Henry of Guise; or, The States of Blois (Vol. 3 of 3)

by G. P. R. James

"To the Tuilleries and to the Louvre," replied the Count. "Every point of importance," he added in a low and meaning voice, "will then be invested."

The Duke of Guise waved his hand. "No, St. Paul, no!" he said, "that step would instantly require another. No; if the enemy misjudge our forbearance, and attempt aught towards shedding the blood of the citizens of Paris, we must then act as God shall direct us. In the mean time I say not, that the barricades may not be carried up to the very gates of the Louvre, for that is for our own defence; but at present, St. Paul, at present, it must be on the defensive that we stand. I beseech you, however, to see that no ground is lost in any part of the city, for you know how soon an advantage is gained. Should it be needful send for me, but not till the last extremity."

The Count of St. Paul turned to obey, but paused for a moment before he had reached the door. The Duke of Guise by this time was gazing fixedly upon the hilt of his sword, as it lay on the table before him, and seemed perfectly unconscious that the Count had not quitted the room. A slight smile curled that gentleman's lip, as he saw the direction that the Duke's eyes had taken, and he opened the door and passed out.

For several minutes the Duke of Guise continued to gaze in deep thought; and his bosom at that moment was certainly full of those sensations which never, perhaps, occur to any man but once in his lifetime--even if Fate have cast him one of those rare and memorable lots, which bear down the winner thereof, upon the stream of fame and memory, through a thousand ages after his own day is done. The fate of his country was in his hands; he had but to stretch out his arm and grasp the crown of France: and what temptations were there to do so to a mind like his!

It must not be forgotten that the Duke of Guise, by every hereditary feeling, by every prejudice of education, as well as by many strong and peculiar points in his own character, was in truth and reality a strenuous and zealous supporter of the Roman Catholic Church. His veneration for that great and extraordinary institution had descended to him from his father, and had formed the great principle of action in his own life. Even had he merely assumed that devotion for the church during so many years, the very habit must have moulded his feelings into the same form; and he must have been by this time, more or less a zealous advocate of the Catholic cause, even if he had set out with caring nothing in reality about it. But such was not the case: his father had educated him in principles of strict and stern devotion to the faith in which they were born; and though in the gaieties and the frivolities of youth, or the eager struggles of manhood, he might have appeared in the ordinary affairs of life any thing on earth but the zealot, yet still his zeal would have been far more than a pretence, had it only been the effect of early education and constant habit.

There was something still more, however, to be said. The spirit of the Catholic Church was consonant to, and harmonious with, the whole tone of his own feelings, at once deep, powerful, imaginative, enthusiastic, politic, and commanding. Chivalry, feudalism, and the Church of Rome, went hand in hand: all three were, indeed, in their decay; but if ever man belonged to the epoch of chivalry, it was Henry Duke of Guise; and he clung to all the other institutions that were attached to that past epoch, of which he in spirit was a part.

Attached therefore sincerely, deeply, and zealously to the Catholic Church--far, far more than his brother the Duke of Mayenne ever was or ever could be--Guise beheld a weak monarch, whom he despised and hated from the very bottom of his heart, wasting the whole energies of the Catholic party in France in a mere pretence of opposing the Huguenots, and, in fact, caring for nothing but so to balance the two religious factions as to be permitted to remain in luxurious indolence, swallowed up with the most foul, degrading, and abhorrent vices; setting an example of low and filthy effeminacy to his whole court; and only chequering a life of soft and unmanly voluptuousness by bursts of frantic debauchery, or moments of apparent penitence and devotion, so wild and extravagant as to betray their own affectation, by the absurdities which they displayed.

The church to which Guise was attached was thus betrayed; his own especial friends and relations were neglected, insulted, or maltreated; all that were great or good in the nobility of France were shut out from the high offices of state, trampled upon by the minions of the King, and plundered by insolent and fraudulent financiers; the course of public justice was totally perverted; every thing in the government was venal and corrupt; the exertions of commerce and industry totally put to a stop; assassination, poison, and the knife, of daily occurrence; and bands of audacious plunderers tearing the unhappy land from north to south.

The Duke of Guise might well think, as he sat there gazing upon the hilt of that renowned sword which had never been drawn in vain, that, were he to say the few short words which were all that was necessary to bring the crown to his head and the sceptre to his hand--he might well think that he could obtain for France thereby those great objects which he conceived were, beyond all others, necessary to her well-being. He might well conceive too that the cost of so doing would but be little: civil war already raged in the land; the whole south of France was one scene of contention; it already existed in the capital; and would, in all probability, be shortened rather than prolonged by his striking the one great and decisive blow.

The King, who was absolutely at his mercy, and whom he could cast down from his throne at a single word, was no obstacle in his way; the Epernons, the d'Aumonts, the Villequiers, he looked upon, notwithstanding all their favour, and the semblance of power which had been cast into their hands, as a mere herd of deer, to be driven backwards and forwards, like beasts of the chase, between himself and Henry of Navarre. And then again, when he looked to the great and chivalrous Huguenot monarch, what were the feelings with which he regarded the struggle that might take place between them? His breast heaved, his chest expanded, his head was raised, his eye flashed with the thought of encountering an adversary worthy of the strife, a rival of powers equal or nearly equal to his own. When he thought of army to army, and lance to lance, against Henry of Navarre, with the crown of France between them as the golden prize of their mighty strife, his spirit seemed on fire within him, and he had well nigh forgotten all his resolutions, in order to do the daring act which might bring about that glorious result; and then, when fancy pictured him returning triumphant over his rival, with peace restored, and civil war put down, and commerce flourishing, and the rights of France maintained on every frontier, an uniform religion, a happy people, and the strong truncheon of command in a hand that could wield it lightly, the prospect was too bright, too beautiful, too tempting; and he pressed his hand tight upon his eyes, as if he could so shut it out from his mental vision.