This prince has a very sound judgment and a great deal of information; there is no sort of thing, or study or art, about which he cannot converse very much to the point.  It is true that, when people see how, in spite of his knowledge and his fine talk, all his warlike enterprises have turned out ill, they say that all his wisdom lies on his lips, and not in his mind.  But I think that the calamities of this king come from lack of men capable of properly carrying out his designs.  As for him, he will never have anything to do with the execution, or even with the superintendence of it in any way; it seems to him quite enough to know his own part, which is to command and to supply plans.  Accordingly, that which might be wished for in him is a little more care and patience, not by any means more experience and knowledge.  His Majesty readily pardons offences; and he becomes heartily reconciled with those whom he has offended.” [Relations des Ambassadeurs venitiens sur les Affaires de France au seizieme siecle, in the Documents inedits sur l’Histoire de France, translated by M. Tommaseo, t. i. pp. 279-283.]

It is said that at the close of his reign Francis I., in spite of all the resources of his mind and all his easy-going qualities, was much depressed, and that he died in sadness and disquietude as to the future.  One may be inclined to think that, in his egotism, he was more sad on his own account than disquieted on that of his successors and of France.  However that may be, he was assuredly far from foreseeing the terrible civil war which began after him, and the crimes, as well as disasters, which it caused.  None of his more intimate circle was any longer in a position to excite his solicitude:  his mother, Louise of Savoy, had died sixteen years before him (September 22, 1531); his most able and most wicked adviser, Chancellor Duprat, twelve years (July 29, 1535).  His sister Marguerite survived him two years (she died December 21, 1549,) “disgusted with everything,” say the historians, and “weary of life,” said she herself:—­

               “No father now have I, no mother,
               Sister or brother. 
               On God alone I now rely,
               Who ruleth over earth and sky. 
               O world, I say good by to you;
               To relatives and friendly ties,
               To honors and to wealth, adieu;
               I hold them all for enemies.”

And yet Marguerite was loath to leave life.  She had always been troubled at the idea of death; when she was spoken to about eternal life, she would shake her head sometimes, saying, “All that is true; but we remain a mighty long while dead underground before arriving there.”  When she was told that her end was near, she “considered that a very bitter word,” saying that “she was not so old but that she might still live some years.”  She had been the most generous, the most affectionate, and the most lovable person in a family and a court which were both corrupt, and of which she only too often acquiesced in the weaknesses and even vices, though she always fought against their injustice and their cruelty.  She had the honor of being the grandmother of Henry IV.