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Chapter 19 Art Consultant
"You flatter me, Mr. Van Gogh. Treating the injured is my duty." Emily humbly lowered her head, her gaze inadvertently falling upon Van Gogh's unfinished painting.It was the cypress tree Van Gogh had just been frantically creating.On the canvas, the cypress was depicted with intense, swirling brushstrokes as towering flames of green fire. The sky was a whirlpool of cobalt blue and zinc yellow, while the earth blazed with passionate ochre tones.The colors were extremely saturated, emotions bursting forth.A flash of wonder crossed Emily's eyes, and she unconsciously stepped closer, studying it carefully.Van Gogh noticed her gaze, his initial excitement slightly restrained, tinged with the artist's characteristic sensitivity and nervousness about others' opinions: "Miss, what do you think of the painting?"Emily didn't answer immediately.She tilted her head, looking at the cypress burning like green flames on the canvas, then raised her eyes to see the real, sturdy, silent cypress
Chapter 18 Herbal Expert
The hills on the outskirts of Arles seemed particularly tranquil on this New Year's afternoon of 1889.The winter sunlight generously cascaded down, painting the withered grassland with a layer of warm gold.In the distance on the hills stood a grove of cypress and olive trees.The air was filled with the mixed scents of hay, earth, and pine resin."Right here, Vincent!" Marcel set down the easel from his shoulder and pointed to several cypress trees with peculiar, twisted forms at the top of the slope. "Look at their lines—how much they resemble writhing green flames!"Van Gogh's deep-set blue eyes immediately blazed with fervent light.He almost pounced toward the chosen spot, nimbly setting up his easel while muttering to himself: "Yes, yes! They're not trees—they're staircases to heaven! The vigorous force of life! I must use chrome yellow, emerald green, cobalt blue... no, that's not enough! I need to use the entire palette to sing of them!"Marcel watched Van Gogh instantly imme
Chapter 17 Delivery
January 1, 1889. The New Year's sunlight pierced through the sky of Arles, spilling across the windows of the Yellow House.Forty religious paintings were neatly stacked against the wall, emanating the faint scent of linseed oil and resin.Marcel let out a long breath of relief.He had done it—completed the arduous task of painting forty religious icons, even finishing two days ahead of schedule!On the other side of the easel, Vincent van Gogh was studying "The Virgin and Child in Sunlight," his fingers twisting a tube of chrome yellow paint that was nearly empty.On the table beside him lay scattered sketches and small studies, each bursting with vibrant colors and brushstrokes filled with wild passion, forming a stark contrast to Marcel's precisely replicated classical techniques."They're here," Sorel Dupont said, looking out the window. "Mr. Armand's carriage."Marcel remained calm: "Go open the door, Sorel."Soon, Armand entered the Yellow House, still wrapped in his thick dark
Chapter 16 Critical Article
Aurier smiled slightly: "He is Mr. Vincent van Gogh!"The words weren't loud, yet they struck like a massive boulder hurled into a lake, instantly stirring up enormous waves!"What? Him?!""How good could his paintings possibly be?!""Mr. Aurier, surely you must be joking?"The room immediately erupted with barely suppressed gasps, scoffs, and incredulous whispers.The smile on Lemaigne's face completely froze, as if he'd been punched in the face. The color rapidly drained from his features, then surged back with a vengeance, turning purple-red.The lackey artists beside him looked as though they'd heard the most absurd joke in the world, exchanging glances with undisguised mockery curling at the corners of their mouths.Van Gogh was also stunned, his blue eyes widening enormously, lips slightly parted, even forgetting to wipe the breadcrumbs clinging to his beard. He instinctively looked toward Marcel, his gaze bewildered, as if asking: "Is he talking about me?"Marcel's heart pounde
Chapter 15 Artists' Banquet
Five-thirty in the afternoon."Gentlemen, may I really accompany you to the Saint Martin Restaurant?" Sorel asked."Of course, Sorel." Marcel patted his shoulder. "You're our assistant now, and our friend. It'll do you good to see the world and hear how art critics speak."Van Gogh nodded vigorously as well: "Albert Aurier—he's someone who truly understands art! I'm very much looking forward to the dinner we arranged with him."The three walked through the twilight toward the Saint Martin Restaurant in the town center.The Saint Martin Restaurant typically served merchants of modest means, tourists, and self-proclaimed refined artists.On Christmas night, the restaurant's windows glowed with exceptionally bright and warm gaslight, silhouettes moving within, and the faint sound of violin music drifting out.However, as soon as they reached the oak door decorated with brass handles, they sensed something amiss.A waiter in black formal wear with a stern expression stood at the entrance.
Chapter 14 Subverting Sacred Icons
In the yellow house at No. 2 Lamartine Square, the fireplace crackled and popped, the scent of pine wood mingling with turpentine and linseed oil, creating a strange, reassuring atmosphere.Vincent van Gogh stood before his easel, his chest still heaving slightly, as if he could still hear the soul-piercing organ and choir hymns from Saint-Trophime Church thundering deep in his eardrums.In his eyes burned a flame that Marcel had never seen before—an almost sacred fire."Color... Marcel, do you understand?" Van Gogh's voice was excited as he grabbed a brush loaded with chrome yellow. "That's not sound—it's light! It's the light God pours down through sound! Gloria is exploding chrome yellow! Laudamus is flowing cobalt blue! I heard it... I saw it!"He almost lunged at the canvas, smearing that mass of yellow as blazing as the midday sun onto it with wild yet devout movements."Vincent, slow down..." Marcel began to speak, then stopped.He saw the expression on van Gogh's face—a mixtur
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