The Tales of the Heptameron, Vol. 3 (of 5)Marguerite, Queen, consort of Henry II, King of Navarre
General
The Tales of the Heptameron, Vol. 3 (of 5)
Marguerite, Queen, consort of Henry II, King of Navarre
Love stories, French -- Translations into English; Tales -- France -- Translations into English
When mass was half over, however, she opened the petition, and found in
it the half-ring which she had given to Elisor. At this she was not
less glad than astonished, and before reading the contents she instantly
commanded her almoner to bring her the tall hermit who had presented her
the petition.
The almoner looked for him everywhere, but could obtain no tidings of
him, except that some one said that he had seen him mount a horse, but
knew not what road he had taken.
Whilst she was waiting for the almoner’s return, the Queen read the
petition, which she found to be an epistle in verse, written in the best
style imaginable; and were it not that I would have you acquainted
with it, I should never have dared to translate it; for you must know,
ladies, that, for grace and expression, the Castilian is beyond compare
the tongue which is best fitted to set forth the passion of love. The
matter of the letter was as follows:--
“Time, by his puissance stern, his sov’reign might,
Hath made me learn love’s character aright;
And, bringing with him, in his gloomy train,
The speechless eloquence of bitter pain,
Hath caused the unbelieving one to know
What words of love were impotent to show.
Time made my heart, aforetime, meekly bow
Unto the mastery of love; but now
Time hath, at last, revealed love to be
Far other than it once appeared to me;
And Time the frail foundation hath made clear
Whereon I purposed, once, my love to rear--
To wit, your beauty, which but served as sheath
To hide the cruelty that lurked beneath.
Yea, Time hath shown me beauty’s nothingness
And taught me e’en your cruelty to bless,
That cruelty which banished me the place
Where I, at least, had gazed upon your face.
And when no more I saw your beauty beam
The harsher yet your cruelty did seem;
Yet in obedience failed I not, and this
Hath been the means of compassing my bliss.
For Time, love’s parent, pitiful at last,
Upon my woe commiserate eyes hath cast,
And done to me so excellent a turn,
That, if I now come back, think not I yearn
To sigh and dally, and renew the spell--
I only come to bid a last farewell.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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