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The following sonnet was written by Mary during her incarceration in Fotheringhay. The next poem is an ode to the death of her first husband, the French king Francis II. Although Mary was fluent in both French and old Scot she preferred to write in French which was the language of the court, and considered more sophisticated.
If you are interested in Mary's poetry, please see the book by Robin Bell "Bittersweet Within my Heart", detailed in our "Book Review" section.
| Fotheringhay | |
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Que suis-je hélas? Et de quoi sert ma vie? Je ne suis fors qu'un corps privé de coeur, Une ombre vaine, un objet de malheur Qui n'a plus rien que de mourir en vie. Plus ne me portez, O ennemis, d'envie A qui n'a plus l'esprit à la grandeur. J'ai consommé d'excessive douleur Votre ire en bref de voir assouvie. Et vous, amis, qui m'avez tenue chère, Souvenez-vous que sans coeur et sans santé Je ne saurais aucune bonne oeuvre faire, Souhaitez donc fin de calamité Et que, ici-bas étant assez punie, J'aie ma part en la joie infinie. |
Alas what am I? What use has my life? I am but a body whose heart's torn away, A vain shadow, an object of misery Who has nothing left but death-in-life. O my enemies, set your envy all aside; I've no more eagerness for high domain; I've borne too long the burden of my pain To see your anger swiftly satisfied. And you, my friends who have loved me so true, Remember, lacking health and heart and peace, There is nothing worthwhile that I can do; Ask only that my misery should cease And that, being punished in a world like this, I have my portion in eternal bliss. |
Mary’s first husband, the young French King Francis II died suddenly of an ear infection aged only sixteen. Mary, a year older than him, wrote the following poem in a state of great dejection, having lost the only pure love that she would ever encounter.
| En mon triste et doux chant | In my sad, quiet song, |
| D'un ton fort lamentable, | A melancholy air, |
| Je jette un oeil tranchant, | I shall look deep and long |
| De perte incomparable, | At loss beyond compare, |
| Et en soupirs cuisants | And with bitter tears, |
| Passe mes meilleurs ans. | I'll pass my best years. |
| Fut-il un tel malheur | Have the harsh fates ere now |
| De dure destinée | Let such a grief be felt, |
| Ni si triste douleur | Has a more cruel blow |
| De Dame Fortunée | Been by Dame Fortune dealt |
| Qui, mon coeur et mon oeil, | Than, O my heart and my eyes! |
| Vois en bière et cercueil? | I see where his bier lies? |
| Qui en mon doux printemps | In my springtime's gladness |
| Et fleur de ma jeunesse | And flower of my young heart, |
| Toutes les peines sens | I feel the deepest sadness |
| D'une extrême tristesse | Of the most grievous hurt. |
| Et en rien n'ai plaisir | Nothing now my heart can fire |
| Qu'en regret et désir | But regret and desire. |
| Ce qui m'était plaisant | He who was my dearest |
| Ores m’est peine dure; | Already is my plight. |
| Le jour le plus luisant | The day that shone the clearest |
| M’est nuit noire et obscure; | For me is darkest night. |
| Et n’est rien si exquis | There is nothing now so fine |
| Qui de moi soit requis. | That I need make it mine. |
| J’ai au coeur et à l’oeil | Deep in my eyes and heart |
| Un portrait et image | A portrait has its place |
| Qui figure mon deuil | Which shows the world my hurt |
| Et mon pâle visage | In the pallor of my face, |
| De violettes teint | Pale as when violets fade, |
| Qui est l’amoureux teint. | True love’s becoming a shade |
| Pour un mal étranger | In my unwonted pain |
| Je ne m’arrête en place, | I can no more be still, |
| Mais j’en ai beau changer | Rising time and again |
| Si ma douleur efface; | To drive away my ill. |
| Car mon pis et mon mieux | All things good and bad |
| Sont mes plus déserts lieux. | Have lost the taste they had. |
| Si en quelque séjour, | And thus I always stay |
| Soit en bois ou en pré, | Whether in wood or meadow, |
| Soit pour l’aube du jour | Whether at dawn of day |
| Ou soit pour la vesprée, | Or at the evening shadow. |
| Sans cesse mon coeur sent | My heart feels ceaselessly |
| Le regret d’un absent | Grief for his loss to me. |
| Si parfois vers ces lieux | Sometimes in such a place |
| Viens à dresser ma vue, | His image comes to me. |
| Le doux trait de ses yeux | The sweet smile on his face |
| Je vois en une nue; | Up in a cloud I see. |
| Soudain je vois en l’eau | Then sudden in the mere |
| Comme dans un tombeau. | I see his funeral bier. |
| Si je suis en repos, | When I lie quietly |
| Sommeillante sur ma couche | Sleeping upon my couch, |
| J’ois qu’il me tient propos; | I hear him speak to me |
| Je le sens qu’il me touche; | And I can feel his touch. |
| En labeur, en reçoi, | In my duties each day |
| Toujours est près de moi. | He is near me always. |
| Je ne vois autre objet | Nothing seems fine to me |
| Pour beau qu’il se présente; | Unless he is therein. |
| A quel que soit sujet | My heart will not agree |
| Oncques mon coeur consente | Unless he is within |
| Exempte de perfection | I lack all perfection |
| A cette affliction | In my cruel dejection. |
| Mets chanson ici fin | I shall cease my song now, |
| A si triste complainte | My sad lament shall end |
| Dont sera le refrain; | Whose burden aye shall show |
| Amour vrai et non feint | True love can not pretend |
| Pour la séparation | And though we are apart, |
| N’aura diminution. | Grows no less in my heart |