DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.63221#0413
LAST DAYS OF MARGARET OF NAVARRE 365
Seigneur, quand viendra le jour
Tant desire
Que je serai par amour
A vous tire ? . . .
Essuyez des tristes yeux
Le long gemir,
Et me donnez pour le mieux
Un doux dormir.
Whatever her husband’s relations to her in her lifetime,
there is no doubt about the sincerity of his sorrow. He
was a weak creature and directly he had lost her he became
a prey to remorse, perhaps also to the luxury of expressing
it. He knew, too, how sorely he needed her at every turn
and how ill he should get on without her. There is some-
thing touching, even dignified, in the description of his grief.
“What,” says the old chronicler, “shall we say of the
King, bereft of his Margaret? No longer did he run a
strong course. He seemed as one swaying from side to side,
wretched and ill at ease, like those, who unaccustomed to
the sea, cross from one vessel to another, trying to avoid
falling into the water. So this poor prince strayed hither
and thither. In vain his people attempted to comfort him.
‘Ha! my good subjects,’ he cried, ‘I know that one must
leave off complaining and mend one’s ills as one can. I
know that this is the lesson which Reason teaches us—that,
considering my rank, it is a dishonour to me to shed these
womanish tears.’ ” (Philosophers, he says, may be allowed to
weep, since moderation always keeps a dignity of its own.)
“ But I have come to a resolution, even though I wept as
I made it. I am certain that we must all bow to the will
Seigneur, quand viendra le jour
Tant desire
Que je serai par amour
A vous tire ? . . .
Essuyez des tristes yeux
Le long gemir,
Et me donnez pour le mieux
Un doux dormir.
Whatever her husband’s relations to her in her lifetime,
there is no doubt about the sincerity of his sorrow. He
was a weak creature and directly he had lost her he became
a prey to remorse, perhaps also to the luxury of expressing
it. He knew, too, how sorely he needed her at every turn
and how ill he should get on without her. There is some-
thing touching, even dignified, in the description of his grief.
“What,” says the old chronicler, “shall we say of the
King, bereft of his Margaret? No longer did he run a
strong course. He seemed as one swaying from side to side,
wretched and ill at ease, like those, who unaccustomed to
the sea, cross from one vessel to another, trying to avoid
falling into the water. So this poor prince strayed hither
and thither. In vain his people attempted to comfort him.
‘Ha! my good subjects,’ he cried, ‘I know that one must
leave off complaining and mend one’s ills as one can. I
know that this is the lesson which Reason teaches us—that,
considering my rank, it is a dishonour to me to shed these
womanish tears.’ ” (Philosophers, he says, may be allowed to
weep, since moderation always keeps a dignity of its own.)
“ But I have come to a resolution, even though I wept as
I made it. I am certain that we must all bow to the will