What was it that deterred him? There was much reason on his side; there was little if any risk; there was the object of the church's safety; there was the gratification of vengeance upon those who had insulted and injured him; there were the exhortations of the King of Spain; there was almost the universal voice of the people in the north of France; there was his own ambition; there was the certainty that all he did would be absolved, sanctioned, confirmed by the head of the Catholic Church; there was already in his favour the solemn and decided declaration of the highest theological authority in France; and there was many a specious argument, which no one could expect that he should sift and refute against himself.
What was it deterred him? Was it that there is a majesty which hedges in a King, sufficiently strong to overawe even the Duke of Guise himself? Was it that the habitual reverence, which he had been accustomed to show towards the kingly office, veiled or shielded from his eyes the real weakness of him who exercised it? Was it that he feared himself?--Or was it that he felt the act of usurpation must be confirmed by murder?
It cannot be told! Certain it is that he dreamt grand visions; that he saw mighty prospects of fair paths leading to honour, and glory, and high renown, and his country's good, and his church's safety; and that he banished the visions and would not take the only step which would have over-passed every barrier to his forward way.
The words of Catherine de Medici rung in his ears--the words which had warned him against the growth of ambition in his own heart; he heard the shouts of the people without, and her warning voice again came back in tones that seemed well nigh prophetic. Almost, it would appear, without a cause, the vanity of all things seemed to press upon his mind at that moment with stronger effect than he had ever experienced before. There was a leaden weight upon his spirits he knew not why. He seemed to feel the hand of Fate, the tangible pressure of a directing arm, selecting for him the path he was to pursue, and forcing him thereon at the very moment when supreme command appeared given to him without a check.
The sun seemed to dazzle his eyes as he gazed from the window, vague figures passed before him, and crossed the dancing motes, picturing, like shadows, the persons of whom he had been thinking. He saw Henry the Third distinctly before him, and fierce faces and bloody knives, and figures weltering in their blood upon the ground. He felt that he had indulged fancy too far, that he had given way to thought at the moment of action, that his course must be shaped as he had predetermined it in calmer hours; and waving his hand, as if to dispel the visions that still haunted his sight, he rose from his chair, leaning heavily on the table, pushed the sword away from him, and murmured to himself, "No, no! I will never be an usurper! Ho, without there!" he continued. "Who waits? What is that sound of musketry?"
"Erlan has just arrived, my Lord," replied the attendant, "to bear your Highness word, that the citizens have driven Malivaut down into the market, and that is the firing we hear."
"Tell Erlan to speed back as fast as possible," replied the Duke, "and bid them cease directly. Let them content themselves with hemming in the enemy without attacking them. But I hear more firing still; I shall be obliged to go forth myself."
"Monsieur de Brissac has just gone out on one side, your Highness," replied the attendant, "and Monsieur de St. Paul on the other; both with the purpose of stopping the bloodshed. But they have not had time to get to the spot yet."
"It has ceased now," said the Duke listening. "It has ceased now towards the Chatelet: but on the other side it is fierce. Go down and see what are those shouts, and let me know! Surely Henry," he added, "would not venture into such a scene as this. Alas, no! He would venture nothing--dare nothing, either for his own sake or his country's."
A moment after the attendant returned saying, "It is the Queen, my Lord; her Majesty Queen Catherine. The crowd of people prevents the chair from coming up to the gates; but she has descended and is coming on foot."