But he was not happy; and during the last few months he had been subject to unaccountable fits of melancholy. That this gloom had its origin in a feeling of dissatisfaction with himself is very probable. Notwithstanding his long and resolute struggle against clerical pretensions, Victor Emmanuel had preserved a simple child-like faith in the religion he had been taught at his mother's knee and through all the stormy passions of his fitful career he had preserved sacred the image of his pure young wife, whose memory he revered as that of a saint. In Turin, where he passed the autumn of this year, having gone there to inaugurate a monument to his brother, the Duke of Genoa, he was heard to say more than once, 'I am not a good man, but I cannot die a bad death; she who is in heaven would not permit it.'

In the middle of November the king returned to the capital for the reopening of Parliament. Then in December he made a hasty journey to Turin to see the Countess Mirafiore, who was ill, and returned for the festivities of Christmas and New Year's day, with the intention of going back as soon as they were over. On the last day of the year 1877 Victor Emmanuel received all the foreign ministers who waited on him to exchange the compliments of the season in the name of their respective sovereigns. The following day he gave audience to deputations from both Houses of Parliament and others who presented congratulatory addresses. The king spoke cheerfully and hopefully of the future,

and bade his ministers trust always in the star of Italy.

"The star of Italy is your majesty,' replied Signor Depretis, at which the king smiled sadly.

They did not dream that it was his last New Year's day; but he was even then feeling indisposed, and in nine days after he was dead.

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE LAST DAYS OF VICTOR EMMANUEL. A.D. 1878.

ON New Year's day the king had not felt well; on the 4th he was decidedly ill. On the 5th the news of General La Marmora's death arriving, gave him a great shock, and he wrote a telegram of condolence to the family, the last words he ever penned. Violent fever set in, accompanied by inflammation of the lungs, which was aggravated by his own imprudence in having got out of bed at night and gone on the balcony to cool himself. Every day the disease took more alarming proportions. Prince Umberto and the Princess Margherita were the only members of the royal family then at the Quirinal. Telegrams were sent in every direction to summon the absent ones, but too late. On the morning of the 9th the king was decidedly worse; the utmost consternation reigned throughout the palace. The grief of the prince and princess was indescribable; the latter had earnestly entreated to be allowed to sit all night with the patient, but her husband would not permit it. At an early hour a cardinal had come from the Vatican with kind inquiries from the Pope about the health of the royal patient. After being bled there was a slight

amelioration in the king's state, and Prince Umberto had a long interview with him, in which he talked so clearly and calmly that his son was inspired with a hope that the case was not so bad as the doctors believed. But very soon after the miliary eruption breaking out, the physicians judged recovery impossible, and Dr. Bruno was deputed to break the fatal intelligence to the patient. With much hesitation he made the announcement, saying that the symptoms were such that he felt it his duty to warn his majesty not to lose time in fulfilling his religious obligations. The king was propped in a half-sitting posture, with his hands folded, twirling his thumbs. He looked a little surprised, but nowise disconcerted; he did not even cease to twirl his thumbs, and never took his unflinching eye off the doctor, as he said in Piedmontese, 'Are we come to that?' (Siamo lì?) 'Very well, I will do as you say. Call the chaplain at once.'

The court chaplain having received the king's confession, was obliged to apply to the parish priest for the sacrament, and he would not dare to give it without permission from the Vatican, which was immediately granted; later a cardinal came with the special benediction of the Holy Father, whose good feeling at last triumphed over ecclesiastical prejudices.

As the day advanced the patient grew worse, and the time spent in obtaining the sacrament brought him very near death. He spent the interval in taking leave of his ministers and household, and then asked to be alone with his children, Umberto and Margherita. After a

private interview the attendants were recalled, and all remained present at the administration of the communion. When the priest entered with the Host, the king, who was suffering terribly, his right lung being quite destroyed, raised himself with a violent effort to a sitting posture, and inclined his head reverently. After this his strength sank rapidly, and his chest was so oppressed that he had no voice for further conversation.

There was no hope of the Queen of Portugal or the Princess Clotilde coming in time to receive their father's last farewell, but Prince Amadeo and the king's cousin, Prince Carignano, of whom he was very fond, were on their way from Turin, and expected to arrive in the evening; death, however, travelled faster than they counted for, and they came all too late. The king asked again to see Umberto, and when he approached the bedside weeping, he gazed long and fondly at him, put out his hand and murmured the one word 'Addio!' The prince kissed the hand, kneeling, and covered it with tears. During the day the sick man had muttered broken sentences about his beloved Turin, where he had wished to die. His last words were, 'I figli, i figli !'

At the final moment, Prince Umberto was kneeling at one side of the bed, and Count Mirafiore at the other, while the friends and attendants knelt round the chamber, and also in the anteroom, weeping silently. Dr. Bruno, who was supporting the patient's head, bent down and put his ear to his heart; it had ceased to beat. In a voice broken with emotion he made the announcement