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Danielle Cybulsky (16:32)

The incessant boom of cannons roars in the distance while a cold winter rain pours down outside the open window. Inside, a fire crackles in the hearth while the Abbot of Saint Ferrand pours wine for the a small but illustrious group assembled at the table. A well dressed church official scribbles notes to take back to the Pope. Philip, the Good Duke of Burgundy tips his chair back and amuses himself by flipping his dagger. Queen Isabeau of Bavaria taps her nails on her goblet, while over by the fireplace, King Charles giggles to himself. He's quietly hushed by his attendant, who pats his hands gently. Henry V stands by the window, arms folded, staring out in the direction of the fortress of Meaux. From here, the siege is too far away to do more than simply listen and wait. But he's been forced to move this meeting to the abbey on the other side of the city because last month, just before Christmas, his siege camp had flooded. It's still a mess over there, no place to hold a secret meeting. Worse, the flood had given the Dauphin's garrison time to resupply, which means that now it's a struggle just to keep Henry's army from deserting as the siege drags on. Happy New Year. As the Abbot quietly pads out the door on sandaled feet, Henry turns to face the room. It'll be painful and humbling, but it's time to face the music. Henry lifts his chin and addresses the assembly. This war is unwinnable, he admits, even with the might of England. Unless the Dauphin can be defeated soon, the only way forward is a peace treaty. Philip the Good snorts, but quickly turns it into a cough. Nobody dares to Say I told you so, but it's pretty clear that everyone is thinking it. With a withering glare and as much dignity as he can muster, Henry stomps out the door, slamming it behind him. Ruling France would be fantastic if it wasn't full of so many godforsaken French people. Henry has been regent of France for a year and a half, and it hasn't exactly been going to plan. He had stressed in 1420 that the treaty of Troyes symbolized not only the legitimization of his ancient ancestral right to rule France, but also true justice. Henry had believed that God had smiled on him that day in the cathedral, but come to think of it, maybe he'd only smirked. The truth is, things have been rocky since, well, day one. The French have always believed in the power of royal display and the PR value of majesty. With this in mind, they planned a tournament for the day after Henry and Catherine's wedding. Wedding. Both to celebrate the marriage and to show a united front with happy faces all around. But King Zero Chill cancels the festivities the morning after the wedding. He locks himself away with his maps and his captains. And the morning after that, he's back in the saddle, heading south, probably hoping he's already gotten Catherine knocked up in the first round. The French are left open mouthed by this rude behavior and by Henry's very un French lack of romantic, shall we say, finesse. Oblivious to the snickers and snide comments about his lack of enthusiasm for his young wife, Henry is feeling fresh and invigorated from getting everything he's ever wanted. So he rolls up his sleeves and rides off to crush Dauphin Charles. Charles. But the Dauphin proves to be just as slippery as his aquatic namesake. Every time the English king believes he's got him cornered, the Dauphin slides out of his grasp. Although Henry might have rulership over France, on paper, the reality is very different. The powerful Armagnac alliance has stubbornly remained loyal to the Dauphin as the rightful heir to the throne. Out of ideas, Henry stoops so low as to parade around the bewildered and disheveled King Charles to gain some royal clout with his new subjects. But it doesn't get him far. Because the thing is, just because the French had to make peace with England doesn't mean they wanted to. They know better than anyone that a piece of parchment with a seal on it can be destroyed. Destroyed in an instant. France is forever. So the Dauphin's allies fiercely defend him and his vast territories, centered now around his headquarters in Bourges. But even within Henry's Anglo Burgundian alliance. The situation is tense. Many French nobility and knights either balk or outright refuse to swear allegiance to the English king as their sovereign. To ease their consciences, some of them cross their fingers behind their backs, while others hedge their bets and grasp for a loophole. They promise they will always serve King Charles so long as he lives. If King Charles says to listen to Henry, well, then they will. But if the French king wakes up and changes his mind, all bets are off. As the months pass, the power struggle between Henry and the Dauphin becomes less like warfare and more like whack. A mole. In episode four of this miniseries, I said that the Dauphin is a child of the civil war, and I meant it. Unbothered by the rules of chivalry, the Dauphin treats his diplomatic promises with about as much seriousness as he did with John the Fearless on the bridge of Montereau. So none. He refuses to compromise, and he refuses to stand still and fight like a man. So it's no surprise that Henry loses his patience. He's so fed up with France that when his son, the future Henry VI, is born in December 1421, all Henry's got to say to his French wife is, that's nice, dear. Call him Henry and don't forget to get him baptized. When Mo falls in the spring of 1422, Henry blows off some steam by cutting off a few heads. So maybe he's got a few nicer things to say. When Catherine joins him in France in May, sadly, it's doubtful he pays her much attention at all, because the Dauphin's forces just knocked out two Burgundian cities on the river Loire. And in a quick one, two punch, enough is enough. It's time to put this whole thing to bed once and for all. Henry arranges to meet the Dauphin for a winner takes all battlefield showdown at Caen in August. But when the English and Burgundians arrive, they find only tumbleweeds. The Prince has stood them up, apparently. When he learned the odds were not in his favor, the 19 year old Dauphin just noped out. By then, the Anglo Burgundians have bigger problems. Much bigger. Because just when Henry V thought he might finally win it all, lady luck deserts him. The energetic English king is deathly ill. Though he does his best to soldier on. Literally. The writing is on the wall. On August 31, 1422, Henry dies at Vincennes. True to form, an Armagnac chronicler revels in the gory details, saying he died of a disease called Sainte Fiacre's. A marvelous flux of the stomach with hemorrhoids. Wow. No one could have predicted that a king made out of glass might somehow outlast a king that seemed all but invincible. Well, except for the hemorrhoids. Much as the French had never really wanted an English king, Henry's death leaves a lot of mixed feelings. Yes, he was English, and that was a major strike against but at least he seemed competent. More than that, he kept his promises, which is more than can be said for the Dauphin. Those who had spent decades praying for the healing of King Charles get down on their knees and pray even harder for a miracle. Because France is now under the rule of either a homicidal troublemaker or an 8 month old baby. After 30 years of struggle, it's looking like the kingdom itself is finally in its death throes.

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Danielle Cybulsky (26:03)

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Jonathan Van Ness (26:05)

Over.

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Danielle Cybulsky (26:22)

Get started today at LinkedIn.com results Terms and conditions apply for Dauntfant Charles, the unsavory death of Henry V is welcome news. After all, who's a better choice to lead France now? A full blooded Valois prince or a half English brat in diapers? Taking his kingdom back should be as easy as taking candy from, well, a baby. But if the dauphin had expected his longtime enemies to suddenly fall into his arms, he's sorely disappointed. Because Henry's dying wish is for his brothers to keep up the fight and hold on to France until baby Henry VI is old enough to rule it. So all along the border between Burgundian and Armagnac territory, the cannons just keep on rolling and men on both sides just keep on dying. No longer dragged around like an English puppet, King Charles enjoys a quiet and peaceful interlude after Henry dies, sliding in and out of reality in his Parisian palace of St. Paul. After a lifetime of caring for the king, his attendants are are deft at meeting his needs, diverting him with songs and games as well as the occasional visit from his mistress. Charles had been blessed with 12 children and one bastard in his long life. But his daughters have been scattered to the winds through marriage. While his namesake heir, the Dauphin, Charles of Ponthieu, has never forgiven his father for disinheriting him in favor of an English king. None of Charles's children come to visit him anymore. Who knows if he'd recognize them anyway. In October 1422, just months after the death of Henry V, King Charles becomes ill with a fever, just as he had in the forest of Le Mans all those years ago. But this time, the fever brings death only to the king himself. After a few short weeks, the long suffering king, once called Charles the Beloved, now forever called Charles the Mad, finally rests his glass bones in peace. Most noble and most christian, writes one chronicler. In his time he was full of pity, gentle and benign to his people. With Charles death, the kingdom's last hope for unity flickers out. The last light of day shines through the scratched window of the King's bedroom in the Hotel St. Paul, where Isabel of Bavaria stands by the freshly made bed. She lets out a sigh and walks out. Stonemasons pause to bow to her as she passes. Then they pick up their tools and get back to the work of tearing down the brick walls that had closed up the entrances to the palace for 30 years. They won't need them anymore. As Isabeau approaches the door to the palace courtyard, the sounds of the city grow louder. All the bells in Paris are ringing. She steps out into the courtyard and is greeted by a crowd of dignitaries, monks and royal officials. Past the iron gates, thousands more Parisians are stirring. The crowd within the courtyard stands around a lead casket, a lifelike wooden effigy of King Charles resting on top. Isabel walks over and places a hand on it as attendants make the final adjustments, smoothing the figure's fine robes and settling its jewels. This carved Charles looks peaceful and serene. At her nod, six strong pallbearers in royal livery lift the casket while the black silk canopy is unfurled over their heads. The gates are opened and the solemn procession begins. The sound of the monks chanting blends with the pealing bells and the sniffling of more than a few members of the crowd. This will be the last time Isabeau ever sees her husband, even if it's only an effigy. As Charles is keeping carried to the Cathedral of Notre Dame, his wife of 37 years watches him go and turns away. After the Treaty of Troyes, Isabeau's role in government has become nothing but symbolic. She retreats from public life, respecting her vow to renounce her only living son, the Dauphin, and not making waves. Though she started life as a relatively inconsequential noble girl of Bavaria, Isabeau had ascended to the highest position a woman could reach, queen of the most powerful kingdom in all of Europe. For one shining moment, she and her handsome husband had held the world in their hands. Now that world has shrunk down to the company of a few cherished ladies and the memory of a man she'd once loved. From a distance, the Queen watches as her son desperately fights for supremacy, refusing to cede the kingdom of his father to its ancient enemy. But no one, not even the Dauphin, has much hope that France will ever be restored to its former glory. That is, until one day in 1429, on a winter afternoon, Isabel receives a letter hidden in the sleeve of a trusted messenger. It tells of a young girl who has been having visions of angels sent to her by God. The angels have told her that one day this girl will see the Dauphin crowned at Rennes, just like his father, Charles. Isabel feels trepidation and rising hope as she scans the letter again, searching for the name of the girl who claims that God has chosen her to revive friends. Her name is Joan of Arc. Well, there we go. The tale of Charles vi, a guy that really did suffer from a whole host of seriously unfortunate events. And of course, he's not the only one who suffered as a result of his mental illness. So, with all things considered, royal favorites, I'd like to what do you think Charles VI's legacy should be? How should he be remembered? As always, look out for producer Al's post on Patreon. And with that, it's time I return the crown to its rightful owner, the incomparable Dan Jones. I really hope you've enjoyed the Glass King. Thanks for listening.

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