d.

In these days, however, we can readily believe that Charles IX. died a
natural death. His excesses, his manner of life, the sudden development
of his faculties, his last spasmodic attempt to recover the reins of
power, his desire to live, the abuse of his vital strength, his final
sufferings and last pleasures, all prove to an impartial mind that he
died of consumption, a disease scarcely studied at that time, and very
little understood, the symptoms of which might, not unnaturally, lead
Charles IX. to believe himself poisoned. The real poison which his
mother gave him was in the fatal counsels of the courtiers whom she
placed about him,--men who led him to waste his intellectual as well
as his physical vigor, thus bringing on a malady which was purely
fortuitous and not constitutional. Under these harrowing circumstances,
Charles IX. displayed a gloomy majesty of demeanor which was not
unbecoming to a king. The solemnity of his secret thoughts was reflected
on his face, the olive tones of which he inherited from his mother. This
ivory pallor, so fine by candlelight, so suited to the expression of
melancholy thought, brought out vigorously the fire of the blue-black
eyes, which gazed from their thick and heavy lids with the keen
perception our fancy lends to kings, their color being a cloak for
dissimulation. Those eyes were terrible,--especially from the movement
of their brows, which he could raise or lower at will on his bald, high
forehead. His nose was broad and long, thick at the end,--the nose of
a lion; his ears were large, his hair sandy, his lips blood-red, like
those of all consumptives, the upper lip thin and sarcastic, the lower
one firm, and full enough to give an impression of the noblest qualities
of the heart. The wrinkles of his brow, the youth of which was killed by
dreadful cares, inspired the strongest interest; remorse, caused by the
uselessness of the Saint-Bartholomew, accounted for some, but there were
two others on that face which would have been eloquent indeed to any
student whose premature genius had led him to divine the principles of
modern physiology. These wrinkles made a deeply indented furrow going
from each cheek-bone to each corner of the mouth, revealing the inward
efforts of an organization wearied by the toil of thought and the
violent excitements of the body. Charles IX. was worn-out. If policy did
not stifle remorse in the breasts of those who sit beneath the purple,
the que