I wish to address the issue of this gentleman. He is my servant, and I am here to pay the debt against him.
I can pay you twenty gold francs.
I demand you release him at once, or I shall take this matter to the King!
He is not property at *all*, you ill-mannered tub of guts! Do you honestly think it right to chain people like chattel? I demand you release him at once!
A servant is not a thief, your Highness, and those who are cannot help themselves.
If you suffer your people to be ill-educated, and their manners corrupted from infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded, sire, but that you first make thieves and then punish them?
It is not fair, sire. You have found my weakness, but I have yet to learn yours.
A bird may love a fish, signore, but where will they live?
I want you to know that I will forget you after this moment, and never think of you again. But you, I am quite certain, will think about me every single day for the rest of your life.
All I ask, Your Majesties… is that you show her the same courtesy that she has bestowed upon me.
Is that what I am, your problem? I have done everything you’ve asked me to do and still you deny me the only thing I ever wanted!
What do you think? You are the only mother I have ever known. Was there ever a time, even in its smallest measurement, that you loved me at all?
Signore, my name is Danielle de Barbarac, and I am but a servant.
It belongs to a peasant, Your Highness, who only pretended to be a courtier to save a man’s life.
The Prince has read “Utopia”?
I… take it you do not converse with many peasants.
Excuse me, sire, but there is nothing “natural” about it. A country’s character is defined by its “everyday rustics,” as you call them. They are the legs you stand on and that position demands *respect,* not…
Well, you gave one man back his life, but did you even glance at the others?
I… I fear the only name to leave you with… is Comtesse Nicole de Lancret.
And you own all the land there is and yet you take no pride in working it! Is that not also a contradiction?
You have *everything*, and still the world holds no joy; and yet you insist on making fun of those who *would* see it for its possibilities.
I suppose it is because when I was young my father would stay up late and read to me. He was addicted to the written word and I would fall asleep listening to the sound of his voice.
Science, philosophy… I suppose they remind me of him. He died when I was eight. Utopia was the last book he brought home.
I would rather hear his voice again than any sound in the world.
My father was an excellent swordsman, monsieur. He taught me well. Now hand me that key or I swear on his grave I will slit you from navel to nose.
I would rather die a thousand deaths than see my mother’s dress on that spoiled, selfish cow!
You were born to privilege, and with that comes specific obligations.
I am sorry. My mouth has run away with me again.
Well, you gave one man back his life but did you even glance at the others?
I would walk right up to him and say, ‘Your Highness, my family is your family, please take them away!’
Where are the candlesticks, and the tapestries, and the silver? Perhaps the dress is with them!
