of Henry the Second. He
refused to confess to the famous Vigor, Archbishop of Narbonne, and would
neither kiss the crucifix offered to him by the priest who rode with him
in the tumbrel, nor listen to his words, nor even look at him. To a Gray
Friar, who attempted to convince him that he was in error and had been
deceived, he replied: "How deceived? If I have been deceived, it was by
members of your own order; for the first person that ever gave me a Bible
in French, and bade me read it, was a Franciscan like yourself. And
therein I learned the religion that I now hold, which is the only true
religion. Having lived in it ever since, I wish, by the grace of God, to
die in it to-day." On the scaffold, after a touching address to the
spectators, he recited in a loud voice the Apostles' Creed, in the
confession of which he protested that he died, and then, "having made his
prayer to God after the manner of those of the (reformed) religion,"[1387]
manfully offered his neck to the executioner's sword.[1388]

But the scene just described belongs strictly to the reign of the next
French monarch. The capture of Montgomery at Domfront had been followed,
within three days, by the death of the young king against whom the count
had been fighting.

[Sidenote: Last days of Charles IX.]

It is difficult to determine the exact proportions in which physical
weakness and remorse for the past entered as ingredients of the malady
that cut short the life of Charles the Ninth. It may not be prudent to
accept implicitly all the stories told by contemporaries respecting the
wretched fancies to which the king became a victim. But it would be
carrying historical scepticism to the very verge of absurdity to reject
the whole series of reports that come down to us respecting the strange
hallucinations of Charles during the last months of his life. De Thou,
perhaps the most candid and dispassionate historian of the period, has
left the statement on record that, ever since St. Bartholomew's Day,
Charles, who at no time slept well, used frequently to have his rest
broken by the sudden recollection of its dreadful scenes. To lull him to
repose, his attendants had no resource but singing, the king being
passionately fond of music and of poetry.[1389] Agrippa d'Aubigne
corroborates the statement, adding, on the authority of high noblemen who
had been present, that the king would awake trembling and groaning, and
that his agitation was sure to find expr