Death of Louis XIsecond article
(From the manuscript dictated by Louis XI to Ms. Ermance Dufaux)
NOTE: We draw the readers’ attention to the observations made about these remarkable
communications in our latest March issue.
Not feeling strong enough to hear the word “death”, I had many times recommended to my officers
that they should only ask me “not to speak much” whenever they saw me in any danger, and I
would then know the meaning of that signal.
When there was no hope, Olivier le Daim harshly said to me, in the presence of Francisco de Paula
and Coitier: Your majesty, it is our duty to tell you. Do not have any hope on this saint man, or on
anybody else, as this is the end. Think of your conscience. There is no more remedy.
Following those cruel words, a complete revolution took place inside me. I no longer felt like the
same man and actually surprised myself. The past rapidly unveiled before my eyes and I saw things
in a new perspective. Something strange happened to me. The steel like stare of Olivier le Daim’s
eyes seemed to question me. I responded with apparent calm, trying to avoid that cold and
inquisitive look: I hope God helps me. It is possible, perhaps, that I am not as bad as you think.
I then dictated my last wishes and sent all of those who surrounded me to be near the young King. I
was left alone, only having my confessor, Francisco de Paula, le Daim and Coitier with me.
Francisco gave me a touching exhortation. It seemed that each of his words erased my vices and
that nature would have reestablished its course. I felt relieved, starting to reestablish some hope in
God’s clemency.
I was given the last sacraments with a resigned and firm piety. I would repeat every time: “Our
good Lady of Embrun, my good Lady, help me!”
On Tuesday, August 30th I fell ill again. Everybody left me for dead. Olivier le Daim and Coitier,
feeling the public execration, remained by my deathbed, since they had no alternative.
Soon I completely recovered consciousness. I raised, sat down on the bed and looked around.
Nobody from my family was there. No friendly hand to hold mine at such a supreme moment, to
lessen my agony in a final contact. At that very moment my children might be playing while their
father was dying. Nobody thought that the guilty one could still count on an understanding heart. I
tried to hear a muffled sobbing but I only heard the laughs of the two miserable ones, still by my
side.
In one of the corners of the room I saw my favorite greyhound dog, dying of age. My heart
accelerated in happiness as I still had a friend, a being that liked me.
I signaled with my hand. The old hunter dog dragged herself towards my bed, licking my agonizing
hand. Olivier noticed the move; he suddenly stood up, cursing and hitting the unfortunate dog with
a baton, to see her dead. At death, my only friend gave me a long and painful look.
Olivier violently pushed me back to bed. I let go my body and delivered my guilty soul to God.
