“Just let me stay with you, Vincent. I don’t ask for much. If there’s nothing but bread and coffee, I don’t complain. I love you, Vincent. You’re the first man’s ever been good to me. You don’t got to marry me if you don’t want. I’ll pose and work hard and do whatever you tell me. Only let me stay with you! It’s the first time I ever been happy, Vincent. I don’t want things. I’ll just share what you have and be happy.”

He could feel the swelling child against him, warm and living. He ran his fingertips gently over her homely face, kissing the scars one by one. He let her hair fall down her back, smoothing out the thin strands with tender strokes of his hand. She laid her flushed, happy cheek on his beard and rubbed softly against the grain.

“You do love me, Christine?”

“Yes, Vincent, I do.”

“It’s good to be loved. The world may call it wrong if it likes.”

“To hell with the world,” said Christine, simply.

“I will live as a labourer; that suits me. You and I understand each other and we do not need to mind what anybody says. We do not have to pretend to keep up a social standing. My own class cast me out long ago. I would rather have a crust of bread at my own hearth, however poor it may be, than live without marrying you.”

They sat on the floor, warmed by the red glow of the stove, entwined in each other’s arms. It was the postman who broke the spell. He handed Vincent a letter from Amsterdam. It read:

Have just heard of your disgraceful conduct. Kindly cancel my order for the six drawings. I will take no further interest in your work.

His whole fate now rested with Theo. Unless he could make Theo understand the full nature of his relationship with Christine, he too would be justified in cutting off the hundred francs a month. He could do without his master, Mauve; he could do without his dealer, Tersteeg; he could do without his family, friends, and confrères as long as he had his work and Christine. But he could not do without that hundred francs a month!

He wrote long, passionate letters to his brother, explaining everything, begging Theo to understand and not desert him. He lived from day to day with a dark fear of the worst. He did not dare to order more drawing material than he could pay for, or undertake any water-colours or push on.

Theo offered objections, many of them, but he did not condemn. He offered advice too, but not once did he infer that if his advice were not taken he would stop sending the money. And in the end, although he did not approve, he assured Vincent that his help would go on just as before.

It was now early May. The doctor at Leyden had told Christine she would be confined sometime in June. Vincent decided that it would be wiser if she did not move in with him until after the confinement, at which time he hoped to rent the vacant house next door on the Schenkweg. Christine spent most of her time at the studio, but her possessions still remained at her mother’s. They were to be officially married after her recovery.

He went to Leyden for Christine’s confinement. The child did not move from nine in the evening until half past one. It had to be taken with the forceps, but it was not injured at all. Christine suffered a great deal of pain, but she forgot it all when she saw Vincent.

“We will soon begin to draw again,” she said.

Vincent stood looking down at her with tears in his eyes. It did not matter that the child belonged to another man. It was his wife and baby, and he was happy with a taut pain in his chest.

When he returned to the Schenkweg he found the landlord and owner of the lumber yard in front of the house.

“What about taking that other house, Mijnheer Van Gogh? It is only eight francs a week. I’ll have it all painted and plastered for you. If you will pick out the kind of wallpaper you like, I will put it on for you.”

“Not so fast,” said Vincent. “I would like the new house for when my wife comes home, but I must write to my brother first.”

“Well, I must put on some wallpaper, so pick the one you like best, and if you can’t take the house, it won’t matter.”

Theo had been hearing about the house next door for several months. It was much larger, with a studio, living room, kitchen alcove, and an attic bedroom. It was four francs a week more than the old place, but with Christine, Herman, and the baby all coming to the Schenkweg, they needed the new space. Theo replied that he had received another raise in salary and that Vincent could rely upon receiving a hundred and fifty francs a month for the present. Vincent rented the new house immediately. Christine was coming home in a week and he wanted her to find a warm nest upon her arrival. The owner lent him two men from the yard to carry his furniture next door to the new studio. Christine’s mother came there to straighten things.

10