Death of Louis XI (From the manuscript dictated by him to Miss Hermance Dufaux)

Spiritist Magazine — Journal of Psychological Studies — 1858 > May > Death of Louis XI (From the manuscript dictated by him to Miss Hermance Dufaux)

NOTE: We draw the reader's attention to the remarks made about these remarkable communications in our last March article.

Not feeling strong enough to hear the word death pronounced, I had often recommended to my officers that they only say to me, when they saw me in danger: “Speak little,” and I would know what that meant.

When there was no more hope, Olivier le Daim said to me harshly, in the presence of Francisco de Paula and de Coittier:

─ Your Majesty, we have to relieve ourselves of a duty. Have no more hope in this holy man, nor in any other, for you have come to an end. Think of your conscience. There is no more medicine.

At these cruel words a complete revolution took place in me. I no longer felt like the same man and I admired myself. The past quickly unfolded before my eyes and things appeared to me in a new light. I don't know what kind of strange thing was happening to me. Fixing me, Olivier le Daim's hard gaze seemed to question me. To escape that cold and inquisitive gaze, I replied with apparent tranquility:

─ I hope God helps me. It is possible, perhaps, that I am not as bad as you think.

The monarch dictates his last wishes

I dictated my last wills and sent those who still surrounded me to the young king's side. I found myself alone with my confessor, Francisco de Paula, le Daim and Coittier. Francis gave me a touching exhortation. It seems that with each of his words, my vices were erased and nature resumed its course. I felt relieved and began to regain a little hope in God's mercy.

I received the last rites with a firm and resigned piety. Every moment he repeated: “Our Lady of Embrun [1], my good Lady, help me!”

Tuesday, August 30th, at seven o'clock in the evening, I fell into a new prostration. All present judged me dead and withdrew. Olivier le Daim and Coittier, sensing the public execration, had stayed by my bedside, as they had no alternative.

I soon fully regained consciousness. I got up, sat on the bed and looked around. There was no one in my family; no friendly hand sought mine, in that supreme moment, to soothe my agony in a last contact. At that time maybe my children were playing while their father died. No one thought that the culprit could still count on a heart that understood theirs. I tried to hear a muffled sob and only heard the laughter of the two wretches who were next to me.

In the corner I saw my favorite greyhound, dying of old age. My heart throbbed with joy, for I had a friend, a being who loved me.

I signaled him with my hand. The hare dragged itself with effort to the bedside and came to lick my dying hand. Olivier noticed this movement; he jumped up, cursing, and clubbed the unfortunate dog with a club until she was killed. Breathing out, my only friend gave me a long, painful look.

Olivier pushed me violently onto the bed. I let myself fall and gave my guilty soul to God.

[1 ANDmbru is an ancient city in the south of France, located in the Rhône Basin, in Provence. His old Latin name was Ebraduno. It has about 4,000 inhabitants.