"If such be his feelings," continued the Duke, "we must consider ourselves as two armies in presence of each other, and the one that retreats of course awards the victory to his adversary."
The Archbishop of Lyons, perhaps, was the person who decided the fate of the Duke of Guise; for had the party which came to him been unanimous and urgent in their remonstrance, there is a probability that he would have yielded; but the Archbishop seemed doubtful and undecided. He said that he thought, indeed, it might be well the Duke should go; at least for a time. But they had to consider, also, the probabilities of the King making any attempt upon the Duke. Though weak, timid, and indolent, Henry was shrewd and farseeing, he said. The only result that could follow an attempt upon a person so beloved by the whole nation, and especially by the States, as the Duke of Guise, would be to arm the people of France in an instant against the sovereign authority. This the King must well know, he continued; and that consideration made him less eager upon the subject, though he thought it might be as well that his Highness should retire for a time.
His speech more than counterbalanced the exhortations of all the rest; and from that moment the resolution of the Duke became immovable. His dauntless mind, which might have yielded had he stood absolutely alone in opinion, came instantly to the conclusion, that if there were a single individual who doubted whether he should fly or not, he himself ought to decide upon remaining. He made no answer to the Archbishop's speech, but suffered Mandreville to combat his arguments without interruption. That gentleman replied that Henry, far from being the person represented, though cunning, was any thing but prudent. Had they ever seen, he demanded, the cunning of the King, even in the least degree, restrain or control him? Had the self-evident risk of his throne, of his life, and of the welfare of his people, ever made him pause in the commission of one frantic, vicious, or criminal act? He was no better, the deputy said, than a cunning madman, such as was frequently seen, who, having determined upon any act, however absurd or evil might be the consequences, even to the destruction of his own self, would arrive at it by some means, and go directly to his purpose, in despite of all obstacles. He contended that they had good reason to know that the King devised evil against the Duke; and they might depend upon it that no consideration of policy, right, or religion, would prevent him from executing his purpose by some means.
He spoke truly, and with more thorough insight into the character of the King than any one previously had done; but the resolution of the Duke of Guise, as we have said before, was already taken.
"My good friends," he said in conclusion, "I thank you most sincerely, and I shall ever feel grateful for the interest that you have taken in me, and for your anxiety regarding me on the present occasion. But my resolution is taken, and must be unalterable. I cannot but acknowledge that the view of Monsieur de Mandreville may have much truth in it; but, nevertheless, matters are now at such a point, that if I were to see death coming in at that window, I would not seek the door."
Against a determination so forcibly expressed, there was, of course, no possibility of holding further argument; and after a word or two more on different subjects of less interest--the Duke of Guise replying as briefly as possible to every thing that was said--the party took their leave and retired.
[CHAP. XII.]
There was at that time a large open space round the church of St. Sauveur, in Blois, where the people from the country used occasionally to exhibit their fruits and flowers for sale; and exactly opposite the great door of the church stood a large and splendid mansion, with an internal court-yard, part of which had been let to some of the deputies for the States-General. The principal floor, however, consisting of sixteen rooms, and several large passages and corridors, had been left untenanted, in consequence of the proprietor asking an exorbitant rent, till two or three days before the period of which we speak. Then, however, the apartment was taken suddenly, a number of attendants in new and splendid dresses appeared therein; and, as we have seen from the account of Villequier to the King, the Abbé de Boisguerin arrived in Blois, with a splendid train of attendants, and took up his abode as the master of that dwelling.
About the same time that the conversations which we have detailed in the last chapter were going on in the cabinet of the Duke of Guise, the Abbé was seated in one of the rooms, which he had fixed upon for his own peculiar saloon. It was very customary in those days, and in France, for every chamber, except a great hall of reception, to be used also as a bed-room. But that was not the case in this instance; for the chamber, which was small, though very lofty, had been used by the former occupants as a cabinet, and had been chosen by the Abbé probably on account of its being so completely detached from every other chamber, that no sound of what was done or said therein could be overheard by any one.
He sat in a large arm-chair, with his feet towards the fire, and with his right elbow resting on a table covered with various sorts of delicacies. Those delicacies, however, were not the productions of the land in which he then lived, but rather such as he had been accustomed to in other days, and which recalled former habits of life. There were fine dried fruits from the Levant, tunny and other fish from the Mediterranean; and the wines, though inferior to those of France, were from foreign vineyards.