by Les Furnanz
Madeleine stared at Emile’s portrait of herself in Pont-Aven and then looked back at me. “No, I can’t think of anything else. I think it is wonderful that Johanna has made such headway in her quest. She seems well focused. Please give her my best wishes.”
After receiving my thanks, Madeleine nodded and escorted me to the door where we exchanged pleasant “adieux.”
Seventeen
Sunday, June 23
The afternoon train from Lille brought me to Amsterdam in time for a Dutch dinner on Leidesplein square. Early the next morning, I returned to the station along quiet canals that contrasted sharply with the prior evening's bustle. On the hour-long train ride to Bussum I reviewed my notes and looked forward to presenting Johanna with the discoveries.
Bussum village was as serene as I remembered. As I approached Villa Helma, two boarders exited and nodded as they headed toward the station. I realized Johanna’s challenge in dealing with only men at her inn. I knew she would be busy with morning chores, so I'd need to be concise and well organized.
With no response to repetitive knocks, I walked around the alley and saw Johanna hanging a load of wash. She waved me back to the front and greeted me at the open door: “Hello! I hoped you'd come today. How did things go?”
“It could not have been much better. I was able to interview everyone except Emile Bernard, but his sister was very helpful. I have a complete list of every painting. Many of these will be new to you. I also have summaries of each person’s status. I hope you received my letters. Do you have time this morning?”
Johanna eyed me anxiously and opened the door fully. She waved me in and said: “Yes, yes, of course. I'm very busy, so I hope you're well organized. Let’s get started.”
She led me past Vincent’s entryway paintings into the parlor and bid me sit at the small table. I retrieved my notes and recounted each visit, with special focus on those paintings that were new to Johanna.
When I spoke of Paul Gauguin and his current situation, she responded: “That man was not a good influence on Vincent. Now it seems he has lost track of himself.” She became very interested in the four Vincent paintings that Gauguin owned. “I will try to contact Paul quickly through a letter and purchase those,” she exclaimed.
“Again, Mr. Vollard may have beaten you,” I responded. “Those paintings are on loan from Gauguin to Vollard’s gallery, so they may have already been purchased.”
Johanna shook her head and paused for a moment. She said, “Since we're talking of Gauguin, did you get a better feeling as to what happened with Vincent's ear?”
“I couldn't obtain information from anyone, and certainly not from Gauguin. He would not talk about Vincent, and that could mean that he has something to hide. We'll probably never know.”
Johanna shook her head and stared at me. I decided to pick up the momentum and offered: “Well, the next person on your list is Vollard himself. As I mentioned in my letter from Paris, Vollard may work with you, and this note seems sincere.” As I read the note, Johanna listened attentively and nodded at the closing.
I then showed Johanna the full list of paintings displayed at Vollard’s gallery. The list included those on consignment from Gauguin and a collector named Schuffenecker. Johanna showed interest in several paintings, particularly the portrait of Pere Tanguy. She smiled pleasantly as I finished this overview. “I have nothing to lose in trying again to deal with Mr. Vollard. Who knows? He's a man who requires very careful treatment.”
Her response encouraged me to express the desire to obtain my portrait. She nodded understandingly and offered, “When I see Vollard I will look for the opportunity to obtain it at a reasonable price. If successful, I'll offer it to you at my cost.”
“Thank you. Vollard was very defensive with me, but perhaps he'll be open to your purchase. It would be much appreciated.”
I then told of the two paintings owned by Arthur Ravoux – the Auvers town hall and the portrait of Adeline. I did not mention my relationship with her, but reported the Ravoux's sympathy upon learning the details of Vincent and Theo’s passing.
Johanna was very attentive as I told of my visit to Dr. Gachet. “He owns forty paintings, and the majority are scenes from Vincent’s last three months in Auvers. He most cherishes the paintings of his daughter and himself. There are also paintings from St. Remy. They are beautiful, Johanna. Here is the full list.”
She perused the paper and remarked: “My goodness. This is perhaps your biggest discovery; and to think that Dr. Gachet will keep these locked away. Thank you, Armand.”
I told of Dr. Gachet’s concern for his daughter Marguerite’s admitted attraction to Vincent. Johanna nodded and said: “Dr. Gachet is a controlling person. I feel sorry for Marguerite. I also sense that he'll work to obtain more of Vincent's art and keep it hidden. This isn't good.” She hesitated and then asked: “Did you get any sense for Dr. Gachet's handling of Vincent's last hours?”
“No, Johanna. He admitted that he left Vincent to die when he saw him at the inn. He felt that he could do nothing. There was no explanation as to why he left the bullet in Vincent's body, but I did not ask him that directly. Nor did he offer insight into how Vincent shot himself and walked back to the inn.”
I paused to catch my thoughts as Johanna stared ahead. I continued, “There is one more thing about Dr. Gachet that you should know. He is a painter himself. He showed me his works, and they did not impress me. They seemed to copy somewhat the works by Vincent and Manet that he owned. It appears that he envies Vincent's art.”
“A very complex man, this Dr. Gachet. Well, enough for now. Who's next?”
“Camille Pissarro, a friendly and interesting painter. He only had two of Vincent’s paintings, a mulberry tree scene and a still life basket of apples. The latter was actually given by Vincent to Camille’s son. Both men are set upon keeping those pieces, for they truly loved Vincent and his work.”
Johanna remarked, “Vincent’s painter friends kept very few of his works, and he did not keep many of theirs. That leaves just Emile Bernard who you say is in Egypt. What have you discovered by talking with his sister?”
“You won’t be surprised to hear that Emile owns just two paintings. The good news is that his sister, Madeleine, wants to sell them. Both are from the Netherlands and done in a dark style. One depicts a long-haired elderly man carrying an umbrella. The other is of a sad peasant woman wearing a large white cap. Both works are so real. Madeleine will sell them for 150 francs, and they are available until her departure for Egypt next month.”
“Certainly I’ll purchase those. It’s disappointing to have only these two for sale, but I won't pass on the opportunity. And again, I will also try to work with Vollard.”
Johanna paused, then continued: “It’s been extremely valuable to hear your discoveries, especially the works owned by Ambroise Vollard and Dr. Gachet. Now that you’ve finished your summary, let me look over your notes. It may take some time, so you're welcome to explore Bussum as I do this. Please return in an hour.”
It was a good opportunity to stretch and reflect. I wandered and thought of Adeline. I hoped to soon see her again. Dappled sunlight filtered through chestnut trees as I took a circuitous route that brought me back at the agreed time. Johanna immediately opened the door and waved me to the parlor.
“Your notes are complete. You have exceeded my expectations. I appreciate the comments about each person’s feelings for Vincent and their own status. You're free now to get back to your family in Marseilles, and also to meet with Paul Signac and Madame Ginoux in southern France. I'm hoping for some good news there. Now let’s settle up our accounts, including an amount to cover those last two visits.”
After we'd reviewed all the receipts and settled expenses, Johanna counted out my agreed upon fee and added a ten francs bonus.
“Thank you, Johanna! This has been very interesting, and I'm glad to help in finding Vincent's art. I learned much about my favorite artist. I'm looking forward to mee
ting Signac and Mme Ginoux, and I still have hope for my portrait!”
“Thank you, Armand.” She smiled, and led me to the door. “I'm sorry to have to let you go now, but there is so much to be done. My daughter will be home soon for lunch. I wish I had more time to devote to Theo's dream for Vincent's art.” Johanna shook her head.
The strain of her responsibilities showed in her eyes, and I knew that I couldn't overextend my stay. I thanked her again and committed to send my final report from southern France. As I walked back to the station, I reflected upon Johanna's perseverance, love for Theo and their daughter, and her appreciation of Vincent's art.
Eighteen
Tuesday, June 25
After resting that night in Amsterdam, I reached Meulan-en-Yvelines late the next evening. Tuesday morning I realized it had already been four days since I'd seen Adeline. As I approached her front door, she rushed into my arms and exclaimed: “It's been too long!”
“Way too long, Adeline!” I hugged her tightly. “I couldn't wait to see you! How are you? Do you have some free time this morning? Can we meet with you parents later?”
“I've missed you so much. I'm fine, and yes, yes, we can visit this morning before we lunch with my parents. How were your visits to Emile Bernard and Johanna? Was she happy with your results?”
“The visits went well. I will tell you the details, soon. So good to hear that you're free and we can meet with your parents. Let's go for a walk and catch up on everything.”
“Yes, Armand, I'll let Mother and Father know I'm leaving.” She retreated and returned quickly with the most beautiful smile.
We strolled hand in hand, and I related my experience in interviewing Emile's sister, even sharing her quandary as to whether she'd stay in Egypt. When I told of Johanna's satisfaction with the results of my queries and told of my respect for her, Adeline wondered how Johanna could simultaneously handle day-to-day tasks as inn-keeper, mother, and collector of Vincent's art. She was very impressed. We walked on as we both knew without a word that we were headed to our secluded spot.
When we reached the glade, we embraced passionately and Adeline reminded me, “You know Armand, I want to hold you, but we must be careful. We can't lie down. I don't have the strength to resist. We must wait. Let's hug and kiss, and talk about our future.”
Hug and kiss we did. I couldn't feel her enough. I felt love, passion, and frustration. When we both felt spent with the mix of feelings, we dropped our arms, locked eyes, and smiled.
“I guess it's time to talk,” I offered. “Let's go to our favorite cafe and discuss everything.”
“Yes, it's time.”
As we entered the cafe the proprietor gleamed as if he was expecting us. He sat us at a secluded table and took our order with a grin. We waited until he served us, then Adeline started: “My life is really turning upside down. I'm thinking always of how to go on from here. I want to be with you all the time, Armand. Can we make plans?”
“Yes, Adeline, let's talk about the best path. How soon would you feel free to marry?”
“Armand, I think it could be very soon, if we agree and have my parents' blessing. When do you feel you could leave the army and come to France to marry?
I hesitated, for suddenly I realized the life-changing nature of our talk. “I don't know yet. I must finish my current term at least. That's six more months. But honestly, Adeline, I'm still hoping that you will marry me and move to Tunisia. I like the army and I may very well want to reenlist. I have a future there. My commanding officer has encouraged me to work hard for promotion to officer.”
“But, Armand, I told you before that I must stay in France and live close to my parents. I love my family too much to part with them. Can't we find a way to share our love this way? To be married, raise a family, and stay in France within a day's journey of both our parents?”
I hesitated and then responded: “Yes, you have held to your desires, and I love you, Adeline. I'm sure you also realize the difficulties I'm facing. This love is so strong and life-changing. Certainly your parents strongly need you. I must accept that.” I paused, then continued: “OK, Adeline, let's talk with your parents of our plans in a way that will meet their approval. I propose we become engaged now. I'll return to France in six months and obtain employment. Then we'll set the wedding date, marry, and settle nearby.”
“So are you proposing to me, Armand? And are you saying that before we set our wedding date, that you will return to France and find employment?”
“Yes, Adeline! Exactly.”
We hugged each other, and tears came to her eyes. We smiled and toasted each other with our coffee cups. At the same instant I thought, All this is happening too quickly.
It was noon when Mr. and Mrs. Ravoux greeted us with open arms and we settled down for a tasty lunch. Adeline’s eight-year-old sister, Grace, glanced lovingly at her. She admired her older sister’s happiness with her gentleman, and stole several glances at me. Adeline’s father inquired about my project for Johanna van Gogh. Had she been satisfied with the information? Could I summarize my findings? I recounted my travels and visits, and added more detail as their interest grew.
At the end of the meal it was clearly time to talk about our plans. Mrs. Ravoux asked Grace to leave the room. I gathered my courage, looked her father in the eye, and offered: “You have surely seen how often I have visited Adeline. She has told you that we have developed a deep feeling for each other. We know it is love,” I continued, now glancing at Adeline and her mother, then back at her father, “and we have started to make plans. We would like to marry and raise a family. We hope this will meet with your approval, and you will bless us.”
Adeline’s parents locked eyes for a moment, then looked at Adeline. Mr. Ravoux raised himself in his chair, eyed me closely, and said: “We are surprised at the quickness of all this. But we understand. Louise and I had a similar experience. We also decided within a month of meeting that we would marry. We are so glad that we found each other, so we hope it will be the same for you. Adeline is so dear to us. We do need to understand more before we can bless this union. You, Armand, are currently stationed with the army in Tunisia. What are your plans?”
I sensed they’d anticipated our announcement and discussed the situation. I glanced at Adeline, nodded, and then met her father’s eyes. “We have discussed this, and Adeline has said that she wants to stay in France, preferably close to you. We need to think through the options and come up with a plan together. This has happened so quickly, but we know that we are meant for each other, and our love is deep.”
Her father quickly responded: “Just understand, Armand, and you also, Adeline, that we cannot give our assent if you are going to leave France. Never, never! I understand that it may take time to change your situation with the army, but you must also understand that we will not give you Adeline’s hand until you commit to live in France.”
He looked at me sternly, then at his daughter.
“I understand,” I said. “We understand. We have agreed to be engaged and need to make detailed plans, including my move back to France. We won't set a wedding date until I have returned to France and found employment.”
Adeline smiled at me and then said: ”Mother and Father, I so love Armand; we so love each other. This is a big change in our lives; we will do the right thing. We need time to work out our plans. Thank you for your blessing under these conditions.”
I smiled and also thanked her parents. We enjoyed a short chat about life in Meulan before Father announced that it would be necessary for his wife, Adeline, and himself to get back to duties at the inn. She walked me to the front door and we hugged passionately.
“Oh, Armand, I can't believe that it will be six months before I see you again. We will write and write to keep up to date, day by day, and to plan our future.”
“Adeline, it will be a long six moths. I can't believe we have found each other. I will write often.” I slowly retreated down the steps, backed down the pat
hway, and waved before turning towards the station. I walked slowly and turned every few steps to wave again. As I continued to the station, I reflected that I needed to come to terms with all this.
Nineteen
Thursday, June 27
Saint-Tropez harbor was lined with fishing boats, shops, and homes ablaze in the late-afternoon sun. The hilltop castle seemed to wave “bonne soiree” with flapping flags. Fishermen prepared busily for the next day. I queried a man as he stepped from his boat: “Can you recommend a place to stay for the night?”
He pointed to a lane that ascended from the harbor. “There’s no hotel here, but Madame Pitollet rents out a few rooms. Climb that street and turn right onto rue Guichard; it’s on your left.”
“Thank you for the information. I’m looking for the painter, Paul Signac, who stays the summer. Do you know him?”
“Yes, I do. He has a sailboat that he docks here.” He pointed to the craft. “He often sets his easel around the harbor and paints in the morning; then sails in the afternoon. He loves our village. He and his wife rent an apartment. You'll find him at the bar along Quai Jaures.” He pointed to some cloistered outside tables.
I thanked him and found a room at Madame Pitollet’s. When asked about dinner options she recommended the same bar in the harbor. So far, so good, I thought, and I hurried downhill to find Signac.
The buzzing conversations seemed to subside a bit at my arrival. I found a bar stool and ordered a glass of local red wine. When asked about the whereabouts of Paul, the bartender pointed to an outside table and said: “He’s a popular man.”
I walked towards him and got his attention: “Monsieur Signac, I hope that you will have some time to talk with me for an acquaintance who greatly desires your knowledge of Vincent van Gogh. She is Johanna, widow of Vincent’s brother, Theo.”
