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       Death knocks on every door

      

      I KNEW IT, MY NEPHEW, I told you so, today we shouldn’t count on going further than Nontron. And even so we will only arrive there long after evensong, in the black of night. La Rue kept on at me: ‘Monseigneur is losing ground, monseigneur will not be satisfied with a stage of just eight leagues …’ Oh yes! La Rue always goes like the clappers. Which is no bad thing at all, as at least with him my escort never dozes off. But I knew that we wouldn’t be able to leave Bourdeilles before midday. I had too much to do, too much to decide upon, too many signatures to dispense.

      Because I love Bourdeilles, you see; I know that I could be happy there if God had assigned me not only to possess it but also to reside there. He who has just one single, unique and modest possession may enjoy it to the full. He who has vast and multifarious possessions enjoys only the idea of them. Heaven always evens out what we are honoured with.

      When you return to Périgord, would you grant me the favour of revisiting Bourdeilles, Archambaud, to see if the roofing has been repaired as I requested earlier. And the fireplace in my room was smoking … It is lucky indeed that the English spared it. You saw Brantôme, we just passed through: you saw the devastation they caused, a town that used to be so lovely and so beautifully set on the banks of its river, razed! The Prince of Wales stopped over for the night of the ninth of August, according to what I have been told. And in the morning, before leaving, his coutiliers and valets3 set the place ablaze.

      I strongly condemn the way they destroy everything, burning, exiling, ruining, as they seem to be doing more and more often. I can understand men-at-arms will slit each other’s throats in wartime; if God hadn’t designated me for the Church, I should have had to take arms and fight, and I would have shown no mercy. Pillaging is acceptable: one must give some of life’s pleasures to those men of whom we require the shedding of blood, including their own. But raiding for the sole purpose of leaving behind a destitute people, burning thatch and crops to expose them to famine and chill, consumes me with rage. I am aware of the intention; the king can no longer draw taxes from a ruined province, and by destroying his subjects’ goods and belongings a monarch can be weakened. However, this doesn’t hold true. If the Englishman purports to have a claim to France, why would he lay the country to waste? And does he imagine that he will ever be accepted, acting this way? Even if he prevails in the signing of treaties after prevailing in the winning of battles, does he really think that? He sows seeds of hatred. He most probably deprives the King of France of money, but at the same time he supplies this monarch with many souls spurred on by anger and a desire for vengeance. King Edward will inevitably manage to find a few overlords here and there willing to swear allegiance to him in pure self-interest, but the people will be set against him for ever from the time he committed these inexpiable acts of destruction. Take a look at what is happening already; good people don’t resent King John for having lost in battle; they take pity on him, calling him John the Brave, or John the Good, when they should be calling him John the Fool, John the Obstinate, John the Incapable. And you will see that they will willingly bleed to pay his ransom.

      You ask me why I told you yesterday that the plague had had such a disastrous effect on John and on the kingdom’s fate? Ah! My nephew, for its own reasons, death, a handful of deaths in the wrong order, the deaths of women, first of all his own wife, Madame Bonne of Luxembourg, before he became king.

      Madame of Luxembourg was taken by the plague in September of the year 1349. She was to have been queen, and would have been a good queen. She was, as you know, the daughter of the King of Bohemia, John the Blind, who so loved France he maintained that Paris was the only court in which one could live nobly; he was a model of chivalry, albeit not entirely of sound mind. Although he could not see a thing, he insisted stubbornly on fighting at Crécy, and in order to do so, had his horse attached to the mounts of the two knights who rode on either side of him. And that was how they flung themselves into the fray. All three of them were found dead, still tied together. Now the King of Bohemia wore three white ostrich feathers on the crest of his helmet. The young Prince of Wales was struck by his noble demise – the prince was then nearly sixteen; it was his first battle – and he did well, notwithstanding King Edward considered it politic to exaggerate the deeds of his son and heir in the matter. The Prince of Wales was thus so hard hit he begged his father to allow him to adopt the same emblem as the late, blind king from that day on. And that is why three white feathers can now be seen on the prince’s helmet.

      However, the most important thing about Madame Bonne was her brother, Charles of Luxembourg, whose election to the crown of the Holy Roman Empire we, Pope Clement VI and I, actively encouraged. Not that we were unaware that we would have a good deal of trouble with as sly an old fox of a yokel as he … Oh! You will soon see for yourself he is nothing like his father; but as we had justifiable fears that France would fall on wretched times, it could only strengthen the country to make its future king the Emperor’s brother-in-law. But with the sister dead, the alliance was no more. And though troubles indeed we have had with his Bulla Aurea,4