An important, lengthy, and very touching autograph letter from the great violinist and composer to his new wife Louise. Dated Mannheim, November 13, 1886, less than two months after their wedding. 16 pp. on 4 bifolia, 12mo. In the long and intimate love letter, Ysaÿe responds with joy to the news that his wife is pregnant with their first child: "A son! A child! From you! From you, my darling wife! Nothing in the world could be to me such a source of joy! Nothing... nothing." Offering a "fervent prayer" that their children will have "your dear sweet eyes, so divinely good, your little mouth, alas, so far from my kisses!, your character, so free of pride, your nature, which seems to be made of the sublime essence of the soul of an angel," he goes on to reflect on his plans for their children's upbringing: "you see, my adored angel, we mustn't love them too much, we must be strict with them to the right degree, one must mold the souls of children, form them and not leave the care of their education to their nature..." He promises on his return to help her with the prescribed enemas: "You will see on my return that I can play that instrument very well, especially when it is for my little mother, my big girl, my child who is my wife..." and reports that on her urging he has seen a doctor about a case of eczema on his ear.
In a particularly endearing moment, Ysaÿe writes a musical quotation that apparently evokes memories of intimacy with his wife: lamenting their separation at length, he writes that he will put his violin "naked on the pillow of that oppressive second bed -- let's hope that in the night it doesn't start on its own to moan that phrase from Parsifal," (he writes out seven bars of music from the opera.) "What would become of me then! Or rather what would become of you, even from far away! ... (shh...)........ If all those dots don't give you enough of a sense of "shh," wait patiently for my return and I assure you that you will understand." He follows this with seven more measures of the Wagner theme, adding "It's a good thing for you that it's the serenade." Returning to domestic matters, he asks after the arrangements for their new home before concluding: "Must I say how much I embrace you? -- no, this letter is nothing but a long kiss."
16 pp. on 4 bifolia, 12mo. Some light toning, folding creases, light paperclip marks on two pages and light staple holes. A date and page numbers have been added in pencil in a later hand. Overall otherwise in fine condition. 4.5 x 7 inches (11.5 x 17.8 cm). The biography of Ysaye by Antoine Ysaye and Bertram Radcliffe, Ysaye, His Life, Work and Influence (1947) includes a brief quotation on p. 52 from the present letter.
The Belgian violinist, composer and conductor Eugène Ysaÿe, known as the "King of the Violin," married Louise Bourdeau de Coutrai on September 29, 1886. Their wedding present from César Franck was his Violin Sonata in A, which after a hurried rehearsal Ysaÿe performed at the ceremony. They had three sons and one daughter, and remained married until Louise's death in 1924.
Translation from the French, in full:
The things you sent to me in Angers should have returned to Brussels -- it's my fault too, I should have taken into account that you are not used to traveling and that you don't know the routes, and given you the details of the route and return route. Today I am drowning in pure joy... You thank me for my long letter? My dear, if I was certain that reading my letters makes you sweet, I would write you volumes! I would only be afraid of one thing while writing them, that the words "I love you," being so often repeated there, would at the end release you from my consuming and monotonously-expressed love.
I knew that Gabri or Thérése were showing signs of wanting to come into the world, but I needed the affirmation that your letter gives me in this respect to let my jubilation overflow. [Ah!] A son! A child! From you! From you, my darling wife! Nothing in the world could be to me such a source of joy! Nothing... nothing. I bless you, I cover you with the gratitude of my heart. Imagine, in letting my thoughts wander through the rose garden which this happy news has given me, I find them often coming back to the idea that on my return, when I hold you in my arms, I will think that my son's arms are also wrapped around my neck. It isn't a bad thing to love one's son in advance, but it is equally as good that your eyes alone respond to these double caresses; I hold two bodies in one soul. And incidentally, you benefit on this occasion, for I believe that if one loves one's children surely, deeply, and sincerely, one loves even more the woman who bears them. Oh my darling! My guardian angel! My fond dream realized! Be careful, look after yourself, for yourself, for him or her, for all of us. Don't bend down too much, don't exert yourself, be careful not to get up on chairs (you could fall) or to nail things, don't lift your arms, if you sneeze stay upright, don't drink champagne, above all don't do anything in excess, and be careful of your shoulders if you go out in the rain in the evening...
You won't believe it, but today, as I was playing my violin, I found myself saying a fervent prayer to God that my son will look like you, that he will have your dear sweet eyes, so divinely good, your little mouth -- alas, so far from my kisses! -- your character, so free of pride, your nature, which seems to be made of the sublime essence of an angel's soul! Yes, I pray God that my son or my daughter may be made in the image of their mother, and may inherit all the happy gifts that the fairies have brought her. From me, I ask only that they receive one thing: my affection for you. You will see, mother, our babies will give us trouble at the beginning, but in two years, it will be them alone who will give us our great joys: you see, my adored angel, we mustn't love them too much, we must be strict with them to the right degree, one must mold the souls of children, form them and not leave the care of their education to their nature, often one may succeed by giving them total freedom, but more often one may make a mistake and make them unhappy, for a weak energy, always asking for help, creates in them vices of weakness which are irreversible at certain ages. We must make them love us and also fear us. I will make them angry -- you will be the sweet one -- the one who gives caresses -- they will adore you and fear me; oh, I will sacrifice their tenderness if it is for their happiness.
I am happy with what the doctor told you; I knew what the vomiting meant. Unfortunately it is inherent to your condition. As to the rest, I can only advise you to follow all medical advice completely; although it may disgust you, you must follow the enemas, or the enemas must follow you. You will see on my return that I can play that instrument very well, especially when it is for my little mother, my big girl, my child who is my wife, my mother who is my son!... I beg you on bended knee, do not disregard the doctor's orders -- [I] gargle morning and evening -- without which I would let my ear be eaten up with eczema.
Speaking of which, just to please you (do you believe how wise I am, when you order me to be?) I saw a doctor in Paris: he told me that it was nothing, but that it would be unwise to let it get worse this time, he said that only cod liver oil could rid me of this boo-boo -- not nice at all. He also prescribed an ointment of tar and above all to have a rubber pillow made. I had this consultation just as I was leaving. Here in Germany, I haven't yet been able to take any of this advice, but as soon as I get to Switzerland, a French-speaking country, I will wisely and obediently do what he told me, first because it will please you, and then because I have confidence in the art and the merit of the doctor friend I saw.
You should have received a letter from me written in Strasbourg while I was waiting for the train -- was it nice?... In that letter I made you many apologies; in this one I renew them, without wanting to melt into sugar, I try, because I love you so, to be good, tender, and considerate, I don't want to give you any reason to love me less; I want you to be the happiest of wives.
Now let me tell you again how much I wish that this cruel separation would cease, how much I would like to bring back your dear little father tomorrow (which would be a reason, a means to see my mother again). But on this point there is nothing for us but to sigh -- alas! -- alas! -- alas! -- before the hard end. But one must think as little as possible of the sad solitude of the bed; incidentally, there you are cheating, for you are never alone -- well, if he takes my place in your bed, at least ask your son to leave me a place in your heart.
The hardest thing is that in this big room where I am staying, there are two twin beds! What torture! I keep thinking you are about to emerge from the sheets of the bed of which I am the sad and lonely neighbor. Tonight -- very soon, since midnight is now striking, I will use a legal subterfuge: I will leave my violin naked on the pillow of that oppressive second bed -- let's hope that in the night it doesn't start on its own to moan that phrase from Parsival.
If all those dots don't give you enough of a sense of "shh," wait patiently for my return and I assure you that you will understand.
An important, lengthy, and very touching autograph letter from the great violinist and composer to his new wife Louise. Dated Mannheim, November 13, 1886, less than two months after their wedding. 16 pp. on 4 bifolia, 12mo. In the long and intimate love letter, Ysaÿe responds with joy to the news that his wife is pregnant with their first child: "A son! A child! From you! From you, my darling wife! Nothing in the world could be to me such a source of joy! Nothing... nothing." Offering a "fervent prayer" that their children will have "your dear sweet eyes, so divinely good, your little mouth, alas, so far from my kisses!, your character, so free of pride, your nature, which seems to be made of the sublime essence of the soul of an angel," he goes on to reflect on his plans for their children's upbringing: "you see, my adored angel, we mustn't love them too much, we must be strict with them to the right degree, one must mold the souls of children, form them and not leave the care of their education to their nature..." He promises on his return to help her with the prescribed enemas: "You will see on my return that I can play that instrument very well, especially when it is for my little mother, my big girl, my child who is my wife..." and reports that on her urging he has seen a doctor about a case of eczema on his ear.
In a particularly endearing moment, Ysaÿe writes a musical quotation that apparently evokes memories of intimacy with his wife: lamenting their separation at length, he writes that he will put his violin "naked on the pillow of that oppressive second bed -- let's hope that in the night it doesn't start on its own to moan that phrase from Parsifal," (he writes out seven bars of music from the opera.) "What would become of me then! Or rather what would become of you, even from far away! ... (shh...)........ If all those dots don't give you enough of a sense of "shh," wait patiently for my return and I assure you that you will understand." He follows this with seven more measures of the Wagner theme, adding "It's a good thing for you that it's the serenade." Returning to domestic matters, he asks after the arrangements for their new home before concluding: "Must I say how much I embrace you? -- no, this letter is nothing but a long kiss."
16 pp. on 4 bifolia, 12mo. Some light toning, folding creases, light paperclip marks on two pages and light staple holes. A date and page numbers have been added in pencil in a later hand. Overall otherwise in fine condition. 4.5 x 7 inches (11.5 x 17.8 cm). The biography of Ysaye by Antoine Ysaye and Bertram Radcliffe, Ysaye, His Life, Work and Influence (1947) includes a brief quotation on p. 52 from the present letter.
The Belgian violinist, composer and conductor Eugène Ysaÿe, known as the "King of the Violin," married Louise Bourdeau de Coutrai on September 29, 1886. Their wedding present from César Franck was his Violin Sonata in A, which after a hurried rehearsal Ysaÿe performed at the ceremony. They had three sons and one daughter, and remained married until Louise's death in 1924.
Translation from the French, in full:
The things you sent to me in Angers should have returned to Brussels -- it's my fault too, I should have taken into account that you are not used to traveling and that you don't know the routes, and given you the details of the route and return route. Today I am drowning in pure joy... You thank me for my long letter? My dear, if I was certain that reading my letters makes you sweet, I would write you volumes! I would only be afraid of one thing while writing them, that the words "I love you," being so often repeated there, would at the end release you from my consuming and monotonously-expressed love.
I knew that Gabri or Thérése were showing signs of wanting to come into the world, but I needed the affirmation that your letter gives me in this respect to let my jubilation overflow. [Ah!] A son! A child! From you! From you, my darling wife! Nothing in the world could be to me such a source of joy! Nothing... nothing. I bless you, I cover you with the gratitude of my heart. Imagine, in letting my thoughts wander through the rose garden which this happy news has given me, I find them often coming back to the idea that on my return, when I hold you in my arms, I will think that my son's arms are also wrapped around my neck. It isn't a bad thing to love one's son in advance, but it is equally as good that your eyes alone respond to these double caresses; I hold two bodies in one soul. And incidentally, you benefit on this occasion, for I believe that if one loves one's children surely, deeply, and sincerely, one loves even more the woman who bears them. Oh my darling! My guardian angel! My fond dream realized! Be careful, look after yourself, for yourself, for him or her, for all of us. Don't bend down too much, don't exert yourself, be careful not to get up on chairs (you could fall) or to nail things, don't lift your arms, if you sneeze stay upright, don't drink champagne, above all don't do anything in excess, and be careful of your shoulders if you go out in the rain in the evening...
You won't believe it, but today, as I was playing my violin, I found myself saying a fervent prayer to God that my son will look like you, that he will have your dear sweet eyes, so divinely good, your little mouth -- alas, so far from my kisses! -- your character, so free of pride, your nature, which seems to be made of the sublime essence of an angel's soul! Yes, I pray God that my son or my daughter may be made in the image of their mother, and may inherit all the happy gifts that the fairies have brought her. From me, I ask only that they receive one thing: my affection for you. You will see, mother, our babies will give us trouble at the beginning, but in two years, it will be them alone who will give us our great joys: you see, my adored angel, we mustn't love them too much, we must be strict with them to the right degree, one must mold the souls of children, form them and not leave the care of their education to their nature, often one may succeed by giving them total freedom, but more often one may make a mistake and make them unhappy, for a weak energy, always asking for help, creates in them vices of weakness which are irreversible at certain ages. We must make them love us and also fear us. I will make them angry -- you will be the sweet one -- the one who gives caresses -- they will adore you and fear me; oh, I will sacrifice their tenderness if it is for their happiness.
I am happy with what the doctor told you; I knew what the vomiting meant. Unfortunately it is inherent to your condition. As to the rest, I can only advise you to follow all medical advice completely; although it may disgust you, you must follow the enemas, or the enemas must follow you. You will see on my return that I can play that instrument very well, especially when it is for my little mother, my big girl, my child who is my wife, my mother who is my son!... I beg you on bended knee, do not disregard the doctor's orders -- [I] gargle morning and evening -- without which I would let my ear be eaten up with eczema.
Speaking of which, just to please you (do you believe how wise I am, when you order me to be?) I saw a doctor in Paris: he told me that it was nothing, but that it would be unwise to let it get worse this time, he said that only cod liver oil could rid me of this boo-boo -- not nice at all. He also prescribed an ointment of tar and above all to have a rubber pillow made. I had this consultation just as I was leaving. Here in Germany, I haven't yet been able to take any of this advice, but as soon as I get to Switzerland, a French-speaking country, I will wisely and obediently do what he told me, first because it will please you, and then because I have confidence in the art and the merit of the doctor friend I saw.
You should have received a letter from me written in Strasbourg while I was waiting for the train -- was it nice?... In that letter I made you many apologies; in this one I renew them, without wanting to melt into sugar, I try, because I love you so, to be good, tender, and considerate, I don't want to give you any reason to love me less; I want you to be the happiest of wives.
Now let me tell you again how much I wish that this cruel separation would cease, how much I would like to bring back your dear little father tomorrow (which would be a reason, a means to see my mother again). But on this point there is nothing for us but to sigh -- alas! -- alas! -- alas! -- before the hard end. But one must think as little as possible of the sad solitude of the bed; incidentally, there you are cheating, for you are never alone -- well, if he takes my place in your bed, at least ask your son to leave me a place in your heart.
The hardest thing is that in this big room where I am staying, there are two twin beds! What torture! I keep thinking you are about to emerge from the sheets of the bed of which I am the sad and lonely neighbor. Tonight -- very soon, since midnight is now striking, I will use a legal subterfuge: I will leave my violin naked on the pillow of that oppressive second bed -- let's hope that in the night it doesn't start on its own to moan that phrase from Parsival.
If all those dots don't give you enough of a sense of "shh," wait patiently for my return and I assure you that you will understand.