Consolatio

Charles, Duke of Orléans: I made the funeral service for my wife

I have made the funeral service for my lady
in the monastery of love
and the service for her soul
sang "Painful thoughts."
Many candles of pathetic sighs
were among the lights there;
I also had her tomb made
with regrets, full of tears,
and all around, richly carved, was written:
Here lies in truth
the treasure of all worldly things.

Beneath her lies a blade
made of gold and of blue sapphires,
for sapphire is called the gem
of loyalty and of happy gold.
In truth they belong to her,
for God who made her with his two hands
wanted the elegant creature
to be the portrait of happiness and loyalty.
She was, to speak plainly,
the treasure of all worldly things.

Let us speak no further. My heart is fainting,
when it hears the stories of the goodness
of a blameless woman,
as people swear
who knew her well.
I believe that God wanted to draw her
to him to adorn his home
in Heaven where the saints are,
for she is a beautiful ornament,
one who was commonly called
the treasure of all worldly things.

Envoi

Tears and complaints count for nothing,
we will all die late or soon.
No one can keep for long
the treasure of all worldly things.

        --Charles, Duke of Orléans (1394-1465), nephew of the King of France, was captured, age 21, at Agincourt and spent 25 years as a prisoner in England. His wife died in childbirth at age 22.

J'ay fait l'obseque de ma dame
Dedens le moustier amoureux,
Et le service pour son ame
A chanté Penser doloreux.
Mains cierges de soupirs piteux
Ont esté en son luminaire ;
Aussi j'ay fait la tombe faire
De regrez, tous de larmes pains,
Et tout entour moult richement
Est escript : Cy gist vrayement
Le tresor de tous biens mondains.

Dessus elle gist une lame
Faicte d'or et de saffirs bleux,
Car saffir est nommé la jame
De loyauté et l'or eureux.
Bien lui appartiennent ces deux,
Car eur et loyauté pourtraire
Voulu en la tresdebonnaire
Dieu qui la fist de ses deux mains
Et fourma merveilleusement.
C'estoit, a parler plainnement,
Le tresor de tous biens mondains.

N'en parlons plus ! Mon cueur se pasme,
Quant il oyt les fais vertueux
D'elle qui estoit sans nul blasme,
Comme jurent celles et ceulx
Qui congnoissoyent ses conseulx.
Si croy que Dieu l'a voulu traire
Vers lui pour parer son repaire
De paradis ou sont les saints,
Car c'est d'elle bel parement,
Que l'en nommoit communement
Le tresor de tous biens mondains.

ENVOI

De riens ne servent plours ne plains
Tous mourrons ou tart ou briefment.
Nul ne peut garder longuement
Le tresor de tous biens mondains.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning: Hopeless grief

Hopeless grief is passionless....

      --Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

Shelley: Grief for a while is blind

Grief for a while is blind....

        --Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) in "Prometheus Unbound"

William Blake: On Another's Sorrow

Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?

Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?

Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird's grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear --

And not sit beside the next,
Pouring pity in their breast,
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant's tear?

And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
Oh no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

He doth give his joy to all:
He becomes an infant small,
He becomes a man of woe,
He doth feel the sorrow too.

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not year.

Oh He gives to us his joy,
That our grief He may destroy:
Till our grief is fled an gone
He doth sit by us and moan.

            --William Blake (1757-1827)

Bo Ya and Zhong Ziqi; Hölty: When I am dead, hang up my little harp

Bo Ya 俞伯牙. A famous lute-player of old, who when young studied under a teacher known as Cheng Lian. The latter carried him to the Isles of the Blest, in order to get his musical sense improved. He was afterwards thrown into the society of a wood-cutter, named Zhong Ziqi 鐘子期, who was such an excellent connoisseur of music that when Bo Ya played hills he could see Mount Tai rise up before his eyes, and when he played water he could see the headlong torrent dashing down. At Zhong's death, Bo Ya broke his lute and never played again.

   --Herbert A. Giles (1845-1935), A Chinese Biographical Dictionary (pub. 1898, Kelly and Walsh, Shanghai)

This is a very famous story in China and Japan (where the two friends are called Hakuga and Shoshiki and feature in the annual Gion Matsuri parade in Kyoto). It is originally from Liezi (列御寇 or 列子). Here is more about the story and the music.

............................

Commission

Friends, when I am dead, hang up
my little harp behind the altar,
where the wreaths of many dead young girls are shimmering.

The friendly sexton will then show visitors
the little harp, rustling with the red ribbon,
wound around the harp,
that flutters under the golden strings.

Often at sunset, he says in wonder, the strings
sound all alone, as soft as the hum of bees;
the children playing in the churchyard
heard it and saw how the wreaths were trembling.

        --Ludwig Christoph Heinrich Hölty (1748-1776)

Auftrag

Ihr Freunde, hänget, wann ich gestorben bin,
die kleine Harfe hinter dem Altar auf,
wo an der Wand die Todtenkränze
manches verstorbenen Mädchens schimmern.

Der Küster zeigt dann freundlich dem Reisenden
die kleinen Harfe, rauscht mit dem rothen Band,
das an der Harfe festgeschlungen,
unter den golden Saiten flattert.

Oft, sagt er staunend, tönen im Abendroth
von selbst die Saiten, leise wie Bienenton;
die Kinder, auf dem Kirchhof spielend,
hörtens und sahn, wie die Kränze bebten.

 

Paul Zech: The war drove a sword through my heart

The war has driven a sword through my heart,
I am frozen as white as the snow.
But you still glow as hot inside me
as if I lost only your name.

I have broken the mirror,
because you were always still in it
and you came through the door into the room
and spoke to me aloud.

I have locked all the doors,
because without you there is no one;
only houses with a hundred floors
and I in the rooms alone.

I have cleared out of the houses
and I hear the city roaring a long way behind me
and I want to blindly grab the hands of the stones
and I did crumble with all of them.

O I the widow in the night-black dress
here among the day-bright stones:
Who in the world knows a meadow
where I can cry lonely by the water?

Who knows the darkness under the water,
where the night is so wide and alone,
where all feelings turn dark with heavy sleep
and no more watching wakes the night?

        --Paul Zech (1881-1946), Junge Witwe [young widow] (pub. Ernst Rowohlt Verlag, 1924)

Der Krieg hat ein Schwert durch mein Herz getrieben,
ich bin wie der Schnee so weiss gefroren.
Doch du bist so glühend in mir geblieben,
als hätte ich nur deinen Namen verloren.

Ich habe den Spiegel zerbrochen,
denn du warst in dem Spiegel noch immer
und kamst durch die Tür in das Zimmer
und hast mich laut angesprochen.

Ich habe die Türen verschlossen,
denn ohne dich sind es ja keine;
nur Häuser mit hundert Geschossen
und ich in den Raümen alleine.

Ich habe die Häuser verlassen
und höre die Stadt weit hinter mir hallen
und möchte die Hände der Steine blind fassen
und bin doch mit allen zerfallen.

O ich Witwe im nachtschwarzen Kleide
hier zwischen den taghellen Steinen:
Wer auf der Welt weiss eine Weide
einsam am Wasser zu weinen?

Wer weiss unter dem Wasser das Dunkel,
wo so weit und allein ist die Nacht,
wo so schlafschwer alles Gefühl verdunkelt
und kein Wachen mehr wacht die Nacht?!

Peter De Vries: The death of a beloved child

The death of a beloved child means that the future is a thing of the past.

       --Peter De Vries (1910-1993), The Blood of the Lamb (pub.1961, Little, Brown)

[The quotations above may not be exact. Please let me know if you have the correct one.]

Willa Cather: We possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past

For Ántonia and me, this had been the road of destiny; had taken us to those early accidents of fortune which predetermined for us all that we can ever be. Now I understood that the same road was to bring us together again. Whatever we had missed, we possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past.

     --Willa Cather (1873-1947), My Ántonia

The Dalai Lama on loss

An audience member, clearly in pain, asked the Dalai Lama, "Do you have any suggestions about how to handle a great personal loss, such as the loss of a child?"

With a gentle tone of compassion, he answered, "To some degree, that depends on people's personal belief. If people believe in rebirth, then accordingly, I think there is some way to reduce sorrow or worry. They can take consolation in the fact that their loved one will be reborn.

"For those people who do not believe in rebirth, then I think there are still some simple ways to help deal with the loss. First, they could reflect that if they worried too much, allowing themselves to be too overwhelmed by the sense of loss and sorrow, and if they carried on with that feeling of being overwhelmed, not only would it be very destructive and harming to themselves, ruining their health, but also it would not have any benefit to the person who has passed away.

"For example, in my own case, I have lost my most respected tutor, my mother, and also one of my brothers. When they passed away, of course, I felt very, very sad. Then I constantly kept thinking that it's no use to worry too much, and if I really loved these people, then I must try to fulfill their wishes with a calm mind. So I try my best to do that. So I think if you've lost someone who is very dear to you, that's the proper way to approach it. You see, the best way to keep a memory of that person, the best remembrance, is to see if you can carry on the wishes of that person.

"Initially, of course, feelings of grief and anxiety are a natural human response to a loss. But if you allow these feelings of loss and worry to persist, there's a danger; if these feelings are left unchecked, they can lead to a kind of self-absorption. A situation where the focus becomes your own self. And when that happens you become overwhelmed by the sense of loss, and you get a feeling that it's only you who is going through this. Depression sets in. But in reality, there are others who will be going through the same kind of experience. So, if you find yourself worrying too much, it may help to think of the other people who have similar or even worse tragedies. Once you realize that, then you no longer feel isolated, as if you have been singlepointedly picked out. That can offer you some kind of condolence."

      --The Dalai Lama (1935-), in The Art of Happiness (pub. 1998, Hodder and Stoughton), by the Dalai Lama and Howard C. Cutler

Victor Hugo: Great grief is a divine and terrible radiance

Great grief is a divine and terrible radiance which transfigures the wretched.

       --Victor Hugo (1802-1885), Les Misérables (1862), Book V, ch 13; translated by Charles Wilbour

La grande douleur est un rayon divin et terrible qui transfigure les misérables.