the buffoon Bompard. (For a fuller discussion, see Sund, pp. 215-216.) By this comparison, Vincent indirectly admits his own misbehavior in the events of December, raises Gauguin's blameworthiness to an equal level, like Bompard's, and simultaneously casts over both the protective comic veil of life in the exaggerated South.

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "Has Gauguin ever read Tartarin sur les Alpes, and does he remember Tartarin's illustrious pal from Tarascon who had such an imagination that in one fell swoop he imagined an entire imaginary Switzerland? Does he remember the knot in a rope rediscovered high up in the Alps after the fall? And you, who wish to know how things happened, have you ever read the whole of Tartarin? That would teach you to recognize Gauguin pretty well. I urge you in all seriousness to look at that passage in Daudet's book again."

Context:
BVG 571, 1/17/1889: "But with a good deal of clatter, Gauguin has nonetheless demanded in his last letter 'his masks and fencing gloves' hidden in the little closet in my little yellow house. I shall hasten to send him his toys by parcel post. Hoping that he will never use more serious weapons."
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "With loud shouts Gauguin nevertheless demanded from me in his last letter 'His fencing masks and gloves' hidden in the little room of my little yellow house. I'll make haste to send him these childish things by parcel post. Hoping that he'll never use more serious things."

Context:
BVG 571, 1/17/1889: "And now, dissecting the situation in all boldness, there is nothing to prevent our seeing him as the little Bonaparte tiger of impressionism as far as … I don't quite know how to say it, his vanishing, say, from Arles would be comparable or analogous to the return from Egypt of the aforesaid Little Corporal, who also presented himself in Paris afterward and who always left the armies in the lurch."
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "And now dissecting the situation in all boldness, nothing prevents us from seeing him as the little Bonaparte tiger of Impressionism as regards ... I don't know quite how to say this, his vanishing let's say from Arles is comparable or parallel to the Return from Egypt of the little corporal mentioned above, who also went to Paris afterwards. And who always left the armies in the lurch."

Context:
BVG 571, 1/17/1889: "And now, dissecting the situation in all boldness, there is nothing to prevent our seeing him as the little Bonaparte tiger of impressionism as far as … I don't quite know how to say it, his vanishing, say, from Arles would be comparable or analogous to the return from Egypt of the aforesaid Little Corporal, who also presented himself in Paris afterward and who always left the armies in the lurch."
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "And now dissecting the situation in all boldness, nothing prevents us from seeing him as the little Bonaparte tiger of Impressionism as regards ... I don't know quite how to say this, his vanishing let's say from Arles is comparable or parallel to the Return from Egypt of the little corporal mentioned above, who also went to Paris afterwards. And who always left the armies in the lurch."

Context:
BVG 571, 1/17/1889: "And now, dissecting the situation in all boldness, there is nothing to prevent our seeing him as the little Bonaparte tiger of impressionism as far as … I don't quite know how to say it, his vanishing, say, from Arles would be comparable or analogous to the return from Egypt of the aforesaid Little Corporal, who also presented himself in Paris afterward and who always left the armies in the lurch."
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "And now dissecting the situation in all boldness, nothing prevents us from seeing him as the little Bonaparte tiger of Impressionism as regards ... I don't know quite how to say this, his vanishing let's say from Arles is comparable or parallel to the Return from Egypt of the little corporal mentioned above, who also went to Paris afterwards. And who always left the armies in the lurch."

He also mentioned it again a few days later in a letter to Gauguin, with equal, if not greater, emphasis: "You talk to me in your letter about a canvas of mine, the sunflowers with a yellow background [Still Life: Vase with Fifteen Sunflowers (F 454 JH 1562)] -- to say that it would give you some pleasure to receive it. I don't think that you've made a bad choice ... I think that I'll begin by returning what belongs to you [Gauguin's fencing equipment], making it plain that it's my intention, after what has happened, to contest categorically your right to the canvas in question." (JLB 739, 1/21/1889.) In a sign of his continued conflict over his (and Theo's) relationship with Gauguin, he does make a conciliatory counter-offer: "But as I commend your intelligence in the choice of that canvas I'll make an effort to paint two of them, exactly the same. In which case it might be done once and for all and thus settled amicably, so that you could have your own all the same." (ibid.)

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "I find it quite odd that he's claiming a painting of sunflowers from me, offering me in exchange I suppose, or as a gift, a few studies that he left here. I'll send back his studies -- which will probably have uses for him that they certainly wouldn't have for me. But for the moment I'm keeping my canvases here, and I'm categorically keeping those sunflowers of mine [Still Life: Vase with Fifteen Sunflowers (F 454 JH 1562)]. He already has two of them, let that be enough for him." (Emphasis in original.)

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "But as for him ... upon my word, let him do what he wants, let him have his independences????? (in what way does he consider his character independent), his opinions ... and let him go his own way, as it seems to him that he knows it better than we do."

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "He's had previous experience with what he calls 'banking in Paris' and believes that he's clever at it ... Perhaps you and I are decidedly not so very curious in that regard."

Context:
BVG 571, 1/17/1889: "Now do you stay at your post once you have taken it, or do you desert it? I do not judge anyone in this, hoping not to be condemned myself in cases when my strength might fail me, but if Gauguin has so much real virtue, and such capacity for charity, how is he going to employ himself?"
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "Now, does one remain at one's post once one has taken it, or does one desert it? I don't judge anyone in this, hoping not to be condemned myself should I lack the strength. But if Gauguin has so much real virtue and such capacities for doing good, how is he going to employ himself?"

Context:
BVG 572a, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: "My dear friend Gauguin, Thank you for your letter. Left behind alone on board my little yellow house -- as it was perhaps my duty anyway to be the last to leave -- I am not a little put out at my friends' departure."
JLB 739, 1/21/1889: "My dear friend Gauguin, Thanks for your letter. Left behind alone on board my little yellow house -- as it was perhaps my duty to be the last to remain here anyway -- I'm not a little plagued by the friends' departure."

Context:
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "If Gauguin were to examine himself properly in Paris or have himself examined by a specialist doctor, my word I don't really know what the result of it would be."

Context:
BVG 571, 1/17/1889: "Roulin is about to leave, as early as the 21st. He is to be employed in Marseilles. The increase in pay is microscopic, and he will be obliged to leave his wife and children for a time; they will not be able to follow him till much later, because the expenses of a whole family will be heavier in Marseilles. It is a promotion for him, but it is a poor consolation that the Government gives such an employee after so many years work. And in point of fact, I believe that both he and his wife are heart broken."
JLB 736, 1/17/1889: "Roulin's going to leave, and as early as the 21st, he's going to be employed in Marseille. The increase in salary is minimal, and he'll have to leave his wife and his children for a while, who won't be able to follow him until much later because the expenses of a whole family would be heavier in Marseille. It's a promotion for him, but it's a very, very meagre consolation the government gives in this way to such an employee after so many years of work. And at heart I think they, he and his wife, are still very, very upset."

Context:
JLB 741, 1/22/1889: "He wasn't sad, though, on the contrary, he had put on his brand-new uniform, which he'd received the same day, and everyone was making much of him."

Context:
JLB 744, 1/30/1889: "I still want to let you know that last Monday I saw our friend Roulin again. ... When Roulin came I had just finished the repetition of my sunflowers, and I showed him the two examples of the Berceuse between these four bouquets."

Vincent surely gave this speech out of solidarity with Roulin, as it puts him on the monarchist side of the Revolution's barricades -- the side he had spent a lifetime attacking. He was probably also politically naïve, and accepted at face value Boulanger's (Roulin's) rhetoric about deferring to the "will of the people" ("more ambitious for the cemetery than for any throne"), when, in fact, Boulanger was a proto-fascist. But for Roulin, the elation was short-lived. When Boulanger hesitated to seize power following his electoral victory in January, his political enemies moved quickly to oust him from his seat and hound him out of the country with charges of treason. He committed suicide in Brussels in 1891.

Context:
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "I've done the Berceuse three times, now since Mrs Roulin was the model and I was only the painter, I let her choose between the three, her and her husband, only on condition that I'd do a repetition for myself of the one she took, which I'm working on at present" (emphasis in original).

Context:
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "Yesterday I went back to see the girl I went to when I went out of my mind."

The abrupt change of number from third-person singular ("the girl") to third-person plural ("people") suggests that Vincent was not successful in his quest to see Rachel, as does the final note of resigned removal ("what's more, people say good things of her"). He does appear to have spoken to someone and heard an account of the events of the night of December 23, but he does not attribute this account to the woman herself. Given the recent events and (as Vincent did not know at the time) police surveillance of him (see later in this chapter), it is entirely possible, even likely, that Rachel refused to see him, as we believe she did on that fateful night in late December (see Ch. 36, n. 307).

Context:
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "Yesterday I went back to see the girl I went to when I went out of my mind. I was told there that things like that aren't at all surprising around here. She had suffered from it and had fainted but had regained her composure. And what's more, people say good things of her."

Context:
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "I would have preferred to reply to you immediately about the very kind letter containing 100 francs, but as I was very tired at that precise moment, and as the doctor had absolutely ordered me to go for walks without mental work, because of that it's only today that I write to you."

Context:
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "Only don't be absolutely too amazed if, in the course of the coming month, I would be obliged to ask you for the month in full, and even the relative extra included. After all, it's only right if in these productive times when I expend all my vital warmth I should insist on what is necessary to take a few precautions. The difference in expenditure is certainly not excessive on my part, not even in cases like that. And once again, either lock me up in a madhouse straightaway, I won't resist if I'm wrong, or let me work with all my strength, while taking the precautions I mention."

Context:
BVG 576, 2/3/1889: "Our ambition has been dashed so low. So let us work very calmly, look after ourselves as best we can, and not exhaust ourselves in futile attempts at mutual generosity."
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "Our ambition has sunk so low. So let's work very calmly, look after ourselves as much as we can and not wear ourselves out in sterile efforts at reciprocal generosity."

Context:
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "So let's work very calmly, look after ourselves as much as we can and not wear ourselves out in sterile efforts at reciprocal generosity. You'll do your duty and I'll do mine, as far as that's concerned both of us have already paid for it other than in words and, at the end of the road, possibly we'll see each other calmly again."

Context:
BVG 576, 2/3/1889: "But why are you thinking about your marriage contract and the possibility of dying just now? Wouldn't it be better simply to make love to your woman instead?"
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "But how come that you're thinking about the little clauses of marriage and the possibility of dying at this moment, wouldn't you have done better quite simply to have screwed your wife in advance?"

Context:
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "It will come back, really."

Context:
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "... whereas in my delirium all things I love so much are in turmoil, I can't accept that as reality and am not acting the false prophet."

Context:
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "My word, may the crisis come after that ... Am I wrong about that, then? Come on, as long as the present earth lasts there will be artists and picture dealers, especially those who are apostles at the same time, like you."

Context:
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "Sickness or mortality, my word, that doesn't surprise me, but ambition isn't compatible, fortunately for us, with the professions we follow."

Context:
BVG 576, 2/3/1889: "Indeed, illness or death holds no terror for me, but happily for us, ambition is not compatible with the callings we follow."
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "Sickness or mortality, my word, that doesn't surprise me, but ambition isn't compatible, fortunately for us, with the professions we follow."

Context:
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "And I must have distractions -- yesterday I went to the Folies Arlésiennes, the budding theatre here -- it was the first time I've slept without a serious nightmare" (emphasis in original).

Context:
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "I must say this, that the neighbours &c. are particularly kind towards me, everyone here suffering either from fever or hallucinations or madness, we get along like members of the same family."

Context:
BVG 576, 2/3/1889: " I have moments when I am twisted with enthusiasm or madness or prophecy, like a Greek oracle on his tripod."
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: " I have moments when I'm twisted by enthusiasm or madness or prophecy like a Greek oracle on her tripod."

This suggests that, in fact, Vincent ate well enough (probably at the Café de la Gare) in the first week after his return from the hospital. But he continues to complain of too little money to eat. Only two days later, he reports that his expenditures have "reduce[d] to very, very little what I have left of the 50-franc note to feed myself" (JLB 738, 1/19/1889). By the beginning of February, Vincent's tendency to mortify himself with semi-starvation was reinforced by his paranoia about being poisoned ((b1046 V/1962, ''Salles, Frédéric'' to ''Gogh, Theo van'', 2/7/1889; quoted in Hulsker, "Vincent's Stay in the Hospitals at Arles and St.-Rémy," pp. 24-25; see Ch. 37, n. 443). Several months later, Vincent reports that Dr. Rey had told him "that instead of eating enough and regularly I have been particularly sustaining myself with coffee and alcohol," and adds, "I admit all that." (JLB 752, 3/24/1889; see Ch. 37, n. 435.)

In an interview three decades later, Rey wrote about Vincent's self-abusive eating habits: "Before he would set out to go to work in the morning with canvas and easel, he would put a pot of chick-peas on the coal fire. When he returned in the evening, usually extremely tired, the fire, naturally, was out and the dish of peas usually half-cooked and inedible. Nevertheless, he would eat this very unappetizing food, unless he chose to calm his stomach with alcohol." ("With Van Gogh's Friends in Arles," interviewed by Max Brauman; in Stein, ed., p. 131.)

Context:
JLB 752, 3/24/1889: "Mr Rey says that instead of eating enough and regularly I have been particularly sustaining myself with coffee and alcohol. I admit all that."

Context:
JLB 764, 4/28/1889-5/2/1889: "In all I've had 4 big crises in which I hadn't the slightest idea of what I said, wanted, did. Not counting that I fainted 3 times previously without plausible reason, and not retaining the least memory of what I felt then."

Context:
BVG 576, 2/3/1889: "I must tell you this, that the neighbors, etc., are particularly kind to me, as everyone here is suffering either from fever, or hallucinations, or madness, we understand each other like members of the same family. Yesterday I went to see the girl to whom I had gone when I was off my head. They told me that there's nothing surprising about things like that in this part of the world."
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "I must say this, that the neighbours &c. are particularly kind towards me, everyone here suffering either from fever or hallucinations or madness, we get along like members of the same family. Yesterday I went back to see the girl I went to when I went out of my mind. I was told there that things like that aren't at all surprising around here."

Context:
BVG 576, 2/3/1889: "I must tell you this, that the neighbors, etc., are particularly kind to me, as everyone here is suffering either from fever, or hallucinations, or madness, we understand each other like members of the same family. Yesterday I went to see the girl to whom I had gone when I was off my head. They told me that there's nothing surprising about things like that in this part of the world."
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "I must say this, that the neighbours &c. are particularly kind towards me, everyone here suffering either from fever or hallucinations or madness, we get along like members of the same family. Yesterday I went back to see the girl I went to when I went out of my mind. I was told there that things like that aren't at all surprising around here."

In the last half of the month, the accusations fly thick and fast. Vincent berates Gauguin for advising Bernard how to get out of military service in North Africa and complains that his friend Paul Eugène Milliet, with whom he has been corresponding about Bernard, "becoming ridiculous as regards Milliet, because the latter constantly asks me for news about it" (JLB 738, 1/19/1889). In the same letter he reports that Gauguin "[is] still at the Schuffeneckers' temporarily, and is going to do portraits of the entire family" (ibid.). Given that Gauguin had resisted Vincent's push to do portraits while in Arles, Vincent had to see this new project as a sign of his fellow painter's perfidy, too. In his letter to Gauguin a few days later, he all but accuses Gauguin of plotting to sabotage the Yellow House: "I feel remorse at having indeed perhaps prompted your departure -- unless, however, that departure was premeditated beforehand" (JLB 739, 1/21/1889). In a letter to Theo about the same time, his paranoia about what Gauguin is saying to other artists surfaces for the first time: "You're right in seeing that Gauguin's departure is terrible, right because it pushes us back down when we had created and furnished the house to take in friends in bad times. ... today everyone will be afraid of me, [although] that may disappear with time." (JLB 741, 1/22/1889.)

In the same letter, this suspicion blossoms into a truly paranoid vision of his fellow artists "always plotting among themselves" (ibid.). (See Ch. 37, n. 443.) To Theo, Vincent maintains that he remains on good terms with Gauguin. On January 30, he writes, "This morning I had a very friendly letter from Gauguin" (JLB 744, 1/30/1889). But this is at the same time he is telling Theo how "particularly kind" his neighbors have been to him, when, in fact, relations with them had become extremely rancorous. (See Ch. 37, n. 437.) Finally, on February 4, Theo reported very enthusiastically to Jo (and probably to Vincent) about a visit he had paid on Gauguin the day before (b2023 V/1982, ''Gogh, Theo van'' to ''Bonger, Jo'', 1/3/1889; quoted in Jansen and Robert, p. 138). Not only does Theo consort with the enemy Gauguin and admire his work ("I saw some beautiful things there" [ibid.]), he reports that Gauguin wants to see his family (he quotes Gauguin saying, "sometimes it's hard to think I might not see the people I love for years" [ibid.]), which had always been Vincent's suspicion for why Gauguin never intended to stay at the Yellow House as he had promised. If Theo wrote Vincent to the same effect, it could only have intensified Vincent's distrust of his former housemate and reinforced his suspicion that Gauguin was intent on ruining him. For a man with a paranoid bent, like Vincent, it was a small step from ruin to murder.

Context:
BVG 574, 1/28/1889: "I am furiously at work from morning till night, to prove to you (unless my work is another hallucination), to prove to you that indeed and indeed we are following Monticelli's track."
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "I'm working furiously from morning till night to prove to you (unless my work is yet another hallucination), to prove to you that really, truly, we're following in Monticelli's track."

Context:
JLB 812, 10/21/1889: "Here in the south we have bare walls, white or yellow, or decorated with wallpaper with big coloured flowers."

Context:
JLB 741, 1/22/1889: "During my illness I again saw each room in the house at Zundert, each path, each plant in the garden, the views round about, the fields, the neighbours, the cemetery, the church, our kitchen garden behind -- right up to the magpies' nest in a tall acacia in the cemetery. That's because I still have the most primitive memories of all of you, of those days; to remember all this there's now only Mother and me."

Context:
BVG 571a, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: "Whether I really sang a lullaby in colors is something I leave to the critics."
JLB 740, 1/22/1889: "Whether I've actually sung a lullaby with colour I leave to the critics."

Context:
BVG 572a, 1/22/1889-1/23/1889: "I made a fresh start today on my canvas of Mme. Roulin, the one in which, due to my accident, the hands had been left unfinished."
JLB 739, 1/21/1889: "Today I made a fresh start on the canvas I had painted of Mrs Roulin, the one which had remained in a vague state as regards the hands because of my accident."

Context:
BVG 574, 1/28/1889: "I am furiously at work from morning till night, to prove to you (unless my work is another hallucination), to prove to you that indeed and indeed we are following Monticelli's track."
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "I'm working furiously from morning till night to prove to you (unless my work is yet another hallucination), to prove to you that really, truly, we're following in Monticelli's track."

Context:
JLB 739, 1/21/1889: "Today I made a fresh start on the canvas I had painted of Mrs. Roulin, the one which had remained in a vague state as regards the hands because of my accident."

Context:
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "Good -- what was amazing, like a Rembrandt etching -- was the old peasant woman, just the sort of woman Mrs. Tanguy [Renée Julienne Tanguy-Briend] would be, with a head of flint or gun flint, false, treacherous, mad, all that could be seen previously in the play."

Context:
BVG 574, 1/28/1889: "Now in the play that woman, led before the mystic crib, began to sing in her quavering voice, and then the voice changed, changed from the voice of a witch to that of an angel, and from an angel's voice to a child's, and then the answer came in another voice, strong and warm and vibrant, the voice of a woman behind the scenes."
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "Now that woman, in the play, brought before the mystic crib -- in her quavering voice began to sing and then her voice changed, changed from witch to angel and from the voice of an angel into the voice of a child and then the answer by another voice, this one firm and warmly vibrant, a woman's voice, behind the scenes."

Context:
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "Good -- what was amazing, like a Rembrandt etching -- was the old peasant woman, just the sort of woman Mrs Tanguy would be, with a head of flint or gun flint, false, treacherous, mad, all that could be seen previously in the play."

Context:
BVG 574, 1/28/1889: "Now in the play that woman, led before the mystic crib, began to sing in her quavering voice, and then the voice changed, changed from the voice of a witch to that of an angel, and from an angel's voice to a child's, and then the answer came in another voice, strong and warm and vibrant, the voice of a woman behind the scenes."
JLB 743, 1/28/1889: "Now that woman, in the play, brought before the mystic crib -- in her quavering voice began to sing and then her voice changed, changed from witch to angel and from the voice of an angel into the voice of a child and then the answer by another voice, this one firm and warmly vibrant, a woman's voice, behind the scenes."

Does this mean one original and two copies also ("also") or a total of two paintings? Does Vincent's announcement of a "third Berceuse" on January 30 refer to a third copy but actually a fourth version? In the same letter, he says that, when Roulin came to his studio on January28, Vincent showed him "the two examples of the portrait of his wife" (JLB 744, 1/30/1889). Again, the question turns on whether Vincent meant to refer only to "examples" (i.e., repetitions) and not to total images. Vincent appears to answer this question in the February 3 letter when he says, "I've done the Berceuse three times," (JLB 745, 2/3/1889) but then goes on to describe Madame Roulin choosing between the three versions on her visit with her husband on January 28 -- i.e., two days before his announcement "I started work on a third Berceuse" (JLB 744, 1/30/1889).

To make matters more confusing, later in February, Vincent reports the same incident with different numbers: "When Mrs Roulin also left, to go and live with her mother in the country for the time being, she took away the Berceuse. I had the sketch of it and two repetitions." (JLB 748, 2/25/1889; emphasis added.) There are several possible explanations. (1) Augustine Roulin made two trips to the studio, one of them after her husband's visit to Arles on January 28 but before her departure for the country sometime between then and mid-February (the date of JLB 748; see Ch. 37, n. 408) and, in the meantime, Vincent finished another version to make three, from which she made her selection (as opposed to the two which her husband saw on January 28); however, this scenario seems unlikely given Augustine's distaste for Vincent (see Ch. 37, n. 409) and his complaints about her refusing to model. (2) Vincent was including the "sketch" of her as one of the "three choices" he says he gave her in JLB 745. (3) Vincent did more versions than are currently accounted for (five is the accepted canon) and the missing version was painted in the critical week between the Roulins' visit to the Yellow House on January 28 and Vincent's letter of February 3 (JLB 745, 2/3/1889), his last letter before being seized by police and taken forcibly to the hospital on February 7. This may be the version "for Holland" that Vincent mentions in JLB 743, 1/28/1889.

Vincent had plans for three triptychs, each consisting of a single Berceuse flanked by a pair of sunflowers, for a total of up to nine paintings (JLB 743, 1/28/1889; see Ch. 37, n. 294). Thus, when he agreed to give one Berceuse to Madame Roulin on January 28, he had to paint a copy of it before she took it when she left Arles (see Ch. 37, n. 460). Thus, four versions would have been completed, or begun, prior to his hospitalization on February 7 (see Druick and Zegers, p. 272). The varying references to "two" or "three" versions of the Berceuse at the end of January and beginning of February may reflect Vincent's changing recognition of the fact that one of these images, technically, no longer belonged to him, even though it remained in the studio long enough for him to copy it. The last scenario would also be supported by the logical inference that neither of the Roulins, especially Augustine, appreciated the "portrait" Vincent gave them and thus it was likely to have disappeared through neglect. Lister identifies La Berceuse (Augustine Roulin) (F 505 JH 1669) as the painting the Roulins picked, but this is of doubtful certainty (Hoermann Lister, p. 73).

Context:
JLB 744, 1/30/1889: "Today I started work on a third Berceuse."

Context:
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "I've done the Berceuse three times, now since Mrs. Roulin was the model and I was only the painter, I let her choose between the three, her and her husband, only on condition that I'd do a repetition for myself of the one she took, which I'm working on at present" (emphasis in original).

Context:
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "I've done the Berceuse three times, now since Mrs Roulin was the model and I was only the painter, I let her choose between the three, her and her husband, only on condition that I'd do a repetition for myself of the one she took, which I'm working on at present" (emphasis in original).

Context:
JLB 747, 2/18/1889: "Today I've just returned home for the time being, I hope for good."

Anna apparently wrote this extraordinary letter to Vincent in response to a direct request from Theo who had just heard the dire news about Vincent's second hospitalization in Arles. The dark tone of Theo's report comes through in Anna's response (although she seems to feel more pity for Theo, whose happy wedding plans are being disrupted, than for Vincent, whose illness is disrupting them): "We are very sad. Luckily you know how is doing over there and who are with him, we have to accept this, luckily he is at peace, but so unhappy! Poor fellow [Theo, that is], that this has to happen to you just now and yet, as you wrote, she [Jo] is God-sent and may she be your comfort now and in the future, and may HE who mixes happiness and sadness so wisely, gives us the strength to keep our eyes open (stay open), for the Good we experience, when we are near suffering and suffer. May rest and care recover him; I already thought it unnaturally quick the last time; let us hope and pray that he will get better. Oh my dear Theo, I believe the experience has to teach us how to keep the love and the suffering that meet us separate, and how to do our best in staying open so we keep feeling the Good, even when we are touched by deep suffering, how often does it come at the same time and helps the one carry the other." (ibid.) Anna apparently wrote another letter to Vincent a few weeks later which she sent to Theo to decide whether to forward it to Vincent (''Gogh, Theo van'' to ''Bonger, Jo'', 3/1/1889; quoted in Jansen and Robert, pp. 191-192). Theo did forward the letter, but it was lost and nothing about its contents is known.

Context:
JLB 748, 2/25/1889: "Yesterday and today I began to work. When Mrs Roulin also left, to go and live with her mother in the country for the time being, she took away the Berceuse. I had the sketch of it and two repetitions. She had a good eye and took the best one, only I'm currently redoing it. And I don't want this one to be inferior."

"I also went to the Louvre to see about having the furniture upholstered. If I can, I shall send you a sample of what I like. This morning I went through the magasins of the Louvre & saw beautiful fabrics from Persia & Afghanistan" (b2011 V/1982, ''Gogh, Theo van'' to ''Bonger, Jo'', 2/13/1889; quoted in Jansen and Robert, pp. 158-159). Jo responded, "The curtains you wrote about are not expensive -- what do they look like? Do they match the fabric you want to use for re-upholstering the canape? It's important for things to go well together, don't you agree? So I should also like to know more about the bedroom furniture -- it's black wood, is it not? You see, Mien [Jo’s sister Hermina] insists on using red lining for a bedspread she's making us, but then the curtains must also match. But I'm not sure that red is nice for a bedroom. What do you think?" (b4266 V/1984, ''Bonger, Jo'' to ''Gogh, Theo van'', 2/17/1889; quoted in Jansen and Robert, p. 168.)

Theo obsesses over paper and fabric selection, and matching, in very much the same way Vincent obsesses over palette choices: "The white and blue paper is for the corridor & the cabinet de débarras. The salon is still all right, white with grey floral decorations. The grey & pink is for the bedroom. It will go well with some curtains I saw in the Louvre. A type of cretonne, but mat and quite heavy. Background cream with red & pink flowers & twigs with fairly large spaces between them. A reddish-pink, not too purple, would be nice for the bedspread." (b2037 V/1982, ''Gogh, Theo van'' to ''Bonger, Jo'', 2/20/1889; quoted in Jansen and Robert, p. 172.) "This morning I went to the shop La place de Clichy in search of fabric for our furniture. ... but I'm afraid such lovely material doesn't come cheap. It's a very dark red with a dark blue, white & black pattern. That lovely, soft, long-piled material. It's genuine Smyrna, very durable." (b4270 V/1984, ''Bonger, Jo'' to ''Gogh, Theo van'', 2/27/1889; quoted in Jansen and Robert, p. 189.)

Theo goes on a great length about this piece of furniture: "The lower section of it is ideal for storing dishes etc, but it is definitely not big enough to provide storage for all the kitchen equipment. Could you perhaps decide whether that cabinet de débarras [boxroom] should be fitted out as a sort of larder & we store our wardrobes in the so-called guest room for the time being?, or whether it should be left empty & the dinner service etc. be kept in a cupboard, which could go in the kitchen, or in a buffet, which we could buy? I suspect you would prefer the latter, though it has one disadvantage, which is that the room we shall be using as our salon will be quite full with the piano, canape & armchairs." (b2010 V/1982, ‘‘Gogh, Theo van’’ to ‘‘Bonger, Jo’’, 2/11/1889; quoted in Jansen and Robert, p. 154.) Jo responds: "don't delude yourself that I have no opinion on a subject as important as the arrangement of the furniture -- ten opinions for that matter -- but fortunately the same as yours! Let's put the cupboard rather than the buffet in the dining room because even if there were room for a second piece of furniture, I imagine a modern buffet wouldn't go well with that cupboard." (b4265 V/1984, ''Bonger, Jo'' to ''Gogh, Theo van'', 2/15/1889; quoted in Jansen and Robert, p. 163.)

Context:
JLB 747, 2/18/1889: "Today I've just returned home for the time being, I hope for good."

Context:
BVG 576, 2/3/1889: "Though I have not yet had the fevers of the region, I might still catch them. But they already know a thing or two about all that here at the hospital, and as long as you have no false shame and say frankly how you feel, you cannot go wrong."
JLB 745, 2/3/1889: "I haven't yet had the local fevers, and I could still catch them too. But here they're already well-versed in all that at the hospital, and so from the moment when you have no false shame and say frankly what you feel, you can't go wrong." (Emphasis in original.)