‘Sit you down by the fountain’s brim,
And in patience wait for him;
There, with soul and body at rest,
Drink of that spring so pure and blest:
All other means but this are nought.
For eager in the toils of your heart to be caught,
The stag will come running up to you;
But ... you are not a hunter true.’
The Young Hunter.
‘Dame, ’tis an idle tale you tell;
Wealth and glory, I know full well,
Are not to be won without toil and care.
Of your water so pure not a drop will I share.
Margaret.
Then the stag will never be caught by you,
For ... you are not a hunter true.’
The young hunter understands at last what is wanted of him, and, after some further conversation with the lady, he exclaims:
‘With earnest faith my heart is filled;
All my worldly thoughts I yield
At the voice of my Saviour Christ Jesu!’
Margaret.
‘Yes, now you are a hunter true!’[654]
This narrative, and others of a like nature contained in the Marguerites, were in all probability facts before they became poems. The little ballads were circulated at court; everybody wished to read the queen’s ‘tracts,’ and many of the nobility of France, who afterwards embraced the cause of the Reform, owed their first religious sentiments to Margaret.
For the moment, the great thought that occupied every mind at Fontainebleau was the marriage of the ‘very prudent and magnificent Madame Renée.’ The gentlemen of France and of Ferrara appeared at court in sumptuous costumes; the princes and princesses glittered with jewels; the halls and galleries were hung with rich tapestry.
Dance and rejoice, make holiday
For her whose love fills every heart.[655]
All of a sudden, on the morrow of Pentecost, a message fell into the midst of this brilliant and joyous company which excited the deepest emotion. A letter was handed to the king, and the effect it produced was like that occasioned by a clap of thunder in a cloudless sky. Francis, who held the letter in his hand, was pale, agitated, almost quivering, as if he had just received a mortal insult. His anger exploded in an instant, like a mountain pouring out torrents of lava. He gave way to the most violent passion, and swore to take a cruel revenge. Margaret, terrified by her brother’s anger, did not say a word, but withdrew, in alarm, to silence and prayer: she scarcely ventured an attempt to calm her brother’s emotion. ‘The incensed king,’ says the chronicler, ‘wept hard with vexation and anger.’[656] The court fêtes were interrupted: the courtiers, joining in unison with their master, called loudly for violent measures, and Francis departed suddenly for Paris. What had caused all this commotion?