“Vincenzo did as he promised. Before many weeks had passed, he gave ‘I Puritani’ complete into the hands of Lablache, who in great delight, promised that the work should be worthily represented.
“The opera was cast; the rehearsals began. After the first rehearsal, Bellini went to his country seat at Puteaux, not far from Paris. He could not be present at the second rehearsal, on account of indisposition. It was on the night of its first representation, just at the time when that famous duet was repeated amidst thunders of applause from the enraptured audience, that the news was spread through the theatre: ‘Bellini died an hour ago at his country seat.’”
Francilla closed the album, rose quickly, and went to the window. I thought it best to leave the room quietly; but she turned as I was going, and saying in a low tone: “Stay, mon ami, I have not sung you anything to-day!” seated herself at the piano. The song was a melancholy one, and might have been composed for the farewell of him who had so lately gone from earth. She sang with wonderful expression and feeling.
“The sun’s last beam has paled away—
The quiet night is near;
And stars far off and numberless
Are shining still and clear.
The flowers their leaves in odors steep,
Soft whispers on the breezes sleep.
So light my bosom’s throbbings—I,