To lose you like I’d lost everyone was too much for me, and I thought of joining you. I came so close, but something stopped me. Something made me throw the laudanum into the river, something told me it’s not my time. I know the voice murmuring in my ear was yours. Even in death you still speak to me.
I came here to try and understand, I came here looking for answers. Maybe I haven’t found them—maybe I never will—but this quiet place under the sun makes me believe that whatever drove you to take your life, you are at peace. Your sadness will not last forever. Your sadness is gone, and even now you walk these fields with your brush poised to capture all you see. I know it. I feel it.
I kiss my hand to you, my love, as I did that day when you boarded the train and I saw you for the last time in this life. I press my hand to my heart and say to you not good-bye but
au revoir
. I will see you again.
Wait for me.
S
urviving historical sources reveal next to nothing of the real Rachel. The brief article about van Gogh’s breakdown in the 30 December 1888 edition of
Le Forum Républicain
(included in Chapter 15 in partial translation) provides her first name, occupation, and address, and identifies her as the girl Vincent asked for at the brothel, then presented with the fragment of his ear. A brief notice in another news clipping (see Bailey 2005 in Further Reading) calls her only “a café girl,” while in a letter to artist Émile Bernard not long after that night, Paul Gauguin mentions “a wretched girl.” (Gauguin’s account in his 1903 autobiography,
Avant et Après
, changes the story to have Vincent give the packet to “the man on duty.”) An Arlesian police officer named Alphonse Robert, recounting in 1929 what had happened, stated a prostitute known as Gaby gave him the ear and said Vincent “had made them a present” however, it is not clear whether Robert meant “Gaby” was the same girl to whom Vincent actually gave the ear. Robert’s account does give the name of the brothel’s madam (Virginie), recently verified by Martin Bailey as Virginie Chabaud (Bailey 2005, p. 36). The city’s files on brothels from 1871–1891 are sealed until 2042, so if records provide Rachel’s last name (or real name, if she was using a pseudonym), age, etc., scholars have not examined them.
In his letters, the historical Vincent says little about his visits to what he called “the street of the good little women” and gives the names of none of the girls. One of his few references to the “ear incident” comes in a letter to Theo of ca. 3 February 1889 (LT 576), when he says, “Yesterday I went to see the girl I had gone to when I was out of my wits,” in other words Rachel, presumably to apologize. He adds, “She had been upset by it and had fainted but had recovered her calm.” That Rachel not surprisingly fainted at receiving van Gogh’s “gift” is further attested in Gauguin’s letter to Bernard.
This novel was born from the question, Who was Rachel? To have asked for her that night, Vincent must have known her, but how well? Had he just been another customer, had she just been another prostitute—or not? I imagined a relationship on the premise that if there
had
been something between the historical Rachel and historical van Gogh, Vincent would have likely kept it secret from Theo, fearing disapproval after the disastrous affair with Sien Hoornik.
I have tried to faithfully situate the fictional story of Rachel within the historical framework of the last two years of van Gogh’s life. I have remained largely true to the chronology of Vincent’s paintings and to events that took place at Arles, Saint-Rémy, and Auvers-sur-Oise. I have also tried to remain faithful to the historical Vincent’s personality as I have interpreted it from his letters, artworks, and other archival sources. Such events as the number and length of Vincent’s attacks between December 1888 and May 1890, the petition of the Arles townspeople, his arrest by the police, and, of course, the “ear incident” are historical actualities, although I have viewed them through a novelist’s lens.
A few exceptions exist with regards to chronological accuracy. Joseph Roulin was transferred to Marseille in late January 1889, his family following him a few months later; I keep them in Arles until August for dramatic convenience. Van Gogh’s visit to the
pastorale
at the Folies Arlésiennes took place in January 1889, not December 1888, and he would not have attended with Joseph Roulin, who had already left for Marseille. I likewise moved van Gogh and Gauguin’s visit to Montpellier up by a few weeks; their trip seems to have actually taken place on December 16 or 17, only a week before Vincent’s breakdown.
Most characters are inspired by real people, with the following exceptions: Françoise, Jacqui, and the other girls of the
maison
(but not Madame Virginie, the true
patronne
of No. 1, Rue du Bout d’Arles); Raoul the bouncer; old Dr. Dupin; Madame Fouillet in Paris; and assorted nameless characters. Bernard Soulé, Marguerite Favier, and Joseph Ginoux were indeed among those who’d signed the petition against Vincent, as highlighted recently in Martin Gayford’s book,
The Yellow House
(see Further Reading).
The letters Vincent writes Rachel in the novel are my creations, although readers familiar with the historical van Gogh’s letters will notice I borrowed phrases here and there for verisimilitude. The letter from Theo that Rachel reads in Chapter 32 is the only letter I have used word-for-word from an original: letter T31 from the current standard English translation, dated 29 March 1890. The quotes that open chapters are from surviving letters and documents.
As for the “ear incident,” accounts differ as to what actually happened. Gauguin’s version as written in
Avant et Après
is thought by many to be exaggerated: he speaks, for example, of Vincent charging at him with a razor in the darkened Place Lamartine, when he does not in earlier descriptions of that night. I have avoided using Gauguin’s account for that reason, although I did use his version of what Vincent says to Rachel (“You will remember me”) rather than the less romantic line recounted in
Le Forum Républicain
(“Keep this object carefully”). Martin Bailey, in his 2005 article (see Further Reading), postulates on good evidence that Gauguin and Vincent learned of Theo’s engagement to Johanna Bonger the morning of 23 December, and that it might have pushed Vincent over the edge.
What was “wrong” with Vincent van Gogh? Many theories exist, ranging from a form of epilepsy (the diagnosis favored by his own doctors), lead poisoning from his paints, a strain of syphilis (unproven for him but definite in Theo van Gogh’s case), absinthe poisoning, and so on. Martin Gayford makes a good case for bipolar disorder in his 2006 book, a diagnosis shared by Dr. Jean-Marc Boulon, current director of the asylum of Saint-Paul-de-Mausole in Saint-Rémy. I discussed van Gogh’s symptoms and circumstances with Dr. Susan Toler, professor of psychology at the University of South Florida St. Petersburg, and she also arrived at a bipolar disorder diagnosis. In the novel, Dr. Félix Rey makes a connection between Vincent’s attacks and events in his relationship with Theo, although historically there is no evidence he did so; I did this for the reader’s benefit, since now many do see a connection. The emotional trigger I created for Vincent’s first relapse in February 1889 is, of course, fictional.
The work of many art historians, art critics, and scholars in other fields has proven invaluable. The reader is encouraged to look at the partial bibliography provided in Further Reading, but I would like to single out here the scholarship of Martin Bailey, Anne Distel and Susan Alyson Stein, Douglas Druick and Peter Kort Zegers, Martin Gayford, Jan Hulsker, Leo Jansen, Hans Luijten, Ronald Pickvance, Debora Silverman, Judy Sund, Bogomila Welsh-Ovcharov, and Carol Zemel as especially helpful. I eagerly anticipate the newest edition of van Gogh’s correspondence, to be issued by the Van Gogh Museum in 2009, the culmination of fifteen years’ work by the Van Gogh Letters Project.
M
y story of
Sunflowers
began in May 2006 where Rachel’s ends: at Auvers-sur-Oise, with a quiet walk in the wheatfields and solitary moments at Vincent’s grave. At first my scribbled musings were just that, thoughts on a page, until slowly they became something more. The journey would take me through van Gogh’s letters and paintings, up to the Netherlands, down to Provence on a crowded train, and back to Auvers-sur-Oise–a journey of heart, mind, and pen.
So many people helped make this book possible. First, my family: my mother, Janie Bundrick, who has always encouraged me to be creative and take risks, and who acts as my cheerleader when I need it; my sister Chantel DiMuzio, herself a beautiful writer, who faithfully read every sentence of every draft and provided important feedback; my father, Wyman Bundrick, for his love and support; my brother-in-law, Adam DiMuzio, for making me laugh; and my nephew Anthony, our little ray of sunshine, born during the writing of this book. I’d paint him a picture of flowering almond tree branches against a crystal blue sky if I could.
To friends and colleagues who read drafts or part of drafts and gave me essential input, thank you so much: Jennifer Palinkas, Anne Jeffrey, Susan Toler, Patrice Boyer, Laura Wingfield, and Julianne Douglas. Special thanks to Dr. Susan Toler for all the discussions about Vincent’s psychological landscape. To other friends who knew what I was up to and supported me—too many to name—many mercis. Kudos to the wonderful library staff at the University of South Florida St. Petersburg!
Very special thanks to Barbara Braun, my agent and fellow art historian, who took a chance on an academic-turned-novelist. Very special thanks as well to Lucia Macro, my editor at Avon Books/HarperCollins, for believing in
Sunflowers
and giving it a good home. Everyone at Avon—a special thank you to Esi Sogah, assistant editor—has been amazing.
And finally, to Vincent van Gogh, whose art, words, and unflagging spirit have inspired not only me, but millions around the world. Fond as he was of sentimental novels, I’d like to think he would enjoy this one.
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