In a Dark Wood Wandering (77 page)
Read In a Dark Wood Wandering Online
Authors: Hella S. Haasse
Ah, thought Charles, now they let me feel the whip. A trace of his former watchfulness awoke in him. He thought of himself as an old, lame, half-blind hunting dog still being driven into the open field; the beast is almost useless, but instinctively it goes through the familiar motions: pricks up its ears, sniffs along the ground, pokes into the underbrush. He noticed that Suffolk was looking at him with sober attention, but also with friendly solicitude: clearly his plight touched the Englishman's heart.
He pities me, thought Charles, he thinks I can do nothing more, that I shall fail. Rage flashed through him like a prickling torrent. Something awoke in him which he had never known was there: desperate ambition, the urge for vindication, for self-assertion, the desire to checkmate his adversaries by wily, cunning, knife-sharp maneuvers.
“My lord,” said Suffolk suddenly, “permit me to give you some good advice: if you wish to regain your freedom in the near future, seek the friendship and support of the Duke of Burgundy. Show yourself to be amiable toward him-meet his wishes. He is the only man who can help you, Monseigneur; it's your task to see to it that he
does
help you.”
From a letter written by the Abbe of the Cordeliers cloister in Rodez to Charles, Duke of Orléans, at Suffolk House, London, 1434:
“â¦and it is with deep sorrow, Monseigneur, that we must inform you of the death of Madame Bonne d'Armagnac, Duchess of Orléans, who led so devout and charitable a life within our walls that she stood everywhere in the odor of sanctity.”
J'ay fait Pobseque de ma Dame Dedens le moustier amoureaux, Et le service pour son ame A chanté Penser Doloreux; Mains sierges de Soupirs Piteux Ont esté en son luminaire; Aussi j'ay fait la tombe faire De Regrez, tous de lermes pains; Et tout entour, moult richement, Est escript, Cy gist vrayement Le trésor de tous biens mondains. | I have held the funeral of my Lady In the gleaming chapel of love; The requiem for her soul Was sung by Sorrow; The candles at her head, still and bright Are sighs of pity; She sleeps in a tomb of Regret, Painted all round with tears, And inscribed in golden letters, Here lies the whole treasure of all wordly bliss. |
Dessus elle gist une lame Faicte d'or et de saffirs bleux, Car saffir est nommé la jame De Loyauté, et l'or eureux. Bien lui appartiennent ces deux, Car Eur et Loyauté pourtraire Voulu, en la tresdebonnaire, | Above her is a tablet of sapphires and gold; Sapphires for loyalty, gold for good fortune. Both of these belong to her, For with His two hands God has cunningly fashioned her |
Dieu qui la fist de ses deux mains, Et fourma merveilleusement; Cestoit, a parler plainnement, Le trésor de tous biens mondains. | As a portrait of Good Fortune and Loyalty; She was, to put it simply, The whole treasure of all wordly bliss. |
N'en parlons plus; mon cueur se pasme Quant il oyt les fais vertueux D'elle, qui estoit sans nul blasme, Comme jurent celles et ceulx Qui congnoissoyent ses conseulx; Si croy que Dieu la voulu traire Vers lui, pour parer son repaire De Paradis ou sont les saints; Car c'est d'elle bel parement, Que l'en nommoit communement Le tresor de tous biens mondains. | Speak of her no more; my heart swoons Over her selfless kindness, She who was without blame As men and women attest Who knew her well; So I think that God drew her to Himself To ornament Paradise, where the saints dwell For she would be an ornament indeed Whom everyone called The whole treasure of all wordly bliss. |
De riens ne servent pleurs ne plains; Tous mourrons, ou tart ou briefinent; Nul ne peut garder longuement Le tresor de tous biens mondains. | Tears and mourning are useless; We shall all die, late or soon; No man can keep forever The whole treasure of worldly bliss. |
One of the conditions in the treaty concluded in Arras in 1435:
I. The King of France, Charles, the seventh of that name, shall in person or through his deputies ask forgiveness of the Duke of Burgundy and express regret for the murder, committed in former times in Montereau, of the late Duke Jean of Burgundy. He shall punish the criminals and/or their descendants and banish them from the Kingdom. He shall pay a compensation to the Duke of Burgundy of 50,000 gold ecus.
II. The King gives to the Duke of Burgundy and his heirs in both the male and female lines, all cities in the territory of the Somme, to wit, Maçon, Châlons, Auxerre, Péronne, Mont-Didier, Saint-Quentin, Amiens, Abbeville, Ponthieu, with accessory landed estates and fortresses as well as the use of the fruits thereof and the right to levy taxes.
III. The Duke of Burgundy is hereby released from the necessity to render feudal service or marks of homage to the King of France.
Priés pour paix, doulce Vierge Marie, Royne des cieulx, et du monde maistresse, Faictes prier, par vostre courtoisie, Saints et saintes, et prenés vostre adresse Vers vostre filz, requérant sa haultesse Qu'il lui plaise son peuple regarder, Que de son sang a voulu racheter, En déboutant guerre qui tout desvoye; De prières ne vous vueilliez lasser; Priez pour paix, le vray trésor de joye! | Pray for peace, sweet Virgin Mary, Queen of Heaven and Mistress of the world, Ask the saints to pray and ask your Son To look with favor upon His people Whom He redeemed with His blood And put an end to war which creates chaos. Do not grow weary, Pray for peace, the true treasure of joy! |
Priez, prelas et gens de sainte vie, Religieux ne dormez en peresse, Priez, maistres et tous suivans clergie, Car par guerre fault que l'estude cesse; Moustiers destruis sont sans qu'on les redresse, Le service de Dieu vous fault laissier. Quant ne povez en repos demourer, Priez si fort que briefment Dieu vous oye; L'Eglise voult a ce vous ordonner. Priez pour paix, le vray trésor de joye! | Pray, prelates and holy people, Monks, rouse yourselves from sloth, Pray, masters and studious clerks, For war is the death of learning; Chapels lie in tumbled ruins, The service of God is deserted. Pray hard so God hears you For the sake of the Church. Pray for peace, the true treasure of joy! |
Priez, princes qui avez seigneurie, Roys, ducs, contes, barons plains de noblesse, Gentilz hommes avec chevalerie, Car meschans gens surmontent gentillesse; En leurs mains ont toute vostre richesse, | Pray, ruling princes, Noble kings, dukes, earls, High-born lords of chivalry, For you are overcome by evil men Who hold your riches in their hands; Lawsuits raise them high in rank, You see this clearly every day. |
Debatz les font en hault estat monter, Vous le povez chascun jour veoir au cler, Et sont riches de voz biens et monnoye Dont vous deussiez le peuple suporter. Priez pour paix, le vray trésor de joye! | They have taken the wealth, the treasure Which you need for the people's support. Pray for peace, the true treasure of joy! |
Priez, peuple qui souffrez tirannie, Car voz seigneurs sont en telle foiblesse Qu'ilz ne peuent vous garder, par maistrie, Ne vous aidier en vostre grant destresse; Loyaulx marchans, la selle si vous blesse Fort sur le dox; chascun vous vient presser Et ne povez marchandise mener, Car vous n'avez seur passage ne voye, Et maint péril vous couvient il passer. Priez pour paix, le vray trésor de joye! | Pray, victims of oppression, For your lords are become enfeebled; They cannot protect you Nor alleviate your suffering. Honest merchants, your backs are sore From the painful saddle; everyone afflicts you, You have no safe road to travel, You are in peril wherever you go. Pray for peace, the true treasure of joy! |
Priez, galans joyeux en compaignie, Qui despendre desirez a largesse; Guerre vous tient la bourse desgarnie. Priez, amans, qui voulez en liesse Servir amours, car guerre, par rudesse, Vous destourbe de voz dames hanter, Qui maintesfoiz fait leurs vouloirs tourner; Et quant tenez le bout de la couroye, Un estrangier si le vous vient oster; Priez pour paix, le vray trésor de joye! | Pray, gallants who enjoy the festive life And the outpouring of largesse; War keeps your purses lean. Pray, lovers who want only to serve Love; The rigors of war keep you from your ladies Who thus often turn their favors from you; And when you hold the end of the rope A stranger comes to take it from your hand. Pray for peace, the true treasure of joy! |
Dieu tout puissant nous vueille conforter Toutes choses en terre, ciel et mer; Priez vers lui que brief en tout pourvoye, En lui seul est de tous maulx amender; Priez pour paix, le vray trésor de joye! | May Almighty God comfort us And all things on earth, in the sky and sea, Pray to him to provide soon for us all; He alone has the power to cure all ills. Pray for peace, the true treasure of joy! |
