All these great personages and scores of others needed long lists of servitors and trains of baggage, and the journey over the snowy winter paths was long and tedious. The greatest difficulty was foreseen, however, in the transport over the Pyrenees of the vast mass of impedimenta taken by Isabel and her ladies. Much of it was sent by sea, and was only received in Spain after long delay and continued annoyance to the ladies, who had to appear in the ceremonies without their fine clothes. The girl lost heart as the time grew near to bid farewell to her mother. She loved France dearly, with an ardour she never lost to the last day of her life, and the French people returned her devotion. Along the roads to Chatellerault crowds stood in tears, invoking blessings upon the angel who was to be sacrificed on the altar of peace. France and Spain had been at war for generations: Philip’s cold, haughty demeanour, which had earned him the dislike of Flemings, was equally distasteful to Frenchmen, and stories current of the gloomy rigidity of his monastic court struck the heart of the bright young beauty with fear and dread. For some days Catharine and her daughter stayed at Chatellerault, loath to say goodbye; but at last, on the 29th November, the parting could be delayed no longer, and, heartbroken, mother and daughter took a tearful farewell. Isabel had been reared in the poetical court in which Ronsard sang, and every courtier wooed in verse. Mary Stuart throughout her life showed the effects of such training, and so did Isabel. She and her mother had exchanged poetical letters during the months of their mourning, and continued to do so afterwards; and on her lonely way from Chatellerault Isabel solaced herself by inditing a letter in verse to the beloved mother whom she had just left. As poetry it leaves much to be desired. The poem is too long to quote, but in it the writer compares her desire to see her husband with the much stronger natural love for her mother, who, she says, is to her father, mother, and husband in one. The epistle ends thus:— ‘Tantost je sens mon œil plorer puis ryre, Mais la fin est toujours d’estre martyre, Qui durera sans prendre fin ne cesse, Jusques á tant que je reprenne adresse Pour retourner vers vous en diligence: Lors oblyant la trop facheuse absence Je recevrai la joye et le plaisir, Et joyrez de mon parfait desir D’ensemble veoir père mère et mari.’[170] The next morning brought Isabel a similar poem of regretful adieu from her mother, and some really poetical lines from Mary Stuart, in which the following occur:— ‘Les pleurs font mal au cœur joyeux et sain, Mais au dolent, ils servent quasi de pain: Car si le mal par les pleurs n’est allegé A tout moins il en est soulagé.’