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Updated: June 4, 2025
I had planned the opening scene; but then the thought of the triumph-song took hold of me, and it drove me mad. That song was what I had thought I could never do I had never dared to think of it. And it came to me it came! Wild, incoherent, overwhelming, it came, the victorious hymn. I could not think of remembering it; it was not poetry it was reality.
The gaunt, ruthless autocrat of the War Office and the frail crowned descendant of kings fronted each other across the open grave, and the coffin sank between them and was gone. From the choir there came the chanted and soothing words: Steals on the ear the distant triumph-song. G.J. just caught them clear among much that was incomprehensible. An intense patriotism filled him.
Her voice touched his very heartstrings, but he was too deeply moved to answer her for a moment. The renewal of this thought exalted his very soul. All that was noble and great in his nature seemed rising up in one glad triumph-song. A son of his and hers to fill a throne! Ah! God, if that were so! "I love the English," she whispered.
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