BANVILLE (Théodore) - Lot 35

BANVILLE (Théodore) Born in Moulins. 1823-1891. Poet, playwright and literary critic. Friend of Victor Hugo, Charles Baudelaire and Théophile Gautier. A Romantic and Parnassian, Banville was respected and admired by his contemporaries. His collection "Odes funambulesques", published by Poulet-Malassis in 1857, shortly before the publication of Les Fleurs du Mal by the same publisher, brought him acclaim. M.A.S. "Théodore de Banville" titled "A ma Mère" and dated "le 16 février 1869". 1 large folio page. VERY BEAUTIFUL SONNET EMPREINT DE TENDRESSE FILIALE EN HOMMAGE À SA MÈRE ÉLISABETH-ZÉLIE DE BANVILLE :...Ma mère, pour fêter sous les cieux rajeunis, Le jour où tu naissais, je veux avec tendresse Faire parler encore la lyre enchanteresse Dans le triste silence où nos cœurs sont unis. Here comes the time of lilacs and nests: Already, like a wandering and charming breath, The sweet spring breeze caresses us, My mother, and it is not I alone who bless you! Théodore de Banville, who was truly devoted to his mother, often paid tribute to her in his poetry. Banville's very first collection, Les Cariatides, hailed by Charles Baudelaire, opens with a poem dedicated to his mother: "Oh ma mère, ce sont nos mères dont les sourires triomphants, berceent nos premières chimères, dans nos premiers cerceaux d'enfants...". In his foreword to Roses de Noël (a collection devoted entirely to his mother, published in 1878), Banville declared: "The few poems that follow are not works of art. These intimate pages, as long as my feeble health and the agitations of my life allowed, I wrote them regularly for my beloved mother, when February 16th, the anniversary of her birth, and November 19th, the feast day of Saint Elizabeth, came around. Among these verses, intended for her alone, I had already chosen a few odes that have found their way into my collections. I didn't think the others should be published, and I know what they lack. One is almost never a good workman, when one writes under the impression of a true feeling, at the very moment one experiences it. But, in giving them to the public today, I am obeying the formally expressed will of She who will never be absent from me and whose eyes see me. Besides, on reflection, I thought she was right, as always; for the poet who wants to suffer, to live with the crowd and share with it the supreme hopes, has nothing hidden for it, and must always be ready to show his whole soul. Paris, November 19th 1878. Roses de Noël, A ma mère...). THIS POEM APPEARS TO BE UNPUBLISHED.