Original signed drawing in pencil and pink crayon by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, on “Navarre” watermarked paper. Horizontal fold, annotation in pencil in upper left-hand corner, minute tears in lower margin.
Precious drawing signed by Saint-Exupéry – the writer-artist very rarely signed his graphic works – of a caricature character, sharing some of the writer's own features.
Autograph letter most probably unpublished signed addressed by Juliette Drouet to her lover Victor Hugo, four pages written in black ink on a bifolium.
Transverse folds inherent to mailing, fold joining the two leaves reinforced with a fine strip of pasted paper barely perceptible.
Absent from the very complete online edition of Juliette Drouet's letters to Hugo by the Centre d'Études et de Recherche Éditer/Interpréter (University of Rouen-Normandy).
Very beautiful declaration of love and admiration by Juliette Drouet, the day after Hugo's plea defending his son. Charles Hugo had been brought before the assizes, and condemned despite his father's intervention, for having valiantly castigated the execution of Claude Montcharmont.
Hugo's great love addresses this letter in troubled times, where father and son find themselves at the forefront of the scene for their abolitionist positions. Scandalized by the execution of Montcharmont, a 29-year-old poacher from Morvan, Charles Hugo publishes an article in l'Événement which earns him a trial for contempt of respect due to the laws: the Second Republic already exists only in name, and the press is subject to frequent attacks, further aggravated here by the notoriety of the Hugos. Victor wants to defend his son and delivers a plea that remains famous: "Mon fils, tu reçois aujourd'hui un grand honneur, tu as été jugé digne de combattre, de souffrir peut-être, pour la sainte cause de la vérité. A dater d'aujourd'hui, tu entres dans la véritable vie virile de notre temps, c'est-à-dire dans la lutte pour le juste et pour le vrai. Sois fier, toi qui n'est qu'un simple soldat de l'idée humaine et démocratique, tu es assis sur ce banc où s'est assis Béranger, où s'est assis Lamennais !" (My son, you receive today a great honor, you have been judged worthy to fight, perhaps to suffer, for the holy cause of truth. From today, you enter into the true virile life of our time, that is to say into the struggle for the just and the true. Be proud, you who are but a simple soldier of the human and democratic idea, you are seated on this bench where Béranger sat, where Lamennais sat!)
Despite Hugo's historic intervention, Charles is condemned to six months in prison and 50 francs fine - a decision that Juliette bitterly castigates, overwhelmed by anguish at the outcome of the trial: "J'ai beau savoir que cet arrêt inique est non seulement supporté avec courage par vous tous, mais accepté avec orgueil et avec joie par le plus directement intéressé dans cette malheureuse condamnation, la fatigue et l'inquiétude que j'ai éprouvé pendant toute cette interminable journée d'hier m'a laissée une douloureuse courbature physique et morale" (However much I know that this iniquitous verdict is not only borne with courage by all of you, but accepted with pride and joy by the one most directly concerned in this unfortunate condemnation, the fatigue and anxiety I experienced during all that interminable day yesterday has left me with a painful physical and moral ache).
12 juin jeudi matin 7h
First edition of this collection of articles that Émile Zola wrote during the Dreyfus Affair, notably the famous « J'Accuse...?! » which appears for the first time in volume form. The last part entitled Mon Père is a compilation of articles in homage to François Zola.
Half binding, smooth spine, original wrappers preserved, binding signed C. Vilaine.
Autograph inscription by Émile Zola to historian and journalist Maurice Dreyfous.
Autograph letter signed by the painter Eugène Delacroix to his friend Baron Félix Feuillet de Conches, master of protocol at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs under Charles X and Louis-Philippe. One page in black ink on a folded sheet, with the autograph address on the verso. Traces of seal and postal stamps dated October 7.
The painter writes to his friend Feuillet de Conches, a distinguished man of letters whose works were well received, and who also amassed an elegant collection of art and autographs in his apartment on the rue Neuve-des-Mathurins, the address of this very letter.
A charming and witty missive, in which Delacroix expresses his enchantment with country life, far removed from the bustle of Paris.
"From the summer of 1844, Eugène Delacroix settled at Champrosay, on the edge of the Sénart forest near Paris. There, he recorded in his journal the impressions inspired by his regular walks through the countryside. He produced numerous sketches, later reworked into his large compositions, as well as more ambitious landscapes that reveal how, in his mature and later years, the observation of nature — now contemplated for its own sake — had become central to his art." (MuMa)
"I reply to you late, dear Feuillet, but you will forgive me: I promise you a Gros, very happy to add it to the collection. I pity you for living far from the fields. If we were still in the time of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, I might believe myself in danger of one day being turned into a tree. I am mad about these innocent and beautiful trees, while human nature, on the other hand, loses each day in my esteem. I except, of course, friends like you and the few who retain a little reason.
I embrace you while awaiting this winter
Eug. Delacroix."
"J'étais fort malade Monsieur, quand vous avez bien voulu m'envoyer votre tragédie du 4e siècle que depuis j'ai vainement cherché votre adresse pour vous écrire tout ce que je pensais de cette tragédie où l'on voit ce me semble tous les sentiments et toutes les pensées d'un homme éclairé et énergique. J'espère que les circonstances me rapprocheront de Paris, et si j'ai l'honneur de vous voir Monsieur, je vous exprimerai ma reconnaissance pour le souvenir que vous avez bien voulu me faire parvenir dans le plus triste exil du monde, en vérité je ne me serais pas doutée qu'Auxerre eut jamais été la demeure d'un esprit aussi distingué que le vôtre" (I was quite ill, Sir, when you were so kind as to send me your tragedy of the 4th century, since which I have sought in vain for your address to write to you all that I thought of this tragedy in which one sees, it seems to me, all the sentiments and all the thoughts of an enlightened and energetic man. I hope that circumstances will bring me closer to Paris, and if I have the honor of seeing you, Sir, I will express to you my gratitude for the remembrance you were so kind as to send me in the saddest exile in the world, truly I would never have suspected that Auxerre had ever been the dwelling of a mind as distinguished as yours).
Autograph letter dated and signed by Jean Hélion addressed to Raymond Queneau, 41 lines (four pages on two leaves) written in black ink.
Jean Hélion cannot respond favorably to an invitation extended by his friend Raymond Queneau, partly due to his homebody nature: "J'ai pris l'habitude de rester chez nous, le samedi après-midi : à l'atelier jusqu'à 5 heures et là-haut jusqu'à l'heure du dîner pour y recevoit toutes sortes de jeunes gens que je n'ai pas le temps de voir un par un... Mais j'aimerais davantage vous montrer à vous seul, un peu tranquille et à n'importe quelle heure. Ne passez-vous jamais de ce côté ?" ("I have gotten into the habit of staying at home on Saturday afternoons: at the studio until 5 o'clock and upstairs until dinner time to receive all sorts of young people whom I don't have time to see one by one... But I would prefer to show you alone, a bit quietly and at any time. Don't you ever come by this way?")
He worries about the political path of one of their mutual friends, the pacifist militant Garry Davis who created in 1948 the World Citizens movement and in 1954 the World Service Authority organization: "Je m'occupe encore de ce bon Garry Davis, qui s'engage maintenant dans la non-violence, mais d'une façon qui pourrait être violente... Breton a tapé dessus comme sur des cymbales. Mais moi, par amitié, autant que pour une confiance dans sa force instinctive, je l'aiderai tant que possible... Il veut encore consulter ses amis, et il en a grand besoin. Camus, Mounier, Altman, l'abbé Pierre et quelques autres lui sont demeurés dévoués." ("I'm still taking care of that good Garry Davis, who is now engaging in non-violence, but in a way that could be violent... Breton struck out at him like cymbals. But I, out of friendship, as much as for confidence in his instinctive strength, will help him as much as possible... He still wants to consult his friends, and he has great need of it. Camus, Mounier, Altman, Abbé Pierre and some others have remained devoted to him.")
Autograph letter initialed by Emile Zola, dated in his hand April 10, 1898. Four pages in black ink on a bifolium, addressed to Octave Mirbeau's wife.
Horizontal fold mark inherent to mailing, very rare and discrete foxing on the first leaf.
A particularity of this exile correspondence, Zola chose to omit his signature in his letters - or as here, to initial only, protecting himself from censorship or police investigations.
Published in his Complete Works, vol. XXV, ed. F. Bernouard, 1927, p. 820.
Heart-wrenching letter by Zola written in complete exile, the most unknown retreat, the most absolute silence. The justiciar writer is secluded in England, forced to leave Paris after being condemned to the maximum penalty for having written "J'accuse!"
during these cruel hours.
Autograph poem by André Pieyre de Mandiargues signed A.P.M. and dated June 5, 1974 entitled "Le plus libre graveur" and which he dedicated to Joan Miro.
Written in black ballpoint pen on a sheet, the poem, of 44 lines, contains some crossings-out and manuscript additions as well as an addition of a cut and pasted sheet in the lower right corner of the poem.
This text celebrating the painter Joan Miro and his style was published in the review XXe siècle in December 1974:
"Feu d'air ou feu de terre
Feu de feu ou feu d'eau
Le haut feu de Miro
Se fait esprit de sel
Acide ardent fumant
Machoîre du dieu ivre
Qui va mordre le cuivre...
...
Parfois il grave sur le givre
il invente le regard
il noie le soleil
Il l'ébouillante
Parfois il balance l'homme
Il bascule la demoiselle,
...
La grande lingerie des noirs
Des bleus des rouges des roses
Des jaunes et des verts
Claquant au vent de Majorque
Un grand pavois d'allégresse
Imposé au blanc d'une page..."
Beautiful poem by André Pieyre de Mandiargues celebrating the abundant style of vivid colors of the painter and engraver Joan Miro.
"Mon cher Confrère,
Excusez si je ne vous écris jamais, mais j'ai les yeux si malades que la seule pensée d'écrire dix lignes me torture.
J'ai l'intention d'ailleurs de faire plus, et d'aller vous serrer la main dans le courant d'avril. Je veux aller voir Naples, et descendre jusqu'à la Sicile. Je serai heureux de vous dire toute la reconnaissance que je vous ai pour votre si cordiale confraternité.
Je me demande si vous avez reçu Yvette [souligné plusieurs fois]. Dans tous les cas j'en ai encore un exemplaire ici, je vous l'adresse en le recommandant car les employés des Postes sont plus que suspects. [...]"
"Mon cher ami,
Je ne vous ai pas écrit parce que j'ai les yeux de plus en plus malades et qu'il m'est interdit de m'en servir soit pour lire soit pour écrire. [...] (My dear friend, I have not written to you because my eyes are increasingly ill and I am forbidden to use them either for reading or writing. [...])
Mais comme je vois que vous supposez des causes inexpliquées à mon silence, j'ai voulu vous en dire moi-même la raison. Merci pour vos articles, mais je ne les ai pas lus et on ne me les a pas lus. Le dit secrétaire a dû s'épargner cette besogne. Je les fais chercher : et je vais me les faire traduire tout de suite. Voilà un des gros ennuis des yeux malades ; on ne me montre pas la moitié des choses. Je vous fais envoyer Mont-Oriol par le même courrier.
Excusez mon laconisme, mon cher Pica, et croyez à mes sentiments bien affectueux" (But as I see that you suppose unexplained causes for my silence, I wanted to tell you the reason myself. Thank you for your articles, but I have not read them and no one has read them to me. The said secretary must have spared himself this task. I am having them searched for: and I will have them translated to me immediately. There is one of the great annoyances of sick eyes; they don't show me half of things. I am having Mont-Oriol sent to you by the same post. Excuse my brevity, my dear Pica, and believe in my most affectionate sentiments).
"Monsieur et cher Confrère,
Zola me transmet votre aimable article du Fantasio. Il m'a fait le plus grand plaisir ; et je vous prie de recevoir, avec mes vifs remerciements, l'expression de mon confraternel dévouement et de toute ma sympathie".
Autograph letter signed by Germaine de Staël and dated 9 January 1809 to Julie Nigris, daughter of Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun. Two pages written in black on a bifolium. Autograph address on verso, armorial wax seal traces and postmarks.
Usual folds, a tear with a small piece of paper lacking on the address page due to the opening of the seal.
Published as an addendum in Souvenirs de Madame Vigée Le Brun, 1837, vol. III, pp. 264-265.
Germaine de Staël is eagerly awaiting her portrait as Corinne - her novel's heroine- she had commissioned from the famous Vigée-Lebrun. The letter is a precious link in the fascinating history of the painting the baroness would discover a few months later.
"Madam, I have given up on engraving the portrait of your mother. It is too expensive for my whim and I have just suffered a considerable lawsuit that is forcing me to make do with less. But would you be so kind as to tell me when Madam Le Brun will give me the portrait of Corinne? My intention was to send her a thousand écus upon receiving it, but as I have not heard from her, I don't know what to do.
Please be so kind as to get involved and negotiate what I want in this regard. Another pleasing negotiation would be your arrival to Switzerland this summer. Prosper says he will come. Wouldn't M. de Maleteste be seduced by this reunion of all his friends? I dare to count myself among them. Seeing him once, it seemed to me that I was meeting an old acquaintance."
Germaine de Staël addresses Vigée Le Brun's daughter Julie, inviting her and her mother to brighten up her exile. She also tried to gather at her home of Coppet her lover Prosper de Barante as well as Julie's, the Marquis de Maleteste. Dreading solitude, she was determined to invite a host of interesting personalities. Two years earlier, Vigée Le Brun had begun painting a portrait of the baroness depicted as the heroine of her latest novel Corinne. In-between portrait sittings with the baroness, the artist had met the famous members of the so-called Coppet group: Frederick of Prussia, writer Benjamin Constant and salonnière Juliette Récamier. De Staël had already requested a change as soon as the painter had started the canvas and asked for a different landscape in the background. Aware of the somewhat unprepossessing appearance of her model - neither she nor the baroness denied it - Vigée Le Brun created an ambitious portrait mixing antiquity-inspired attire with a furiously romantic allure. She managed to capture the baroness's inspired gaze instead of an expected neoclassical austerity. Despite her enthusiastic initial reactions, Germaine de Staël was not pleased with it and commissioned another portrait from local artist Firmin Massot. The latter produced a poor but faithful copy of the Vigée Le Brun's composition, except for her face and expression he smoothed out and made devoid of any emotion. The baroness's reaction illustrates the irreconcilable dilemma faced by women of letters at the beginning of the 19th century: torn between their identity as intellectual figures (which Vigée Le Brun had magnificently captured in this portrait), and the normative criteria of femininity Germaine de Staël wanted to align with.
A precious piece of correspondence, bringing together two illustrious women - the patron and the artist, whose visions of femininity would soon oppose on either side of the easel.
"je ne suis très fort que parce que je m'attends à tout et que mon seul but est le peu de vérité que nous réussirons sans doute à faire encore. Après, mon Dieu, qu'importe !"
"Les rentes majorées émises ont du être payées le 10 janvier Monsieur. Etant prêt à partir la semaine prochaine, je désire savoir si je puis disposer chez vous de la petite somme résultant de deux semestres que vous avez dû recevoir pour moi."
(The increased annuities issued must have been paid on January 10, Sir. Being ready to leave next week, I wish to know if I may draw from you the small sum resulting from two semesters that you must have received for me.)Benjamin Constant writes this missive during a period of his life marked by amorous and financial turmoil, requesting from his banker annuities owed to him. He still divides his time between his wife, Charlotte Hardenberg, whom he secretly married in 1808, and his longtime mistress, the writer Germaine de Staël. Constant was then constantly traveling and accumulating gambling debts. In this letter, he is "prêt à partir la semaine prochaine" (ready to leave next week) to visit Madame de Staël to discuss delicate money matters at her château de Coppet in Switzerland, where all of European intelligentsia then gathered.
Precious Constantian relic from the writer in full turmoil, torn between conjugal happiness and intellectual complicity with the great Germaine de Staël.
Autograph letter signed and dated by Auguste Bartholdi to writer Edmond About. Three pages written in black on a bifolium with his letterhead.
Traces of folds inherent to mailing.
Bartholdi returns from Egypt after having presented his project for a colossal statue on the Suez Canal, whose design will eventually be used for the Statue of Liberty. The sculptor gives his impressions of the trip, and brings back silks and Persian carpets from the bazaar for his friend.
From March to April 1868, Bartholdi stayed in Egypt to submit his monument project to Viceroy Ismaïl-Pacha. The idea of building a statue at the entrance to the Suez Canal had stemmed from the sculptor's visit to the canal company's pavilion at the Paris Universal Exhibition. He then imagined a fifty-metre-tall female colossus, stretching her arm skywards and brandishing a lantern - which he named "Egypt bringing light to Asia", or "Egypt illuminating the Orient". The pasha and chief canal builder Ferdinand de Lesseps were not won over:
"Of my enterprise I cannot give you any interesting information. I really don't know myself whether I've succeeded or not. You'll have to wait and see, I've found a benevolent welcome; but nothing definite, in the Egyptian fashion." The idea finally took root on the other side of the Atlantic, where his statue was enthusiastically welcomed by the Franco-American union and brought him international renown.
In addition to his excursions on the back of a donkey to find a site for his work on the banks of the canal, the sculptor took to strolling the streets of Alexandria and Cairo, drawing numerous sketches: "I intended to return to complete my studies at the bazaar; when, being indisposed, I was obliged to leave suddenly [...] I had the pleasure of seeing your friend Arackel, who was as kind to me as your letter ". Bartholdi also thanks About for his glowing review of his work published on June 1st: "It took your kind little note in the Revue des deux mondes to get my pen into my hands. Thank you for your friendly caress", and talks at length about the silks and carpets he had promised him: " The habaye [abbaya] of blue and gold silk cost 180 instead of 175, and they would only let me have it for 130, the last price. The Caramanie carpets cost 60 last price, and I only saw two or three that were beautiful".
A precious and aesthetic letter by Bartholdi, whose unsuccessful venture in Egypt would lead to the building of America's most iconic monument.
Mon cher Buloz, voici la lettre à M. Lerminier n'y changez rien. Relisez-en vous même et vous seul l'épreuve. Corrigez les fautes de typographie. Veuillez à la ponctuation et aux guillemets. Il va sans dire que les blancs de mon manuscrits sont le résultat de coupures et de transcriptions que j'ai faites, et ne demandent que de simples alinéas.
Bonjour et amitié,
George ("My dear Buloz, here is the letter to M. Lerminier change nothing. Proofread it yourself and yourself alone. Correct the typographical errors. Mind the punctuation and quotation marks. It goes without saying that the blanks in my manuscript are the result of cuts and transcriptions I have made, and require only simple paragraphs.
Good day and friendship,
George")
This letter perfectly illustrates the stormy yet fruitful collaboration that united François Buloz and George Sand. The latter gave Sand for many years a platform and a means to live by her pen. She published in the Review a great number of masterpieces, including Lettres d'un voyageur (1834-1836), Mauprat (1837), Spiridion (1839), Gabriel (1839), Mademoiselle La Quintinie (1863), Césanne Dietrich (1870). Through his mediation, she also actively participated in the political debates of her time. In 1838, Buloz was the great orchestrator of an ideological duel when Sand "decided to take on the critic Lerminier, who had just made a very critical analysis of the Livre du peuple in the review. Buloz, out of desire for publicity, allowed his two collaborators to publicly exchange blows in the review. Through Lerminier and his superior tone, the review then revealed its rather misogynistic vision of literature and philosophy: 'the time has come for you to give your philosophical opinions more consistency and scope because you are entering a new phase of life and talent. Inspiration and fantasy have raised you to a height where they would not suffice to maintain you. Draw now, madam, new strength from reflection and science'" (Marie-Eve Thérenty, George Sand, François Buloz et la Revue des Deux Mondes).
Sand reacted immediately and sent her response article accompanied by this peremptory missive, ordering Buloz to publish her text as it stood. Lamennais was very touched by her gesture: "I shall always count among the happy circumstances of my life, where I don't count many, to have been defended by you. In publishing my last book, I knew well that it would shock almost everyone, legitimists, juste-milieu, Catholics, even republicans, those at least who want neither God nor liberty, and their number is great, and they have a terrible faith in themselves. I have hoped only in the people who do not make systems, and who, under the influence of primitive and imperishable human instincts, judge by the heart, and judge alone infallibly. Without them I don't know what would become of liberty on earth. M. Lerminier and many others imagine that I speak at random, according to whatever idea of the moment occurs to me. They are mistaken" (Yves Chastagnaret, George Sand, Lerminier et le Livre du Peuple de Félicité Lamennais).
Autograph letter dated from Liane de Pougy to the French archaeologist, curator of the Musée de Saint-Germain and professor of art history at the École du Louvre, Salomon Reinach, 56 lines written in blue ink on one double-sided sheet, written from her property at Clos-Marie in Roscoff where the famous courtesan stayed until 1926.
A small tear in the right-hand margin of the letter, inherent in the enveloping of the missive; another slight tear at the foot, without affecting the text.
Liane de Pougy marvels at the youthful vigor of Reinach, who had just turned 65: ' Many happy returns for your 65 years, which find you so young, so fresh, so green, with such playful (studious) feelings. My friend, your youthful morals hold the secret of your physical youth—as Rosa Josepha said, one sustains the other, one preserves the other—and this, seen head-on. ', while magnifying his radiant intelligence: 'To no longer produce, but to sit atop the high throne of your trophies, formed by all you have wrested from instinct to sacrifice to intellectuality. Why do people always say a well of knowledge instead of a luminous column, a sky, a sun, a star, etc.—in short, something that makes us lift our heads?'
She is waiting for her friend and former lover, the terrible and unfaithful Natalie Clifford-Barney: 'Natalie plans to come to Clos at the end of September. She has a wound to heal here—time, fortunately, has already done part of the work! I have sensitive feelings and, like a musketeer, a good heart but a bad temper. This is the 1st time the amazon has truly aimed at me... Let us speak of it no more'. Liane firmly expresses her wish not to be pitied or consoled for her romantic troubles: 'I have suffered in silence but without resignation. Do not speak of this to Nathanaël... Nathanaël means Philippe, Max Jacob claims, who lives and works near us in the most fascinating way... '.
A beautiful letter by the celebrated courtesan, actress, and writer Liane de Pougy, recounting with restrained candor her romantic disappointments with Natalie Clifford-Barney.
"Chère Madame,
Mille excuses pour le malentendu qui est de ma faute, sans doute.
Je ne me souvenais pas du tout que vous n'étiez pas libre ce soir. Si vous l'êtes demain samedi, j'en serais heureux. J'ai couru à Châtelet et suis parvenu à faire changer le jour pour mes places.
Voulez-vous avoir l'amabilité de me prévenir, soit par un télégramme, soit par un message téléphonique. Les pneumatiques ne parviennent pas à Levallois.
Une fois de plus pardonnez-moi et à demain soir, j'espère.
Respectueuses amitiés de votre dévoué" (Dear Madam, A thousand apologies for the misunderstanding which is undoubtedly my fault. I did not remember at all that you were not free this evening. If you are free tomorrow Saturday, I would be delighted. I ran to Châtelet and managed to have the day changed for my seats. Would you be so kind as to let me know, either by telegram or by telephone message. Pneumatic messages do not reach Levallois. Once more forgive me and until tomorrow evening, I hope. Respectful regards from your devoted)
Autograph letter in German signed by Rainer Maria Rilke to actress Else Hotop, to whom he writes under her stage name, Elya Maria Nevar. 2 1/2 pages written on a bifolium watermarked "Sackleinen". Autograph envelope enclosed, addressed to 'Else Hotop' bearing postmarks dated November 3, 1918.
Published in Freundschaft Mit Rainer Maria Rilke, 1946, p. 35.
A precious piece of Rilke's correspondence, reflecting the delights of an enchanted afternoon spent during WW1 with the actress Elya Nevar, one of his most fervent admirers.
« Chère amoi [sic]
Ton ami arrivé moulu brisé de deux nuits de voitures et de chemins de fer. Il t'attend demain soir mardi. Oh ce sera avec grand bonheur qu'il s'assurera que toutes choses sont dans l'état où il les a laissées
a toi »
