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From Berlioz, who was at Spontini's deathbed until the end, I heard that the master had struggled most determinedly against death, and had cried repeatedly, 'Je ne veux pas mourir, je ne veux pas mourir! When Berlioz tried to comfort him by saying, 'Comment pouvez-vous penser mourir vous, mon maitre, qui etes immortel! Spontini retorted angrily, 'Ne faites pas de mauvaises plaisanteries! In spite of all the extraordinary experiences I had had with him, the news of his death, which I received in Zurich, touched me very deeply.
"Pouvez-vous siffler?" his doctor asked him one day, when he was almost at his last gasp; "siffler," as every one knows, has the double meaning of to whistle and to hiss: "Hélas! non," was his whispered answer; "pas même une comédie de M. Scribe!" M. Scribe is, or was, the favorite dramatist of the French Philistine.
For a moment I was awed by the aristocratic magnificence of balloons. How superb, how reckless! Very humbly I appealed to her, "Pouvez-vous, voulez-vous me donner un ballon?" "Les ballons, ca ne se donne pas apres cinq heures," she said. I didn't press her. How could I? By how many thousands of years of tradition might not the habits of balloons have been fixed?
He wound me up and I began singing; but everything went wrong. I sang snatches of well-known songs, cadences, trills, arpeggios, all pele- mele, until my exhibitors were in despair. "Mais, c'est terrible," cried Voguee. "Ne pouvez-vous pas l'arreter? Est-ce qu'il n'y a pas de vis?" "Il n'y a pas le moindre vice, Monsieur," shaking his head in despair. Then I stopped short.
Last week, after I had had a frightful attack of cramp in the throat and chest, 'Pouvez-vous siffler? he said. 'Non, pas méme une comédie de M. Scribe, I replied. So you may see how bad I was. Well, even that, he said, wouldn't hasten the end, and I should go on living indefinitely! I had to caution him not to tell my wife. Poor Mathilde! I have been unconscionably long a-dying.
But you appreciate how it is for me to go to him. In your case I should say, square and fair, vous etes audessus de cela, mon cher, je n'ai pas le sou. And you know," said he, looking straight into my eyes with an expression of desperation, "I am going to tell you, square and fair, I am in a terrible situation: pouvez-vous me preter dix rubles argent?
On the night of his election he went to Lord Saxingham's; but what there happened deserves another chapter. "Je connois des princes du sang, des princes etrangers, des grands seigneurs, des ministres d'etat, des magistrats, et des philosophes qui fileroient pour l'amour de vous. En pouvez-vous demander davantage?"* Lettres de Madame de Sevigne
On the night of his election he went to Lord Saxingham's; but what there happened deserves another chapter. "Je connois des princes du sang, des princes etrangers, des grands seigneurs, des ministres d'etat, des magistrats, et des philosophes qui fileroient pour l'amour de vous. En pouvez-vous demander davantage?"* /Lettres de Madame de Sevigne/
"Je vous salue, Mesdemoiselles," he cried, "mes anges a char-a-banc. Pouvez-vous me diriger chez Monsieur Gratiot?" "Sapristi!" exclaimed the young man, but he laughed. The young women stood up, giggling, and peered at Nick over the young man's shoulder. One of them wore a fresh red-and-white calamanco gown.
"Je vous salue, Mesdemoiselles," he cried, "mes anges a char-a-banc. Pouvez-vous me diriger chez Monsieur Gratiot?" "Sapristi!" exclaimed the young man, but he laughed. The young women stood up, giggling, and peered at Nick over the young man's shoulder. One of them wore a fresh red-and-white calamanco gown.
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