Year: 1873

thos


The world where yOq queon ever harsh to me;


never ew my heart so proud ana We, os SO s1''i
Doomed we're my early years 20 frigi1 misery;


For Thhia's shrine had been my refuge in distress sur
And Hope had lured with promise vain ana gay;


Yet tnany time tears could not repress


Under the TESTERS crown made way


In tie vain shows where wit doth win applause.


flushed Lies the heart, and hidden;


To please becomes the first Of laws;


To love is aye forbdden'


o strange caprice Of the unstable crowd


gracious Muse beloved aud yet desplsedI


Honors divine by night allowed,


By day enethematZedl


" AWAY. !" cried " with this ncOngruous blending


or triumph and of shame!


The gricvOus pride &c our estate descending,


The scattered lights OF famel


SO TO feel, so lsnguid in aspiring


Bearing barb for ever in my breast,


Wife, motber,-these sweet names In VAIN desiring,


lcnged for my last rest"


Still in later years Nine. Valmore was always
loyal to the memories of her early life She cherished
the precious friendships which it had bequeathed
TO her. many Of which were among the most ilustrl-
ous of their kind. Her first reputation as tender
elegiac poet commenced about the year 1924 While
she was reading in the South Of France her new
star had taken its place in the poetic armament ana
shone with a soft and tranquil lustre. She had
never broken with tradition, although sheinuoduced


new variety of the romance, and rendered the elegy
in sweeter and more feminine key by the lmpas-
stoned plant of forsaken heart. But her genius
did not take it's highest fight until several years
after when the spur of constant suffering, the sug
gestions of bOlder poets than herself and an IN
crease Of skill in the management OF her own tear
ful tones prepared the way for the full expression
of the warm sympathetic qualities that centered
in her soul. The following is a specimen of her
| later productions, lone of those piercing notes
which she alone could deiver-the anguish of
! broken heart, of wound whose depth one dares
not search and prove"


PARTED.


Do not write am sad and would my life were DER.
! A Summer without theei-oh, night OF starless
! fold the idle arms that cannot clasp the more


To knock at my hearts door were Ike KNOCKING on
DO not write


Do not write We will learn unto ourselves TO die


Ask God or ask thyself Of my love, If thou woulust
But to hear the calling far away and calling tenderly.


Were to hear the songs Of Heaven afar and never nope
DO not write.


Do not write for fear thee do not dare to think


How thv voice wont to sound lest it seem to call
Do not show living water to one who cannot drink;
! The writing Of friend IS likeness passing tIue'
DO not write those words for may not read them


They would food my foolish heart with deceitful
They are brilliant with thy smile, with thy tenderness





could not Choose but thou hadst sealed them
with kiss


The religious nature of Nine. ValmoTe, hike her
poetic genius, was tender and susceptible But her
piety was all charity, and peculiar to herself Until


late period of her life, she cherished all the simple
faiths and sweet superstons of her childish years.
| confoundng in the same homely affection, God and
her father the Holy Virgin and her mother and
sisters She was an angel of tlal devotion to her
| father whom she lost when she was thirty-three.
/ She lived perpetually in the presence of the de-
| parted, and always invoked their aid in her
| prayers But even in her most cherished beliefs
she never introduced a third person between
| herself and God. She often went into church
! TO pray, but it was between the services and
| when the nave was empty. Her Christ the
! Christ of the poor and forsaken the prisoner and
the slave, the Christ of the Magdalene and the
good Samaritan. But as years went by, and fate
dealt heavy blows her faith was crossed by many a
doubt and often Obscured by funereal shadows.
| When there was no one left for her to warm and
| comfort with her own hope, when at last she was
alone with herself all illusions were dispelled, and
! in the weary months that preceded her death, o
great silence fell upon her.


Her immediate family consisted of her husband,
two daughters and a son. NJ. Valmore was the very
soul of probity and honor. He suffered from COM
pulsory nactiOn and asked only for honest employ
ment and the privilege to work. The children in.
herited portion of the rare gifts of their mother.
| OF the girls, both of whom died before her, the
younger was Of sensitive, poetic temperament, in
clined TO melancholy with an ardent craving for af-
fection to whom caTesses were necessity The
elder. who died a short time after herTmarriage
| TO a councillor of State, was of remarkable
personal lovelness, a disposition almost an
celic in It's sweetness and of a serious and
etoadfast character in which the softer graces were
combined with dash Of Puritanic earnestness. The
gef of Nine Vamore for the loss of these daughters
was perpetual wound. She was OyeTpoweTed by a
strange weird sense Of desolatiOn, an obstinate
yeainDg for solitude and a certain chronic dread
which admitted no ray of hope. The misery of mar
row circumstances, with constant demands upon her
meager resources, was a sting to her susceptible
nature and added to the burden Of her life
NJ. Sante Beuve does not hesitate to call
her the Mater Dolorosa of poetry, and
quotes among her plaintive moans sew
eral heartTending passages from letters to her
friends. Il have no moral power left. / dare not
write especially to those love- for cannot lie, and
the tale is too sad TO tellIn short, we cannot have
what we wish. A hidden force compels us to all
sorts of sacrifices and that force is irresistible Paris
which has deyouTed our substance and our hopes be-
comes more and more uninhahitable to us; and the
only desirable thing would seem to be some quiet
provincial nook, where might hide our ruined
lives and rest after vain labeTs. But such
change is encompassed with difficulties 1t would be
an HpE0ohHg and am languid with grief"


After The death Of her only remaining sister in
1885, the measure of her mourning seemed to be full
In the crisis of her distress she could hardly refrain
from muImuIing at Providence and asked why so
much suffering should be concentrated in a single
l. g Coz Iat - oil
every believing heart must have it's hour of temp
,ation aUd dcnht its apouv and hloody sweat its