He was attended in his illness by a faithful old nurse, to whom, notwithstanding she was a Huguenot, he affectionately trusted. One who has described the close of his life, says, that two nights before his death, she was sitting near him on a chest, almost overcome with the drowsiness of fatigue. She was aroused by hearing the king bitterly moan and weep. As she softly approached his bed, he exclaimed, through sighs and sobs, so interrupting his voice that it was difficult to understand him,
"Ah! my nurse, my dear nurse, what blood! what murders! Alas! what evil counsels have I followed! Oh my God! pardon me! and have mercy on me, if thou canst. What shall I do? I am lost! I see it but too well."
The pitying nurse answered with tears.
"Sire! let the guilt rest on those who counselled you to it. For if you consented not in your heart to those murders, and are repentant, trust that God will not charge them to you, but will cover them with the mantle of his Son's great love, to whom alone you should turn."
He listened mournfully to her words, and taking from her hand a handkerchief, his own being saturated with tears, gave a sign that she should retire, and take a little rest.
His attachment to this pious nurse was strongly contrasted with his shrinking aversion whenever his mother approached him. He viewed her as the instigator to that horrible massacre which troubled his conscience, and her presence greatly distressed him. This miserable monarch died on the 30th of May, 1574, at the age of 23, having sinned much and suffered much, though his years were few.
He was succeeded by his brother Henry III., against whom, and Catharine, the Queen-mother, three powerful armies were opposed, one led by the King of Navarre, one by the Prince of Condé, and the other by the Duke of Anjou. The tidings of these civil wars penetrated into the seclusion of the religious house where my grandfather had already passed three years in quiet study. They kept alive the martial spirit which he inherited, and quickened his desire to partake in their tumultuous scenes. At length he communicated to his patron his discontentment with a life of inaction, and his irrepressible wish to mingle again with the world. Unusual paleness settled on the brow of the venerable man, as he replied,
"I have long seen that thy heart was not in these quiet shades, and I have lamented it. Yet thus it is with the young: they will not be wise from the experience of others. They must feel with their own feet, the thorns in the path of pleasure. They must grasp with their own hand, the sharp briers that cling around the objects of their ambition. They must come trusting to the world's broken cisterns, find the dregs from her cup cleaving in bitterness to their lip, and feel her in their bosom, ere they will believe."
The youth enlarged with emotion on his gratitude to his benefactor. He mentioned the efforts he had made to comply with his desires, and lead a life of contemplative piety, but that these efforts were overpowered by an impulse to mingle in more active pursuits, and to visit the home of his ancestors.
"Go, then, my son, and still the wild throbbings of thy heart over the silent beds of those who wake no more till the resurrection morn. Think not that I have read thy nature slightly, or with a careless glance. The spirit of a warrior slumbers there. Thou dost long to mix in the battle. I have marked, in thy musings, the lightning of thine eye shoot forth, as if thou hadst forgotten Him who said: 'Vengeance is mine.' Would that thou hadst loved peace. Go; yet remember, that 'he who taketh the sword shall perish by the sword.' As for me, my path on earth is short, or I should more deeply mourn thy departure. Thou hast been but too dear to me; and when thou art gone, my spirit shall cast from its wings the last cumbrance of earthly love."