Mesmerised

by Michelle Shine

  ‘I would have thought you would have wanted the truth at this stage.’

  There is silence between them.

  ‘And what remedy would you give me then?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I need to ask you some questions.’

  ‘Ask me anything you like.’

  ‘How does it feel to be you right now?’

  ‘Frightened. Sorry for my family. Suzanne will not have an easy time from my mother after I’ve gone. And Leon – I was the man in his life.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Do you know what Charles said before he died? I am like a match that has gone out. I think that’s a very good analogy. I am a match that has gone out too.’

  Paul half-smiles, and rubs his chin.

  ‘I have a remedy for you Edouard,’ Paul says, fishing in his bag for a bottle of Phosphorus 10M. ‘At the very least, it should help you with your fears.’

  Sitting alone in the Café de Bade, Paul sips his coffee. He reads in Le Figaro:

  Yesterday at 10 o’ clock, Doctors Tillaux, Siredey and Marjolin came to the patient whom they found in excellent spirits. The limb to be amputated was in a deplorable state. Gangrene had set in, resulting in a condition so critical that the nails of the foot came off when touched. The patient was chloroformed and the leg amputated below the knee. Manet felt no pain. The day went as well as could be expected, and yesterday evening when we came for news, his condition did not suggest any serious complications.

  ‘Suzanne, I’ve come to see Edouard.’ Paul says, standing at the door.

  She is still in her nightgown despite the hour being almost lunchtime.

  ‘Please, come in. Do you think there is anything you can do?’ she says, leading him hastily through to the bedroom. She opens the door and Edouard is lying in the foetal position shivering violently. He continually repeats the letter ‘t’ with his tongue and his hair is wet with sweat. Paul immediately hopes that Edouard is in some sort of an unconscious state. He walks over to the patient and lays a hand on his brow. Edouard flinches.

  ‘He is in a very dangerous pyrexic state,’ he says. ‘What are the doctors giving him?’

  ‘Morphine.’

  ‘And yet, he still suffers greatly. I’d like to give him another dose of the homeopathic medicine.’

  ‘I will have to ask Leon.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He was up all night with Edouard and now he’s asleep.’

  ‘Suzanne, why are you hesitating?’

  ‘The doctors have said not to give him anything homeopathic. They were very vexed when Leon told them you had been here. They called you a quack.’

  ‘Suzanne, look, look over there, look at what those eminent men have done for your husband so far.’

  ‘Please, Doctor Gachet, leave the medicine with me and I shall discuss the matter with Leon when he awakes.’

  Paul hasn’t returned home to Auvers but has stayed in Paris for the last ten days. The atmosphere everywhere, on the streets and in the cafés, is morbid, but Paris is somehow the only place he wants to be. He is tempted to join the crowd that has gathered outside Edouard’s building. It is hard to work when an old friend is dying.

  Paul hears the sound of his own shoes scraping the floorboards. Back and forth. Back and forth in his consulting room. He feels the enormous emptiness of his apartment and he thinks to himself how grief makes you old, that death is part of life, and life must go on because you have no choice. He will visit Le Salon.

  He arrives to be told that his entrance is barred. The exhibition hall is holding a private viewing, but someone recognises that he is a painter and ushers him in. Remembering when his own work hung on the walls of the Palais d’l’Industrie, he walks tall through to the exhibition rooms.

  He begins to look at the first painting when a silent chill descends upon the room. An official from the Beaux Arts enters and stands in the centre.

  ‘Edouard Manet has just died,’ he booms.

  Silence.

  Paul Gachet looks to the floor. When he raises his head all hats in the room have been removed.

  Asnières, July 31, 1883

  Madame,

  I beg you to excuse me if in what follows I revive your grief over the extraordinary and greatly mourned Monsieur Manet.

  You know without doubt that I posed for a great many of his paintings, notably for Olympia, his masterpiece. M Manet took a lot of interest in me and often said that if he sold his paintings he would reserve some reward for me. I was so young then and careless … I left for America.

  When I returned, M Manet, having sold a great number of his works to M Faure, told me that he was going to give me something. I refused, enthusiastically thanking him, adding that when I could no longer pose I would remind him of his promise.

  That time has come sooner than I thought; the last time that I saw M Manet he promised to help me get a job in a theatre as an usher, adding that he would give me money to secure it … You know the rest, and what a rapid sickness ravished your loved one.

  Certainly I had decided never to bother you and remind you of that promise, but misfortune has befallen me: I can no longer model, I have to all alone take care of my old mother, who is now utterly incapable of work, and on top of all this I had an accident and injured my right hand (a broken finger) and will not be able to do work of any kind for several months.

  It is this desperate situation, Madame, which prompts me to remind you of M Manet’s kind promise. M Leenhoff and M Gustave Manet can tell you that M Manet certainly intended to come to my aid. If in my misfortune, and in remembrance of him, you will be so kind as to interest yourself in my destiny and can do something for me, please accept, Madame, my deepest gratitude.

  I am respectfully yours, Victorine Meurent,

  7, Boulevard de la Seine,

  Asnières

  Seine

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