Vincent lit his pipe, sucking in the flame of the match. “I remember the time,” he said, “when we walked together near the old mill at Ryswyk; then we agreed in many things.”
“But, Vincent, you have changed so much.”
“That is not quite true. My life was less difficult then; but as to my way of looking at things and thinking, that has not changed at all.”
“For your sake I would like to believe that.”
“Theo, you must not think that I disavow things. I am faithful in my unfaithfulness, and my only anxiety is, how can I be of use in the world? Cannot I serve some purpose and be of some good?”
Theo rose, struggled with the kerosene lamp, and finally lit it. He poured out a glass of milk. “Here, drink this. I don’t want you to exhaust yourself.”
Vincent drank it down too quickly, almost choking on its richness. Without even waiting to wipe the cream off his eager lips, he went on. “Our inward thoughts, do they ever show outwardly? There may be a great fire in our soul and no one comes to warm himself by it. The passers-by see only a bit of smoke coming through the chimney and continue on their way. Now look here, what must be done? Mustn’t one tend that inward fire, have faith in oneself, wait patiently for the hour when somebody will come and sit near it?”
Theo got up and sat on the bed. “Do you know the picture that just flashed into my mind?” he asked.
“No.”
“The old mill at Ryswyk.”
“It was a nice old mill, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And our childhood was nice, too.”
“You made my childhood pleasant, Vincent. My first memories are always of you.”
There was a long silence.
“Vincent, I do hope you realize that the accusations I have made come from the family and not from me. They persuaded me to come here and see if I couldn’t shame you into returning to Holland and a job.”
“It’s all right, Theo, the words they say are perfectly true. It’s just that they don’t understand my motives and don’t see the present in relation to my whole life. But if I have come down in the world, you, on the contrary, have risen. If I have lost sympathies, you have gained them. That makes me very happy. I say it in all sincerity, and it will always be so. But I should be very glad if it were possible for you to see in me something else than an idle man of the worst type.”
“Let’s forget those words. If I have not written to you all year, it was through negligence, not disapproval. I’ve believed in you and had implicit faith in you since the earliest days when I used to take your hand through the high, grass fields at Zundert. And I haven’t any less faith now. I need only to be near you to know that everything you do will eventually come right.”
Vincent smiled, a broad, happy, Brabantine smile. “That was good of you, Theo.”
Theo suddenly became the man of action.
“See here, Vincent, let’s settle this thing right here and now. I have a suspicion that behind all these abstractions you’ve been dealing in, there is something you want to do, something that you feel is ultimately right for you and that will finally bring you to happiness and success. Well, old boy, just name it. Goupil and Company have raised my wages twice during the past year and a half, and I have more money than I know what to do with. Now if there is something you want to do, and you will need help right at first, simply tell me that you have at last found your real life work, and we’ll form a partnership. You’ll supply the work and I’ll supply the funds. After we’ve put you on a paying basis, you can return the investment with dividends. Now confess, haven’t you something in mind? Hadn’t you decided long ago that there was something you wanted to do with the rest of your life?”
Vincent looked over at the pile of sketches Theo had been studying under the window. A grin of amazement, incredulity, and at last awareness spread across his face. His eyes opened wide, his mouth opened, his whole personality seemed to burst open like a tournesol in the sun.
“Well I’ll be blessed!” he murmured. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say all along, and I didn’t know it.”
Theo’s eyes followed his to the sketches. “I thought so,” he said.
Vincent was quivering with excitement and joy; he seemed to have suddenly awakened from some profound sleep.
“Theo, you knew it before I did! I wouldn’t let myself think about it. I was afraid. Of course there’s something I must do. It’s the thing I’ve pointed towards all my life, and I never suspected it. I felt a tremendous urge to sketch, to put down what I saw on paper while I was studying in Amsterdam and Brussels. But I wouldn’t allow myself to. I was afraid it would interfere with my real work. My real work! How blind I was! Something has been trying to push itself out of me all these years and I wouldn’t let it. I beat it back. Here I am, twenty-seven, with nothing accomplished. What an idiot, an utterly blind and stupid idiot I’ve been.”
“It doesn’t matter, Vincent. With your strength and determination you’ll be able to accomplish a thousand times as much as any other beginner. And you’ve got a long life ahead of you.”
“I have ten years anyway. I’ll be able to turn out some good work in that time.”
“Of course you will! And you can live wherever you like; Paris, Brussels, Amsterdam, The Hague. Just take your choice and I’ll send you money to live on each month. I don’t care if it takes you years, Vincent, I’ll never give up hope if you don’t.”
“Oh, Theo, all these bitter months I’ve been working toward something, trying to dig the real purpose and meaning out of my life, and I didn’t know it! But now that I do know, I’ll never be discouraged again. Theo, do you realize what it means? After all these wasted years I have found myself at LAST! I’m going to be an artist. Of course I’m going to be an artist. I’ve got to be. That’s why I failed at all my other jobs, because I wasn’t meant for them. But now I’ve got the one thing that can never fail. Oh, Theo, the prison is open at last, and you’re the one who unbarred the gates!”
“Nothing can ever estrange us! We’re together again, aren’t we, Vincent?”
“Yes, Theo, for life.”
“Now, just you rest and get well. In a few days, when you’re better, I’ll take you back to Holland, or Paris, or wherever you want to go.”
Vincent sprang out of bed with a leap that carried him halfway across the cabin.
“In a few days, hell!” he cried. “We’re going right now. There’s a train for Brussels at nine o’clock.”
He began pulling on his clothes with furious speed.
“But Vincent, you can’t travel tonight. You’re sick.”
“Sick! That’s ancient history. I never felt better in my life. Come on, Theo, boy, we’ve got about ten minutes to make that railway station. Throw those nice white sheets into your bag and let’s be on our way!”
Book two
Etten
1
THEO AND VINCENT spent a day together in Brussels, and then Theo returned to Paris. Spring was coming, the Brabantine countryside called, and home seemed like a magic haven. Vincent bought himself a workman’s suit of rough black velvet, of the material known as veloutine, some unbleached, muslin coloured Ingres paper for sketching, and caught the next train home to Etten and the family parsonage.
Anna Cornelia disapproved of Vincent’s life because she felt it brought him more pain than happiness. Theodorus disapproved on objective grounds; if Vincent had been someone else’s son, he would have had nothing to do with him. He knew that God did not like Vincent’s evil way of living, but he had a suspicion that He would like even less the casting off of a son by his father.