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He seated himself at the instrument. "You see the volume of sound I obtain, and all the while I do not alter the treble." "Yes, yes, and the sonority of the instrument is double that of the old harpsichord. It would be heard all over Covent Garden." She could see that the remark pleased him. "I'll sing 'Zerline' if you'll play it." "You couldn't sing 'Zerline, it isn't in your voice."
He died May 13, 1871, amid the fearful scenes of the Paris Commune. His best-known operas are: "Masaniello" ; "Fra Diavolo" ; "The Bronze Horse" ; "The Black Domino" ; "The Crown Diamonds" ; and "Zerline" , the last-named written for the great contralto, Mme. Alboni.
The works on which Auber's claims to musical greatness rest are as follows: "Leicester," 1822; "Le Maçon," 1825, the composer's chef-d'ouvre in comic opera; "La Muette de Portici," otherwise "Masaniello," 1828; "Fra Piavolo," 1830; "Lestocq," 1835; "Le Cheval do Ihonze," 1835; "L'Ambassadrice," 1836; "Le Domino Noir," 1837; "Les Diamants de la Couronne," 1841; "Carlo Braschi," 1842; "Haydée," 1847; "L'Enfant Prodigue," 1850; "Zerline," 1851, written for Madame Alboni; "Manon Lescaut," 1856; "La Fiancée du Roi de Garbe," 1867; "Le Premier Jour de Bonheur," 1868; and "Le Rêve d'Amour," 1869.
He coloured some dancing-dolls with painstaking care and made a Zerline that was very like Rose Thévenin. He liked the girl and his Epicureanism highly approved of the arrangement of the atoms of which she was composed. These tasks occupied him till the Barnabite's return. "Father," he announced, as he opened the door to admit him, "I told you, you remember, that our fare would be meagre.
Londres, tu le sais trop, en fait de capitale, Est-ce que fit le ciel de plus froid et plus pale, C'est la ville du gaz, des marins, du brouillard; On s'y couche a minuit, et l'on s'y leve tard; Ses raouts tant vantes ne sont qu'une boxade, Sur ses grands quais jamais echelle ou serenade, Mais de volumineux bourgeois pris de porter Qui passent sans lever le front a Westminster; Et n'etait sa foret de mats percant la brume, Sa tour dont a minuit le vieil oeil s'allume, Et tes deux yeux, Zerline, illumines bien plus, Je dirais que, ma foi, des romans que j'ai lus, Il n'en est pas un seul, plus lourd, plus lethargique Que cette nation qu'on nomme Britannique!
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