FullReads

“Fair cousin,” the King said, after a deal of vehement bickering, “we wish you to know that we will have the daughter of your King, and that we will drive both him and you out of this kingdom.”

The Duke answered, not without spirit: “Sire, you are pleased to say so; but before you have succeeded in ousting my lord and me from this realm, I am of the opinion that you will be very heartily tired.”

At this the King turned on his heel; over his shoulder he flung: “I am tireless; also, I am agile as a fox in the pursuit of my desires. Say that to your Princess.” Then he went away in a rage.

It had seemed an approvable business to win love incognito, according to the example of many ancient emperors, but in practice he had tripped over an ugly outgrowth from the legendary custom. The girl hated him, there was no doubt about it; and it was equally certain he loved her. Particularly caustic was the reflection that a twitch of his finger would get him Katharine as his wife, for in secret negotiation the Queen-Regent was soon trying to bring this about; yes, he could get the girl’s body by a couple of pen-strokes; but, God’s face! what he wanted was to rouse the look her eyes had borne in Chartres orchard that tranquil morning, and this one could not readily secure by fiddling with seals and parchments. You see his position: he loved the Princess too utterly to take her on lip-consent, and this marriage was now his one possible excuse for ceasing from victorious warfare. So he blustered, and the fighting recommenced; and he slew in a despairing rage, knowing that by every movement of his arm he became to her so much the more detestable.

He stripped the realm of provinces as you peel the layers from an onion. By the May of the year of grace 1420 France was, and knew herself to be, not beaten but demolished. Only a fag-end of the French army lay entrenched at Troyes, where the court awaited Henry’s decision as to the morrow’s action. If he chose to destroy them root and branch, he could; and they knew such mercy as was in the man to be quite untarnished by previous usage. He drew up a small force before the city and made no overtures toward either peace or throat-cutting.

This was the posture of affairs on the evening of the Sunday after Ascension day, when Katharine sat at cards with her father in his apartments at the Hotel de Ville. The King was pursing his lips over an alternative play, when there came the voice of one singing below in the courtyard.

Sang the voice:

“I get no joy of my life
That have weighed the world–and it was
Abundant with folly, and rife
With sorrows brittle as glass,
And with joys that flicker and pass
As dreams through a fevered head,
And like the dripping of rain
In gardens naked and dead
Is the obdurate thin refrain
Of our youth which is presently dead.

“And she whom alone I have loved
Looks ever with loathing on me,
As one she hath seen disproved
And stained with such smirches as be
Not ever cleansed utterly,
And is loth to remember the days
When Destiny fixed her name
As the theme and the goal of my praise,
And my love engenders shame,
And I stain what I strive for and praise.

“O love, most perfect of all,
Just to have known you is well!
And it heartens me now to recall
That just to have known you is well,
And naught else is desirable
Save only to do as you willed
And to love you my whole life long–
But this heart in me is filled
With hunger cruel and strong,
And with hunger unfulfilled.