The house of pleasure: Atuona (HIVA OA), July 1902.

• Author: Vargas Llosa, Mario
• Position: Latitudes

The two of you disagreed more often than you agreed, and yet sometimes--when you heard your friend speak so candidly and hopefully about his longed-for community of artist-monks in retreat from the world, settled in a distant, primitive country with no links to materialist civilization, dedicated body and soul to painting, and engaged in a brotherhood untouched by shadow--you let yourself be swept away by his dream. It was exciting, of course it was! There was something beautiful, noble, selfless, generous, in the Dutchman's yearning to found that small society of pure-minded artists, creators, dreamers, secular saints, all pledged to art as medieval knights pledged themselves to fight for an ideal or a lady. Perhaps it was not unlike the dreams that spurred on your own grandmother, as, near death, she traveled France trying to recruit disciples for the revolution that would put an end to all society's ills. Grandmother Flora and the mad Dutchman would have understood each other, Koke.

Paul and Vincent even disagreed about the Studio of the South. One night, at a cafe on the symmetrical place du Forum, where they often sat and drank an absinthe after dinner, Vincent proposed that they invite the painter Seurat to join the artists' community "That dot-maker who calls himself a creator?" exclaimed Paul. "Never." He proposed that instead of the pointillist they take Purls de Chavannes, whom Vincent hated as much as Paul detested Seurat. The argument went on until dawn. You forgot disputes quickly, Paul; not Vincent. For days he would be pale, distraught, turning the matter over in his head. For the mad Dutchman notating was insignificant or banal; everything touched a central nerve of existence, was linked to larger themes: God, life, death, madness, art.

If the mad Dutchman deserved your gratitude in any way, it was for being the first to whet your appetite for Polynesia, thanks to a...