The Last Words Of Distinguished Men And Women Part 4

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._"

Blood, that wears treason in his face, Villain complete in parson's gown, How much is he at court in grace, For stealing Ormond and the crown!

Since loyalty does no man good, Let's steal the king and outdo Blood.

_Lord Rochester._

BLUM (Robert, German democrat and politician, founder of the Schiller a.s.sociation and of the German Catholic Church at Leipsic, popular leader of the Liberal party in the Revolution of 1848. On the capture of the city of Windischgratz he was arrested, tried by court-martial, convicted of having instigated the uprising, and shot), 1807-1848. "_I am ready--let there be no mistake and no delay_," to the soldiers who were charged with the duty of shooting him.

He entreated as a last favor, that he might be permitted to write to his wife, which was agreed to, and the letter concluded with these words: "Let not my fate discourage you; but bring up our children so that they may not bring disgrace on my name." "Now I am ready," said he, addressing the officers of justice, when the letter was done. Arrived at the place of execution, he said to one of the cuira.s.siers of his escort, "Here, then, we are come to the last stage of my journey." He desired not to have his eyes bandaged; and this being refused, lest his unsteadiness should cause the men to miss their aim, he blindfolded himself, and knelt down with manly courage. He fell pierced by three b.a.l.l.s, and died instantly.--_Balleydier, ii. 366, 367._

BOEHM or BOHME (Jacob, German mystic who believed himself divinely illuminated and gifted with an understanding of the secrets of nature and grace. Some of his writings are so obscure and visionary as to be well nigh incomprehensible, yet he numbered among his admirers many learned and distinguished persons who sat at the feet of the "phylosophical shoemaker of Gorlitz," and adopted his most remarkable opinions), 1575-1624. "_Do you hear the music? Now I go hence._"

BOERHAAVE (Herman, Dutch physician and philosopher), 1668-1738. "_He that loves G.o.d ought to think nothing desirable but what is pleasing to the Supreme Goodness._"

The reputation of Boerhaave as a physician and a man of learning is perhaps without a parallel in history. His fame extended not only to every part of Christendom, but to the farthest bounds of Asia. A Chinese mandarin addressed a letter to him with this superscription, "To Boerhaave, Physician in Europe," and the missive was duly received....

His intense application to study, and the exposure incident to his professional duties, had brought upon him (in 1732) a severe illness, which confined him to his bed for several months. When he recovered, the inhabitants of Leyden celebrated the joyful event by a public illumination.--_Lippincott._

BOILEAU (Boileau-Despreaux, Nicolas, eminent French poet and satirist), 1636-1711. "_It is a great consolation for a dying poet to have never written a word against morality._"

BOLEYN or BULLEN (Anne, wife of Henry VIII), 1507-1536. Just before she knelt to lay her head on the block she clasped her neck with her hands, and said: "_It is small, very small indeed._"

BOLINGBROKE (Henry St. John, Viscount, English author, orator, and politician), 1678-1751. At last, though the precise words are not preserved, he gave directions that no clergyman should visit him, and avowed his adherence to the deistical principles to which he had held through his life.

His last words to Lord Chesterfield were: "_G.o.d, who placed me here, will do what he pleases with me hereafter, and he knows best what to do.

May he bless you._"[6]

The dreadful malady under which Bolingbroke lingered, and at length sank--a cancer in the face--he bore with exemplary fort.i.tude, a fort.i.tude drawn from the natural resources of his mind, and unhappily not aided by the consolation of any religion; for, having early cast off the belief in revelation, he had subst.i.tuted, in its stead, a dark and gloomy naturalism, which even rejected those glimmerings of hope as to futurity not untasted by the wiser of the heathens.--_Lord Brougham._

[6] It is too early for the last words of John Burroughs (may it be yet many years before they are spoken), but we are struck with the wonderful accord between the last words of Bolingbroke and the closing paragraph to the preface with which Burroughs introduces his, "The Light of Day:" "I am content to let the unseen powers go their own way with me and mine without question or distrust. They brought me here, and I have found it well to be here; in due time they will take me hence, and I have no doubt that will be well for me too."

BOOTH (John Wilkes, American actor, the a.s.sa.s.sin of President Lincoln),--1865. _"Useless! useless!"_ Said to the officer who demanded that he should surrender.

There has been some strange discussion of a mysterious paper said to have been delivered to Mr. John F. Coyle, editor of "The National Intelligencer" and purporting to be a statement to the public from John Wilkes Booth. An eye-witness relates that on the night of the a.s.sa.s.sination of President Lincoln, a private dinner-party was in progress in a back room at Wormley's restaurant, in Was.h.i.+ngton, at which were present General Baird, Robert Johnson, the Hon. Samuel J. Randall, John Morrissey, John F. Coyle, editor of "The National Intelligencer,"

and one other gentleman. During the progress of the dinner a waiter, who had been out on the street, returned and stated that the President had been shot at Ford's Theatre. The news created great consternation in the party, who at first thought the waiter was drunk or crazy. Later, when they were a.s.sured that it was a fact, and that John Wilkes Booth was accused of the crime, John F. Coyle, with blanched features and trembling lips, said: "My G.o.d, gentlemen! This very day I met John Wilkes Booth on the market-s.p.a.ce. He was on a bay mare, and rode up to me and handed me a sealed envelope, saying, as he did so, 'If you hear of me within twenty-four hours, publish this; if you do not hear of me within that time, destroy this,' and he rode away. Here is the package,"

continued Mr. Coyle, producing a letter envelope from his pocket; "what shall I do with it?" "Destroy it at once," said Mr. Randall. "They will hang anybody who knows anything about the a.s.sa.s.sination, no matter how innocently he may have come by the knowledge; don't open it--burn it up just as it is!" "Yes," said Mr. Morrissey, "burn it up, for G.o.d's sake, at once." The doors were carefully locked. A fire was made in the grate, and the mysterious envelope and its contents were carefully burned. Even the ashes were collected and placed in a dish; water was poured upon them, and the two were mixed into a paste, which was afterward put into the fire and burned again.

BORGIA (Cesare), killed at the siege of the Castle of Biano in 1507. "_I die unprepared._"

"Cesare Borgia was one of the most crafty, cruel, and corrupt men of that corrupt age. No crime was too foul for him to perpetrate or be suspected of. He was charged with the murder of his elder brother, Giovanni, duke of Gandia, and of Alfonso, the husband of Lucrezia; with plotting with his father the murder of Cardinal Corneto; and with incest with his sister. In his wars he had garrisons ma.s.sacred, and carried off bands of women to gratify his l.u.s.t."--_Cate._

BOSSUET (Jacques Benigne, French divine and pulpit orator), 1627-1704.

"_I suffer the violence of pain and death, but I know whom I have believed._"

BOURG DU (Anne, French magistrate. He was falsely accused of the a.s.sa.s.sination of Minard, and was executed in 1559), 1521-1559. "_Six feet of earth for my body, and the infinite heavens for my soul, is what I shall soon have._"