In 1480 Philibert's father, whilst hunting near the same spot, where later his son contracted his fatal illness, had fallen from his horse and broken his arm. He also was carried to Pont d'Ain, and his life was in danger. His wife, Margaret of Bourbon, then made a vow that if her husband's life was spared she would found a monastery of the order of Saint Benedict at Brou. The duke recovered, but the duchess died in 1483 before she fulfilled the vow, the accomplishment of which she bequeathed to her son Philibert, whose early death also prevented him from carrying out his mother's wishes. Margaret now took upon herself the duty of founding the monastery, and also of erecting for them both, and, above all, for him whom she loved, 'a great tomb which should be their nuptial couch,' where she herself would be laid to rest when her time should come. Stricken with grief, a childless widow, deprived for the second time of the husband she loved, at the age of twenty-four she felt as though all joy in life had ended, and 'immediately after her husband's death she cut off her beautiful golden hair, and had the same done to her own ladies.'[19] [19] _Couronne Margaritique._ Margaret passed some years of her widowhood at the castle of Pont d'Ain, where several traces of her sojourn remain. She made some additions to the building; the principal staircase still bears her name. Here she lived in seclusion, mourning her lot, and describing her loneliness and sorrow in prose and in verse. In spite of the imperfections of a free versification Margaret's poems show a certain harmony, smoothness, and charm in the informal stanzas, of which the following is a good specimen:-- I 'O dévots cueurs, amans d'amour fervente, Considérez si j'ay esté dolente, Que c'est raison! je suis la seule mère Qui ay perdu son seul fils et son père, Et son amy par amour excellente! Ce n'est pas jeu d'estre si fortunée[20] D'estre si fortunée! Qu'est longue fault[21] de ce qu'on ayme bien! Et je suis sceure que pas de luy ne vient, Mais me procède de ma grant destinée! Dites-vous donc que je suis égarée Quant je me vois séparée de mon bien? Ce n'est pas jeu d'estre si fortunée! Qu'est longue fault de ce qu'on ayme bien! Mais que de luy je ne soye oubliée!!! II Deuil et ennuy, soussy, regret et peine, Ont eslongué ma plaisance mondaine, Dont à part moy je me plains et tourmente, Et en espoir n'ay plus un brin d'attente: Véez là comment Fortune me pourmeine. Ceste longheur vault pis que mort soudaine; Je n'ay pensée que joye me rameine; Ma fantaisie est de déplaisir pleine; Car devant moy à toute heure se présente Deuil et ennuy. III