The book of the ladies: Illustrious Dames: The Reign and Amours of the Bourbon RégimeBrantôme, Pierre de Bourdeille
History
The book of the ladies: Illustrious Dames: The Reign and Amours of the Bourbon Régime
Brantôme, Pierre de Bourdeille
France -- Biography; France -- Court and courtiers; Queens; Women -- Biography
The beginning of the autumn having come, the queen, after thus delaying,
was forced to abandon France; and having travelled by land to Calais,
accompanied by all her uncles, M. de Nemours, most of the great and
honourable of the Court, together with the ladies, like Mme. de Guise
and others, all regretting and weeping hot tears for the loss of such a
queen, she found in port two galleys: one that of M. de Mevillon, the
other that of Captain Albise, with two convoying vessels for sole
armament. After six days’ rest at Calais, having said her piteous
farewells all full of sighs to the great company about her, from the
greatest to the least, she embarked, having her uncles with her,
Messieurs d’Aumale, the grand prior, and d’Elbœuf, and M. d’Amville
(now M. le Connétable), together with many of us, all nobles, on board
the galley of M. de Mevillon, as being the best and handsomest.
As the vessel began to leave the port, the anchor being up, we saw, in
the open sea, a vessel sink before us and perish, and many of the
sailors drown for not having taken the channel rightly; on seeing which
the queen cried out incontinently: “Ah, my God! what an omen is this for
my journey!” The galley being now out of port and a fresh wind rising,
we began to make sail, and the convicts rested on their oars. The queen,
without thinking of other action, leaned her two arms on the poop of the
galley, beside the rudder, and burst into tears, casting her beauteous
eyes to the port and land she had left, saying ever these sad words:
“Adieu, France! adieu, France!”--repeating them again and again; and
this sad exercise she did for nearly five hours, until the night began
to fall, when they asked her if she would not come away from there and
take some supper. On that, her tears redoubling, she said these words:
“This is indeed the hour, my dear France, when I must lose you from
sight, because the gloomy night, envious of my content in seeing you as
long as I am able, hangs a black veil before mine eyes to rob me of that
joy. Adieu, then, my dear France; I shall see you nevermore!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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