Émile GALLE (1846-1904) - Lot 140

Émile GALLE (1846-1904) "Les arbres se parlent tout bas", Victor Hugo. Talking vase with conical tubular body on flared base. Proof in orange-brown and yellow multi-layered glass on a green ground with traces of blue intercalary soiling. Acid-cameo engraving of beetles in a forest of birch trees, with internal engraving of falling leaves. Signed, marked "Les arbres se parlent tout bas" in cartouches at the bottom of the vase and Victor Hugo. Height 48 cm Bibliography: Alastair Duncan Georges de Bartha, Glass by Gallé, Harry N. Abrams, New York, 1984, similar model referenced and reproduced on p. 187. Art verrier, 1865-1925, exhibition at the Musées Royaux d'Art et d'Histoire de Belgique, 1965, similar model referenced under no. 93 and reproduced on p. 21. De Coster, "Catalogue raisonné des citations littéraires figurant dans l'œuvre d'Émile Gallé", Paris IV, 2013, model referenced under no. 46 and described pp. 222-223. History: we thank Mme Camille de Coster for giving us access to her 2013 thesis, "Catalogue raisonné des citations littéraires figurant dans l'œuvre d'Émile Gallé". A similar vase was part of the former Neumann collection, sale "The Important private collection from Swiss", November 30, 2006, Tokyo, Est-Ouest Auctions, lot no. 45. Verse inspired by Victor Hugo's 1856 collection of poems "Les Contemplations", Autrefois, Livre III, Les Luttes et les rêves, X "Amour" : Love! - Law, - says Jesus. - Mystery, says Plato. Do we know what thread binds us to the firmament? Do we know What God's hands in immensitý sow? Are we masters of love? Why two beings love each other, Ask the water that runs, ask the air that leaks, To the gnat that flies to the flame at night, To the golden ray that wants to kiss the ripe bunch! Ask what sings, calls, waits, whispers! Ask the deep nests that April stirs The distraught heart cries out: - Do I know? [...] A blue bird flew through the air, and spoke to me; And how do you expect me to escape? Do I know? It was rose time; The trees whispered sweet nothings to each other. The streams wanted it, the flowers plotted it. [...]