N’ayez en vous changement de pensée
Pour delaissier vos premières amours,
Soiez loyaux sans varier tousjours,
Pitie pur vous ne sera par lasée.”
Whilst pondering over this epithet, a very beautiful woman approaches them, splendidly attired in royal robes, and seizes hold of the reins of “Franc Vouloir’s” steed. “Cuer” at once turns to her, and, kneeling, kisses her hand and asks her name. “Douce Éspérance,” she replies, “and I greet you, worthy gentlemen, and desire to set you on your way.” Directed by this gracious lady, they reach the shores of a great lake or sea, and, moored by the water’s edge, they espy a little sailing vessel, and in it two lovely maidens—“Fiance” and “Actente”—about whom “Douce Éspérance” had spoken. Leaving their mounts to wander free, the travellers board the frail craft, and, presto! they are at the glorious temple of the Isle of Love. The day passes dillydally; they all sup together, and the sweet, soft shadows hide their repose. Other characters are “Bel Accueil,” “Franchise,” “Piété,” “Faux Semblant,” and “Largesse”; and the allegory ends, as all should do, in the complete victory of Cupid.
The year that Louis XI., by his greed and treachery, drove his noble uncle, “le Bon Roy René,” out of Anjou was one of trial and embarrassment for the King of Sicily. At first his feelings, outraged by the infamous behaviour of the son of his best-loved sister, Queen Marie, got the better of his equanimity, and he gave way to indignant protests; but when a man is in his sixties he learns to put up with base affronts. René learned by sad experience to measure hypocrites by their professions, but to leave their castigation to posterity. He accepted philosophically, adverse circumstances as they arose and not only checked the expression of his own sentiments, but discouraged reprisals on the part of his impatient and indignant subjects. With this same restraint the poet-King put forth a sententious drama, which he entitled “L’Abuzé en Court”; we may translate it, perhaps, “The Victim of Circumstances.” Its theme may be gauged as follows: Within the shady portal of an ancient church,—the pavement strewn with the persons of the blind and crippled seeking alms,—a pious wayfarer beheld an oldish man whose silken though shabby attire spoke of better days. His doublet was torn and his long poniard broken, his light brown hair streaked with silver strands, and his pouch poorly furnished. The wayfarer speaks kindly to the victim of Providence:
“Mon gentil homme, Dieu vous garde,
Et vous doint ce que déseriez.
Pardonnez moi, je vous en prie,
Et me dictez par courtousie