Tenacious Magic ~ Chapter 17 (Part 1)
G returns from Paris * A ghost that's taken a new wife * A prophetic dream * An apology and a lesson from The Priestess * John Middleton Murry arrives.
Katherine is within two days of dying at the Prieuré. It’s an intense time.
Friday morning, I was all set to edit and publish what had become a very long chapter (8,000 words). I labored over it. I struggled all week with a deep desire to resolve things for Katherine before her death; an impulse within me to lay her to rest with a feeling of completion. Not to mention, the writer’s desire to not leave threads hanging.
The task was overwhelming.
What I finally had to come to terms with was the actual chaos of those last days of her life. I had to realize that if she’d been completely resolved at the time of death, she wouldn’t have come looking for me in 2009! She wouldn’t have needed to find a partner to heal this part of her story, posthumously.
As Friday came to a close, I hadn’t resolved my inner conflict. I hadn’t finished the edit and I knew I needed a couple of days—some space—to think it through. I found the solution on Monday. I decided to break the chapter into two parts. Today, I release part one and Friday, I will release part two.
Writing this death sequence has been hard, more emotionally-taxing than I anticipated. I began to feel like I was there; that I was trying to write through the karmic swirl that inevitably happens as the death portal opens. I thought a lot about my own labor, the birth of my daughter, and how the veils are very thin in those threshold days just prior to a passage from one world to the next. I felt myself in the karmic field with Katherine—trying to write us through it.
A friend of mine, a deeply mystical alchemist and astrologer, A.T. Mann, reached out to me in the middle of all of this. We haven’t spoken in a couple of years, so the timing was quite something. He said,
I came across your writing piece about KM and G today, sort of randomly, but also not…I also came across Katherine Mansfield's chart and send you a copy. It shows your ASC (ascending) in Pisces, which using my reincarnation time scale, occurs during KM's very late life in early 1920s, probably when she met G…
I called to tell him about the feeling of being there at the time of Katherine’s death. His response was, “Of course! In an astrological sense you were there…almost as a third party in the dynamic.”
In another attempt to gain insight, I turned to the tarot. Friday morning, I spread the cards out in my room. My daughter walked in and sat down and the cat joined, too. I shared that this was the day I would be writing Katherine’s death and I wanted some guidance. So, we all picked a card.
The cat chose first (cats love tarot, if you don’t know). She stepped firmly on the seven of swords, which was quite cute in that the little fox looks a lot like her when she sleeps. I put the card aside…not quite sure if I should trust this selection.
I chose…The Moon. Yes! The Moon, my MAAAAAA. This moon that has followed and guided me all my life and through lifetimes. If you’ve been reading Tenacious Magic, then you know the moon is a key symbol in my awakening through chapters 14 and 16. That connected me to Katherine and our shared journey into the feminine mysteries.
Then, Matcha (the cat) chose again. She was insistent with her paw on one card. So, we turned over the card and lo and behold! She chose Death. As if to say, “Now, do you trust my choices?” I was humbled. I felt in connection to Spirit. I felt Katherine (who loved her cat).
Then, it was Eleanor’s turn. She picked Strength. It was the perfect support for our mission, not to mention that infinity symbol on the lion’s forehead—bending time, looping back on itself…
I began to write with The Moon, Death, and Strength on my desk. As I struggled with the unresolved parts of the story I fretted and then remembered Matcha’s first tarot choice. Aha! Maybe it held the key…I read about the seven of swords:
“Secrecy, Self-Interest: Six swords hang in plain view while the seventh is tucked under the sly fox’s tail. So goes the story of the seven of swords…a secret is being kept. Either you’re the keeper or the kept-from, and it’s time to identify which. Deceit and avoidance linger in the air. Face the cause of secrecy or risk ostracizing yourself.” —The Wild Unknown Tarot by Kim Krans
Of course. Thank you, Matcha. You are a real tarot master. Yes, I knew I needed to settle into the karmic field of deceit, secrecy and lies. There are many of them here in this story…and in the greater, archetypal story that holds all the characters here.
So, I gave myself some time for the revelation to come through the writing, not through “me.” The result is as true as I can manage. As always, I remind you that I am holding this as a communal project. Your comments and observations are needed and welcome. Please use the comments section or write to me if you want to share. Even if you are reading asynchronously, as I know many will…please share. I am still reading and responding and we can still change the course of history—or at least the story of what could have happened.
Note: If you are new to my Substack, Tenacious Magic is an emergent, serial novel about the teacher/student relationship, the masculine and feminine, Katherine Mansfield and Gurdjieff, power, sexuality, and time. I publish a chapter every Friday. Here is an introduction to the project. Here is Chapter 1. The chapters are free up to Chapter 7, at which point I took it behind the paywall. If you enjoy it, please subscribe and join the discussion. I incorporate reader comments and invite opinions and insights from readers to influence and inform where the story goes.
Now, back to the action. Let’s gently pull back the curtain on these final days of Katherine’s life…January 8 and 9, 1923….Katherine, thank you for entrusting me with this. I know you’re with me.
“This is a man’s world. This is a man’s world. But, it wouldn’t be nothing without a woman or a girl.” —James Brown, 1965
Le Prieuré, Fontainebleu, France ~ January 8, 1923
When Gurdjieff returns from Paris, he brings a woman with him. Also, two men. But, it is the woman that gets under Katherine’s skin.
Katherine is standing near the top of the stairs when they arrive; trying to get a large mirror up to her bedroom. From the moment she received John’s response to her invitation, she’s been terribly excited for his arrival tomorrow. She spent the morning cleaning her room, washing her hair, and bringing in items that might make his stay more comfortable. She wants him to see they are civilized here. Forest philosophers, maybe…but also civilized.
Now, she is trying to catch her breath. She overestimated her strength.
“Katya! What are you doing? You’ll kill yourself…” Olgivanna runs to her, taking the stairs two at a time. She wrestles the mirror from Katherine’s hands and they start towards the landing.
There’s a commotion as the front door opens and several people enter. Before she can turn around, Katherine feels Gurdjieff’s presence. She sees the small group reflected in the mirror. There he is. Then his voice—unmistakable. Her heart races.
Mme. Ostrowska and Olga come rushing from the dining room to help with their bags. G looks up to see the women on the stairs with the mirror. He smiles and makes a joke, “I see you are taking seriously the instruction to be the mirror, not the reflection." Katherine is frozen and then recovers herself enough to smile. Is it her imagination, or does he wink? Olgivanna laughs lightly and carries on with the mirror in her hands. Katherine follows and they both step into her room at the top of the stairs.
When they’ve shut the door, Olgivanna looks at her friend, “Katherine, you’re so pale! You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you ok?” She puts the mirror down and rushes to grab Katherine’s arm just as she swoons, losing her balance. Olgivanna guides her to a chair.
She murmurs to herself, “A ghost that’s taken a new wife…” Then says lightly to Oligvanna, “Yes, it was just the effort,” she steadies herself, “I didn’t expect him back so soon.”
“Gurdjieff? Oh, you never know when he’ll show up or with whom. A very pretty young woman, don’t you think? I hope they don’t plan to stay long. We’re running out of room.”
“Yes, very pretty.” Katherine stays composed. She doesn’t want Olgivanna to know. It’s their secret…but there is also shame. What would she think of her? Katherine is too tired now for intrigue. She resents G for putting her in this position…but, she got herself here. She begins to shut herself to it. She packs it away.
“This John who is coming…is he your husband? We haven’t talked about him much. Are you close?” Without knowing it, Olgivanna has helped her focus on what matters now.
“Yes, he’s like a brother to me. I haven’t seen him in months, actually. And we haven’t lived together in years. It’s been an unconventional marriage…not easy, but there is a fondness there.” She reflects, “I am so happy he’s coming, Olgivanna. There was a time—when I left London—that I thought I might never see him again. I guess it’s rather a miracle that he’s going to be here tomorrow.”
Olgivanna smiles and replaces the old mirror that has begun desilvering with the new one Katherine’s found.
“Olgivanna, you must be kind to John…He’s frightfully self-conscious. I’m he’ll be out of his element here…with everyone so real…It might be shocking for him.”
“Oh, of course you want him to like it. I understand.”
“It’s really not a matter of him liking it, or the people here liking him…I feel the pieces of my life, the chapters, need to come together now. If there could be some peace, even joy, in our time here together, I think it could be immensely healing for us both.”
“If it’s important to you, it’s important to me. I want your novel to come together, Katya. The Book of Life…”
“I’ve actually thought up a title,” Katherine smiles slyly…the creative process has been her great salvation in this life, “It’s called The Gospel of I AM.”
“Ooooh, I like it.”
“Yes…may it have a happy ending.”
She avoids the Russians that night by having dinner in her room. She can barely admit to herself that she is also waiting for Gurdjieff. But, he never comes. She begins to wonder if she’s made the whole thing up—their sacred union, their bond. She tries not to think about it, but then outrage enters her: How could he not come to her? If she’d traveled to Paris and found him there, she would have run to him, thrown her arms around him, and said to him over and over again, “My darling…”
Close to midnight, she hears the party downstairs draw to a close. She hears the kitchen helpers clearing the dishes and eventually, she hears Gurdjieff and the Russians walking past her room to his quarters down the hall.
She climbs into bed wearing her thickest flannel gown. Lying under the duvet she feels a great light in her chest—a great feeling of warmth, like being rocked as a baby—the impulse to pray arises and suddenly she is filled with gratitude. Hope. She resolves to focus on John. To forget about G. Bringing her small hands to her heart, she closes her eyes.
She drifts off. Deep in the night, deep in the silence of the house, from the depths of her soul, she dreams…
She is walking in the silvery moonlight through a desert. Silence fills her ears. There are scrubby bushes, and mountains. She tries to locate herself…Egypt? No. Someplace older, before time…but also, right now.
She sees a woman stranding in a long robe looking out to the horizon towards a bright constellation of stars. As she approaches, the robed woman turns towards her and takes her veil down. There is great joy as their eyes meet—recognition.
The woman reaches out for Katherine’s shoulders and brings their foreheads together. Katherine feels their closeness. The woman is…formidable, vast, spacious. They stay this way and breathe. She asks without speaking, “How do I know you?” The woman communicates to her telepathically, “I wear the robes of the old, old gods.” In that phrase, a memory of another time they’ve shared is unlocked. Katherine knows the gods of which she speaks. They are not the God of her time. She feels complete trust—a bond of sisterhood. The woman points to where she was gazing out to the horizon and says aloud, “Look, Pisces is rising. This is the time and place of our meeting.”
They begin to walk together. Soon they are walking through high grass and the temperature is cooler, the air less dry. They are approaching a village. Katherine sees the lights along the base of a cliff wall and also lights in the face of the rock…cliff dwellings, caves. She asks, “Where are we?”
“The New World,” the woman says with a smile. Katherine understands that she means America. Her heart leaps.
They pass through the houses to the far edge of the village, down a well-worn trail to the base of a high cliff. They stop when they reach a ladder. The woman indicates that they are going to climb. It seems to stretch all the way to the stars. High, high above, Katherine sees a landing. She cannot fathom making all the way up there in her condition…As soon as she thinks this, the woman stares into her eyes and says to her without speaking, “You have no condition here.” Katherine inhales deeply. The woman is right. They start to climb.
As she relaxes and begins to trust—her body, the woman, the ladder, the destination above—she feels stronger and stronger. When they finally reach the top, she feels she could keep climbing. They have reached a vast rock amphitheater in the sky. At the edge, Katherine stops for a minute to look out over the moonlit valley. She sees the smoke from the small houses in the pueblo and a few fires lit in the distance. The life below is reassuring. Life goes on and on and on…
The woman indicates another ladder that descends down a hole in the roof of a round structure—a small room built into the earth. She sheds her robes and stands there in strange clothing made of fabrics and in a style Katherine has never known. She looks at the woman more fully now, revealed as she is. She is her own age, brunette, dark eyes, something unplaceable in her heritage…she could be from the East or West…North or South…She smiles and Katherine suddenly recognizes her as the woman she has seen twice as a “ghost” in Fontainebleu: once out Gurdjieff’s study window, and once along the canals. Before she can ask about the child she has seen the woman with, the woman answers, “She is sleeping. This time is just for us.”
Katherine follows the woman as she climbs down. The darkness envelops them. Katherine feels fear as she stands motionless in the bottom of the pit. Briefly, she contemplates being buried alive. The fear turns to panic and her heart races. The feel and the smell of the earth is overwhelming. She hears the woman rustling and then a spark…she has lit a small handful of kindling and blows on it to fan the flames. She lights a fire in a fire pit and they wait for the light and warmth to fill the room. When it has caught, the woman takes a seat on a bench along the wall and invites Katherine to sit with her. She looks deeply into her eyes and sends her the message that she need not be afraid.
They sit in silence for a long time. The woman seems to be encouraging her to stop thinking and to feel. Katherine feels. As the panic subsides, what she feels is a deep holding, like a womb, like a mother. When she senses this, her body relaxes and opens. The woman turns and smiles at her. Her face is glowing in the firelight, but it also seems to be glowing with a light from within.
“Let’s talk. We haven’t much time. It will be dawn soon,” The woman begins to recite from memory: “I mean the power to live a full, adult, living, breathing life in close contact with what I love — the earth and the wonders thereof — the sea — the sun. All that we mean when we speak of the external world. A want to enter into it, to be part of it, to live in it, to learn from it, to lose all that is superficial and acquired in me and to become a conscious direct human being. I want, by understanding myself, to understand others. I want to be all that I am capable of becoming so that I may be (and here I have stopped and waited and waited and it’s no good — there’s only one phrase that will do) a child of the sun. About helping others, about carrying a light and so on, it seems false to say a single word. Let it be at that. A child of the sun.”
Katherine is crying. These are her own words, taken from her journal. They have been heard, received by this woman…by the old, old gods.
“I came because of these words,” the woman says to her with warmth, “This is a prayer, the kind of prayer that must be answered. Not by the gods, but by your own soul. This longing is sincere and you have earned a response. You and I are a part of the same great soul, oversoul. We have been growing together through time. I am not in the body yet, but I will be soon. And your time to be out of the body is drawing near. We are both learning what it is to be a child of the sun, but also…” she looks deeply at Katherine, “a child of the Earth…Mother Earth, our Mother.”
The words, earth and mother, reverberate within her. She feels the sentience of the earth all around them. It is not simply a place to stand, to work on, to live on. She feels Earth now, GAIA, as a living being, a great goddess.
The woman seems to know her thoughts. She waits patiently then continues, “Yes…it’s been a motherless journey for you, for many women in your time. Your own mother was already wounded. Generations of women have been cut off from this knowing. But, we are recovering it. It has been held secret and sacred in the hands of priestesses, in the hands of witches, and in the bodies of women, in the body of the world. The goddess is present in all life, She is life and also Death. You will soon know this better, when you leave the body. Then, you will remember.”
“There is rebirth? There must be.”
“Yes, one life is just one chapter…is that how you call it? The Book of Life is vast. You have many lives, many chances, and we learn together. We will find our way back to Her. The time of the Great Mother Goddess is here again. The time of queens is coming. Of course, in some ways it never left. But, it’s been a fallow time and a time of great confusion in the world without Her wisdom. The ground wasn’t rich enough, not fertile or hospitable enough for the planting of soul seeds…soon, it will be.”
The woman throws a handful of fragrant herbs on the fire. The room is filled with the smell of sage, lavender, and sweet grasses, “Let these plants, our sisters, cleanse you. Let the smoke cleanse you.”
Katherine does as she is instructed. She fills her lungs with the pungent air and knows that she has completed this cycle with the body. She puts her arms around herself as if she is hugging herself, like a baby. The woman nods: It’s been so hard.
“If we work together, we can heal ourselves and many in the process. Together we have the skills to re-tell this old story. What was it you learned through this life of illness and frailty?”
Katherine thinks for a minute, reflects on the journey she’s taken, which feels so far away from this earthy ceremony she’s in now, “I learned limits…I learned the limits of worldly love. I learned how to let die what needs to let die. And how to let live what needs to live.”
“What needed to die?”
“And what needed to live?”
“The Word. I couldn’t have made it without the word. And I know my words—some of them anyway—have made me immortal.”
“It is not the words that make you immortal. Your soul is immortal. When you speak from the soul, the results are immortal, too. We will use the words to heal, to restore, to remember and then…to create a world from wisdom.”
She stands and goes to the corner where there is a small pile of rich dirt. She bends down over the pile and beckons for Katherine to join her. The two women squat there with their hands in the cool earth. Katherine feels the Life in it. She feels the dirt pulling at her hand, begging her to take, to eat, to partake of it. It makes no sense, she shakes her head.
The woman looks at her with amusement and then takes a small handful of the dirt and puts it into her mouth. Katherine stares. The woman laughs as she swallows. She takes a ladle from a small wooden bucket nearby and drinks from it, washing the dirt down.
“I had an impulse to eat the dirt! I felt that,” Katherine says with wonder.
“Then do. Trust these impulses. Trust the body’s knowing.”
Katherine takes the dirt between her fingers and places it into her mouth. It is surprisingly soft and sweet. She savors it and then swallows. The woman hands her the ladle full of cool water and she drinks.
She feels the earth enter her body and renew something that was withered and dried within her. She feels a connection to the past, not just the historic past, but the infinite past, the beginnings of the planet, the birth of the solar system.
“A child of the sun…and of the earth,” the woman reminds her and then stands to leave. She brushes off her pants and douses the fire with some of the water. They listen as the flames hiss and then move towards the ladder. As they climb to the surface, Katherine notices it is now light out…dawn.
They stand at the edge of the cliff and see the village awakening. The animals are stirring, a rooster crows. More fires are lit. On the eastern horizon there is the greatest fire, an orange glow. Katherine waits expectantly for what she knows will inevitably happen as long as she is still in this body…sun rise.
“Light…you must bring it all into the light. No secrets. No self-deception.”
As the first light rays stream over the horizon she looks to her left and the woman is gone.
Katherine wakes in her bed at the Prieuré. She has not changed position and she has slept through the night. Through the curtains she sees the first light of dawn. She dares not stir as she recalls the details of this prophetic dream—it is vivid in her awareness. When she feels she has settled it firmly in her consciousness, she moves to get up out of the bed. She must write it all down…but there is no fire for warmth, no more paper, and a knock at the door.
“Mrs. Murry, your breakfast tea…”
Katherine throws on her robe and opens the door. Mme. Ostrowska is standing there with the tea tray.
She enters the room briskly without a smile or small talk. Katherine is stunned. It is usually one of the Russian students who brings the tea. Not the Madame, herself.
“Would you like me to build up the fire?” Madame asks matter-of-factly, looking at Katherine with her beautiful, deep eyes. She sees Katherine’s confusion and explains, “Ah…yes. Preparations are underway this morning for tonight’s feast. I need all the help in the kitchen at the moment so I am delivering your tea myself.”
She thinks of the woman in the dream: ““Light…you must bring it all into the light. No secrets. No self-deception.” She feels the familiar, twisting, grip of shame in her gut, the heat rising into her face. She slumps under the weight of it and sits in the chair as Madame makes up the fire. Katherine considers her words—making worlds of wisdom.
“Madame, may I have a word? There’s something I want to share with you and I don’t think it can wait.”
Mme. Ostrowska nods and sits primly, regally in the chair facing her.
“What I want to say is…Well, since I arrived here I have been cared for, tended to, and made to work like the rest—which for me is really a treat. And it’s been the women who have made me feel truly at home—including yourself, Madame. Thank you.”
She pauses before continuing. Madame nods—completely present, listening, “So you don’t deserve this…and I don’t know how to say it…except to just say it. Madame, I slept with your husband. Just once, but I did…we did. And I realize now that might hurt you…I wasn’t thinking in the moment…is one ever thinking in the moment? Oh…nevermind. I don’t think it occurred to me to tell you until you walked in just now. I realized I can’t keep it from you. It wouldn’t be right. And I wouldn’t want you to find out some other way.”
Katherine waits breathlessly for a response. In a thick Russian accent Madame says, “I know. I already know. I know all…this is my house. It is my job to know what happens in my house.”
Katherine is shocked, “Who told you?”
“George…of course. We talk about everything.”
She didn’t anticipate this, “You know…and you don’t care?”
Madame looks out the window and thinks for a minute how to answer, “It’s not that I don’t care. I think I don’t see it the way you see it.”
“How do you see it?”
“I see he is a man in possession of a great power—a magnetic power. He has this power, but he is almost powerless to it. It has him.”
Katherine knows this power, but she is fascinated to hear Madame talking about it so plainly. Madame continues, looking out the window, “Do you know the ballet we have practiced, Initiation of the Priestess? He wrote that for me. He learned to do this with me—to use this energy to awaken the priestess. This energy was awakened in him in the East…I do not know how, exactly. He would never say. When we met, I was a young dancer in Moscow. He cast me as the lead in the performance…as the priestess, without really knowing what that was. I was so taken with the movements, with The Work, and with him. His intensity, that power, was undeniable. I fell in love. And he fell in love with me, too. Quickly, we became lovers. That energy came through him and my whole world opened. The old me was incinerated. I became the priestess and he was my priest. From that moment, life, the ballet, the movements, The Work, our marriage…it was all one thing. It was my…path. I was devoted. I devoted myself to that energy…to the process of awakening...to that path and to him. We married…which, incidentally is something The Priestess should never do.”
Katherine is taking it all in…”But, why? You were both in love.”
“The priest and priestess are married to The Divine, not to each other. That mistake nearly killed me. He couldn’t be faithful. I was married, but I didn’t have a husband. It took me some time to accept that the real marriage for me is to that Energy of Life.” She looks at Katherine, “I am content. I feel love for the people here…In a way, this is my family. I no longer dance as The Priestess and though I will always be one, I have moved into another role…The Mother.”
Katherine is feeling uneasy about her own relationship to what has happened. Suddenly, she feels like a child, foolish. The shame is returning, but this time it is not the secrecy that bothers her. It is her own self-deception, the way she gave herself up so easily.
“You asked if I care…” She is looking now into the fire.
“I have become numb. If I felt every initiation…every affair, it would kill me. In another time, I would have my own lovers, my own temple. But right now, the world belongs to men…and I work in the kitchen.”
Katherine feels her apathy and thinks of the dream of Houdini and the straightjacket. She sees that there are many prisons for a woman…not just the body. “I’m truly sorry, Madame. I didn’t think.”
“I know you want to think it was special, something sacred you shared with him…It was,” She nods, “It was. But…you are not unique. There have been many before and there will be many after you. The only thing that matters now is how you tend that energy within yourself. Can you create a relationship with the Goddess you now carry? Can you be honest with yourself? Can you avoid the mistake of falling in love? And also not become bitter? He suffers, too. He cannot find peace. He cannot rest. His heart is with his mission, not any one woman.”
Madame stands abruptly. As she reaches the door, she turns and says with more warmth, “I’m glad you had the courage to tell me. That says something about your character. Thank you.”
That afternoon at four, Katherine and Orage are sitting on a bench, waiting for the train from Paris to arrive. She realizes it’s been a long time since she’s felt real anticipation at the thought of seeing John.
“Despite his flaws, he has been steadfast,” she says brightly to Orage.
The train pulls into the station, rumbling and spewing steam. The doors open and conductors hop out. A few passengers spill out onto the platform. She spots him immediately—tall, handsome, erect.
“Oh! There he is!…Bogey!”
Her voice is too weak to be heard above the train engine so Orage whistles loudly between his fingers. John Middleton Murry turns his head and smiles at them. He’s carrying two suitcases—one for himself and one with some extra items for Katherine. Katherine leaves Orage on the bench and hurries down the platform. Murry rushes towards her, puts the bags down and snatches her up into his arms.
“Wig, my darling!”
“Oh, Bogey…I’m so happy to see you. Really I am. You are a sight for sore eyes.” She is surprised at how happy this reunion has made her. She didn’t realize how she’d missed him.
He looks at her at arms length, “You look like an angel. What is this glow? You’ve found what you came for, haven’t you?”
They walk arm-in-arm back to where Orage is waiting. The men greet each other warmly with handshakes and pats on the back.
“I hope you’re not too tired, my boy,” says Orage, “They’re likely to put you to work as soon as we get there. I hope you brought your dungarees?”
John laughs, “As long as I don’t get hypnotized. Do you know how many people I’ve had to evade and lie to about this trip? I couldn’t tell anyone in London I’ve come. In the cities they think you’re all mad out here…a cult.”
Katherine is elated, “Oh! We are a cult, but such a gay one and quite functional, too. You’ll want to join, Bogey. I just know it.”
John shakes his head doubtfully, “I’m here for you, my dear. For you, alone.”
They make the short drive back to the Prieuré, park the car and take the bags into the house. Katherine introduces John proudly to anyone they meet along the way…Mr. Pinder, Mr. Salzmann, Olga, Olgivanna…Mme Ostrowska comes out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron and smiling benevolently…John greets them all warmly and with poise. Katherine remembers how charming he can be and feels a surge of pride.