“Don’t talk about it. Just forget it, it’s all right now.”

            “But I want to talk about it,” Vincent (He) insist gently, “Perhaps, if I do I ‘ll stop thinking about it. It wasn’t the exclusion that was hard, it was the proximity of mad men. Some of them awoke at night with terrible cries. At time I felt I was crazy…”

            Something inside him seem to have unlocked the floodgates of speech. In a torrent of words he told Henri about his life in Arles, the hours spent in the fields under the broiling sun, painting with a frenzy that grew into a sort of madness and the staggering walk back to town at sunset over dusty country roads, his easel strapped on his back, the still wet canvas on his hand. Then Gaugan’s long-awaited had arrived with the trip together at Avignon and then back at Arles the first quarrels,

   In December, Gauguin painted a portrait of van Gogh painting a sunflower bouquet, reflecting his sympathy with van Gogh’s endeavors, but whenever he raised the topic of departure, van Gogh would become agitated.

According to Gauguin's account, on the evening of December 23, 1888, van Gogh confronted him with a razor, demanding to know if he intended to leave Arles. Gauguin's confirmation further upset van Gogh,, the argument degenerating into bawls. Gauguin who turned and fled. Disturbed by his companion's irrational behavior, spent the night in a hotel. So they went together at the Café de’ la Gare to reconcile in absinth’s glasses, and the evening at the brothel. Never any word nobody has ever told who ever cares for less than their friendship had flung out a glass of au burgundy onto Gaugan’s face. Van Gogh only drank absinth liquor no burgundy and the awkward pity of the whores. Finally the crack up. No one but him hears cymbals crashing up over his skull that had swirled, he shook his eyes didn’t believe on what had happen, the circumstance so come se come ca and rampaged over the glass au burgundy. He has been bitten in the left ear and it dangling over the pool of blood. His own blood drew the temporary madness. Rachel to whom he thought of and he kept the dangling conversation off and on during wrap and unwrap…. "Last Sunday night at half past eleven a painter named Vincent Vangogh, appeared at the maison de tolérance, asked for a girl called Rachel, and handed her ... his ear with these words: 'Keep this object like a treasure.' Then he disappeared. then again covered the thing with the newspaper May 5, 2009 - According to a new book, the painter Vincent van Gogh did not slice off his left ear in a fit of madness and drunkenness in Arles in December 1888. His ear was severed by a bitten row of teeth wielded by his friend, the painter, Paul Gauguin, in a drunken row over a woman called Rachel and the true nature of art. dated the twenty-third of December 1988. Then on the occasion of rampage, he ran to her with the designated gift in his hand. She collapsed their right on the couch while they played Chopin’s nocturne…the last nocturne. The following morning when Gauguin returned to the Yellow House, he was shocked to find it spattered with blood. Taken into custody by the police for interrogation, he discovered that van Gogh had returned home after their confrontation and mutilated his left ear. Bleeding profusely, he went to a brothel and was then taken to a hospital. Upon release from the authorities, Gauguin telegraphed Theo, who arrived on the next morning's train. 
 He collapse on the floor after return to the hotel Auvers sur Oise where he was lodgings. He was silent for a moment, “I feels fine,” Vincent said in a toneless voice. He sat down. “It’s good to see you again, Henri. I arrived yesterday and spent the day with Theo and Johanna”.

….In a torrent of words he told Henri about his life in Arles: the hours spent in the fields under the hot sun, painting the fields with yellowish shades….