THE TWO DIANAS.
BY
ALEXANDRE DUMAS.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON: J. M. DENT & CO.
BOSTON, LITTLE, BROWN, & CO.
1894.
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
The claim of Alexandre Dumas to be considered first among historical
romancists, past or present, can hardly be disputed; and his magic pen
finds abundant, rich material for the historical setting of the tale
told in the following pages. The period in which the action of "The Two
Dianas" is supposed to take place, covers the later years of Henri II.
and the brief and melancholy reign of his oldest son, François II., the
ill-fated husband of Mary Stuart, whose later history has caused her
brief occupancy of the throne of France to be lost sight of. This period
saw the germination and early maturity, if not the actual sowing, of the
spirit of the Reformation in France. It was during these years that the
name of John Calvin acquired the celebrity which has never waned, and
that his devoted followers, La Renaudie, Théodore de Bèze, Ambroise
Paré, the famous surgeon, and the immortal Coligny began the crusade
for freedom of worship which was steadily maintained, unchecked by
Tumult of Amboise, or Massacre of St. Bartholomew, until Henri of
Navarre put the crown upon their heroic labors, and gave them respite
for a time with the famous "Edict of Nantes," made more famous still by
its "Revocation" a century later under the auspices of Madame de
Maintenon, at the instigation of her Jesuit allies. Those portions of
the story which introduce us to the councils of the Reformers are none
the less interesting because the characters introduced are actual
historical personages, nor can it fail to add interest to the encounter
between La Renaudie and Pardaillan to know that it really took place,
and that the two men had previously been to each other almost nearer
than brothers. It was but one of innumerable heart-rending incidents,
inseparable from all civil and religious conflicts, but in which those
presided over by the Florentine mother of three Valois kings of France
were prolific beyond belief.
How closely the author has adhered to historical fact for the groundwork
of his tale, will appear by comparing it with one of Balzac's _Études
Philosophiques_, entitled "Sur Catherine de Médicis," the first part of
which covers the same period as "The Two Dianas," and describes many of
the same events; the variations are of the slightest.
The patient forbearance of Catherine de Médicis, under the neglect of
her husband, and the arrogant presumption of Diane de Poitiers, abetted
by the Constable de Montmorency; her swift and speedy vengeance upon
them as soon as she was left a widow with her large brood of possible
kings; her jealous fear of the influence of the Duc de Guise and his
brother the Cardinal de Lorraine, which led her to desire the death of
her eldest son, the unfortunate François, because his queen was the
niece of the powerful and ambitious brothers, and which also led her to
oppose their influence by a combination with two such incongruous
elements as the Constable Montmorency and the Protestant Bourbon princes
of Navarre, remaining all the while the bitterest foe that the reformed
religion ever had,--all these, as described in the following pages, are
strictly in conformity with historical fact So, too, is the story of the
defence of St. Quentin in its main details, and of the siege of Calais,
where the Duc de Guise did receive the terrible wound which caused the
sobriquet of _Le Balafré_ to be applied to him, and was cured by the
skilful hand of Master Ambroise Paré. So of the Tumult of Amboise, and
the painful scenes attending the execution of the victims; and so,
finally, of the scene at the death-bed of François II., the controversy
between the shrinking conservatism of the King's regular medical
advisers, and the daring eclecticism of Paré, proposing to perform the
"new operation" of trepanning. It may, perhaps, be said that the
Chancellor de l'Hôpital is made to appear in too unfavorable a light;
he certainly was something far above the mere bond-slave of Catherine de
Médicis.
Dumas himself tells us what basis of truth there is for the sometimes
amusing, sometimes serious, but always intensely interesting confusion
between Martin-Guerre and his unscrupulous double.
Nowhere, it may be said, in history or romance, is there to be found so
touching a glimpse as this of poor Mary Stuart. Here we see naught save
the lovely and lovable side of the unfortunate queen, without a hint of
the fatal weakness which, as it developed in the stormy later years of
her life, made her marvellous beauty and charm the instruments of her
ruin.
So much for those portions of "The Two Dianas" which rest upon a basis
of fact. History records further that Henri II. was accidentally killed
in friendly jousting by the Comte de Montgommery; but with that history
ends and romance begins. The personage whom Monsieur Dumas presents to
us under that title perhaps never existed; but let the reader be the
judge, after reading of the pure and sacred but unhappy love of Gabriel
de Montgommery and Diane de Castro, if a lovelier gem of fiction was
ever enclosed in an historical setting.
LIST OF CHARACTERS.
Period, 1521-1574.
FRANÇOIS I., King of France.
HENRI II., his successor.
CATHERINE DE MÉDICIS, Queen to Henri II.
THE DAUPHIN, afterwards François II.
HENRI, his brother, afterwards Henri III.
MARY STUART, married to the Dauphin.
MARY, Queen of England.
DUC D'ORLÉANS, afterwards Charles IX.
MARGUERITE DE FRANCE, sister of Henri II.
MARGUERITE DE VALOIS, daughter of Henri II.
PRINCESS ÉLISABETH.
FRANÇOIS, Duc d'Alençon.
DUC DE GUISE, Lieutenant-General of France.
MONSEIGNEUR LE CARDINAL DE LORRAINE, his brother.
DUC D'AUMALE, brother of Duc de Guise.
MARQUIS D'ELBŒUF,}
MARQUIS DE VAUDEMONT,}
officers of Duc de Guise.
MONSIEUR DE BIRON,}
MONSIEUR DE THERMES,}
CONSTABLE ANNE DE MONTMORENCY.
FRANÇOIS DE MONTMORENCY, his son.
ANTOINE DE NAVARRE.
LOUIS DE BOURBON, Prince de Condé, his brother.
BARON DE PARDAILLAN, an officer of the king's troops.
DAVID, a Calvinistic minister.
DES AVENELLES, advocate, a traitor to the Calvinists.
BARON CASTELNAU DE CHALOSSES,}
COMTE DE VILLEMANGIS,}
condemned Calvinists.
COMTE DE MAZÈRES,}
BARON DE RAUNAY,}
MONSIEUR DE BRAGUELONNE, Lieutenant of Police.
MASTER ARPION, his secretary.
LIGNIÈRES, an agent of police.
ANTOINE DE MOUCHY, otherwise styled Démocharès, Doctor of
the Sorbonne and Canon of Noyon, Grand Inquisitor of the
Faith in France.
JEAN PEUQUOY, syndic of the weavers of St. Quentin.
PIERRE PEUQUOY, an armorer.
BABETTE, Pierre Peuquoy's sister.
LORD WENTWORTH, Governor of Calais.
LORD GREY, his brother-in-law, commanding the English archers.
LORD DERBY, an English officer.
SIR EDWARD FLEMING, herald of England.
ANSELME, a fisherman.
ANDRÉ, a page.
SISTER MONIQUE, Superior of the Benedictine convent at St.
Quentin.
HEINRICH SCHARFENSTEIN,}
PILLETROUSE,}
FRANTZ SCHARFENSTEIN,}
MALEMORT,} officers and soldiers in Gabriel's
service.
LACTANCE,}
YVONNET,}
AMBROSIO,}
LANDRY,}
CHESNEL,} veterans of the war in Lorraine, entering
the service of Vicomte d'Exmès.
AUBRIOT,}
CONTAMINE,}
BALU,}
ILLUSTRATIONS
PORTRAITS.
Alexandre Dumas
ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS
DRAWN AND ETCHED BY E. VAN MUYDEN.
A King's Mistress
Mary Stuart and Gabriel
CONTENTS
Chapter
I. A Count's Son and a King's Daughter
II. A Bride who plays with Dolls
III. In Camp
IV. A King's Mistress
V. In the Apartments of the Royal Children
VI. Diane de Castro
VII. How the Constable said his Pater Noster
VIII. A Fortunate Tourney
IX. How One may pass close by his Destiny
without Knowing it
X. An Elegy during the Progress of a Comedy
XI. Peace or War?
XII. A Twofold Knave
XIII. The Acme of Happiness
XIV. Diane de Poitiers
XV. Catherine de Médicis
XVI. Lover or Brother?
XVII. The Horoscope
XVIII. The Last Resort of a Coquette
XIX. How Henri II. began to enjoy his Inheritance
during his Bather's Life
XX. Of the Usefulness of Friends
XXI. Wherein it is shown that Jealousy sometimes
abolished titles even before
the French Revolution
XXII. Describes the Most Convincing Proof
that a Woman can give that a Man
is not her Lover
XXIII. Useless Devotion
XXIV. Shows that Blood-Stains can never be
completely washed out
XXV. An Heroic Ransom
XXVI. Jean Peuquoy the Weaver
XXVII. Gabriel at Work
XXVIII. Wherein Martin-Guerre is not Clever
XXIX. Wherein Martin-Guerre is a Bungler
XXX. The Strategy of War
XXXI. Arnauld du Thill's Memory
XXXII. Theology
XXXIII. Sister Bénie
XXXIV. A Victorious Defeat
XXXV. Arnauld du Thill is still up to his
Little Tricks
XXXVI. Continuation of Master Arnauld du
Thill's Honorable Negotiations
XXXVII. Lord Wentworth
XXXVIII. The Amorous Jailer
XXXIX. The Armorer's House
[Illustration: Alexandre Dumas.]
THE TWO DIANAS
CHAPTER I
A COUNT'S SON AND A KING'S DAUGHTER
It was the 5th of May, 1551. A young man of eighteen years, and a woman
of forty, together leaving a house of unpretentious appearance, walked
side by side through the main street of the village of Montgommery, in
the province of Auge.
The young man was of the fine Norman type, with chestnut hair, blue
eyes, white teeth, and red lips. He had the fresh, velvety complexion
common to men of the North, which sometimes takes away a little manly
strength from their beauty, by making it almost feminine in its quality;
but his figure was superb, both in its proportions and its suppleness,
partaking at once of the character of the oak and the reed. He was
simply but handsomely dressed, in a doublet of rich purple cloth, with
light silk embroidery of the same color. His breeches were of similar
cloth, and trimmed in the same way as the doublet; long black leather
boots, such as pages and varlets wore, extended above his knees; and a
velvet cap, worn slightly on one side and adorned with a white plume,
covered a brow on which could be read indications of a tranquil and
steadfast mind.
His horse, whose rein was passed through his arm, followed him, raising
his head from time to time, snorting and neighing with pleasure in the
fresh air that was blowing.
The woman seemed to belong, if not to the lower orders of society, at
least to a class somewhere between them and the bourgeoisie. Her dress
was simple, but of such exquisite neatness that very quality seemed
to give it elegance. More than once the young man offered her the
support of his arm, but she persistently declined it, as if it would
have been an honor above her condition.
As they walked through the village, and drew near the end of the street
that led to the château, whose ponderous towers were in full sight,
overlooking the humble settlement, it was very noticeable that not only
the young people and the men, but even the gray heads bowed low as the
young man passed, while he responded with a friendly nod of the head.
Each one seemed to recognize a superior and a master in this youth, who,
as we shall soon see, did not know his own identity.
Leaving the village behind them, they followed the road, or rather the
path, which, in its winding course up the slope of the mountain, was
barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast. So, after some
objections, and upon the young man's remarking to his companion that as
he was obliged to lead his horse it would be dangerous for her to walk
behind, the good woman was induced to go in advance.
The young man followed her without a word. One could see that his
thoughtful brow was wrinkled beneath the weight of some engrossing
preoccupation.
A fine and lordly château it was toward which our two pilgrims, so
different in age and station, were thus wending their way. Four
centuries and ten generations had hardly sufficed for that mass of rock
to grow from foundation to battlements; and there it stood, itself a
mountain towering above the mountain on which it was built.
Like all the structures of that age, the château of the counts of
Montgommery was absolutely irregular in its formation. Fathers had
bequeathed it to their sons, and each temporary proprietor had added to
this stone colossus according to his fancy or his need. The square
donjon, the principal fortification, had been built under the dukes of
Normandy. Then the fanciful turrets on the battlements and the
ornamented windows had been added to the frowning donjon, multiplying
the chased and sculptured stonework as time went on, as if the years had
been fruitful in this granite vegetation. At last, toward the end of the
reign of Louis XII., and in the early days of François I., a long
gallery with pointed windows had put the last touch to this secular
agglomeration.
From this gallery, and still better from the summit of the donjon, could
be had an extended view over several leagues of the rich, blooming
plains of Normandy. For, as we have already said, the county of
Montgommery was situated in the province of Auge, and its eight or ten
baronies and its hundred and fifty fiefs were dependencies of the
bailiwicks of Argentan, Caen, and Alençon.
At last they reached the great portal of the château.
Think of it! For more than fifteen years this magnificent and formidable
donjon had been without a master. An old intendant still continued to
collect the rents; and there were some of the servants, too, who had
grown old in that solitude, and who continued to look after the
château, whose doors they threw open every day, as if the master was to
be expected at any moment, while they closed them again at evening, as
if his coming were simply postponed till the next day.
The intendant received the two visitors with the same appearance of
friendliness that every one seemed to show to the woman, and the same
deference which all agreed in according to the young man.
"Master Elyot," said the woman, who was in advance, as we have seen, "do
you mind letting us go into the château? I have something to say to
Monsieur Gabriel" (pointing to the young man), "and I can only say it in
the _salon d'honneur_."
"Come in, Dame Aloyse," said Elyot, "and say what you have to say to
young master here, wherever you choose. You know very well that
unhappily there is no one here to interrupt you."
They passed through the _salle des gardes_. Formerly twelve men, raised
upon the estates, used to be on guard without intermission in that
apartment. During fifteen years seven of these men had died, and their
places had not been filled. Five of them were left; and they still lived
there, doing the same duty as in the count's time, and waiting till
their turn to die should come.
They passed through the gallery and entered the _salon d'honneur_.
It was furnished just as it had been the day that the last count had
left it. But this salon, where in former days all the Norman nobility
had used to assemble, as in the salon of a lord paramount, not a soul
had entered for fifteen years, save the servants whose duty it was to
keep it in order, and a faithful dog, the last count's pet, who every
time that he entered the room called for his master mournfully, and at
last had refused to go out one day, and had stretched himself out at the
foot of the dais, where they found him the next morning, dead.
It was not without emotion that Gabriel (such was the name that had been
given to the young man by his companion) entered this salon, with its
memories of other days. However, the impression made upon him by these
gloomy walls, the majestic dais, and the windows cut so deep into the
wall that although it was only ten in the morning, the daylight seemed
to have stopped at the threshold,--the impression, we repeat, was not
strong enough to divert his mind for a single moment from the purpose
which had drawn him thither; and as soon as the door was closed behind
him, he turned to his companion.
"Come, dear Aloyse, my good nurse," said he, "really, although you seem
more moved than I, you have no longer the least excuse for refusing to
tell me what you have promised. Now, Aloyse, you must speak without
fear, and, above all, without delay. Haven't you hesitated long enough,
my dear, kind nurse; and have I not, like an obedient son, waited long
enough h When I asked you what name I had the right to bear, and to what
family I belonged, and who my father was, you replied, 'Gabriel, I will
tell you the whole story on the day that you are eighteen,--the age at
which he who has the right to wear a sword attains his majority.' Now,
to-day, this 5th of May, 1551, I have lived eighteen full years; so I
called upon you this morning to keep your promise, but you replied with
a solemn visage which almost terrified me, 'It is not here in the humble
dwelling of a poor squire's widow that I should make you known to
yourself, but in the château of the counts of Montgommery, and in the
_salon d'honneur_ in that château.' Now we have come up the mountain,
good Aloyse, have crossed the threshold of the noble counts, and here we
are in the _salon d'honneur_; so, speak!"
"Sit down, Gabriel, for you will allow me to call you by that name once
more."
The young man took her hands with a most affectionate movement.
"Sit down," she repeated, "not on that chair, nor on that sofa."
"But where do you want me to sit, then, dear nurse?" interrupted the
young man.
"Under this dais," said Aloyse, with an accent of deep solemnity.
The young man complied.
Aloyse nodded her head.
"Now, listen to me," said she.
"But do you be seated too," said Gabriel
"Will you permit me?"
"Are you laughing at me, nurse?"
The good woman took her place on the steps of the dais, at the feet of
the young man, who was all attention, and devoured her with a gaze full
of kindliness and curiosity.
"Gabriel," said the nurse, when she had at last made up her mind to
speak, "you were scarcely six years old when you lost your father and I
lost my husband. You had been my foster-child, for your mother died in
giving birth to you. From that day, I, your mother's foster-sister,
loved you as if you were my own child. The widow devoted her life to the
orphan. As she had given you her breast, she gave you her heart too; and
you will do me this justice, will you not, Gabriel, that in your belief,
my thoughts, when you have been away from me, have never failed to be
with you and watching over you?"
"Dear Aloyse," said the young man, "many real mothers would have done
less than you have. I swear it; and not one, I swear again, could have
done more."
"Every one, in fact, was as eager to serve you as I, who had been the
first to show my zeal." continued the nurse. "Dom Jamet de Croisic, the
worthy chaplain of this very château, and whom the Lord called to
himself three months since, instructed you very carefully in letters and
science, and according to what he said, you had nothing to learn from
any one in the matter of reading and writing and knowledge of history,
especially of the great families of France. Enguerrand Lorien, the
intimate friend of my dead-and-gone husband, Perrot Travigny, and the
old squire of our neighbors, the counts of Vimoutiers, taught you the
science of arms, the management of the lance and sword, horsemanship,
and in fact all the knightly accomplishments; and then the fêtes and
tournaments which were held at Alençon at the time of the marriage and
coronation of our Lord King Henri II., gave you an opportunity to prove,
two years since, that you have taken advantage of Enguerrand's
instructions. I, poor know nothing, could only love you and teach you to
worship God. That is all that I have tried to do. The Holy Virgin has
been my guide, and here you are to-day, at eighteen, a pious Christian
man, a learned gentleman, and an accomplished knight; and I hope that
with God's help, you will not fail to show yourself worthy of your
ancestors, MONSIEUR GABRIEL, SEIGNEUR DE LORGES, COMTE DE MONTGOMMERY."
Gabriel involuntarily rose to his feet, as he cried,--
"Comte de Montgommery! I!" Then he went on, with a proud smile on his
lips,--
"Oh, well, I hoped so, and I almost suspected it; in fact, Aloyse, in
the days of my boyish dreams I said as much to my little Diane. But what
are you doing to my feet, Aloyse, pray? Rise, and come to my arms, thou
saintly creature! Don't you choose to acknowledge me as your child any
more now that I am heir of the Montgommerys? Heir of the Montgommerys!"
he repeated, as if in spite of himself, trembling with pride as he
embraced the good old soul. "Heir of the Montgommerys! And I bear one of
the oldest and most honorable names of France! Yes; Dom Jamet has taught
me the history of my ancestors, reign by reign, and generation by
generation. Of my ancestors! Embrace me again, Aloyse! I wonder what
Diane will say to all this. Saint Godegrand, Bishop of Chartres, and
Sainte Opportune, his sister, who lived in Charlemagne's day, were of
our family. Roger de Montgommery commanded an army under William the
Conqueror. Guillaume de Montgommery made a crusade at his own expense.
We have been allied more than once to the royal families of Scotland and
France; and the noblest lords of London and the most illustrious
noblemen of Paris will call me cousin. My father, too--"
The young man stopped short, as if he had been struck; but he soon
continued:--
"But, alas! for all this, Aloyse, I am alone in the world. This great
lord is nothing but a poor orphan, and the descendant of so many royal
ancestors has no father. My poor father! I can only weep just now,
Aloyse. And my mother, too,--both dead! Oh, do tell me of them, so that
I may know what they were like now that I know that I am their son!
Come, begin with my father. How did he die? Tell me all about it."
Aloyse remained dumb. Gabriel looked at her in amazement.
"I ask you to tell me, nurse," he said again, "how my father died."
"Monseigneur, God alone can tell you!" said she. "One day Jacques de
Montgommery left the hotel where he was then living, in the Rue des
Jardins St. Paul in Paris. He never came back to it. His friends and his
cousins sought for him, but to no purpose. He had disappeared,
Monseigneur! King François I. ordered an inquiry, which came to nothing.
His enemies, if he fell a victim to treachery, were either very cunning
or very powerful. You have no father, Monseigneur; and yet the tomb of
Jacques de Montgommery is missing in the chapel of your château, for he
has never been found, living or dead!"
"That is because it was not his son who sought him!" cried Gabriel. "Ah,
nurse, why have you kept quiet so long? Did you hide the secret of my
birth from me because it would have been my duty either to save my
father or to avenge him?"
"No; but because it was my duty to save yourself, Monseigneur. Listen!
Do you know what the last words were that were uttered by my husband,
brave Perrot Travigny, who had a religious devotion to your family?
'Wife,' said he, a few minutes before he breathed his last, 'don't even
wait till I am buried; just close my eyes, and then leave Paris with the
child as fast as ever you can. You will go to Montgommery; not to the
château, but to the house which belongs to us, thanks to Monseigneur's
bounty!
"'There do you bring up the descendant of our masters with no
affectation of mystery, but without display. The good people of our
country will respect him, and will not betray him. But, above all
things, hide his origin from himself, or he will show himself and be his
own destruction. Let him know only that he is of gentle birth, and that
will be enough to satisfy his dignity and your own conscience. Then,
when years shall have brought him discretion and gravity, as his blood
will make him brave and true,--when he is about eighteen, for
instance,--tell him his name and his descent, Aloyse. Then he can judge
for himself of his duty and his ability. But until then be very careful;
for formidable enmities and invincible hatred will be on his track if he
should be discovered, and those who have stricken and brought down the
eagle will not spare the eaglet.' He said those words and died,
Monseigneur; and I, in obedience to his commands, took you, poor orphan
of six years, who had hardly seen your father, and I brought you with me
to this village. The count's disappearance was already known here; and
it was suspected that implacable foes were threatening any one who bore
his name. You were seen and acknowledged without hesitation in the
village, but by tacit agreement not a soul asked me a question or
expressed any surprise at my silence. A short time after, my only son,
your foster-brother, my poor Robert, was carried off by a fever. God
seemed to will that I should have no excuse for not devoting myself
entirely to you. May God's will be done! Everybody made a pretence of
believing that it was my son that lived, and yet they all treated you
with the deepest respect and a touching obedience. That was because you
already strikingly resembled your father, both in face and in heart. The
lion-like instinct showed itself in you: and it was easy to see that you
were born to be a master and a leader of men. The children of the
neighborhood soon got into the habit of forming themselves into a little
company under your command. In all their games you marched at their
head, and not one of them would have dared to refuse you his respect.
You became a young king of the province; and it was the province which
brought you up, and which has looked on in admiration to see you daily
growing in pride and beauty. The quit-rent of the finest fruits, and the
tithe of the harvest, were brought regularly to the house without my
having to ask for anything. The finest horse in the pastures was always
kept for you. Dom Jamet, Enguerrand, and all the varlets and retainers
at the château offered you their services as naturally due to you; and
you accepted them as your right. There was nothing about you that was
not gallant and brave and large-hearted. In your slightest actions you
showed to what race you belonged. They still tell by the village
firesides in the evening how you once traded off my two cows for a
falcon with one of the pages. But all these instincts and impulses only
betrayed you to those who were to be trusted, and you remained hidden
and unknown to the evil-disposed. The great excitement aroused by the
wars in Italy, Spain, and Flanders against the Emperor Charles V. helped
not a little, thank God! to protect you; and you have at last arrived
safe and sound at that age when Perrot told me that I might trust to
your good sense and your discretion. But you, who are ordinarily so
sober and so cautious, behold! your first words are all for a rash
outburst, vengeance, and exposure."
"Vengeance, yes; but exposure, no! Do you suppose, Aloyse, that my
father's enemies are still living?"
"I don't know, Monseigneur; but it would be much safer to assume that
some of them are. And suppose that you make your appearance at court,
still unknown, but with your well-known name, which will attract
universal attention to you,--brave but without experience, strong in
your worthy ambition and in the justice of your case, but without
friends or allies, or even any personal repute,--and what, pray, will
happen then? Those who hate you will see you come, while you will not
see them; they will attack you, and you will not know where the blow
comes from, and not only will your father not be revenged, but you
yourself, Monseigneur, will be destroyed."
"And that, Aloyse, is just the reason why I am so sorry that I have had
no time to make friends for myself and win a little bit of renown. Ah,
if I had been warned two years since, for instance! But never mind! It
is only a little delay, and I will soon make up for lost time. And
indeed for other reasons I am very glad that I have been at Montgommery
these last two years; but I must be off so much the quicker now. I will
go to Paris, Aloyse; and without concealing the fact that I am a
Montgommery, I need not say that I am the son of Comte Jacques. Fiefs
and titles are no less plentiful in our family than in the royal house
of France, and our branches are sufficiently numerous in England and
France for an unimportant scion to fail of recognition. I can take the
name of Comte d'Exmès, Aloyse, and that will neither conceal nor reveal
my identity. Then I shall find--whom shall I find at court? Thanks to
Enguerrand, I am equally conversant with men and affairs. Shall I pay my
addresses to the Constable de Montmorency, the hard-hearted mumbler of
pater-nosters? No; and I quite agree with the face you made, Aloyse. To
the Maréchal de Saint-André, then? He is neither young nor
enterprising enough. Would not François de Guise be preferable? Yes; he
is the man for me. Montmédy, St. Dizier, and Bologne have already shown
what stuff he is made of. It is to him that I will go; and under his
banners I will win my spurs. In the shadow of his name I will conquer a
name for myself."
"Will Monseigneur allow me to remind him that the honest and faithful
Elyot has had time to put by a handsome sum for the heir of his former
masters. You may maintain a royal establishment, Monseigneur; and the
young men, who are your tenants, and whom you have drilled in playing at
war, are in duty bound and will be only too glad to follow you to battle
in good earnest. It is your right to call them about you, as you well
know, Monseigneur."
"And we will use this right, never fear, Aloyse; we will use it."
"Is Monseigneur really willing to receive all his domestics and
retainers, and the tenants of all his fiefs and baronies, who are
consumed with the desire to pay their respects to him?"
"Not yet, please, good Aloyse; but tell Martin-Guerre to saddle a horse
and be ready to go with me. I must, first of all, take a ride about the
neighborhood."
"Are you going in the direction of Vimoutiers?" said good Aloyse,
smiling mischievously.
"Perhaps so. Don't I owe old Enguerrand a visit and my thanks?"
"And with Enguerrand's congratulations, Monseigneur will not find it at
all amiss to receive those of a certain fair damsel called Diane. Am I
not right?"
"But," said Gabriel, laughing, "that same fair damsel has been my wife
and I her husband these three years; since I was fifteen, that is to
say, and she nine."
Aloyse lost herself in thought.
"Monseigneur," said she, "if I did not know how sober-minded and open
you are, notwithstanding your extreme youth, and that your every emotion
is a serious and profound one, I should keep back the words which I am
going to venture to say to you. But what is a joking matter to others is
often a matter of serious importance to you. Remember, Monseigneur, that
no one knows whose daughter Diane is. One day, the wife of Enguerrand,
who had gone to Fontainebleau at that time, with his master, Comte de
Vimoutiers, found, as she was going into her house, a child in a cradle
at her door, and a heavy purse of gold on her table. In the purse was a
considerable sum of money, half of an engraved ring, and a paper on
which was this one word, 'Diane.' Berthe, Enguerrand's wife, had no
child of her own, and she welcomed joyfully these other maternal duties
which were asked at her hands. But on her return to Vimoutiers she died,
just as my husband died, to whom your father intrusted you, Monseigneur;
and as it was a woman who brought up the male orphan, so it was a man to
whose care the female child fell. But Enguerrand and I, both intrusted
with a like task, have exchanged our duties? and I have tried to make of
Diane a good, pious woman, while Enguerrand has brought you up to be
clever and wise. Naturally you have known Diane, and naturally, too, you
have become attached to her. But you are the Comte de Montgommery, as
can be proved by authentic documents and by public repute, while no one
has yet appeared to lay claim to Diane, by producing the other half of
the golden ring. Take care, Monseigneur! I know well that Diane is now a
mere child of scarcely twelve years, but she will grow, and will be
exceedingly beautiful; and with such a nature as yours, I say again,
everything is apt to be serious. Take care! It may be that she will
always remain what she is now,--a foundling; and you are too great a
nobleman to marry her, and too true a gentleman to lead her astray."
"But, nurse, when I am going away, to leave you, and to leave Diane--"
said Gabriel, thoughtfully.
"That is all right, then. Forgive your old Aloyse for her uneasy
foreboding; and if you choose, go and see that sweet and lovely child
whom you call your little wife. But don't forget that you are being
impatiently awaited here. You will soon be back, will you not, Monsieur
le Comte?"
"Very soon; and kiss me again, Aloyse. Call me your child always, and
accept my thanks a thousand times, dear old nurse."
"A thousand blessings on thee, my child and my lord!"
Master Martin-Guerre was waiting for Gabriel at the gate, and they both
mounted, and left the château.