It will doubtless be found interesting to see recorded in juxtaposition the words and the manner of death of some of the great geniuses whom history mentions. When Alonzo Cano, the famous Spanish artist, was dying, the attendant priest presented before him an ivory crucifix; Cano turned away and refused to look at it because the sculpture was so bad, calling for a plain cross, which he embraced, and died. Chaucer breathed his last while composing a ballad. When the priest came whom Alfieri had been prevailed upon to see, he requested him to call the next day. "Death, I trust, will tarry four-and-twenty hours," he said, but died in the interim. Petrarch was found dead in his library, leaning on a book. "I could wish this tragic scene were over," said Quin the actor, "but I hope to go through it with becoming dignity." Pitt, the great statesman, died alone, in a solitary house on Wimbledon Common. Rousseau, when dying, asked to be carried to the window of the apartment overlooking his garden, that he might look his last on Nature.
When Malherbe the lyric poet was dying, he reprimanded his nurse for making use of a solecism in her language, and bade the priest stop his trite, cant talk about heaven, saying, "Your wretched style only makes me out of conceit with it." Bide, the English monk and author, on the night of his death continued to dictate to his amanuensis. He asked his scribe how many chapters yet remained to complete the work, and was told there was one. "Take your pen," he commanded, and went on with the work. By and by the scribe said, "It is finished," just as his master breathed his last. Roscommon, when expiring, quoted from his own translation of the "Dies Iræ." "All my possessions for a moment of time!" were the dying words of Queen Elizabeth. The last words of Cardinal Beaufort were, "What! is there no bribing death?" The last words uttered by Byron were, "I must sleep now." In his last moments Crébillon, who had composed two acts of his tragedy of "Catiline," regretted that he had not been spared to complete it.
Colorden on the day of his death was visited by his friend Barthe, who requested his opinion of the comedy of the "Selfish Man," which he came to read at his bedside. "You may add an excellent trait to the character of your principal personage," said Colorden. "Say that he obliged an old friend, on the eve of his death, to hear him read a five-act comedy!" "Let me die to the sound of delicious music," were the last words of Mirabeau. Herder died writing an ode to the Deity, his pen on the last line. Heller died feeling his own pulse; and when he found it almost gone, turning his eyes to his brother physician, said, "My friend, the artery ceases to beat!" "Tell Collingwood to bring the fleet to anchor," said Nelson, and expired. The last words of Charles I. were uttered on the scaffold,—"I fear not death! Death is not terrible to me!"
Curran's ruling passion was strong in death. Near the close of his earthly hours his physician at his morning call said he "seemed to cough with more difficulty." "That's surprising," said the almost exhausted invalid, "as I have been practising all night." "There is not a drop of blood on my hands," said the expiring Frederick V. of Denmark. "Let not poor Nellie starve" (Nell Gwynn, his mistress), were the last words of Charles II. "I have loved righteousness and hated iniquity, therefore do I die in exile," said Pope Gregory VII. with his expiring breath. Anne Boleyn turned to the executioner on the scaffold, and pointing to her neck, said pathetically, "It is small, very small indeed!" The last words of Maria Theresa were, "I do not sleep; I wish to meet my death awake." Madam Roland exclaimed, "O liberty! liberty! how many crimes are committed in thy name!"
It was in perfect accord with his character when Chancellor Thurlow said at the closing moment of his life, "I'm shot if I don't believe I'm dying!" "World without end, Amen!" said Bunyan as he breathed his last. "Guilty, but recommended to the mercy of the court," whispered Lord Hermand. "For the last time I commit soul, body, and spirit into His hands," said John Knox in dying. "Trust in God," said President Edwards, "and you need not fear." These were his last words. "If I had strength enough to hold a pen," said Willian Hunter, the distinguished anatomist, "I would write how easy and delightful it is to die." The dying words of Louis XIV. were, "I thought that dying had been more difficult." Arthur Murphy the dramatist quoted in his last breath Pope's lines,—
"Taught by reason, half by mere decay,
To welcome death and calmly pass away."
When asked if he heard the prayers which were offered in his presence, the Duke of Marlborough replied, "Yes, and I join in them." He never spoke again. "O Lord, open the King of England's eyes," said the martyr Tyndale as he died at the stake. When those noble English reformers, Latimer and Ridley, were being burned at the stake, "Be of good cheer, brother," cried Ridley, "for our God will either assuage the fury of this flame or enable us to abide it." Latimer replied: "Be of good comfort, brother, for we shall this day light such a candle in England as by God's grace shall never be put out." Lady Jane Grey's last words upon the scaffold were: "Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit." "Many things are growing plain and clear to me," whispered Schiller, and died with these words on his lips.
Anna Lætitia Barbauld, the English authoress, wrote with great poetic feeling and moral beauty. Her husband became a lunatic, and she suffered much. It was her beautiful self-sacrifice that gave the best charm to her character. She wrote, among many other works, a popular life of the novelist Richardson, and some political pamphlets of great force and excellence. Her series of books for children would alone have given her lasting reputation. There occurs to us in these closing pages the stanza which she wrote in her old age, probably in her eighty-second year, not long before her death,—lines which Rogers and Wordsworth so much and so justly admired. The former says in his "Table Talk" that while sitting with Madame D'Arblay a few weeks before her death, he asked her if she remembered these lines of Mrs. Barbauld's. "Remember them!" answered the famous authoress, "I repeat them to myself every night before I go to sleep."
"Life! we've been long together
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;
'T is hard to part when friends are dear;
Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear;
Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time;
Say not 'Good-night,' but in some brighter clime
Bid me 'Good morning.'"