Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE PITEOUS BATTLE OF MONT-L'HERY, by PAUL FORT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE PITEOUS BATTLE OF MONT-L'HERY, by                    
First Line: After many a round-about they encountered man to man
Last Line: Beads beguiled he blessed the holy name, most happy and most mild.
Subject(s): Courts & Courtiers; France; Nations; War; Royal Court Life; Royalty; Kings; Queens


After many a round-about they encountered man to man.

Broached casks being trundled out, archers to drink began (this on both sides of
the line) preparedness their plan. ("To guard oneself from funk in the deadly
breach," they'd say, "'tis best to start the day by getting slightly drunk.")
Proud Burgundy's left wing messire Saint Pol commands, while on the right wing
stands the Count of Charolais. On the right wing of France rides the King while
on t'other wing is discrete Messire de Main. The battle is complete.
Between those serried files the chateau Mont-L'Hery perched on a little height
half-smiles, ambiguously.

My God, from these lips released shall there sound no trumpet's swell? Archers,
their thirst appeased, joined battle. It is well.

Count Charles of Charolais, advancing with his right against the left of France,
routed Messire de Main who, being forced to fly, still flies across the plain.
King Louis with his right thrusting against St. Pol who, as these lines recite,
formed Burgundy's left, beheld Saint Pol and all his men, swifter than
partridges that hurtle down the breeze, despatched in headlong flight from out
our story's ken, not choosing to be killed.
Louis Eleventh and Charolais, each one sure of the victory, from his place, as I
scarcely need to say, rubbed hands together full gleefully.

Towards the centre of the fray doth each in turn repair.

And what did they see? -- Alas! Sheer emptiness was there.
Their zealous knights, having watched the combat and seen the fugitive crowds
that pressed rearward both to the east and west, to the defeat having taken
oath, followed their comrades, nothing loth, slipping away without drum or
trumpet. And on the embattled plain the princes twain remain.
Alone? Not wholly so. The chateau Mont-L'Hery (chateaux have got no legs so far
as one can see or if they own such things they tread upon the air), that warrior
battle-scarred, no more content to wear its demi-smile, in the face of such
unsoldierly gyrations, grunted its contumely from attic to foundations.
-- Left alone, though, none the less.

To such a point that, by all the press of living men being quite forsaken, Louis
Eleventh, that gallant Frenchman, and Charles of Charolais, his henchman (loving
each other passing well), the fair occasion might have taken on this sweet
summer morn to cry (with gesturing hands the more to tell their mutual trust and
amity), "Why, what a welcome meeting! Sweet coz, a cordial greeting!"

But each, alas! in deadly fear rearward pell-mell did ride as though he saw some
knacker near hankering for his hide.

The truth I tell, whate'er betide.

Yet at that selfsame hour approximately (for pray what in the sight of God is
the space of an hour? of a day? a month? a year? -- a year, why, one may well
declare that for God 'tis the twink of time that 'twould take to eat a pear),
then at that selfsame hour Earl Warwick, who had planned, with Lancaster for
liege, Fame's portals to unlock, in an Homeric shock twixt ten thousand
Englishmen, unhappily was slain by Edward's baleful hand; in Spain, John Second,
intent to purge that princely paragon, Carlos, in whose proud breast the seeds
of treason stir, at one blow despatched two thousand grandees of Arragon; the
fierce Mohammed Second, Ottoman emperor, put a brusque end to the oldest of the
old world, terror-stunned, with one, titanic cimetar stroke destroying
Trebizond: of Greeks and Turks a greater horde unshriven went to Jesus than the
gold doubloons in cellar stored not by Louis Eleventh, but Croesus; avenging
Venice, more bloody than a heart, her scaffold watered with those inquisitors
malign who long in safety slaughtered; briefly, in England, Spain, Venice, Asia,
one beheld a greater tide of gore upon the green earth spilled than at Mont-
l'Hery, what do I say? than in France, known for knightly deeds, and more famous
cavaliers dig spurs in flying steeds.

None the less in no flattering sense 'tis meant.

"By the Risen Christ!" quoth the King, content to regain the lines he had left
that morning, "this warning is opportunely sent. Upon my scutcheon's fame a
shameful blot 'twould fix, with clashing steel to vent the broils of politics."
And to himself he smiles, "Success will swell my sails if against cunning wiles
brute strength no more prevails!" -- When his attendants came by his chaplet's
beads beguiled he blessed the Holy Name, most happy and most mild.





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