Elaborated and perfected by the aid of contemporary memoirs and chronicles, the narrative of Aloyse, who had been informed by her husband, Perrot Travigny, squire and confidential servant of the Comte de Montgommery, of all the incidents of his master's life, so far as he knew them,—the narrative of Aloyse, we say, thus perfected, gave the following sad story of Jacques de Montgommery, Gabriel's father. His son knew the leading details of it; but the sinister dénouement, which brought it to a close, was a sealed book to him, as to everybody else.
Jacques de Montgommery, Seigneur de Lorges, was, as all his ancestors had been, daring and brave; and during the stormy reign of François I. he was always to be found in the front rank when fighting was going on. And so he became a colonel in the French infantry very early in life.
But among his many brilliant exploits there was one untoward incident to which Nostradamus had had reference.
It was in 1521, when the Comte de Montgommery was barely twenty years old, and only a captain. It was a severe winter; and the young men, young King François at their head, were indulging in a snowball fight,—a sport not unattended with danger, and much in vogue at the time. They were divided into two parties, one defending a certain house which the other assaulted with bullets of snow, Comte d'Enghien, Seigneur de Cérisoles, was killed in just such a game. Jacques de Montgommery was very near killing the king on this occasion. The battle over, they set about warming themselves; the fire had been allowed to go out, and the whole crowd of young madcaps rushed about to rekindle it. Jacques came running in, first of all, with a blazing stick in a pair of tongs; but on the war he encountered François, who had no chance to protect himself, and received a violent blow on the face from the red-hot brand. Fortunately nothing came of it but a wound, although a very severe one; and the ugly scar left by it was the cause of the fashion of wearing the beard long and the hair short, which was ordained by François at that time.
As the Comte de Montgommery atoned for this unfortunate casualty by a thousand brilliant exploits, the king bore him no ill-will for it, and interposed no obstacle to his rising to the first rank at court and in the army. In 1530 Jacques married Claudine de Boissière. It was a mere marriage de convenance; but he long mourned for his wife, who died in 1533, when Gabriel was born. Melancholy, moreover, was the most marked trait of his character, as is the case with all those who are predestined to some fatality. When he was left a widower and alone, he found relief only on the battlefield, and was driven into danger by sheer ennui. But in 1538, after the truce of Nice, when this man of war and of action had to conform to the etiquette of the court, and to walk up and down in the galleries of the Tournelles or the Louvre, with his parade-sword at his side, he was near dying of disgust.
A mad passion saved him, and was his ruin.
The regal Circe involved this overgrown boy, sturdy and ingenuous, in her toils. He fell in love with Diane de Poitiers.
Three months he revolved about her, gloomy and lowering, without ever addressing a single word to her; nor was there any need of a word for the grande sénéchale to understand that his heart belonged to her. She made a note of that passion in a corner of her memory as something that might possibly be of use to her on occasion.
The occasion came. François I. began to neglect his beautiful mistress for Madame d'Étampes, who was less beautiful in face, but had the great advantage of being attractive in other respects.
When the signs that she was being superseded were unmistakable, Diane, for the first time in her life, spoke to Jacques de Montgommery.