acing him upon the throne of Poland. She was aware that the feeble
Charles would not live long, and when, with tears, she took leave of
Henry, she assured him that he would soon return.

The outcry of indignation which the Massacre of St. Bartholomew called
forth from combined Europe fell like the knell of death on the ear of
the depraved and cowardly Charles. Disease began to ravage, with new
violence, his exhausted frame. He became silent, morose, irritable,
and gloomy. He secluded himself from all society, and surrendered
himself to the dominion of remorse. He was detested by the
Protestants, and utterly despised by the Catholics. A bloody sweat,
oozing from every pore, crimsoned his bed-clothes. His occasional
outcries of remorse and his aspect of misery drove all from his
chamber excepting those who were compelled to render him service. He
groaned and wept incessantly, exclaiming,

"Oh, what blood! oh, what murders! Alas! why did I follow such evil
counsels?"

He saw continually the spectres of the slain, with ghastly, gory
wounds, stalking about his bed; and demons of hideous aspect, and with
weapons of torture in their hands, with horrid and derisive malice,
were impatiently waiting to seize his soul the moment it should pass
from the decaying body.

The day before his death he lay for some time upon his bed in perfect
silence. Suddenly starting up, he exclaimed,

"Call my brother."

His mother, who was sitting by his side, directed an attendant to call
his brother Francis, the Duke of Alencon.

"No, not him," the king replied; "my brother, the King of Navarre, I
mean."

Henry of Navarre was then detained in princely imprisonment in the
court of Catharine. He had made many efforts to escape, but all had
been unavailing.

Catharine directed that Henry should be called. In order to intimidate
him, and thus to prevent him from speaking with freedom and boldness
to her dying son, she ordered him to be brought through the vaults of
the castle, between a double line of armed guards. Henry, as he
descended into those gloomy dungeons, and saw the glittering arms of
the soldiers, felt that the hour for his assassination had arrived.
He, however, passed safely through, and was ushered into the chamber
of his brother-in-law and former playfellow, the dying king. Charles
IX., subdued by remorse and appalled by approaching death, received
him with gentleness and affection, and weeping profusely, embraced him
as h