Part 4 (1/2)
BISMARCK VON SCHONHAUSEN (Karl Otto, Prince, the most distinguished of Prussian statesmen), 1813-1898. ”_Thank you, my child_,” to his daughter, Countess von Rantzau, who wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
On Thursday evening an improvement set in in the Prince's condition, in which repeated changes for the worse had occurred since October last, and he was able to appear at the table and take part in the conversation, drinking champagne and afterward smoking several pipes, which he had not done lately.
His condition was so satisfactory that Dr. Schweninger, after the Prince had gone to bed, went away, with the intention of returning on Sat.u.r.day.
His condition was comparatively satisfactory throughout Friday and Sat.u.r.day morning. He read the ”Nachrichten” and conversed on politics, particularly referring to Russian affairs. In the forenoon he took luncheon, grumbling jocularly at the small proportion of spirits in his drinking water. Then a sudden change for the worse occurred, and in the afternoon he frequently became unconscious.
Recently, besides periods of unusual mental clearness, the Prince had had intervals of drowsiness, falling into long, sound and beneficial sleep, on awaking from which he would be completely refreshed.
On Sat.u.r.day evening grave symptoms appeared. Death came easily and painlessly. Dr. Schweninger was able to some extent to lighten the last moments, wiping the patient's mouth and enabling him to breathe more freely.
The last words Prince Bismarck uttered were addressed to his daughter, Countess von Rantzau, who wiped the perspiration from his forehead. They were, ”Thank you, my child.”
The whole family were a.s.sembled at the bedside at the time of his death, and Dr. Schweninger, Dr. Chrysander and Baron and Baroness Merck were also present. As no breathing, movement or pulse was perceptible for three minutes, Dr. Schweninger declared quietly and simply that the Prince was dead.
Dr. Schweninger telegraphed the news to Emperor William, in Norway.
The Prince lies as he used to sleep, with his head slightly inclined to the left. The expression on his face is mild and peaceful. It is remarked that his head remained warm for an unusually long time.
In accordance with Prince Bismarck's wish, he will be buried upon the hill opposite the castle in the vicinity of Hirschgruppe.
_Nachrichten, July 31st, 1898._
BLAKE (William, English artist and poet), 1757-1828. Blake died singing.
”On the day of his death,” writes Smith, who had his account from the widow, ”he composed and uttered songs to his Maker, so sweetly to the ear of his Catherine, that when she stood to hear him, he, looking upon her most affectionately, said, 'My beloved! they are _not mine_. _No!_ they are _not_ mine!' He told her they would not be parted; he should always be about her to take care of her. A little before his death, Mrs.
Blake asked where he would be buried, and whether a dissenting minister or a clergyman of the Church of England should read the service. To which he answered, that as far as his own feelings were concerned, she might bury him where she pleased. But that as father, mother, aunt and brother were buried in Bunhill Row, perhaps it would be better to lie _there_. As for service, he should wish for that of the Church of England.
”In that plain, back room, so dear to the memory of his friends, and to them beautiful from a.s.sociation with _him_--with his serene cheerful converse, his high personal influence, so spiritual and rare--he lay chanting Songs to Melodies, both the inspiration of the moment, but no longer as of old to be noted down. To the pious songs followed, about six in the summer evening, a calm and painless withdrawal of breath; the exact moment almost unperceived by his wife, who sat by his side. A humble female neighbor, her only other companion, said afterwards: 'I have been at the death, not of a man, but of a blessed angel.'”
_Gilchrist's Life of William Blake._
”He said he was going to that country, he had all his life wished to see, and expressed himself happy, hoping for salvation through Jesus Christ. Just before he died his countenance became fair, his eyes brightened, and he burst out into singing of the things he saw in heaven. In truth he died like a saint, as a person who was standing by him observed.”[5]
_From a letter written at the time of Blake's death._
[5] Lablache (1794-1858), the celebrated French singer and actor, whose wonderful voice, embracing two full octaves, has been described as firmer and more expressive than that of any singer of his time or before it, attempted to sing upon his death-bed. He bade his son go to the piano and accompany him. The young man, struggling with emotion, obeyed. Lablache sang in English the first stanza of _Home, Sweet Home_. At the second stanza the muscles of the throat refused to move; not a note could he sound. In distress and great amazement he gazed around him for a moment, and then, closing his eyes, fell asleep in death.
It is recorded of Captain Hamilton, whose portrait was painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, that he came to his death in this wise: ”He imprudently ventured in a boat from his s.h.i.+p to land at Plymouth, on a tempestuous day, all in his impatience to rejoin his wife ash.o.r.e.
The boat turned keel upwards, and the captain, being a good swimmer, trusted to his skill, and would not accept of a place on the keel, but, that he might leave room there for others, clung merely to the edge of the boat. His great coat was a hindrance to him, and this he attempted to throw off; but, in the words of Lord Eliot, whose too are the italics, 'finding his strength fail, he told the men he must yield to his fate, and soon afterwards sank while _singing a psalm_.'”--_Francis Jac.o.x._
When Latour was guillotined at Foix, in 1864, for the murder of a family of four persons, great was the throng in the streets, despite the heavy rain that fell; for, to ensure a good attendance, the condemned man had announced his intention to compose for the occasion a series of verses, which he would sing on his way (in a cart, _vis-a-vis_ with messieurs the headsmen) from prison to scaffold. And sing them he did, all the way--a matter of some three hundred and fifty yards. Lightly he tripped up the steps of the scaffold, and then, after a deliberate survey of the crowd below and all around, he thundered forth, _tonna_, the following lines--a parody, or rather a personal appropriation, of the Ma.r.s.eillaise:
”Allons, pauvre victime, Ton jour de mort est arrive: Contre toi de la tyrannie Le couteau sanglant est leve!”
Being then tied to the plank and flung into the usual horizontal position in order to be brought under the blade, he still went on--_Allons, pauvre victime_, _Ton jour de mort_ ... --until a heavy sound was heard, the blade fell, something else fell with it, and all was over.--_Jac.o.x._
BLOOD (Thomas, an Irish adventurer who served in Cromwell's army. He seized the Duke of Ormond in his coach in London, and would have hanged him but for the resistance of his servants. In 1671 he came very near possessing himself of the crown jewels), 1628-1680. ”_I do not fear death._”