France -- History -- Henry II, 1547-1559 -- Fiction; Montgomery, Gabriel, comte de, 1530-1574 -- Fiction
"And he had no other name?"
"No other that I know of, Sire; he was an orphan like me, and no one
ever mentioned his father in my presence."
"And you have no other objection to make, Diane, to this projected
alliance with Montmorency, except your former affection for this young
man? No other at all, have you?"
"That one is enough; so my heart tells me, Sire."
"Very true, Diane; and perhaps I should not undertake to overcome your
scruples if your friend were on the spot, where we could know and
appreciate him, and although he may be, I can guess, of uncertain
parentage--"
"But is there not a bar on my escutcheon too, your Majesty?"
"Yes, but at least you have an escutcheon, Madame; and you will be good
enough to bear in mind that the Montmorencys no less than the Castros
consider it an honor to receive into their family a legitimatized
daughter of mine. Your Gabriel, on the other hand--but then, that is not
the question now. The important fact in my mind is that he has not
turned up in six years, and that he has probably forgotten you, Diane,
and has, it is more than likely, given his heart to another."
"Sire, you do not know Gabriel: his is an untutored and faithful heart,
which will burn itself out in love for me."
"Very well, Diane. To you no doubt it seems improbable that he would be
unfaithful to you; and you are quite right to deny it. But everything
leads you to suppose that this young man went to the wars. And if so, is
it not probable that he has died there? I afflict you, my dear child,
for your fair brow has grown pale, and your eyes are swimming in tears.
Yes, I can see that your feeling for him is a very deeply rooted one;
and although it has seldom been my lot to meet with such, and I have got
into the habit of being incredulous about these great passions, I have
no inclination to laugh at this of yours, but I respect it. But just
see, my darling, in what an embarrassing position you place me by your
refusal, and all on account of a childish attachment whose object is
nothing more than a mere memory and a shadow. The constable, if I insult
him by withdrawing my pledged word, will be angry, and not unjustly, my
child, and will very probably leave my service; and then it will be no
longer I, but the Duc de Guise, who will be king. Think for a moment,
Diane, of the six brothers of that family: the Duc de Guise has at his
command the whole military power of France; the cardinal all the
finances; a third controls my Marseilles fleet; a fourth commands in
Scotland; and a fifth is about to take Brissac's place in Piedmont. So
that from one extremity of my realm to the other, I, the king, cannot
dispose of a soldier or a crown without their assent. I speak gently to
you, Diane, and explain these matters to you; I stoop to implore where I
might command. But I think it much better to let you judge for yourself,
and that it should be the father and not the king who obtains his
daughter's consent to his plans.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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