ul hours, he said: "I do not know what ails me.
For these two or three days past, both mind and body have been quite
upset. I burn with fever; all around me grin pale blood-stained faces.
Ah! Ambrose, if they had but spared the weak and innocent." A change,
indeed, had come over him; be became more restless than ever, his looks
savage, his buffoonery coarser and more boisterous. "_Ne mai poteva
pigliar requie_" says Sigismond Cavalli. Like Macbeth, he had murdered
sleep. "I saw the King on my return from Rochelle," says Brantome, "and
found him entirely changed. His features had lost all the gentleness
[_douceur_] usually visible in them."

"About a week after the massacre," says a contemporary, "a number of
crows flew croaking round and settled on the Louvre. The noise they made
drew everybody out to see them, and the superstitious women infected the
King with their own timidity. That very night Charles had not been in
bed two hours when he jumped up and called for the King of Navarre, to
listen to a horrible tumult in the air; shrieks, groans, yells, mingled
with blasphemous oaths and threats, just as they were heard on the night
of the massacre. The sound returned seven successive nights, precisely
at the same hour." Juvenal des Ursins tells the story rather
differently. "On August 31st I supped at the Louvre with Madame de
Fiesque. As the day was very hot we went down into the garden and sat in
an arbor by the river. Suddenly the air was filled with a horrible noise
of tumultuous voices and groans, mingled with cries of rage and madness.
We could not move for terror; we turned pale and were unable to speak.
The noise lasted for half an hour, and was heard by the King, who was so
terrified that he could not sleep the rest of the night." As for
Catherine; knowing that strong emotions would spoil her digestion and
impair her good looks, she kept up her spirits. "For my part," she said,
"there are only six of them on my conscience;" which is a lie, for when
she ordered the tocsin to be rung, she must have foreseen the
horrors--perhaps not all the horrors--that would ensue.

ISAAC D'ISRAELI

An original document now lying before me, the autograph letter of
Charles IX, will prove that that unparalleled massacre, called by the
world religious, was, in the French cabinet, considered merely as
political; one of those revolting state expedients which a pretended
instant necessity has too often i